2025-06-29, 03:29 PM - Word count:
Nyron Nosworthy was one of the first academy prospects to arrive in Port Royal. His initial nerves were blown away when he was his new apartment and the training ground. The Simulation Soccer League do not do things by halves - Nyron had never seen anything like the Port Royal facilities. Ice baths, indoor pitches, a state of the art gym - Nyron was living his dream.
He liked his new teammates too, he was surprised to find he was easily the fastest player still, but these boys could play. A young American lad called Jaylon Smokes could hit the corners with every shot.
Nyron was enjoying training, but Port Royal were without a manager due to a visa issue. They were told the manager would appear soon, but the days ticked down, soon the the first fixture was upon them.
90 minutes of football later, Nyron Nosworthy and Port Royal FC walked off the pitch, dejected after a 1-0 humbling by Istanbul F.K. Heads were down - a performance like that wouldn't have impressed many scouts. Nobody wanted to break the silence in the dressing room.
"Alright lads?"
An English accent boomed from the door. A large, pale, shaven-headed man stood there.
"I'm your new gaffer, and let's face it, that was shite."
That hung in the air for a second.
"But it doesn't have to be. We turn this around starting now. You!"
He pointed at Tiacaelel Tepotzli, the left back.
"You're going to be our left winger next game. I like how direct you are."
Nyron winced. Losing his spot after one game wasn't what he'd planned.
"And you!"
Nyron felt the manager's point like a stab.
"I like your left foot, I want you cutting in from the right."
Nyron felt the relief wash over him. "Yeah gaffer, no problem" was all he could summon. The manager continued.
"I need all of you to put that shit show behind you. We'll be doing attacking drills all day Monday. I need you working together. No team of mine is going to lose with one pissy shot on goal. You're going to score. I want you all to fucking score - you're all good enough."
This change in energy was a little jarring - the dejected silence was now somewhere between stunned and awkward silence.
"No objections? Good. Now get in the fucking showers."
He liked his new teammates too, he was surprised to find he was easily the fastest player still, but these boys could play. A young American lad called Jaylon Smokes could hit the corners with every shot.
Nyron was enjoying training, but Port Royal were without a manager due to a visa issue. They were told the manager would appear soon, but the days ticked down, soon the the first fixture was upon them.
90 minutes of football later, Nyron Nosworthy and Port Royal FC walked off the pitch, dejected after a 1-0 humbling by Istanbul F.K. Heads were down - a performance like that wouldn't have impressed many scouts. Nobody wanted to break the silence in the dressing room.
"Alright lads?"
An English accent boomed from the door. A large, pale, shaven-headed man stood there.
"I'm your new gaffer, and let's face it, that was shite."
That hung in the air for a second.
"But it doesn't have to be. We turn this around starting now. You!"
He pointed at Tiacaelel Tepotzli, the left back.
"You're going to be our left winger next game. I like how direct you are."
Nyron winced. Losing his spot after one game wasn't what he'd planned.
"And you!"
Nyron felt the manager's point like a stab.
"I like your left foot, I want you cutting in from the right."
Nyron felt the relief wash over him. "Yeah gaffer, no problem" was all he could summon. The manager continued.
"I need all of you to put that shit show behind you. We'll be doing attacking drills all day Monday. I need you working together. No team of mine is going to lose with one pissy shot on goal. You're going to score. I want you all to fucking score - you're all good enough."
This change in energy was a little jarring - the dejected silence was now somewhere between stunned and awkward silence.
"No objections? Good. Now get in the fucking showers."
