31st of August.
A windy summer breeze welcomed the city of Sheffield on what would be a fine summer day.
And yet the front office of Sheffield Blades are already swamped with paperwork and things to do.
Every division that keeps the club running— finance, scouting, academy, and even the administrative division— are shuttling in and out of their respective offices in the main administrative building like headless flies.
Why are they in such a mad rush this early in the morning and on a weekend no less?
Because it's the fucking European transfer deadline day!
Football clubs in Europe scramble to secure last minute transfer dealings for players they want on their squad or for players they want shipped off of their clubs on August 31 every year. Today marks the end of the summer transfer window, and the final day for roster moves and big money spending all across the continent.
The Blades are no exception to that.
Their recent midfield injury crisis led pundits and the fans alike to believe that the team will be in the lookout for at least a back up level midfielder. They're not far off the mark.
A man with a confident posture wearing a sleek black suit hopped out of a shiny black sedan near the Sheffield administrative building.
His overall persona oozed with the charisma and magnetism of a natural born leader. Packed with a killer smile, amiable eyes, and a presence that can win over anyone, this guy won't be out of place in a top level company meeting.
He's not gonna be attending the club meeting of course, instead he's a football player about to complete his deadline day transfer to the club.
"Welcome to the red side of Sheffield, Mr. Hastings. I hope you're ready to beat everyone's expectations." The man that welcomed him was none other than the manager himself, Steve Bronson. Behind him were several of the department heads of the club, and some of the lower board members.
This is very much a grand welcome.
"Damn it, Steve, you know I don't need these grand welcomes." The footballer called Hastings heartily laughed. "I'm not some prime superstar anymore, you know! Oh, and drop the damn formalities, I should be the one being formal, man!"
The club manager sighed. He knew this guy pretty well, and judging by the way the newcomer talked with him, the other club staff caught the hint of more than just familiarity between the two.
"Members of the board, my kind sirs, you can leave first. I promise I'll take it from here. Thank you for your hard work." Bronson spoke in a very respectful manner with the club board members.
"And you guys, get back to work. We have a long day ahead yet." Compared to the department heads though… it's very informal.
Once the other staff of the club had left, the two hugged like long lost brothers.
A few more minutes had passed when another older footballer arrived. It was Damian Potts, who arrived pretty early in the club's premises on game day just to see the transfer through. The two made an uncharacteristic old man fist bump and exchanged hugs.
This transfer was considered borderline nepotism for the club staff that has just seen the interaction between their manager and player, but for a lot of people outside the club, it's sensible, cheap, and is more of a match made in heaven kind of transfer.
First, Trent Hastings was unwanted at his current club Newcastle. He was in the same boat as Damian Potts, a one club man on the twilight of his career. But unlike Potts, his club stayed at the top flight while his game regressed to a point where he wasn't even needed by his boyhood club anymore.
He's 38 now too, from the same generation as Potts. Having been a longtime friend of Potts, he also knew his close circle of friends, including the manager itself. During the past season, he's played massive minutes for Nottingham at the Championship on loan.
Meaning, he's still at the level where he can contribute at 2nd tier clubs, but no English club wanted to take on his high wage demands at that age. So even though he also had several lucrative offers abroad, at this point of his career, he didn't want to leave.
His friend Potts called him about the current dire injury situation at midfield in his club, and it was at that moment, where everything felt right for Hastings.
Hastings found out that a transfer offer from a League One club came in for him even before his conversation with his friend. It was for a measly one million pounds from Sheffield Blades, and when he told Potts that his manager and board sent the offer to Newcastle, the man on the other end of the line was shocked silly.
"I've decided. I'm gonna go there and patch the fuck out of that midfield of yours."
"Oy, oy, we don't have the funds for your gaudy income! Don't put my club into debt!"
"They knew that and sent the transfer offer anyway, so I'm gonna go play there and run as free as a wind!"
***
On the other side of Sheffield…
Sheffield Sunday's youth team was in shambles.
The team gave a first team debut to youth team captain James Ritchie yesterday in a second division match. This gave his youth teammates a recognizable boost of confidence and morale, seeing one of their own generation finally playing for their first team. He gave a nice account of himself, and was given an ovation by the home fans for his highly anticipated debut.
Yet, the next morning, a bombshell sent shockwaves across the Sheffield Sunday team and fan circles.
"Wonderkid James Ritchie of Sheffield Sunday was signed for an undisclosed fee by Liverpool on deadline day after phenomenal debut performance." The biggest English football transfer news portal announced early in the morning.
The fans and his youth teammates felt that they must be kidding. How could the team give them hope by giving their best youth prospect a first team debut and then sell him to the highest bidder the next day!
This was absurd! This was ridiculous!
What further broke the fans' heart was his answer when he was asked about how he felt after getting sold by his boyhood club.
"I didn't even want to leave… but they said it would be for my and my club's best interests… so how could I not go?"
The two sides of Sheffield slept in vastly different moods that night...