"On you go!" screamed Tati. "Keep those fucking legs up!"
The beginning of the season drew near. Conditioning was the main thing to be focused on. Their legs dragged and ached. Heart rhythms are rapidly increasing. Sweat was dripping off the faces of everyone as if it were raining heavily. To make things worse, they didn't practice outside.
"Immanuel, push through it!" screamed Tati.
Immanuel was surviving only by a thread. His teeth were showing, and his face was scrunched up. His breathing was all over the place.
"Inhale from the nose," ordered James. "Your breathing is all wrong; you're struggling like that."
"One more time!" screamed Tati.
The cold air didn't help. Legs were numbed from the rapid stomping and terrible jogging. Most players were sluggish. They moved as if they were walking down a hill. Hips were moving all over the place, and arms were slowly going down due to the intense muscle exhaustion.
The stomping of the many players in a line wasn't synced anymore. Around the small track located next to a high school, the players ran and ran till their legs gave out.
"Time!" screamed Tati. "The time to beat was 20 minutes."
"We were all close to each other, no?" Ian asked.
"Yes, you were all on the mark," Tati replied. "20:54 was the latest. As long as you didn't go over 20:59, you're alright."
Bodies flew to the ground as the breathing intensified. Players were vomiting on the turf while others lay still from exhaustion.
"That's it for today," Tati said. "I know some of you have things to do."
Some players slowly got up. Cramps and soreness are already creeping in on them. Ian slowly moved his legs to lift himself off the ground. His mother is waiting for him in the parking lot. Walking beside him were James and Immanuel, who had been limping ever since the run.
"You gotta put some ice on that," James said.
"I'm just tired," Immanuel said. "I also have some school things tomorrow, so I'm going to be dead."
Both Ian and James laughed. But Immanuel wasn't having it. They moved past high schoolers who were beginning their run on the indoor track.
"Aren't you two in high school?" James asked.
"Yeah," they both responded.
"I remember my time," James uttered. "My school's soccer team was awful, but it wasn't all that bad."
"You played in high school?" asked Immanuel.
"Yes," James replied. "I played my freshmen up to junior year."
"You didn't play in an academy?" asked Ian.
"Oh, I did," James smirked. "I just didn't tell anyone."
Ian looked confused. Immanuel, who was new to this, didn't understand the strict rules of academy-to-high school play. Playing for a high school in an academy is highly frowned upon. Many teams set strict rules to prevent this from happening. Most academies from teams in the Major League will have you sanctioned from ever playing academy ball if you play high school-level soccer here in the U.S.A. Some clubs don't mind it, but others do. Even for lower-league teams, it's also a rule.
"You're one sly guy," Ian said.
"In the flesh," James chuckled.
"One more thing?" asked Ian.
"Shoot," James replied.
"Why are we training here?" he asked.
"Club house reconstruction," James replied.
Ian didn't understand, but at that moment, both he and Immanuel and James went their separate ways. Ian's mom was here to pick him up for the first time ever. The only reason was that he had no money to catch the train. The car ride was a long one. Sitting in the front seat on the highway home, Ian's eyes were glued to his phone.
"Learn anything new today?" his mother asked.
"Speed and stamina conservation," he answered. His eyes are still on the phone screen. The movement of the players and their technique caught his mother's eye. While driving, she'd spring her eyes to the right swiftly and back on the road.
"Whatcha watching?" she asked.
"Games and highlights," he replied.
Switching from one game to another, the videos of the Major League games that had happened during the weekend, and even some of the Championship games. Even looking at League One and League Two games too. Ian shifted his attention always toward the midfield in split second highlights. He was eager to make an impression.
"Don't strain your eyes too much," she said. "I wouldn't want you to get reading glasses now."
Her long exhale alerted Ian. He was tired but smiling.
"Yes?" he smiled.
"How about pizza for dinner?" she asked.
"Good enough for me," Ian replied.
"And school tomorrow," she laughed.
"Ugh!" groaned Ian.
The early morning jogs from most of the players before they go do their everyday activities. Ian attended school, just like most of the young players on the team. Others worked in shops and their own businesses. Others slacked off but still had enough income to be able to sustain a livable life.
