One evening, after a particularly grueling training session in the pouring rain, we were huddled in the clubhouse, trying to get warm. She had been watching the session, her notebook a soggy, illegible mess. She looked at me, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"You know, Danny," she said, her voice soft. "You've changed. When I first met you, you were so shy, so withdrawn. You could barely look me in the eye. Now… now you're a leader. You're confident, you're decisive, you're in control. It's an amazing transformation."
I just shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on my face. "It's the football," I said. "It gives me a purpose. It's the only thing I've ever been good at."
"That's not true," she said, her voice firm. "You're good at a lot of things. You're kind, you're funny, you're passionate. You're a good person, Danny. And you're a brilliant football manager."
