Wednesday, 21st September 2011
A deep hum rolled down the street as a white and navy blue bus pulled up in front of the Malmö FF Academy gates. Its sides bore the club's emblem in clean lettering, and the back windows were slightly tinted, catching the morning light as the engine gave a final idle growl before stopping.
The doors hissed open.
One by one, boys began to step down from the academy bus. Some stretched, others chatted idly, while a few just stared sleepily at the pavement. Among them were Sebastian, Martin, Felix, and Diego, their bags slung over their shoulders, eyes scanning the familiar academy grounds.
The bus was one of the few dedicated to transporting Malmö FF's academy players to and from school. Ever since the academic term had started, it had become part of their daily routine, taking them to Toftanässkolan in the morning and bringing them back in the late afternoon.
It had been just over a month and a half since Sebastian joined the academy and a little more than four weeks since he started schooling at Toftanässkolan. In that time, things had slowly settled into rhythm. School during the day, training once in the evening. The double sessions from the first two weeks were gone now. One a day was more than enough with full school hours.
But today was different.
Word had spread quickly during the ride back that something special was planned for this evening's session, a scrimmage against the U17 boys.
Some of the players were excited, buzzing with nervous energy. Others were more cautious, worried about not performing well. A few hoped quietly and desperately that this would be their shot to impress the coaches as they were nearing the U15 age limit. If they didn't earn a promotion soon, they would be let go.
By the time anyone noticed, the hours had flown by. Sebastian and his friends had gone into the dorms, freshened up, eaten, rested, and geared up again. Now they were stepping back out, this time in full training wear, joining the group of boys headed for the field.
The sun was lower in the sky now, casting a late afternoon glow over the academy grounds. The group walked together toward the training pitch, boots clacking against the pavement.
Martin fell into step beside Sebastian and glanced over.
"How do you do it?" he asked.
Sebastian turned to him, a bit confused. "Do what?"
Martin gestured with both hands at Sebastian, as if trying to capture the whole of him in a single motion. "All that. How are you so calm?"
Sebastian blinked. "Oh."
It did make sense they would ask. His friends had been on edge since the announcement. Felix had barely spoken since they left the dorm. Even Diego, who always had something to say, had gone silent.
Sebastian shrugged. "What's there to not be calm about?"
Martin gave him a look. "We're about to play against the U17s. Basically boys who are older, stronger, have more training, and are quite frankly better than us."
Sebastian turned his head and looked at Martin. "Why are you already assuming we'll lose?"
Martin blinked, caught off guard. "I didn't say we'll lose."
"You said they were better than us," Sebastian replied, his voice even. "Which means you're implying that we'll lose."
Martin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word in, Sebastian added, "Besides, you should be more worried about whether you'll get to play against the U17s in the first place."
Martin glanced down and mumbled under his breath, "Still doesn't explain why you're so calm."
But Sebastian heard him loud and clear. He slowed slightly and said, "It's because I have absolute confidence in myself and what I can do on the pitch."
"It's as simple as that."
There was a brief silence as Martin was a bit stunned by what Sebastian said before he continued.
"You're not afraid we'll lose?"
"It's not that," Sebastian said, shaking his head.
"I just refuse to think about it."
Felix, who had been trailing just behind them and clearly listening the whole time, finally spoke up.
"Have I ever told you that you're arrogant?"
Sebastian, already a few paces ahead, glanced back over his shoulder with a smirk. "Once or twice. But I don't believe I'm arrogant."
He turned forward again and added, "I think arrogance is just baseless confidence. Like... me saying I'm better than you even though you don't want to accept it."
"That's not arrogance. That's just facts."
As soon as Sebastian finished his sentence, something in him sensed danger.
He ducked.
A second later, a boot flew clean through the space where his head had just been.
"Hey!" he shouted, spinning around. "That could have hit me!"
Felix was standing a few steps behind, already yanking off his second boot with a scowl on his face.
"That was the plan," he said flatly.
Sebastian's eyes widened.
Without another word, he turned and bolted down the path, laughing as he heard the whoosh of the second boot flying through the air behind him.
**********
The laughter and teasing between the boys slowly faded as they reached the pitch. Most of the U15 squad had already gathered near the technical area on one side of the field, their bodies forming a loose half-circle around the Under 15s coach.
Sebastian, Martin, Felix, and Diego joined them quietly, their cleats sinking slightly into the grass as they found space in the group.
The coach stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the faces in front of him.
"Alright boys," he said, his voice calm but firm, "before we start anything, I want you all to look over there."
He turned and gestured across the field.
The boys followed his gaze toward the opposite end of the pitch, where the U17 team was gathered. They looked taller, more built, moving with the kind of confidence that came with time and physical maturity.
"See them? Don't go staring like they're some kind of untouchable mountain. They're not. There's not much difference between you and them. Just a couple of years and some extra gym work."
He paused.
"Sure, they've got the edge when it comes to strength and maybe speed. But that doesn't mean you can't hold your own. That doesn't mean you can't win. The gap isn't as wide as you think."
His eyes moved across the circle again.
"That said, there's no pressure. None. We're not looking for miracles out there today. What we are looking for is effort. Focus. Grit. This is about seeing how you handle yourselves against tougher opponents. That's it. So go out there and do your best."
"Is that taken?"
"Yes, coach," the boys responded in unison.
The coach gave them a look.
"That didn't sound like you meant it. Is that taken?"
"Yes, coach!" they shouted, louder this time.
"Alright," the coach nodded. Then he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"We're playing a 5-4-1 today. Our goal is to be very compact on the defense, prevent goals, and catch them on the counter."
He looked down and began reading the lineup.
"Goalkeeper: Elias Svanström.
Center backs: Kasper Nyström, Henrik Lindell, and Joel Törnqvist.
Left wing-back: Abdi Nuur.
Right wing-back: Jakob Håkansson.
Central midfield: Sebastian Falk and Noah Ström.
Left midfield: Anton Karlberg.
Right midfield: Lucas Friberg.
Center Forward: William Enarsson."
Sebastian's name rang in his ears. Central midfield. He was on the starting lineup.
He kept his face steady, but inside, something buzzed.
Martin, Felix, and Diego stood still beside him, their names uncalled.
But no one said a word.
The coach folded the paper again and tucked it back into his pocket. He took a slow step forward and pointed to the flanks.
"Abdi. Jakob. I need you two to track their wingers with everything you've got. Give them no space or breathing room. Got it?"
The two boys nodded sharply.
"But when we're in possession or on the attack, don't just sit back. Push up a little. Give us the numbers in midfield. I want to overload them in the middle and give the central boys more options."
He shifted his gaze to the front.
"William," he called to the lone striker, "be ready. The moment we win the ball, I want you making runs in behind. Time them well. You're not going to get many chances, so make the ones you do get count."
Finally, his eyes landed on the heart of the midfield.
"Sebastian. Noah."
Both boys straightened as the coach addressed them.
"You two have one of the most important roles today. Everything we do depends on your ability to transition quickly."
"When we win the ball, I want you linking defense to attack fast. Don't hesitate. And when we don't have it, I want you pressing their midfield, cutting off supply. So ensure you stay sharp."
"Also, I've got an indefinite number of substitutions for this match. That means if you didn't hear your name in the starting eleven, stay focused. You could be called up at any time. So be ready. Watch the match. Stay warm. And when your time comes, make it count."
He scanned the whole group again.
"Stick to your roles. Talk to each other. And remember, we're not here to roll over for anyone. Make them work."
He gave a sharp nod.
"Let's have a good match."