“Actually, one was a draw,” Wade points out from across the room, stretching with annoying ease.
“Still counts,” I mutter.
Finn grins as he swings a leg up on the bench beside me. “Honestly, I respect the commitment. Could be worse. You could be like Cam and eat the same blasted pasta every game day.”
Cameron lifts his head from where he’s organizing his gear with surgeon-like precision. “It’s called consistency. You guys should try it sometime.”
Finn scoffs. “I don’t need it. I’ve got enough confidence to know I can get the job done.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Cameron shoots back. “Anyways, it’s science. Carbs and routine calm the nervous system.”
“Sure,” Wade drawls. “And Archie’s socks scare off the football gods. We’re a very scientific bunch.”
Callum snorts under his breath, then reaches for his shin guards with a grunt. “I swear, it’s like babysitting a kindergarten in here.”
“You love us,” Finn sings, winking at him.
Callum just glares.
Then, the door swings open, and all the noise tapers off as if someone just hit mute.
François marches into the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit. His hair is slightly windswept, a notebook tucked under one arm. He pauses, scanning the room with dramatic weight, then drags the whiteboard into place like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.
“Messieurs,” he begins, putting his dry erase marker to the board. He begins drawing… some kind of creature. “We’ve been asleep for weeks, and it’s time to awaken the sleeping dragon within us.” He adds wings and a very long tail. Good thing he told us what it was straight away. I would have guessed chicken with avian influenza.
Callum coughs discreetly into his hand. From my left, Finn nudges me, barely containing his laughter.
François adds “flames” shooting from the mouth of the creature.
“It has been slumbering,” he continues, eyes fixing on each of us in turn. “Conserving its fire, its power. But now, it is time to roar! It is time to breathe fire! Our passes are the flames; our tackles are the claws.”
He slams the marker down on the tray.
“We start this season strong,messieurs. Wake up the dragon! Burn our opponents to ashes. Go!”
The room erupts with cheers, applause, and a few animal noises (thanks, Finn), our adrenaline bubbling up like it always does. We jog out of the tunnel, where we’re greeted by staff. They hand us off to the kids who will escort us onto the pitch.
I spot Millie in the distance, her camera flashing as she steps backwards in front of Wade, a tiny boy holding his hand like this is the best day of his life. Wade ruffles the kid’s hair and leans down to say something that makes him beam.
Callum is already crouched next to his matchday kid, giving him a serious pep talk, like he’s about to sub in for defence. The boy nods solemnly, clearly taking his words as gospel.
Finn’s got a little girl with pigtails who keeps peppering him with questions, which he answers diligently.
Meanwhile, Cameron is actively listening to what his kid is telling him, giving the little one his full attention.
My own kid is around seven—big eyes, hair too long for school rules, and a massive Regents flag painted on his cheek.
“Hey, mate,” I say, crouching to match his height. “You ready for this?”
He nods like a player negotiating his contract. “Do we get to win today?”
I smirk. “Absolutely. You brought the luck, didn’t you?”
“I brought snacks,” he says, completely serious.
“Even better.” I grin. “That’s how we do it.”
“Is it scary to play in front of a big crowd?” He glances down at the grass, then back at me.