Continuing with my own
footballing story, what has changed and how has it been going? Well, as I said
I accepted a job offer somewhere on the continent and after a training period
scheduled such that it made it impossible for me to train in the week due to
the remarkably early start time over here and some struggles with shifts and
constant needs to swap with others I managed to get cracking with playing again
round about the first week in September. My keenness to get going in a foreign
country was somewhat countered by the trepidation of trying to work out how I
would be able to introduce myself to and communicate with these players – I did
have a strong feeling that there would be a considerable language barrier to
overcome, and I was proved correct. As I entered the gates to the ground which
seems to be at the back of some sort of disused factory or massive industrial
estate, I could see at the opposite end the players all gathered round the
tables outside the steps to the changing room, presumably waiting for the
groundskeeper to hand them the keys. In this situation there is no escape and
the walk feels a lonely and long one – they have just seen somebody enter just
coming from work carrying a satchel rather than a full-sized sports bag and
dressed in jeans and a scruffy hoodie. Regardless of my nationality, I’m a
foreign sight to them and there is nowhere I can hide and no tactic to appear
subtly, presenting myself unexpectedly. As I edged ever closer it was clear I
had become the centre of attention in their temporary pre-training boredom, I
could feel their watchful eyes on me. As I reached the tables they seemed to
sit forward in anticipation, expecting something interesting to come out of my
mouth. Unfortunately my inability to speak their language would cause me to
disappoint them, as I addressed who was clearly the manager in my own version
of very broken, simplified English which should somehow be easier for
foreigners to understand. The only foreigner present, however, was clearly me.
I tried to repeat to the manager about 3 or 4 times the question of whether I
could train that evening and the plea for reassurance that I had reached the
club I had been looking for. He stared at me blankly, none the wiser, as if I
had just landed from a spaceship and was exploring their planet for the first
time – it certainly did feel that way. All of a sudden I was put at ease as one
of the players sitting by him to my surprise blurted out “can I help you?” in
very clear English.
The relief was overwhelming, and
he translated my questions into his native language for the manager to
understand. The stony-faced man in a tracksuit seemed unmoved, the answer being
that I was permitted to play but I’d have to prove how good I was. In the
changing room I could sense a lot of inside laughter and giggling, and
sentences containing what was the country’s word for “English.” The most intense part was when a cluster of loose change fell out of my pocket which was met with a sort of "whoooooaaaaa-oooooooh!" from the lads. There is
something incredibly vulnerable about being in a room with a team of players
talking about you whilst you have no possibility of knowing what they might be
saying. Most sports or even team activities have special initiations for
newcomers, who knows what they could have been planning for the next couple of
hours? As it was, it turned out OK. We were sent out on the pitch to warm up
and the players were knocking balls around among each other and joking about,
with me sheepishly jogging around the pitch with the faint hope that somebody
might pass the ball in my direction. One lad eventually offered to have a
knockabout with me. It felt like he was sizing me up as he drilled some hard
and high passes in my direction, but I was surprised at how I managed to cope
with them and soon I was feeling OK, striking the ball accurately and cleanly
at others. Obviously looking at how well a player may control or strike a ball
when warming up isn’t the best way of judging him, but when you feel like
you’re being watched, this feels like a challenge to you and coming through it
gives you a big confidence boost.
So training commenced with some
standard warm-up drills involving cones and ladders where I made sure not to
slip up. After that, having had a pre-season of intense running, I was pleased
to find more intense running waiting ahead of me. We were divided into 3 groups
of about 5 or 6 to complete a running challenge over the length of the pitch.
The pitch was also divided about equally with cones into 3 sections – the first
part you had to run at 50-75%, sprint the middle section and for the third
section ease up again to 50-75% speed. One group would run, meet the next group
at the opposite end of the pitch and then that group would run, and so on. All
pretty simple and despite not having trained much for 3 weeks I found myself to
be among the fittest players, which was pleasing to discover. Either I was
extremely fit or the other players are just incredibly lazy in running drills,
which I know can be the case. We had to do 10 lengths of the pitch in total and
about halfway through, one of the other players there, who spoke English even
more fluently than the bloke who had addressed me at first, asked me for
confirmation that I was from England. I confirmed this, and his reply was “you
must be used to this, then?” I was unsure how to take that – either training on
the continent is not testing enough and he admires the comparative intensity of
English training or he perceives a more physical approach on the Isles and is
perhaps more used to ball work. I’m edging towards the latter or some version
of this.
The running was all well and good
then, and by this time I was looking forward to testing myself against the
other players football-wise. We were split into three groups, with two teams
playing against each other on a small pitch and the other working out with the
manager. First up for my team was working out, meaning the football had to wait
a little longer. I was a bit surprised when we were made to do all sorts of
press-ups and sit-ups in unconventional positions using balls, and over
training sessions since I’ve been getting pretty annoyed and fed up with it but
overtime I’ve realised this is due to my relative lack of upper body strength
and recognised the benefits of these – particularly as they are good exercises
for the core of the body, which I’ve always needed to work on. Anyway, this
didn’t last for long and soon it was time to play some football.
From a couple of glances while
attempting to get a size 5 ball in my grasp to move in sync with my body during
sit-ups the confidence grew inside me that I would be able to hold my own. In
such a situation where you’re not sure what to expect, every misplaced pass and
slip-up from a player reminds you that they’re human too and, specific to this
level, not top international footballers who will leave you sprawled chewing
the wet muddy turf while watching them glide towards the distant goal. Important
to recognise, however, is that the mindset of a player can easily unwittingly
transcend the boundary separating confidence and complacency. My experience of
suffering this fate on repeated occasions helped me recognise that it had
happened again to me when I was caught in possession a couple of times or
misjudged an opportunity where I thought I could nick the ball off an opponent.
I bucked up my ideas, wary of what the lads would be giggling about behind my
back in an alien language, and showed I was able to hold my own. It wasn’t in
fact too challenging, and it certainly wasn’t a game being played at full
intensity, but my needy and insecure mind was satisfied that it had made a
positive impression on a bunch of peers, not to mention my satisfaction that my
ability with the ball hadn’t become too
rusty.
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