11 Welcome to the Club

Cameron Okojo was a physical beast.

He was first scouted by Sheffield Sunday while playing for his primary school in 3rd grade. He bullied kids more than three years older in football due to his ridiculous height and freakish athleticism. With him playing more of a bullish, physical striker in the lower age groups, he was unbeatable, and an envy of his fellows.

This physical superiority persisted up until today, even after he was already thrown out of his boyhood club Sheffield Sunday, and is playing for cross town rivals Sheffield Blades. He was still a behemoth, who can beat people with speed, in the air, or even with ridiculous balance.

He was all that, and yet…

Why is he sprawled on the ground, panting like a dying horse?

He's not alone. All of the Under 18 team was sprawled on the ground like dead horses, save one.

"Come on young lads! What are you doing? Get the hell up already!" The under 18 manager's disappearing hair was even more prominent when he's yelling. "There's a lot more training left!"

"Coach…" Blaise wasn't lying on the pitch. Instead he's huffing and puffing while still standing. This past few weeks of intense stamina and fitness training the club (and himself) put him through was paying dividends little by little, though it was still miles away from his goal. "Please… let us rest a bit…"

"You guys are down for half an hour already!"

It was at this moment when a youth wearing the club's red training jersey and shorts, with a game console in hand, walked straight to the balding youth coach.

"Uhmmm… is this the first team training field?" Alain Prosser's reasoning was that a training filled with fainted men could only be the first team training ground. "I'm new here… and I didn't listen to the introductions about the facility… I'm so lost…"

'Huh? Why does that guy seem familiar? Fuck! It's Alain Prosser! Why is that person here?' Blaise's mind churned as he tried his hardest to remember Prosser's early career. He knew that this guy would go on and achieve bigger things in the future, and yet he never knew that this person ever played for the Blades. 'Could it be… there's already some difference between this timeline and mine…'

The coach and Prosser were talking on the sidelines, as Blaise pondered about a lot of things. He saw the smile on Prosser's face vanish, as he bowed and ran off without looking back. Blaise thought he might be headed for the first team ground.

"Oy, lads! Please stand up! We're already behind schedule!"

***

The trio of Blaise, Terry, and Cam were dead tired. Blaise was sitting, while the two shared a pillow they got from who knows where. They were on the bleachers of their home stadium watching their first team duke it out against a lower division side in their final friendly match before the season opener on Sunday.

The stands were sparsely populated. Most of the people in attendance were either club staff, young academy players, or those hardcore Sheffield fans that don't care if it's a friendly match and watch it anyway. Some of the youth team members were also taking notes in the near empty stands.

No one knew if these three players were still even conscious when a guy in a red hoodie with the club's insignia approached them.

"Uhmmm… can I ask you guys where you got that pillow from?"

His face was that of an innocent teenager, without the eye bags, and instead with freckles on his flushed cheeks. He doesn't look the least bit like a football wonderkid.

Blaise was dozing off. He didn't hear a single thing said beside him. The other two are just dead… snoring even.

Alain doesn't even know whether to laugh or cry at this situation. He just wanted to doze off for a little while here in the bleachers, and yet… after he returned from the comfort room… there's already two people sharing his pillow…

This is a travesty! Alain just wants to rest… in peace!

'I just wanna rest a little…' A little annoyed, he just puffed his cheeks and laid on the vacant seat right beside Blaise. Now, the three sleeping youngsters became four.

While the four dozed off, the action on the pitch was at its peak. The Blades are up 2-0 after just 20 minutes of play, coming off a near post header from a corner kick, and a screamer from long range.

This is a friendly match that isn't for the scoreline. This one is for final tactical adjustments by the coaching staff, and for the team's last push to regain match fitness before their season opener on Sunday.

Nonetheless, this was also a great place to bag some morale boosting goals in the process.

The level of play of today's Sheffield, though, still leaves a lot to be desired. They play beautiful, attacking football. So for them to only get goals via set-pieces, or long shots?

It's still below par.

They are losing the possession of the ball one too many times. They are struggling to contain counterattacks, that even if they hadn't conceded a goal yet, the manager has a feeling that it's only a matter of time.

The two teams went back and forth, Sheffield hoarding most of the possession and attack, while their League Two opponent Notts was content with their sparse, yet scary counterattacks.

The half ended just like that, with the two teams getting cracks at each other's goals without adding to the scoreline.

The game continued the same way in the second half. Missed long shots, middle of the field back and forths, and very few things of importance happening.

In the stands meanwhile…

"Fuck! What the hell? Why are you leaning on me!" Blaise pushed the guy whose head was on his shoulder.

"Wh— who? Me?" Prosser was shaken up from being forcefully woken up. "I have a pillow! And they're using it!"

"Why are you even louder than the fans?" With a yawn, Terry pulled the pillow hard, making Cam's head slam on the seats.

The low thud was drowned out by the sudden screams from the home fans below, with the three looking on as their new captain for the season, a midfielder in dreadlocks, celebrated a goal.

Cam sprung to his feet as the three looked on below, and then slapped Terry's butt cheeks with fury. Terry threw the pillow to Cam's face in a weak retort, prompting Alain to snatch the pillow in the air with his fast reflexes.

"Don't throw my pillow around! You're making it dirty!" Alain squealed with his child-like high pitched voice. "Why are you even using my pillow?"

"What? Your pillow? We—" Terry pointed his index finger at Alain before getting cut off.

"Are you Alain Prosser? The new loanee?" Cam put his own index finger onto Terry's mouth. "Why are you here instead of down there?"

"They said I can't play yet. They kept on saying I'm not anywhere near match fit."

"Brother, I'm Blaise Atkinson." Blaise put his right arm onto Alain's shoulders, and extended his other hand to Alain. "Those two are Cameron Okojo, and Terry Quinn."

"We're fellow Sheffield Blades. Welcome to the bloody club."