Career PT #1
The final whistle blows, and Juliette Greer collapses to the ground.
As the Rapid Magyar players celebrate around her, having won the match—and more importantly, their survival in Division 1 of the Minor League—all she can feel is exhaustion.
Just minutes ago, not even an hour in fact, she’d been on cloud nine. After scrapping and clawing all season to help Cairo City get to the promotion playoff, and after countless near misses to this point, she’d finally gotten it: her first career goal. It was the moment she’d been chasing all season, and finally she’d gotten one.
It was just a shame that Rapid ended up with five of them today.
Somehow, she finds her way to the locker room, flanked by her teammates. Each and every one of them has given every drop of effort they could muster to this run, and that fact in itself makes this moment hurt so much more. In one corner of her eye, Juliette spots her partner in defensive midfield, Bodhi Grizz, panting for breath, nursing a nasty-looking bruise on one of his paws. Out of the corner of her other eye is Ekon Ayo, the player drafted right before her, head in his hands. Right ahead of her across the room is Momo Adamu, putting on a brave face as always but surely hurting deep inside at falling short in his final match. And all she can do is sit there, numb.
The atmosphere in the room is funereal—not cold, so much as just bleak—as the manager mumbles through the standard “proud of what we accomplished” spiel. It’s the same speech, at least in content of not in phrasing, that Juliette got in the academy with Port Royal after they lost the title. And it’s the same speech, at least in context if not in language, that she got when her high school team got knocked out on penalties in the semifinals of the All Japan High School Soccer Tournament—her final high school match before turning professional.
To fail once was tragic. Twice was frustrating. But three times? With three different teams, and in three consecutive seasons?
Now Juliette was beginning to wonder if
she was the problem.
The locker room eventually empties out as her teammates disperse. Some will head to the training area to start preparing for next season. Others will take time away from the pitch altogether to clear their head. But Juliette just sits there, still numb.
She hasn’t scored enough, she thinks to herself. Every missed shot over the course of the season replays in her mind, one after the other. If even one of those had gone in, maybe they wouldn’t have even
needed the damned playoff to begin with. Maybe they’d have won the division outright, and it would’ve been London sitting here instead. Maybe if she had just planted her feet a bit differently here, or leaned back less there, or curled it just a bit more that one time…
And what were the headlines going to read? And what about the pundits? Juliette is already envisioning how much material Alexi Lalas is going to have off of this—and after he’d already basically ruined her social media accounts with his little “nepo baby” jab. And that’s not even getting into her online beef with Ryan van Eyndhoven. Maybe, she thinks to herself, she’d better save everyone the trouble and go off the grid now.
In all of this, she barely notices the person sitting down next to her. She nearly jumps out of her skin when the figure speaks:
“Well, kid, at least you got one, right?”
Juliette exhales. “Not now, coach.”
“Season’s over, Juju. You can call me ‘Dad’ again.”
“Fine. Not now, Dad.”
Jude Greer chuckles. “Y’know, I reckon I’ve never seen anyone so down after getting their first pro goal. Took me a full week to come down from the clouds after my first one.”
“That’s because you were a fullback. Defenders don’t score goals that often.”
“Tell that to Ali Dia.”
Juliette leans back in her locker. “Look, Dad, I’m not in the mood. I don’t know how you’re so chipper when we just got crushed like that.”
“First thing I learned when I came up to the pro game, kid. Win or lose, there’s always another match.”
“But you don’t get it. That’s three seasons in a row a team I’ve played for has come up short.” Juliette grits her teeth. “Am I the problem, or what?”
“Whatcha mean?”
“I call myself a goalscorer, but I’ve scored a grand total of three goals since I started playing professionally. And two of those were in the academy, so those barely count to begin with.”
“And?”
Juliette grits her teeth. “
And, what use is someone whose main skill is scoring when she can’t even do that?”
There’s a moment of silence, so Juliette keeps speaking. “Not just that, but basically everyone’s going to clown on me for riding off
your coattails, if they haven’t already. They’re gonna use this season as proof that I really am just a ‘nepo-baby.’”
Her dad groans. “Now, I thought I told you not to pay any mind to what that Lalas fella says. He’s just as bad as Merson ever was.”
“I can’t help it. I know he’s full of BS, but it still sticks with me.” Juliette looks over at Jude as her temper starts to flare up. “Every time I think about it, I just know I have to prove him wrong. To prove
everyone wrong. To be…” She swallows. “To be just as good as you were, if not even better.”
Silence falls. Juliette stares at her dad, but his experession is hard to read. The long, curly brown locks of his hair, now streaked with the occasional ring of almost indiscernible dark gray from age and stress from his new position, sway a bit as he looks off into the middle distance. It’s a while before he speaks.
“All right,” he says finally. “You wanna be the best player you can be. That’s fine and all. But if you really wanna get there, I’ve got some advice for you.”
Juliette raises an eyebrow, but can’t help herself from leaning in. “What advice is that?”
Jude looks up, turns to his daughter, takes a deep breath, and smiles, before finally saying:
“Grow up.”
Juliette blinks. “Bwuh?”
“Did I stutter? I said, grow up.”
Juliette blinks again. What did he just say? Did he not
see how hard she’s been working all season? Before she can open her mouth to retort, though, Jude continues.
“You’re trying to do too much. You wanna score goals, but you’re also playing defense, but you’re
also trying to find the right pass, and get into space, and carry the ball forward, and all of this other stuff. And on top of that, you’re letting yahoos like Lalas and what not live rent free in your head.”
“But—“
“I ain’t done. This ain’t high school anymore, kiddo. You can’t just expect to dribble the ball from the back line, through the midfield and into the box and expect nobody to challenge you. You have any clue how hard players in this league train? How much of their lives they’ve dedicated to soccer since they were born? Some of ‘em have been hitting rabonas and playing rondos since they could walk. You’re a good soccer player, don’t get me wrong, but you can’t do it all. Nobody can.”
Juliette starts to reply, but she knows she has no comeback. He’s right, of course. As always.
“You wanna score goals, and that’s great,” Jude continues. “You wanna be a better player than your old man, and that’s something I can get behind any day of the week. But you aren’t gonna do either of those when you’re trying to play every position on the pitch at once.”
“But I’m—“
“You’re trying to help your team. I know. But you gotta face facts that there’s some stuff you ain’t good at, and that’s okay.” Jude grins again. “Not that I think you ain’t gonna
try, mind.”
Juliette lets out a chuckle. Dad knows her too well.
“Point is, you got your skills, and your teammates have theirs. You gotta trust each other to do what you need to do. You gotta trust they’ll pass the ball and play defense and all that, and they’ve gotta be able to trust that when they get the ball to you, you’ll make something special happen. You get what I’m saying? You’ve gotta trust them—and more important than that, you’ve gotta trust yourself.”
“I know.” Juliette stares at the floor. That’s never been her strong suit. “I just feel like I let them down this season.”
Jude shrugs. “You’re a rookie. It happens. I was awful my first season, and look how I ended up.”
“But you’re one of the best players to ever play the game.”
“And you think that ain’t genetic, Juju?”
“But—“
“You’re not always gonna be at a hundred percent. But that’s fine. Give it everything you’ve got, and trust your team and yourself. You do that, and you’re gonna be well on your way. Promise.”
Juliette keeps staring at the ground, but she feels her mouth curling into a smile despite her best efforts. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Now, let’s get outta here. I wanted to talk to you about where you’re gonna fit in tactically next season. We’re gonna see about playing a bit more to your strengths.”
Juliette nods, standing to her feet and following her dad—out of the locker room. Maybe, she thinks to herself, maybe there’s hope for her yet.
Approved