2026-06-28, 01:33 AM - Word count:
Stepping out into the brightness of reality, Joe felt somewhat awakened by the light breeze that struck his face. The past day and a half had been spent between being inside airplanes of varying narrow proportions and in airports trying to ignore the stores and advertisements, not to mention the calls over the speakers which had long turned into a flat droning, in the hope of getting a bit of rest. But now he was finally there. Descending the portable metal stairwell that had been attached to the airplane, the brightness of the grey-white clouds was causing his eyes to hurt. Waiting for the shuttle bus that would take the passengers to the airport, Joe did a bit of stretching, a routine he had learned at VFE. Just a little further and he would be able to sleep in an actual bed again.
It was the tenth time since entering the line that Joe reached into his backpack to confirm that all of his documents were there. He had never felt this in any of the airports he had visited over the past year. And so, he felt half a ton lighter when he saw the first of his two suitcases spinning around with the band as he passed through the glass doors. The interview hadn’t been too bad. Sure, the staff had looked sort of strangely at Joe after he’d seen the first of the pages Joe had handed him. “You? Athlete?” he had asked, and Joe’s stiff “yes, football player” did nothing but make the staff look back down at the documents, prompting another bout of nervousness in Joe. Luckily, the guy behind the glass counter’s eyes brightened up after he saw the purple of the Magyar-logo on one of the documents. “You going to Rapid Magyar?! Say hi to N’Goussou!” Just like that, he was waved through.
After stepping outside, it took a moment or two before Joe got his suitcases stuffed into a taxi, and he was glad to be wearing the airy elephant pants, however silly they might look. The heat here was no less than it had been back where he had boarded the first of three planes in southern Africa. From there, he was driven straight to the front of the hotel where he would be staying for the first few days of his new life. Checking in was nothing out of the ordinary, and although the room was nothing special, he was happy to finally be able to take a much-needed shower. The stickiness of the sweat began to dissipate under the thin rays of water hitting Joe’s face. He hung the showerhead above himself and adjusted it to hit the top of his head, bent his neck backwards just enough for the oncoming water to connect with his forehead, and closed his eyes. Finally, he could well and properly relax. He stayed still for a while, before finishing off and getting to bed. Joe sent a message to his dad on Line, saw that the time said 16:30, and decided he probably had best set an alarm, just in case his body wanted to sleep longer than his mind. And it did.
After being rudely awoken by his alarm at 5:30 in the morning, Joe sat up. He’d slept for more than 12 hours, a first. It’s not like there would be much to do at a hotel at this hour, but his exhausted self must have decided he couldn’t stay in bed forever and set the alarm. The day before, the lady operating the front desk of the hotel had informed him that breakfast was to be served starting at 7. It was still a little early, but not really early enough to get into doing anything else. Joe saw that his dad Tok had responded to the message. There was another message from his new manager, wishing him welcome to Hungary, and one from a staff at the club telling him to be ready at 9. Sending brief messages of thanks to the two, Joe decided to call his dad.
The phone rang for a while, but soon enough Tok’s face appeared on the screen. He must have hurried across the street to be able to answer in the shade of the big tree across from his stall, Joe judged from his breathing, and the drops of sweat starting to form on the top of his father’s face. “My son! How are you? Was the flight OK?!” he started.
“Which one of them?” Joe laughed.
The pair chatted for a while, before Tok told Joe to hold on for a moment while he walked over to his stall. Suddenly a whole group of people appeared behind him. Well, their shadows did, anyway, courtesy of the sun’s overwhelming brightness. Joe could hear his dad loudly and proudly telling everyone that his son was now a professional footballer on a team in the SSL. Joe was both so hungry and tired that he could hardly understand the syllables coming from his phone, but he made sure to show his dad’s friends the biggest smile he could muster, and to wave and thank them all. As a customer showed up at Tok’s stall, Joe bowed his head at the phone, said thanks one final time, and let Tok get back to working. It was nice to see that things remained the same on the other side of the world.
At 08:55, a vehicle with somewhat tinted windows had parked in front of the hotel, and Joe had been invited in. He was dropped off at the training facilities of Rapid Magyar SC, where he was met by the manager, the sporting director, and someone he didn’t quite know what did. It felt quite glamorous in some sense. At the VFE academy, the facilities had been great, and the people had made him feel welcome from the first day. But this was somehow different. More formal, perhaps. Joe was glad that he had let the elephant pants remain at the hotel, instead opting for a white shirt and a pair of proper trousers.
He was given a tour of the premises, including a brief rundown of the club’s success, and a lot of greetings from all kinds of people, some of whom looked like they might be new teammates of his. No N’Goussou, though. Others he was introduced to more formally: the head physio, doctor, fitness coach and photographer. The kitman seemingly made an effort of his own to “randomly” bump into Joe during his tour. The tour also included a final medical checkup. Just a formality, he was told. All a lot to take in, especially when you feel ready to go back to sleep. Or like you are about to get up in half an hour. It's never too clear after so long in the air.
Finally, it was time for Joe to sign the contract. Sidelined by the sporting director and the manager, photographs were taken as he wrote the nine letters he had gotten so used to. “Joe Mormor”. He didn’t even have time to consider whether it was really alright for him to sign a contract with a nickname. It was too late to start worrying about at this point anyway. The three of them posed for the camera, smiling as naturally as possible in a situation where you are up to something as exciting as… well, writing a name on a piece of paper.
