Preseason (1)
When a manager changes, the players have no choice but to feel the tension. They need to deliver the style of play the new boss wants and demands, and if they don't match up, they could lose their starting spot. That's why, sometimes after a managerial change, conflicts arise between the incoming coach and the existing squad over playing time. Some players clash openly, while others aren't shy about pressuring the club through their agents behind the scenes....
And to top it off, Jordi Calavera was a rookie manager with no experience leading a pro-level club, so the potential for internal backlash was definitely there.
But.
"What's the new gaffer like?"
"I heard he really emphasizes pass play—is that right?"
"How do the training sessions go? What kind of play does he like?"
On the first day of preseason training camp, there wasn't a hint of any such drama. If anything, the players were bombarding me, Miguel Amaro, and Joni Montoya—who'd already synced up with Jordi Calavera from our B-team days—with questions about his tendencies.
Even in the fourth tier, leading the B team to a title had clearly built up some real expectations.
...Or so I thought.
"Isn't it weird how everyone's so proactive?"
"Well... new manager means they wanna impress, right?"
"Nah, not that. They're all expecting big things from this rookie coach."
"Yeah, that is kinda surprising."
"Know why?"
I tilted my head slightly. Was there some reason?
"You haven't got an agent yet, have you?"
"Oh, right. No."
"That's probably why you don't know. My agent told me the director got in touch—said he's fully backing the new manager's decisions."
In other words, he was throwing his weight behind Jordi Calavera. No matter what complaints came up about starting lineups, he wouldn't budge. If you weren't happy, go find another team. It was basically a heads-up.
"That's part of why so many guys from last season's training sessions ended up moving on."
Five starters plus a bunch of bench players had left this season. Iñigo Chapé, the technical director, had filled just one key spot—the starting keeper—with a transfer fee, padding the rest with savvy free agents.
He'd left the door open for more signings, but after jumping on the market early, the consensus was no further additions were coming.
So now, it was just this first-team squad battling it out for next season's starting spots. Only the players who wanted to compete had stuck around, and with all those vacancies, everyone was fired up to claim a role.
"The director properly empowering a new manager like that? Very smart move."
"Couldn't agree more."
Last season, jumping into A-team sessions, the biggest takeaway was that while the A-team players had higher individual class than the B team, the quality of the sessions was actually better in B.
There were extenuating circumstances, of course. When I first joined A-team training, the previous manager had been sacked, and Dario Terraz was interim, so the structure and direction were a mess.
"Oh, and my agent mentioned one more thing. About the new gaffer's style."
"From the director too?"
"Yeah. He prioritizes keeping the ball through passing. Spot on?"
"Yep."
"That's why everyone's so hyped. Total opposite of the old boss."
Players don't love sitting deep and playing defensive. They prefer holding the ball and playing. Simple reason: it's more fun.
But to pull off that soccer, everyone on the pitch has to move organically, passing and receiving fluidly. If a few can't keep up, the team play breaks down, turning into pointless possession with no bite.
That's why lower-quality squads stack the defense and hunt counters—pragmatic stuff.
"And word is the B team racked up multi-goal games every match in the fourth tier. With you at the heart of it."
I just shrugged lightly.
"They all want that soccer in A too. But it won't be easy."
This time, I nodded faintly.
Jordi Calavera's brand demanded a high baseline. Even so, Iñigo Chapé appointing him meant grafting that style onto the team, no matter how long it took.
The B team hadn't exactly lit it up before I joined, so the A team would need time too for his vision to gel.
But you can't chase ideals blindly. Results have to follow. Balancing reality and ambition—two rabbits, one stone. That'd be my role as striker next season.
"Alright, everyone, quiet down."
Right then, Dario Terraz, back as assistant coach, stepped into the locker room and got everyone seated.
Then another man entered. I flashed him a small smile.
"Good to meet you all. I'm Jordi Calavera, the one who's gonna lead you from here on out. Let's do this."
Preseason was officially underway.
A few days after training camp started, we did light sessions at the AD Alcorcon training ground. Intensity was super low at that point.
Then, a few days later, the entire A-team squad jetted off to Spain's Canary Islands for a full training camp.
With its mild summer climate—pleasant, not scorching—we set up camp there and kicked off the real high-intensity grind.
The Canary camp lasted about two weeks. Two main goals: getting players to grasp Jordi Calavera's soccer, and building chemistry among the squad.
Sweat and suffer together, and camaraderie blooms naturally. Hellish drills leave you wiped, then post-training: group meals, poker nights, quick trips nearby. Bonds tighten fast.
"Quality passes. Precise into the inside channel. No bouncing along the ground. Low and clean. Again!"
Jordi Calavera drilled the basics hard. Surprisingly, with pros assembled, his top focus was elevating pass quality.
After passing drills came rondo work—not the basic keep-away with numbers overwhelming one guy.
Full 11v11, like a match, battling for possession through passes. He even included the keeper, showing his intent for build-up from the back, fluid passing all the way forward.
Unique twist: three players stayed neutral, no team affiliation, purely possessing and passing the whole session.
Roles rotated among outfielders—keepers sat it out.
This upgraded rondo wasn't his invention; it borrowed from Spain's top coaches.
"This drill teaches you three things."
He gathered us, counting on his fingers.
"One: handling the ball in tight spaces. Two: quick decisions under intense pressure in those spaces. Three: pressing sharp to win it back when you lose it. Keep that in mind and let's go. Again!"
The squad was hooked on his methods, showing real buy-in. He didn't dictate harshly—instead, he kept explaining why, fueling motivation.
That's why no one rebelled against the tough, high-level stuff.
Post-rondo: set pieces, mini-games. Not casual fun—these were positional masterclasses, forging a unit.
Honestly... impressive. Sessions were sharper, and he'd clearly done his homework.
Two weeks done, back to Alcorcon. Four friendlies left before the regular season: one amateur, two semi-pro, and a La Liga side a week out.
Day after camp return: bus ride an hour out for our first friendly. Opponent: semi-pro team relegated from third to fourth tier last season.
"This is real action now. But forget wins, scores. Sounds contradictory, I know. Focus on playing our soccer. Treat it like a match, but no rushing if things don't click."
Heavy nods all around.
The friendly kicked off. Per his orders, we stuck to camp drills in live play.
Tough as hell. No surprise— if two weeks made it easy, every team would do it. No need for long-ball hacks.
Especially building from back: poor positioning, lazy passes. Plenty of Jordi Calavera neck-grabbers.
New guys handled passes well; vets stumbled often. Even Rubén Soriano slipped.
We conceded. But never lost the lead.
Simple reason.
Thwang-!
Splash-!
"......!"
Through the first half, I bagged five—off five shots on target. Alone.