Manager's Decision

The previous day...

The sun dipped below the horizon, moving long shadows across the walls of AZ Alkmaar's training grounds.

Inside the manager's office, Gertjan Verbeek, the first team manager of AZ Alkmaar sat behind his desk, the soft glow of his computer screen illuminating his features.

His broad, calloused hands rested on a stack of reports, while his eyes looked on, focused, as he flicked over the details.

Across from him, Max Huiberts, the club's technical director, leaned back in his chair. The room was filled with the quiet hum of the air conditioner, interrupted only by the occasional rustling of papers as Verbeek turned to the next page.

They had been talking for the past hour, mostly about the upcoming season, which was just a few months away.

The usual topics had come up, concerning transfer targets, potential signings, youth promotions, the sort of discussions that filled their days in the off-season.

Verbeek, however, looked slightly distracted. His brow furrowed, and his mind seemed elsewhere as Max spoke.

It wasn't unusual for the manager to have a lot on his plate. But today, there was something specific occupying his thoughts, something that had just landed on his desk moments before Max had arrived.

"Got something on your mind?" Max asked in a casual tone as he eyed the files scattered across the desk.

Verbeek's gaze remained fixed on the report in front of him. "Hans sent this over earlier," he muttered, lifting the page slightly. "One of the youth trialists earlier today. Benjamin Rijkaard. Apparently, he's being recommended by Dennis Haar."

Max raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for the manager to elaborate.

Verbeek set the report aside and tapped the play button on the laptop in front of him. The screen flickered to life, and for a moment, both men were quiet as the highlights of the trial match began to play.

The first few minutes of the match played out like any other youth trial, fast-paced, slightly chaotic, with players trying to make an impression.

But soon, Benjamin's presence became clear. His touches were clean and not overly done, his attacking intelligence, and the way he moved around the pitch was more composed than most at his level.

Max leaned forward, his interest piqued. "He's got a good sense of space," he murmured. "Doesn't rush his passes and also has good ball techniques."

Verbeek nodded, slightly impressed but didn't respond immediately.

His eyes were locked on the screen, watching as Benjamin tracked back to make a crucial interception, then quickly pushed forward on the counter.

It was a small moment, but it showed a level of awareness that set him apart from the other trialists.

"He's got something," Verbeek finally said, his voice thoughtful. "Looks comfortable under pressure. And most importantly it's not just talent but how he reads the game."

Max crossed his arms, eyes still fixed on the footage. "What's his story? Did Hans not give much background or just said we should keep an eye on him?"

Verbeek flipped open the report once more, skimming the pages for the relevant details. "He's been playing with the youth academy for HFC Haarlem. Attended a few regional camps, but this is his first big trial with a large exposure."

Max nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. "And that injury?"

The video shifted to the last scene of the final match, showing the moment Lars had recklessly collided with Benjamin.

The tackle had been brutal, the kind that made everyone in the stands wince. Benjamin's leg twisted awkwardly, and he crumpled to the ground, clutching his knee.

Verbeek paused the video, his expression grim. "That's the part that complicates things. He was involved in a car crash six months ago, lost his family and fractured his tibial plateau."

"He made good recovery before the trial, but now...'sigh'...the doctors haven't confirmed it yet, but from what I've heard, he'll need surgery."

The room fell silent again as both men contemplated the situation.

For a trialist, an injury like that could spell the end of the road. Clubs rarely invested in youth players with signs of being injury prone and uncertain recovery timelines, and Benjamin was no exception.

"He was the best on that pitch, no doubt." Verbeek added, almost to himself. "Even before the injury, you could see it. He was leading that team."

Max leaned back again, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "So, what's the plan? Do we take a chance on him, or let him go?"

Verbeek sighed, leaning back in his own chair, the weight of the decision clear on his face.

He had seen countless players come and go, some making it, others fading into obscurity. But something about Benjamin's performance lingered with him. Something he hadn't seen in any youth players...

'Defiance.'

Not of disregard for authority but, a challenging spirit to overcome all odds.

"Watch this," Verbeek said, rewinding the footage to a moment just before the tackle.

Benjamin moved to receive the ball, pressure coming from three defenders behind him. Most young players in that situation would panic, loosing the ball or passing it to a teammate close by.

But Benjamin didn't flinch. He kept his head up, feint a touch, and the ball slipped between him and the first defender with a quick dribble.

Max watched as Benjamin evaded the defender and burst past the other two with great speed. It was a moment of calm in the chaos, a sign of real attacking intelligence.

"That's not something you can teach," Verbeek said quietly. "He's got the instincts. He's not just reacting to moments like that as they come...he's thinking ahead."

Max scratched his chin, still deep in thought. "Instincts are good, but that knee... What if he doesn't come back the same?"

Verbeek shook his head slightly, though his gaze never left the screen. "That's the gamble, isn't it? But if he does come back, we might have something special here."

Max sat in silence for a moment longer, weighing the pros and cons.

He was responsible for player acquisitions, after all. It was his job to manage the risks and rewards of bringing new players into the club. But Verbeek's gut feeling should be taken into account.

The manager had an eye for talent, and if he saw something in Benjamin, it wasn't something to ignore lightly.

"He'll need the best medical team," Max finally said, his tone firm. "If we're going to commit to this, we'll need to make sure he's taken care of properly. And the recovery process will have to be closely monitored."

Verbeek nodded in agreement. "We'll get him the surgery, get him through rehab. If he works hard, there's a chance."

Max glanced at the paused video once more, Benjamin's youthful face frozen on the screen. "It will be risky," he murmured. "But it could be worth it."

The decision was made.

Verbeek closed the file with a soft thud. They both knew the risks. But in football, sometimes, you had to take a chance, especially when the potential was there.

As Max stood to leave, he gave Verbeek a nod. "I'll tell Hans to get the paperwork started and also talk to the medical team tomorrow."

Verbeek leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the screen. "Let's hope our bet pays off."

Max walked out of the office, leaving Verbeek alone with his thoughts. The video continued to play, the final minutes of the trial match unfolding on the screen.