Hours later, back at the hotel, Joe was wondering whether his former teammates had also made it to their respective destinations. He sent out a few texts, just to check. Bruce McAllister quickly sent one back, a picture of himself with a couple of other teenagers. Bruce’s countrymen, Joe concluded. He pulled out the book he’d been reading on the flights and lay down on the bed.
It was the tenth time since entering the line that Joe reached into his backpack to confirm that all of his documents were there. He had never felt this in any of the airports he had visited over the past year. And so, he felt half a ton lighter when he saw the first of his two suitcases spinning around with the band as he passed through the glass doors. The interview hadn’t been too bad. Sure, the staff had looked sort of strangely at Joe after he’d seen the first of the pages Joe had handed him. “You? Athlete?” he had asked, and Joe’s stiff “yes, football player” did nothing but make the staff look back down at the documents, prompting another bout of nervousness in Joe. Luckily, the guy behind the glass counter’s eyes brightened up after he saw the purple of the Magyar-logo on one of the documents. “You going to Rapid Magyar?! Say hi to N’Goussou!” Just like that, he was waved through.
After stepping outside, it took a moment or two before Joe got his suitcases stuffed into a taxi, and he was glad to be wearing the airy elephant pants, however silly they might look. The heat here was no less than it had been back where he had boarded the first of three planes in southern Africa. From there, he was driven straight to the front of the hotel where he would be staying for the first few days of his new life. Checking in was nothing out of the ordinary, and although the room was nothing special, he was happy to finally be able to take a much-needed shower. The stickiness of the sweat began to dissipate under the thin rays of water hitting Joe’s face. He hung the showerhead above himself and adjusted it to hit the top of his head, bent his neck backwards just enough for the oncoming water to connect with his forehead, and closed his eyes. Finally, he could well and properly relax. He stayed still for a while, before finishing off and getting to bed. Joe sent a message to his dad on Line, saw that the time said 16:30, and decided he probably had best set an alarm, just in case his body wanted to sleep longer than his mind. And it did.
After being rudely awoken by his alarm at 5:30 in the morning, Joe sat up. He’d slept for more than 12 hours, a first. It’s not like there would be much to do at a hotel at this hour, but his exhausted self must have decided he couldn’t stay in bed forever and set the alarm. The day before, the lady operating the front desk of the hotel had informed him that breakfast was to be served starting at 7. It was still a little early, but not really early enough to get into doing anything else. Joe saw that his dad Tok had responded to the message. There was another message from his new manager, wishing him welcome to Hungary, and one from a staff at the club telling him to be ready at 9. Sending brief messages of thanks to the two, Joe decided to call his dad.
The phone rang for a while, but soon enough Tok’s face appeared on the screen. He must have hurried across the street to be able to answer in the shade of the big tree across from his stall, Joe judged from his breathing, and the drops of sweat starting to form on the top of his father’s face. “My son! How are you? Was the flight OK?!” he started.
“Which one of them?” Joe laughed.
The pair chatted for a while, before Tok told Joe to hold on for a moment while he walked over to his stall. Suddenly a whole group of people appeared behind him. Well, their shadows did, anyway, courtesy of the sun’s overwhelming brightness. Joe could hear his dad loudly and proudly telling everyone that his son was now a professional footballer on a team in the SSL. Joe was both so hungry and tired that he could hardly understand the syllables coming from his phone, but he made sure to show his dad’s friends the biggest smile he could muster, and to wave and thank them all. As a customer showed up at Tok’s stall, Joe bowed his head at the phone, said thanks one final time, and let Tok get back to working. It was nice to see that things remained the same on the other side of the world.
At 08:55, a vehicle with somewhat tinted windows had parked in front of the hotel, and Joe had been invited in. He was dropped off at the training facilities of Rapid Magyar SC, where he was met by the manager, the sporting director, and someone he didn’t quite know what did. It felt quite glamorous in some sense. At the VFE academy, the facilities had been great, and the people had made him feel welcome from the first day. But this was somehow different. More formal, perhaps. Joe was glad that he had let the elephant pants remain at the hotel, instead opting for a white shirt and a pair of proper trousers.
He was given a tour of the premises, including a brief rundown of the club’s success, and a lot of greetings from all kinds of people, some of whom looked like they might be new teammates of his. No N’Goussou, though. Others he was introduced to more formally: the head physio, doctor, fitness coach and photographer. The kitman seemingly made an effort of his own to “randomly” bump into Joe during his tour. The tour also included a final medical checkup. Just a formality, he was told. All a lot to take in, especially when you feel ready to go back to sleep. Or like you are about to get up in half an hour. It's never too clear after so long in the air.
Finally, it was time for Joe to sign the contract. Sidelined by the sporting director and the manager, photographs were taken as he wrote the nine letters he had gotten so used to. “Joe Mormor”. He didn’t even have time to consider whether it was really alright for him to sign a contract with a nickname. It was too late to start worrying about at this point anyway. The three of them posed for the camera, smiling as naturally as possible in a situation where you are up to something as exciting as… well, writing a name on a piece of paper.
Hours later, back at the hotel, Joe was wondering whether his former teammates had also made it to their respective destinations. He sent out a few texts, just to check. Bruce McAllister quickly sent one back, a picture of himself with a couple of other teenagers. Bruce’s countrymen, Joe concluded. He pulled out the book he’d been reading on the flights and lay down on the bed.
