Pre-season friendlies in academy football are seldom glamorous. They don't take place in stadiums; they happen on borrowed pitches at local non-league grounds, often on a Tuesday night when midges fill the air and the smell of deep heat hangs around.
WBA U18 vs. TAMWORTH FC (Men's Team)
"Tonight isn't about technique," Gareth said in the cramped away dressing room. "It's about survival. You're playing against men. These guys have 9-to-5 jobs. They are plumbers, electricians, and builders. They play for win bonuses to help pay their mortgages. If you try to nutmeg them, they'll hurt you."
He went to the whiteboard, uncapped a marker, and drew the midfield trio.
"Tyrell holding. Ethan and Kofi as the two eights."
The room fell silent. It was the partnership everyone had been talking about. The incumbent against the challenger. The hammer versus the paintbrush.
"I want to see if you can play together," Gareth said, looking at both players. "Or if you get in each other's way."
The pitch was bumpy. The Tamworth players appeared huge. Their captain, a center-back with a shaved head and tattoos covering his calves, laughed at the teenage West Brom squad as they shook hands.
"School trip, is it?" he mocked.
Ethan didn't smile. He noticed the captain's knees—scarred and taped. He's slow, Ethan thought coldly. He turns like a truck.
The whistle blew.
For the first ten minutes, Kofi tried to play Chelsea football. He wanted the ball to his feet, tried to turn quickly, and attempted tight passes.
It was a disaster.
The Tamworth midfield just smashed into him. Every time Kofi took a touch, a 13-stone man hit him from behind. By the 15th minute, Kofi was getting up from the grass for the fourth time, looking shocked. He glanced at the referee, but the referee just shrugged. Welcome to men's football.
"Move the ball quicker!" Ethan yelled at him. "Two touches!"
"I'm trying!" Kofi shot back, rubbing his bruised hip.
In the 20th minute, Ethan received the ball in the same space. A Tamworth midfielder charged in, sliding to intimidate.
Ethan didn't try to turn. He saw the slide coming. He planted his standing foot, braced his core, and hopped over the sliding leg, leaving the man to slide harmlessly off the pitch.
Ethan moved forward. His heavy "Red Plan" legs churned up the turf. He noticed the tattooed captain stepping forward to challenge him.
Ethan didn't pass. He dropped his shoulder, feinted left, and knocked the ball right. He sped up.
The captain reached for his shirt. Ethan swatted the hand away and surged past.
He entered the box and squared the ball for the striker. Tap in.
1-0 West Brom.
Ethan didn't celebrate. He turned and jogged back, passing a stunned Kofi. "Don't fight them," Ethan said, not stopping. "Run them. They're old."
Something clicked in the trialist's eyes.
For the rest of the half, the dynamic shifted. Ethan became the battering ram, absorbing the physical challenges. This opened up space. In that space, Kofi began to shine.
In the 40th minute, Ethan won a brutal 50/50 tackle in the center circle. The ball spilled loose.
Kofi picked it up. With the Tamworth midfield scrambling to cover Ethan, Kofi had time. He looked up and hit a forty-yard diagonal pass right on target for the winger.
The winger crossed. Goal.
2-0.
At halftime, they sat next to each other on the bench, both covered in sweat and mud. "Nice pass," Ethan said, taking a drink from his bottle. "Nice tackle," Kofi admitted quietly. "You took the hit for me." "I took the hit to win the ball," Ethan corrected. "You just happened to be there."
It wasn't a friendship bracelet. But it was a truce.
The game ended 3-1. West Brom's U18s had physically stood up to a men's team.
Gareth was beaming in the post-match huddle. "That is maturity. Tyrell, you were solid. Ethan, Kofi... that worked. You balance each other. One brings the strength; the other brings the skill."
Ethan walked to the bus, his body aching in a comfortable way. He checked his phone.
Rick Sterling: Heard you played well. The Tamworth scout said the #10 (you) looked like he belonged in the Football League already. Keep the blackouts clean.
Ethan didn't reply. He put on his headphones.
When he got back to Eastfield, it was late. The house was quiet. He made himself a recovery shake in the dark kitchen.
The back door opened. Sarah walked in, holding a glass of water. She paused when she saw him. "You're back late," she said.
"Game," Ethan grunted, chugging the shake. "Preseason."
"Callum was here earlier," Sarah said, leaning against the doorframe. "He wanted to show you his new FIFA team. He waited for, like, two hours."
Ethan paused. A wave of guilt hit him. "I was working, Sarah. It's my job."
"I know," she said, looking at him with an expression that felt too mature for her age. "But you used to text him back. He showed me his phone. He sent you three messages about his holiday plans. You didn't even open them."
Ethan put the glass down. He checked his WhatsApp. Buried under messages from Rick, Gareth, and the U18 group chat, there were indeed three unread messages from Callum.
Mum booked a caravan in Wales. Invited you. Said there's a pitch nearby. Let me know if you can come. Dates are...
Ethan sighed and rubbed his face. "I can't go to Wales," he said quietly. "I've got the Germany tour next week. Then the Liverpool friendly."
"Then tell him," Sarah said, walking back to the stairs. "Don't ghost him, Ethan. You're not that famous yet."
She left him alone in the kitchen.
Ethan stared at the empty glass. The "Red Plan" built muscle. The contract talks built wealth. The agent built a brand. But he was starting to see that all this building was creating a wall, brick by brick, between him and the life he once had.
He picked up his phone and opened Callum's chat.
Sorry mate. Training was tough. Can't do Wales. Germany tour.
He hesitated. It felt cold. He added:
But bring me back a stick of rock.
He hit send. It wasn't enough; he knew that. But as he looked at the black Adidas box on the table, he told himself it was the price of admission. You couldn't have the boots and the caravan holiday. You had to choose.