"Listen, I don't know what to say," said Coach Casper.

"Tell it to 'em straight," said Remy, who was the youth team manager.

I had just stepped onto the pitch for a good practice session. At least I thought it was great. When we finish up, one of the players told me to go see Remy. From the start, I knew it wasn't going to end well.

The weather was nice. A small breeze blew from the east as we all did planks in a circle. The sun was setting, and the next train home dawned upon us. The grass was damp from freezing the night before. I love practicing in the cold, as it gives me the opportunity to exert more energy without dealing with the heat.

"You guys seeing the movie tonight?" asked Jamie. He was a boy with slick hair and a talented fullback. He was more of an inverted fullback and got his skills and knowledge from watching Trent Alexander-Arnold's old highlights.

"What was that?" I asked, lifting my right arm up.

"Less talking, boys!" screamed Mahoomie, the fitness trainer.

Jamie left training early.

After cooldowns and the last stretch of practice, I walked over to Jamie. He had just seen Remy and Coach Casper and looked shocked. I was next to go, so I held my head up high and didn't make eye contact. His face was scrunched up as if he were about to cry. Moreover, he looked suicidal, as if he had just heard the news of his parents deaths. He was also pale and muttered words under his breath as I passed him.

*Knock knock*

"Hmm? Ah, Guppy, come in," said Remy. He had a stern look on his face. Remy is from Arizona and has been the manager of the boys U19 team since before promotion and relegation existed here.

"You wanted to talk to me?" I asked. My hands were shaking. Speaking to the gaffer is never pleasant when alone.

He took his glasses off and pointed toward the seat. I closed the door and sat down as his laptop was open and the sound of younger players jogging outside interrupted the atmosphere inside.

"Look," he said. "I love your style. But I'm determined to be straightforward with you. We can't have you here anymore."

"What?" I gasped. "What did I do wrong? I'm very keen on my passes and have great stamina. My vision is great, and I have the most assist on the team."

"The thing is, you feel absolutely null when you have the ball," he said sternly. "Your ideas of the game aren't based on passion, and you surely struggle against top-level teams."

"Isn't that what a youth team is for?" I asked. This conversation still confuses me.

"You lack many things that won't fair well if you're ever promoted to the senior team," Remy replied. "As of today, we'll have to let you go."

I stood there, feeling shocked but also annoyed. What else was I supposed to do in this situation?

The sun set as the timer on my phone rang out a melody. The next train was about to arrive, so I headed to the station without a club. The wind picked up more and more as I got closer to the group of U14 players cheering along to their favorite song. They were speaking about their future and jumping with glee for the weekend.

I walked awkwardly toward the train station and stood awkwardly on the platform. The train was a couple minutes late when I saw someone running up the steps wearing a 7th-tier team hoodie. The man looked older than me and buff. He had a shaved beard and a trimmed moustache.

As others walked near him, he looked directly at me when I gave him an awkward look.

"What?" He exhaled. "Never seen a man run up thousands of stairs before?"

"Nah," I laughed. "What's up with the hoodie?"

"Oh, this?" he pointed. "This is my team."

"Didn't you guys get relegated?" I asked.

"To the 7th tier," he smiled.

"Shit man, I'm sorry," I said.

"But hey, during the Open Cup, we get a lot of people watching," he awkwardly laughed.

"What's the club again?" I asked. "I can't fully read that."

"Ah, you lookin to tryout?" he said with glee.

"I just wanted to know the name, man," I said.

"The prestigious A.S.C. Waterfront Hoboken," he smiled.

The team that was once in the third tier fell into a slump after their owner was involved in a cheating scandal. They lost good players like Caminho and Trentazay and were destined to reach the Major League.

"Want to try out?" he asked. This time with a serious facial expression.

"When's the tryout?" I grinned.

"Fuck yeah, man!" The guy laughed. "I'm James, James Kranavic."

"Ian Peterson," I replied while putting my hand out.

*Braaaaammmhmm*

The train horn blasted through the air as heavy footsteps were heard. Jamie emerged from the steps. He wasn't exhausted from running full speed up the steps, but his grim expression could be seen by everyone on the platform.

"Jamie?" I asked.

He didn't respond. He put his headphones on and blasted his music so loud that we could hear what the lyrics said in full detail.

"Kid, you're going to destroy your ears like that," James said.

"Shit Jamie, what the fuck happened?" I asked.

"New York Penn Station change at Summit or Newark Broad for Hoboken," said the conductor.

"Jamie, you alright?" I asked. "Hellooooo?"

While boarding the train, James smacked him upside the head, causing him to urk.

"Who the?" he said.

"Finally!" I exhaled. "Holy shit, what happened to you?"

"What do you think?" he said, scrunching up his face.

"You're about to cry?" I asked. "Were you let go too?"

"Too?" he repeated. "What do you mean by too?"

"I was also let go," I said.

"No way," Jamie gasped. "How?"

"Inconsistency?" I said. "Struggling against bigger teams."

"Shit bro," Jamie replied. He sat back in the chair as the train roared through many towns.

I was already upset by what had happened. I didn't even know what to tell my parents. Although the night was still young, all I could think about was returning to that club. I want to go pro. I want to step foot in the Major League. The sport has grown so big that it surpasses basketball, baseball, and hockey. The season was only two months away, but I needed all the chances I could get at reaching the Major League. I also wanted to get back on the team.

As the train pulled up to my stop, I got off and waved good-bye to Jamie and James. I got the contact information of the coach at A.S.C. Waterfront Hoboken, and as soon as I got home, I looked them up. All that came up were Hoboken City and Express Club Hoboken. Hoboken City was recently relegated from the Major League, and Express Club was recently promoted to the Championship. Both teams will play each other when the season begins.

Many people from neighboring towns come to watch these teams play, causing brawls, flares, and riots. It's the most entertaining match since it's between two cross-city rivals who both have stadiums in the city.

But here I am, still searching the deep web for Waterfront Hoboken. It took me a long time to find them after a thorough search. A.S.C. Waterfront Hoboken RailRunners was the official name. Their stadium is located on the outskirts of the city, near Weehawken. It's only a small stadium now, as funding is low. Their original stadium was close to Hoboken Terminal but abandoned. Stadium capacity of over 5,000.

"Ready for dinner, Ian!" my mother screamed.

"In a bit, ma!" I shouted. I sent a number of highlights to the manager. After extensive editing that took two hours, I finally submitted it. Sitting back in my chair, forgetting all about dinner.

*Bim bop*

"Man!" I sighed. "How did things end up like this?"

I looked at my old cleats as I got up from my chair. Still not telling my mother about the issue, I hauled my kit into the dirty clothes bin and left the room. It got darker by the minute. My expectations were already low. I'm trialing for a club I've never seen, stepping into a city I've never been to. My life is getting crazy by the minute. But hey, it's all for the love of the game, right?

"How should I end this?" I thought to myself. My pencil scratching the surface of the paper.

"Ian!" my mother screamed again.

"One second!" I shouted back at her. "Alright how about this."

To a powerful future, Ian Peterson.