Friday's training match was a disaster. The players were flat, uninspired, going through the motions like they were fulfilling an obligation rather than pursuing excellence. The pressing was disjointed, the transitions were sloppy, and the communication was nonexistent.
It was like all the work we'd done, all the hours of analysis and drilling and coaching, had evaporated overnight. Connor showed up with no apology, no explanation, just joined the warm-up like nothing had happened, but he was a ghost on the pitch, barely moving, barely trying.
I tried to coach through it, but my voice was hoarse, my mind foggy, my body running on fumes. I was making mistakes calling Jake "James," telling Reece to press when I meant to tell him to drop, and contradicting myself mid-instruction. The players looked confused, frustrated, lost. And I couldn't help them because I was just as lost as they were.
