The Sunday morning sun was weak, filtering through the grey clouds over North London. It was the kind of morning that made you want to stay under the duvet with a cup of tea.
But Alex Finch was not under a duvet. He was standing in the middle of a muddy pitch at the local park.
He was wearing a whistle around his neck and a tracksuit that was slightly too big for him.
"Okay!" Alex shouted. "Listen up!"
Twenty kids, aged between eight and ten, looked at him. They were wearing oversized bibs and muddy boots. So were picking their noses. So were chasing pigeons.
"Today," Alex said, trying to sound authoritative. "We are going to learn about space."
"Space?" a kid nad Timmy asked. He was wearing a shirt that said ’Future Ronaldo’. "Like astronauts?"
"No, Timmy," Alex sighed. "Space on the pitch. Finding the gap."
"I found a gap in the fence!" another kid, Sarah, yelled. "A dog got in!"
"Ignore the dog," Alex said. "Focus on the ball."
Mark was there too. He was wearing a tracksuit that said ’ASSISTANT COACH’ on the back in masking tape. He was holding a clipboard, but instead of tactics, he was drawing a picture of a dinosaur eating a referee.
"COACH MARK REPORTING FOR DUTY!" Mark shouted. "I WILL TEACH THEM SPEED! AND HOW TO TIE SHOELACES VERY FAST!"
"Mark, please don’t teach them to run into walls," Alex said.
"I teach them to run through walls!" Mark corrected. "taphorically! And literally if the wall is made of cardboard!"
Alex blew his whistle.
"Drill number one," Alex said. "Passing triangles. Move the ball. Use the angles."
The kids started to pass. It was chaos. The ball went everywhere except to the intended target. It hit shins. It hit corner flags. It hit the dog that had sneaked in.
"No, no!" Alex stopped them. "Look before you pass! Use your brain!"
"My brain is tired!" Timmy complained. "I had maths howork!"
"Football is maths!" Alex said. "Angles! Geotry! Physics!"
The kids groaned. "Boooo! No school on Sunday!"
Alex rubbed his forehead. Coaching was harder than playing. When he played, he just did it. Now he had to explain how he did it.
"Okay," Alex said. "Let show you."
He took a ball. He placed three cones in a triangle.
"Watch," Alex said.
He passed the ball to Mark. Mark passed it back. Alex moved into the space. Mark passed it again.
It was fluid. Simple. Beautiful.
The kids stopped picking their noses. They watched.
"See?" Alex said. "Pass and move. Don’t stand still."
"You make it look easy," Sarah said. "But you are the Professor. We are just... kids."
"I was a kid once," Alex said. "I was smaller than you. Slower than you."
"Did you have cool hair?" Timmy asked.
"No," Alex admitted. "I had a bowl cut."
The kids laughed.
"Okay!" Mark shouted. "My turn! Speed drill! Everyone line up!"
The kids lined up. Mark stood at the other end of the pitch.
"When I say go," Mark yelled. "Run to ! The first one here gets a high five! The last one has to do a star jump!"
"GO!"
The kids sprinted. It was a stampede of tiny legs and flailing arms.
Timmy was fast. He was leading.
But then, Mark started running too. He ran away from them.
"YOU CANNOT CATCH THE EMPEROR!" Mark scread, running backwards while laughing.
"That’s cheating!" Sarah yelled. "Stand still!"
"Never!" Mark shouted. He ran around a tree. He ran around a bench. The kids chased him like a pack of puppies.
Alex watched them. He smiled.
This was grassroots football. No VAR. No dia. Just fun.
Milo arrived. He was pushing a shopping trolley full of oranges.
"HALFTI!" Milo scread. "THE ORANGE RCHANT IS HERE! VITAMIN C FOR THE CHAMPIONS! I AM SELLING SLICES! FIFTY PENCE A SLICE! IT IS A BARGAIN!"
"Milo, halfti oranges are usually free," Alex said.
"NOT THESE!" Milo insisted. "THESE ORANGES LISTENED TO MOZART WHILE THEY GREW! THEY ARE SMART ORANGES!"
"Milo, just give them the fruit," Alex laughed, handing him a ten-pound note. "On ."
The kids sward Milo. They ate the oranges ssily, juice running down their chins.
"Hey Coach," Timmy said, his mouth full of orange. "Why do you do this?"
"Do what?" Alex asked.
"Co here," Timmy said. "You are famous. You have the Golden Ball. Why are you in a muddy park with us?"
Alex looked at the kids. He looked at the muddy pitch.
He thought about Danein Blake. The man who never got the chance to teach.
"Because," Alex said softly. "Soone taught . And now it is my turn to pass it on."
"Was your teacher cool?" Timmy asked.
"He was... complicated," Alex said. "But he loved the ga."
"Cool," Timmy said. "Can you teach the bicycle kick?"
"Maybe when you are older," Alex said. "Let’s stick to passing for now."
The session ended with a match.
Alex played in goal again (it was the only way to make it fair). Mark played striker for both teams, switching shirts every ti soone scored.
"I AM A RCENARY!" Mark yelled. "I PLAY FOR GOALS! AND SNACKS!"
It ended 5-5. A fair result.
The parents arrived to pick the kids up. They took photos of Alex. They shook his hand.
"Thank you," a mum said. "Timmy talks about you all week. You give him confidence."
"He has talent," Alex smiled. "Just needs to focus."
"And maybe stop eating the grass," Mark added helpfully.
The park emptied.
Alex, Mark, and Milo sat on a bench. They were muddy, tired, and happy.
"That was exhausting," Mark said. "Kids have infinite energy. They are like nuclear reactors."
"They are the future," Alex said.
"Did you see Sarah?" Mark asked. "She nutgged . Twice. I am losing my touch."
"You let her do it," Alex said.
"No!" Mark looked offended. "She was too quick! She has the ankles of a snake!"
Milo was counting the leftover orange peel.
"I CAN MAKE JAM!" Milo muttered. "ORANGE PEEL JAM! I WILL SELL IT TO THE QUEEN! (Wait, the King!)."
Alex looked at the empty pitch. The grass was churned up. The jumpers were still on the ground.
It wasn’t the Emirates. It wasn’t the Bernabeu.
But it felt important.
"Sa ti next week?" Alex asked.
"Are you crazy?" Mark groaned. "My legs are falling off!"
"Next week," Alex repeated.
"Fine," Mark sighed. "But I demand paynt. In pizza."
"Deal."
They walked to the car.
Alex felt a buzz in his pocket.
A text from Maya.
"Coaching analysis: Positive. You demonstrated patience and clear communication. Dopamine levels in the subjects (kids) increased by 400%. Also, I have analyzed the trajectory of Mark’s running away from children. It was cowardly but aerodynamically efficient."
Alex laughed.
He looked at Mark.
"Maya says you are cowardly but efficient."
"I take that as a complint!" Mark said. "Efficiency is the key to survival!"
They drove ho.
The sun was setting over London.
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