Getting Carried Away #2
“Who’s this? Yohan Lee? Was this kid even on our team?”
“He’s our top prospect. You didn’t know that?”
“I’m not the type who pours attention over every prospect the way you do. Just looking at him, he can’t even run — pure squad filler. No new signings, so they dragged him up from the youth ranks. Am I right?”
Outside the stadium entrance, where people were beginning to gather, the somewhat grating exchange cut through the crowd of fans in Roma kits and scarves, mixed among others in everyday clothes.
It was a conversation between two clean-cut middle-aged men. Among Haley’s group, waiting in line with tickets and IDs in hand for the queue to shrink, Ciro bristled and stepped forward.
“Hey, mister.”
“Huh?”
“What did you just say?”
“About what?”
“What you said looking at the squad list. Say it again.”
Normally, Haley would have been the one to step up with a glare. But today was different. Ciro, who usually hung back, had heard the spectator’s words and lost his temper.
“Uh… the prospect thing?”
“Yeah. What did you say about that prospect.”
“That he can’t even run? Squad filler?”
“Why would you say something like that? Aren’t you a Roma fan?”
“I am a fan, which is why I bought expensive seats… But who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m friends with the player you just trash-talked.”
“…. For real?”
“Yeah. All of us.”
The middle-aged man scratched his head as he took in Haley’s group of six or seven. Then he apologized without a fight.
“Sorry. I didn’t know…”
“Didn’t know or not, if you’re a fan, you don’t trash-talk the players. You’re supposed to cheer. You’re sitting in good seats — why are you so desperate to criticize the squad?”
“I only said a little something about your friend. I didn’t say a word about anyone else…”
“Anyway.”
“Alright, you’re right.”
“Be careful.”
“Got it. I’ll be hoping your friend makes his debut today.”
As the middle-aged man, thoroughly embarrassed, tried to put distance between himself and Haley’s group—
“I didn’t trash-talk your friends, did I? I only hyped him up as the top prospect. That guy deserved the heat, but not me. So don’t come after me, okay?”
His friend scrambled to cover for himself, and the first man shot him a look full of betrayal. But since everything said had been true, he had nothing left to argue. He grabbed his friend and fled toward the entrance as if escaping.
“If you’re a fan, what? You don’t trash-talk the players?”
Haley asked Ciro with a mocking edge, watching the two middle-aged men’s backs. He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Obviously.”
“Says the guy who goes to school every day hunting for whoever played badly like he’s solving a crime. Unbelievable.”
“Why is that coming up right now? When you’re at the stadium, you’re supposed to cheer for everyone.”
“You just wanted to show off that you’re friends with Turtle. That’s why you stepped up. Right?”
“What are you talking about. Don’t you get mad when people trash-talk your friend?”
“I do.”
“Then why didn’t you step up like you always do?”
“I did.”
“When, exactly?”
Haley snorted and, instead of answering, pointed at the jeans of the middle-aged man still filing through the entrance. Near the left thigh, something white was stuck in a neat circle. Ciro looked at Haley, baffled.
“Is that gum?”
“Yep.”
“You stuck it on him?”
“Do I look like I’m still chewing the gum I started with when we left?”
“You don’t seem to be chewing anything…”
“Then there’s your answer.”
“For someone who loses it every other day, that’s a pretty… petty revenge.”
“Shut up. Before I deck you.”
“If you just kept doing it like this, you wouldn’t even need to bother sticking gum on people…”
“I told you last time not to talk back.”
“Gio does it all the time.”
“Are you the same as Turtle?”
“…..”
“It’s our turn. Let’s go in.”
At that, Ciro’s dejected face lit right back up. He turned to Emma, who always treated him far more kindly than Haley did.
“Can we watch the players warm up too?”
“Probably? We got here pretty early. And with these seats, we might even make eye contact.”
“I’m excited.”
“Same. I hope Gio can make his debut today.”
“I’d rather he debut slowly, honestly. Better that than getting roasted like that guy earlier, right?”
“Hey, don’t talk like Gio’s going to play badly.”
“I want to believe he’ll do great, but reality’s reality. Prospects almost never put on a massive performance in their first appearance. Kids like Milan’s Grassi, or that one who debuted early at Barcelona in Spain… what was his name again? Anyway, those guys are geniuses. And the opponent isn’t soft either.”
Matchday 35. Roma’s opponent was Sassuolo.
Sassuolo had been a fixture in Serie C until a change of ownership lifted them into Serie B. Five years later they won the second division and climbed into Serie A, where they had not only avoided relegation ever since but carved out a solid mid-table existence. Now and then, in the second half of a season, they would surge into the upper ranks with terrifying momentum. True to their nickname as Inter killers, they consistently posted strong results against Inter. A team with real grit — one you could never casually claim the win against. That was the reputation Sassuolo carried.
“Earlier you charged at that guy like you were ready to fight… and now you’re the one leading the criticism.”
This time Haley let out a hollow laugh, exasperated, while Ciro launched into a heated debate with their other male friends. He scrambled to defend himself.
“I want Gio to do well too…! I’m just weighing the realistic odds.”
“Just cheer.”
“Why is it always me… Do you hate me or something?”
“Obviously.”
It looked like the two of them were about to spiral into a full-blown argument, so Emma hurriedly stepped between them to mediate as they entered the stadium.
I’m going to die of nerves.
Stadio Olimpico. The only other time he had been here was during a Roma camp visit, and that had been pure tourism. Coming here as a player, there was no way not to be tense.
