2024-09-25, 03:44 AM - Word count:
(This post was last modified: 2024-09-30, 11:07 AM by woog. Edited 1 time in total.)
Jude Greer Player Page
Career Task 1: Biography
Career Task 2: Rookie Season
Career Task 3: Media Day
Career Task 4: Versatility
Career Task 5: Representing Your Nation
Career Task 6: International Superstar
“Again!”
A shrill, metallic whistle split the misty Welsh morning--but then, it always seemed to be foggy here, much like how Seattle is always rainy or most places in Texas are always being scoured by the ever-intensifying rays of a vengeful star.
At the sound of the whistle, a figure--a little shorter than average, clad in an orange and pink training kit--burst into action, weaving through a set of cones before making a sharp cut to his right, where he hurdled over a miniature windmill lying prone on the ground as he received an incoming soccer ball at chest height. Taking only a split second to settle the ball at his feet, he dribbled forward, carefully maintaining possession among the field of random debris--knee-high castle turrets, an assortment of model train cars and, inexplicably, a life-size statue of Ryan Giggs--before unleashing a shot with his right foot. The ball blasted through the chilly early morning air, landing perfectly flush with the far goalpoast and rebounding off with a loud ping.
“Better,” said a second figure, a whistle dangling around his neck as his topknot swayed gently in the morning breeze. “But you’re still off target. You need to be able to find that bottom corner every time.”
“Yessir, Mr. Bale.” Jude Greer sheepishly walked back to the starting point. It was only about six a.m. Cardiff time, and yet they’d been at this for two hours, during which he’d accidentally kicked over half the obstacles on his trainer’s personal miniature golf course. Then again, it seemed a little garish anyway--in his experience, most minigolf courses didn’t feature a scale model of the Santiago Bernabeu as the 18th hole.
Gareth Bale studied his de facto student. “You’re quicker than when we started, I’ll give you that. But you can’t get complacent. If you want to play further forward, you have to be perfect every single time. One mistake and you’re gonna lose the ball--”
“--And losing the ball means losing the match,” Greer finished, the mantra having been driven into his head every month for three seasons now.
“Exactly. Right, one more rep, then we take five.” Bale put the whistle to his lips, and another sharp burst of noise rang out.
Greer was off like a shot. He darted in and out of the cones on the ground, looking positively weightless on his feet as he then cut hard right and leapt once more over the windmill. Cheating the incoming pass to his feet, he took a single touch to drift past the obstacles, evading the characteristically robust challenge from the facsimile Giggs. With all the power he had, he drew back his weaker right foot and hammered it into the ball, sending it flying toward the far goalpost again, where this time it hit just on the inside of the post before ricocheting back over the makeshift goal line and into the net.
“That’s the one!” Bale clapped. “That’s what I’m looking for. Tuck it bottom corner, and with that amount of power behind it, the keeper can’t get to it.” He looked at his watch. “Right, take a few minutes to get your wind back, then it’s dribbling next.”
Greer nodded, picking up his water bottle and squirting some of it into his mouth. Even for a temperate Welsh morning, he was working up a sweat.
“Mr. Bale,” he said eventually, having rehydrated, “I’ve gotta ask. What made you decide to join Tokyo/Cairo’s coaching staff?”
“It’s contract work, remember? I’m a bit short on golf funds, so I just needed something to pass the time. And I’m just here as a special consultant for the wide players. You, Kaido, Van Garritsen--and those newer guys down in Cairo too. Superhoops and Al-Turkis and…uh…Bushtit, I think it was?” Bale scratched his head. “That can’t be a real name…”
“There’s weirder ones for sure,” Greer pointed out. “Back in the academy, one of my teammates was a guy named Dohg Innim. Wonder whatever happened to him…” he added.
“Anyway, like I said, it’s purely out of money and boredom. Nothing else.” Bale paused. “Well, that and being able to stick it to Paul Merson’s always a treat.”
“Yeah.” Greer nodded. “Though lately he don’t even talk about me anymore. Whenever someone else brings me up, he changes the subject right away. Other day, he and Tim Sherwood were talking about Tokyo on his podcast, and the moment Sherwood said my name, Merse cut to commercial, and when they came back they were debating whether Jean-Claude Goddamn deserved the Ballon d’Or.”
“That’s ‘cause you’ve been proving him wrong, mate.” The Welshman smirked. “There’s two things Merse hates most in life: Spurs, and being proven wrong. And given how inconsistent Spurs have been of late…” he trailed off, as in real life the writer silently lamented what was shaping up to be yet another frustrating season.
“Well, in any case, I really appreciate everything,” Greer said, trying to recapture the flow of conversation. “I feel like I’m getting better than ever. And we’re really starting to click as a team, y’know? They’re even talking about playing me further forward next season.” He grinned. “I never woulda dreamed I’d be here--playing soccer for a living, reaching the top of my game, working with one of my idols--but here we are, huh?”
A genuine smile seemed to flirt with the edges of Bale’s mouth as he looked back at Greer. “Here we are,” he agreed.
It was a moment before Bale looked at his watch. “Anyway, break’s over. Grab the pylons, we’re doing dribbling.”
“But Mr. Bale,” Greer replied, “You don’t have pylons here, remember?”
“Right. Then go lug the statues of CR7 from the garden over here, we’ll use those.”
“But there’s eleven of them, and they’re all made of solid gold!”
“Think of it as bonus strength training, then. You’re welcome.”
Greer groaned. “All right, Mr. Bale.” He cursed his luck as he went to go schlep the huge statues to their new destination. What kind of person sends someone eleven statues of themself for Christmas, anyway? he wondered.
(1019 words)
APPROVED - please design Bale's personal field for FM24 use in our SSL games.
