Unstoppable Guys (6)
A heavy silence crushed the dressing room. The AD Alcorcon players' faces were endlessly grim. Some stared with eyes hollowed by emptiness and defeat.
They hadn't lost. Final score: 0-0. Sure, they hadn't won, but snatching a draw away from home wasn't a bad result by any stretch. Especially against the league's fourth-place team, hungry for promotion.
Yet here they were, sunk in gloom. There was a reason.
"You all wanted to attack, right? That's what everyone craved! So why the hell do we keep fumbling every time we build an attack and end up passing back?!"
Under the previous manager, they'd played defensively the whole time. Sit deep, soak up pressure, then hit on the counter to score and hold the lead. But without a finisher to convert those counters, frustration built inevitably.
Already scraping the bottom of the table, now facing relegation fears—and the manager refusing to budge. That's why, when the old boss got sacked and assistant coach Dario Terraz stepped in as interim, promising attacking soccer, the players had cheered. Finally, they could play the game they loved.
But today, even with an aggressive approach, AD Alcorcon couldn't score. It wasn't just missing a goalscorer. The attacks never flowed smoothly to begin with.
"You think the opponents defended well today? Hell no! They played their worst game at home. This was a match we should've won!"
"……."
"I told you to play with confidence! You were sharp in training! What's there to fear?!"
"……."
"You gonna just collapse like this? Drop into the relegation zone? Is that what you really want? Third division?!"
Interim manager Dario Terraz unleashed a machine-gun barrage of scoldings. The defenders had a point—they'd kept a clean sheet, stonewalling the attacks. But speaking up now would poison the vibe further, so they swallowed it, sharing the blame in silence.
"You owe the fans an apology. They spent their hard-earned money and time to watch this gutless attack? They came expecting to see a new you!"
"……."
"Don't back down. Nothing to fear. Actually, fear it. If we hesitate here, we're just tumbling off the cliff."
Dario Terraz glared fiercely.
"Take tomorrow off and think hard. Imagine the hell waiting if you fall off that cliff."
With that, the interim manager stormed out.
In the frozen dressing room, AD Alcorcon's captain and veteran center-back, Rubén Soriano, spoke up.
"The gaffer's right. We owe the fans the most. Today was winnable."
The others just nodded faintly in the silence.
"And have you ever seen him that pissed? He wouldn't blow up unless it was bad."
"……."
"Let's reflect. Keep going like this, and next season's hell for real. Those who've been there know—climbing back from the drop is brutal."
Hell. No one needed that explained.
Sensing he'd gone too dark, Rubén clapped to lighten the mood.
"Come on! No moping. First game of the season—can't nail it all at once. Learn from today, and we'll show real progress next match."
The players nodded heavily and started packing up, rising one by one.
Rubén watched them, smacking his lips in pity.
If we just had one player to lead the attack... it'd change everything.
He got why the old manager stuck to defense. No real firepower up top. Though that rigid counter-only style had dulled their edge too.
We need a win within two games, no matter what.
Thanks to the sacking, today's play was sharper than before. To sustain it till season's end, they needed points fast—not more frustrating draws.
More draws or losses, and they'd slide back to those dark days under the old regime.
Not happening.
Nine years with AD Alcorcon. A brief loan out, but back now—he loved this club. One lifelong dream: leading them to their first-ever La Liga promotion.
This season had felt possible. Now? Relegation loomed. Pathetic.
"Hoo..."
A deep sigh escaped unbidden.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Here's a dog that's gotta poop.
"Uh, gotta start with self-intros, right?"
"……."
"What if they make us sing?"
"……."
"Damn. What song?"
"……."
"Theo! Give me a good idea, man. I'm shaking like crazy here."
Two days after the Getafe B match, Miguel Amaro and I headed not to the B-team training ground, but the club house.
I wasn't nervous. My goal's the world's best player—this felt like just another step up the stairs to the top.
Miguel, though? He'd called nonstop before work, begging to go together, and from the parking lot, he was a bundle of nerves.
...Normal, really. My first day at Gimpo United, I was so shaky I could barely speak.
"Relax. This isn't even a call-up."
Even if we joined now, no A-team games right away. But come summer transfer window, we'd likely register with the A squad. Training invite? Green light.
"That's why I'm more nervous. A call-up's straightforward—this is a test."
He had a point. They'd evaluate us internally, decide next season's roster based on it.
But my gut? Calling us up right after Getafe B wasn't just a casual test.
"Hmm... Long as we don't do anything stupid, I bet we start next season with the A team."
"Huh? Why?"
"Buddy of mine says Alcorcon A's short on strikers and wingers."
"...That's us?"
"Exactly."
A bright smile flashed on Miguel's face—then vanished.
"...But they could sign new guys next season to fill those spots."
Unless technical director Iñigo Chapé got axed, striker spot was safe. He'd pegged me as the No. 1 option, planned to sell the winter signing.
Winger, though? Fair point—market could change that.
"Hmm. Miguel."
"Yeah."
"Here's the plan."
"What?"
"Same as B team."
"Same as...?"
"Yeah."
He stared, eyes wide, waiting for details.
"You pass to me like always, I score. You rack up assists, I get goals."
"And?"
"Once I've notched a few, I'll feed you chances. Like yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"Yeah. Told you—knock enough, door opens."
I grinned.
"Let's wreck the A-team mini-games. B-team style."
Now he got it—his lips twitched into a smirk.
Right before entering the club house, Miguel took a deep breath and asked,
"So, what song?"
Huh?
"Theo, got one in mind?"
"……."
"Wanna sing together?"
"……."
"Whew. Singing in front of folks after so long—got me jittery."
...His nerves were about singing?
What a weirdo.