The match hadn’t even started, and already fans were pouring in. Even by a rough eye count, the numbers were swelling fast.
Thud.
In his Roma training kit, lightly passing the ball with other Primavera graduates, Yohan spotted a cluster of people making a racket from one corner of the stands, all aimed in his direction.
“We see you!! Gio!! Over here!”
The shout calling his name was so loud that a security guard was already holding them back, asking them to keep it down. Yohan crossed the running track that ringed the pitch, asked the guard for a moment, and approached his friends, who were cheering as if they’d just spotted a celebrity.
“What are you guys doing down here? These aren’t your seats.”
Ciro answered without missing a beat.
“They said we can come down. We have to head back up thirty minutes before kickoff.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know.”
“Whatever — first, pictures. Just smile. We’ll handle all the shooting.”
“Just stand still?”
“Yeah. Just stand there. If you get bored, throw up a thumbs-up or something. And a few of the kids bought new kits, so we need autographs too.”
“Got it.”
Beyond his friends, a handful of other people drifted toward Yohan. Most of them were young kids with little access to information, and they didn’t seem to recognize him — they had simply come over because he looked like a Roma player. He gave them careful fan service as well, then looked over at Haley, who stood with her arms crossed, chewing a fresh piece of gum with deliberate laziness.
“You’re not taking any?”
“Why would I?”
“For a souvenir.”
“If I wanted that, I’d just tell you to come over in your kit.”
“Ah… right. Still, we came all the way to the stadium…”
“Well, since you want it that badly, I’ll take one with you.”
“Huh…?”
In an instant the positions had flipped, and Yohan went blank. Haley pressed her face right up against his dazed, goofy expression and snapped the photo. He snapped back to himself and asked,
“Where’s Aunt Carrie?”
“Mom? You don’t know?”
Caroline had sworn Haley to secrecy about watching the match with the nuns.
“She didn’t come with you?”
“Nope.”
“Is she busy?”
“Guess so.”
“You really are…”
“Don’t even think about lecturing me.”
“Even so…”
“Drop it. That guy’s calling you.”
Yohan turned in the direction Haley pointed and realized the coach had been calling his name over and over.
“Oh. Right. Enjoy the match, guys.”
He waved to his friends, jogged back to the coach, and resumed his warm-up. When the time came, he headed into the tunnel. On the way through the passage, he broke into a wide smile at his friends waving from the stands — a little extra for the road.
“Let’s head up. Time’s up.”
At Emma’s word, Haley’s group moved toward the center of the stadium. The seats had individual screens on the seatbacks in front of them showing the stadium camera feeds. The chairs were a bit narrow, but the sightlines were excellent — seats that commanded a premium price.
Before long, tens of thousands of fans had filled the ground. With the season nearly over, the stands were close to capacity. Compared to the other sections packed so tightly you could call them stuffed, the area around Haley’s group felt relatively open. Relatively, though — there were still plenty of people.
Haley watched the Ultras already belting out chants at full volume, then saw the fans in the seats on either side of them start catching the heat of that energy, and gave a slow nod.
Alright. That’s pretty cool.
Was it the sheer number of people? The atmosphere was no joke. They snacked on the food the group had bought while they waited, and before long the stadium announcer began calling out Sassuolo’s starting eleven, name by name.
Jeers erupted from the stands in answer. But the moment the announcer started calling Roma’s players, those jeers flipped into cheers.
No. 1! Hakon Vasten!
— VASTEN!!
No. 3! Miguel Perez!
— PEREZ!!
Unlike the opposing squad, whose names had been read off dryly and quickly, almost as if the announcer were just passing through them, he introduced Roma’s starters with real fire. He would call out the number, the first name, and the surname — and the stands would roar back the surname alone at the top of their lungs. It was quite a spectacle.
The substitutes were announced more simply. When Yohan’s name came last, Haley’s group screamed and went wild. And Haley, catching Yohan’s profile as it flashed briefly across the stadium scoreboard during the bench introductions, let out a quiet snort.
What a goof…
Standing at ease with that dopey, wide-open grin plastered across his face — it was almost endearing to look at.
Then the fans launched into full-throated chants… and after a little more time, the accompaniment of Roma’s signature anthem rolled out across the entire stadium as the starting elevens of both sides began filing out of the tunnel in a line, each player paired with a mascot kid.
This was the anthem that played whenever the players walked out — one of the songs that always came up when people talked about football clubs with truly great anthems. Starting with a gentle melody and exploding into a triple cry of Roma at the climax, it had made more than a few people into fans on the spot. Especially when the whole stadium sang that part together live, nine times out of ten you fell hard for the song’s pull.
Haley was one of them right now. She was lightly drunk on the fans’ energy, a faint shiver running through her.
But it only lasted a moment.
Once the starters had taken their places on the pitch and the substitutes settled onto the bench, Haley watched through the personal screen — and her mouth fell open.
Yohan, carefully approaching the bench and sitting down, had a face wound tight with terror, like a mouse that had just locked eyes with a cat.
“…..”
“…..”
It wasn’t just Haley. Her whole group, catching that brief flash of Yohan on the screen, had the exact same reaction. Without anyone saying a word, they all stopped mid-cheer at once, pressed their lips shut, and looked at each other — every one of them starting to share the same worry.
That at this rate, never mind a debut — he might just freeze solid and completely lose his mind out there.