Career Task 1: Biography
Career Task 2: Rookie Season
Career Task 3: Media Day
Career Task 4: Versatility
Career Task 5: Representing Your Nation
Career Task 6: International Superstar
“Again!”
A shrill, metallic whistle split the misty Welsh morning--but then, it always seemed to be foggy here, much like how Seattle is always rainy or most places in Texas are always being scoured by the ever-intensifying rays of a vengeful star.
At the sound of the whistle, a figure--a little shorter than average, clad in an orange and pink training kit--burst into action, weaving through a set of cones before making a sharp cut to his right, where he hurdled over a miniature windmill lying prone on the ground as he received an incoming soccer ball at chest height. Taking only a split second to settle the ball at his feet, he dribbled forward, carefully maintaining possession among the field of random debris--knee-high castle turrets, an assortment of model train cars and, inexplicably, a life-size statue of Ryan Giggs--before unleashing a shot with his right foot. The ball blasted through the chilly early morning air, landing perfectly flush with the far goalpoast and rebounding off with a loud ping.
“Better,” said a second figure, a whistle dangling around his neck as his topknot swayed gently in the morning breeze. “But you’re still off target. You need to be able to find that bottom corner every time.”
“Yessir, Mr. Bale.” Jude Greer sheepishly walked back to the starting point. It was only about six a.m. Cardiff time, and yet they’d been at this for two hours, during which he’d accidentally kicked over half the obstacles on his trainer’s personal miniature golf course. Then again, it seemed a little garish anyway--in his experience, most minigolf courses didn’t feature a scale model of the Santiago Bernabeu as the 18th hole.
Gareth Bale studied his de facto student. “You’re quicker than when we started, I’ll give you that. But you can’t get complacent. If you want to play further forward, you have to be perfect every single time. One mistake and you’re gonna lose the ball--”
“--And losing the ball means losing the match,” Greer finished, the mantra having been driven into his head every month for three seasons now.
“Exactly. Right, one more rep, then we take five.” Bale put the whistle to his lips, and another sharp burst of noise rang out.
Greer was off like a shot. He darted in and out of the cones on the ground, looking positively weightless on his feet as he then cut hard right and leapt once more over the windmill. Cheating the incoming pass to his feet, he took a single touch to drift past the obstacles, evading the characteristically robust challenge from the facsimile Giggs. With all the power he had, he drew back his weaker right foot and hammered it into the ball, sending it flying toward the far goalpost again, where this time it hit just on the inside of the post before ricocheting back over the makeshift goal line and into the net.
“That’s the one!” Bale clapped. “That’s what I’m looking for. Tuck it bottom corner, and with that amount of power behind it, the keeper can’t get to it.” He looked at his watch. “Right, take a few minutes to get your wind back, then it’s dribbling next.”
Greer nodded, picking up his water bottle and squirting some of it into his mouth. Even for a temperate Welsh morning, he was working up a sweat.
“Mr. Bale,” he said eventually, having rehydrated, “I’ve gotta ask. What made you decide to join Tokyo/Cairo’s coaching staff?”
“It’s contract work, remember? I’m a bit short on golf funds, so I just needed something to pass the time. And I’m just here as a special consultant for the wide players. You, Kaido, Van Garritsen--and those newer guys down in Cairo too. Superhoops and Al-Turkis and…uh…Bushtit, I think it was?” Bale scratched his head. “That can’t be a real name…”
“There’s weirder ones for sure,” Greer pointed out. “Back in the academy, one of my teammates was a guy named Dohg Innim. Wonder whatever happened to him…” he added.
“Anyway, like I said, it’s purely out of money and boredom. Nothing else.” Bale paused. “Well, that and being able to stick it to Paul Merson’s always a treat.”
“Yeah.” Greer nodded. “Though lately he don’t even talk about me anymore. Whenever someone else brings me up, he changes the subject right away. Other day, he and Tim Sherwood were talking about Tokyo on his podcast, and the moment Sherwood said my name, Merse cut to commercial, and when they came back they were debating whether Jean-Claude Goddamn deserved the Ballon d’Or.”
“That’s ‘cause you’ve been proving him wrong, mate.” The Welshman smirked. “There’s two things Merse hates most in life: Spurs, and being proven wrong. And given how inconsistent Spurs have been of late…” he trailed off, as in real life the writer silently lamented what was shaping up to be yet another frustrating season.
“Well, in any case, I really appreciate everything,” Greer said, trying to recapture the flow of conversation. “I feel like I’m getting better than ever. And we’re really starting to click as a team, y’know? They’re even talking about playing me further forward next season.” He grinned. “I never woulda dreamed I’d be here--playing soccer for a living, reaching the top of my game, working with one of my idols--but here we are, huh?”
A genuine smile seemed to flirt with the edges of Bale’s mouth as he looked back at Greer. “Here we are,” he agreed.
It was a moment before Bale looked at his watch. “Anyway, break’s over. Grab the pylons, we’re doing dribbling.”
“But Mr. Bale,” Greer replied, “You don’t have pylons here, remember?”
“Right. Then go lug the statues of CR7 from the garden over here, we’ll use those.”
“But there’s eleven of them, and they’re all made of solid gold!”
“Think of it as bonus strength training, then. You’re welcome.”
Greer groaned. “All right, Mr. Bale.” He cursed his luck as he went to go schlep the huge statues to their new destination. What kind of person sends someone eleven statues of themself for Christmas, anyway? he wondered.
(1019 words)
APPROVED - please design Bale's personal field for FM24 use in our SSL games.
![[Image: f3PLeZn.png]](https://i.imgur.com/f3PLeZn.png)