James wandered the streets of Hoboken, like he always does, in the brutal cold mornings. He'd walk toward the waterfront, staring at the New York City skyline. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts as the cloudy sky moved in. The clouds were lowering, covering the tops of most of the tall buildings across the Hudson. The wind picked up as the Hudson's current swayed like a dancer.
"You're not wearing a jacket?" asked Richard. "Are you an idiot?"
"It's morning, and you're already picking a fight," James laughed.
Richard walked up to him with a large winter jacket. He was decked out with layers of clothes, as today was supposed to be a very cold day.
"Tati explained to me that if we don't get this chemistry going, we'd be faceplanted on the bench," James stated. "And I don't know about you, but riding bench in the 7th tier with that type of experience you have won't look good going forward."
"Going forward as if I'm old enough," Richard chuckled.
"I'm only doing this for Tati's sake," James said. "He's the only person who believes in me. I won't let some fucker like you bring me and this team down with your idiotic ways."
"What'd you say?" Richard asked. Moving closer to him, holding a hot chocolate in his hand. "You got some nerve, mate."
"We all saw how you played against Münster," James said. His eyes were focusing on the fading skyline in the distance. He only side-glared at Richard. His hands curled up on the rails as the water raged below them. "You played absolutely shit." He moved himself upright and turned to Richard with a smirk. "And you know it. Loose balls and mistouches, Richard? You had me before, but surely you're not looking down on the team."
Richard exhaled. The condensation coming from his mouth flying into the air. The look of irritation was palpable, as he didn't say a word. All he could do was breathe and think. James turned back, looking at the skyline.
"I'm only doing this for Tati," he muttered. side-glancing at Richard again, who was hovering his fingers over the hot chocolate lid.
"Fuck you, you know that," Richard uttered. "I'll fix my ways. It was just an off day."
"As I thought," James replied. "Now let's go to a field and work on some footwork."
"Yeah, no," Richard said. "Some of us have jobs."
"Then after," James sighed. "The season starts soon. I can't have any more mistakes or mishaps. I recommend you go see the Hoboken City game tonight."
"Why would I do that?" Richard asked.
"Because their winger is good!" James said. "Go off of that. Prepare yourself for the season; we're getting back to the top whether you're here or not. If you want to slack off, go do it somewhere else." He faced him, eye to eye. Moving his arms up and down. "If you don't put in the effort that the youngsters are putting in, then you shouldn't be on this team."
Richard sighed and squinted his eyes at James. Turning around and tipping his head back as his shoes made knocking noises as he walked on the concrete. Staring to his left as he watched Richard leave was the Hoboken Terminal, a nice structure with rich history. Richard worked at Hoboken Terminal, but no one knew what he really did.
The day was short. Night came in a flash, and on the local field, the lights were beaming down on them. Richard and James connected passes before taking shots on the empty net. The lights of NYC and the partial lights of Hoboken gleamed around them. The two guys who were in the same academy were back to their old ways. Sweat, muscle aches, and mental stress swept over them as they kept the pace up. One pass to another and a swift shot into the net; each miss equals 20 pushups. Muscle sourness and chattering teeth were common outcomes of their mistakes tonight.
"Let's go again!" screamed Richard. His gray shirt drenched as the cold wind blew. He didn't care as much. He wore layers under it to keep him from getting sick. His hands sweating in his gloves, his eyes watering from the wind that occasionally would blow past them as they ran full speed.
Each pass to him would swerve on the turf with speed. This would help with quick pass reactions when on grass. The burning of both their feet from the friction was just an obstacle in their way to success.
"Again!" screamed James.
The passes to him again, hitting the center of his left foot in his sweet spot on the inside. Pushing it off and stepping up to take the shot into the empty net. They repeated this process again and again. Only taking little breaks, never walking. Each play was to be done either by running or jogging.
"Again!" screamed Richard. They were now three hours into their training. Their faces were red, and their hearts were raging. The kick-up of crumb rubber as it flew and got stuck on their socks. As it also moved into their cleats, making both Richard and James feet burn. Still, this didn't bother them as much. If it got too much, they'd take off their cleats and dumb out the crunch rubber.
The night went on as they continued to fix their errors. Münster was a mishap, and they won't allow that to billow over their dignity.