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mirkwoodshewolf · 3 years

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Nightmare paradise; Doctor Strange x daughter reader

*Author’s note*

Now I know this may not be my best work but I have been DYING to make a Doctor Strange daughter fic since like FOREVER!! A lone solo without any real relationship patterns in tact (mostly Peter Parker WHICH I DON’T DISAGREE WITH AT ALL. I’m just saying I hardly see any other fics that just revolve SOLELY on Stephen strange and a daughter reader. THAT’S IT.) So in the end THIS is what ended up being born.

Also I LEAVE FACVE CASTING OF NIGHTMARE UP TO YOU GUYS!! I personally imagined Troy Baker’s voice for Nightmare but you guys can picture WHOMEVER you wish to be the character for Nightmare. Also this fic is LOOSELY based off of WandaVision but DON’T WORRY NO SPOILERS OF THE SERIES IS GIVEN. I just took a plot point from the series and had it work for the Doctor Strange universe. Enjoy my first Maevel fic in FOREVER dearies :)

Warnings: Swearing, the BLIP mentioned and described, Thanos mentioned (yeah he’s a warning), some battle sequences, blood (if you’re squeamish).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@soy-guey

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I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock blaring off. I groaned and reached out to try and shut it off but no matter how many times I was slamming my hand on my desk, my alarm was still blaring. Finally I got out from under my covers and unplugged my clock and saw just how bright it was outside. I let out a groan and collapsed back to my pillows.

“Why do I have to be woken up so early?” I groaned tiredly before heaving myself upward and out of my bed. I walked towards my jointed bathroom and took my morning shower. After that I got changed and went downstairs to eat my breakfast.

I lifted my hand and soon a pop-tart came into my hand and I unwrapped the tinfoil and took out one of the two pop-tarts.

“It somehow amuses me to see you use your mystic arts to bring you your breakfast when you could just get it yourself.” That deep familiar baritone voice spoke out to me.

“Coming from the guy who just last month used his powers to wash his car when he was teaching me the form of astral projection.” I sassed back at him.

“That was for the purpose of multitasking.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“What are you talking about of course it is.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too times infinity times infinity there I win!” I chuckled and teasingly poked my tongue out at him.

“When did you get sassier than me, dad?”

“More like you inherited your sass from me. But no one can out sass me.” He said as he playfully booped my nose.

“Yeah but never forget dad,” I then took his arm and kicked his leg in before tossing him over my shoulder to finally pin him down. “I’m the more clever fighter out of the two of us.” He hummed questioningly.

“You sure about that?” suddenly I was levitated in the air and constricted in a familiar red velvet cloth. I looked down to see the cloak of levitation had my arms pinned to my sides and was levitating me just a few inches off the ground.

“You cheat!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme never cheats.”

“But my father does.”

“You know you better choose your next sentence very carefully.” My dad threatened with that growl-like tone to his voice, but the twinkle of mischief and playful smirk on his face told me that this wasn’t a real threat.

“Or what? Parlor magician.” Next thing I knew the cloak of levitation had lifted part of it’s material up and it started messing up my hair. Not only getting it tangled up but making sure it gave my hair a static charge to it.

I exclaimed as I pleaded it to stop before it was too late, but soon enough my hair resembled a porcupine with it’s quills standing up. My dad laughed as the cloak finally released me and I fixed my hair.

“Very funny dad.”

“Oh I think it’s very funny.” He said through his deep baritone chuckle. I tried to adjust my hair but some strands still remained on end. “Here, let me help.” He then licked his fingers and I exclaimed.

“Eww gross you know I hate that!”

“Well it’s either this or we wet your hair again and you don’t have time to argue because you’re already 10 minutes late for class.”

“WHAT!?” I looked at the grandfather clock and saw that it was already 7:50am. “Shit!”

“Ah-ah-ah-ah language!” my dad scolded me. I growled lowly and said.

“Okay fine just fix it hurry!” he soon made my hairbrush appear and he gently re-brushed my hair to it’s normal way. Any crazy strand that was out of place, my dad would lick his fingers and tame it down by stroking it down to the rest of my hair.

“There you go, back to your normal gorgeous hair.” I then quickly opened up a portal to my school but before I left the cloak once again grabbed my arm preventing me from leaving.

“What now?”

“You know the rules, come on. No matter how old you get you never leave the house without giving your old man a kiss.” I looked up at him then stood up on my tip toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m going to be late.”

“You’re always late.” The cloak finally freed me and I hopped through the portal and gave one last wave to my dad before closing the portal back up. As the last warning bell rang, I quickly raced through the back entrance of the school and raced to my first class.

The day went on as normal. First block Advance Science, second block, PE, followed by half of third block being English and then lunch at 12:15pm and that’s where I was right now. We had about a half hour for lunch before continuing the second half of 3rd block since that’s how second lunches go.

See my school has this strange set up based on whatever class you have for your 3rd block depends on your lunch schedule. If you had an elective class (choir, drama, band, orchestra, art), a foreign language, or science class you had 1st lunch at around 10:30am (so that means you eat lunch before you would go to your 3rd block class).

Second lunches (like me) follow under English and Math have the first half dedicated to class, then lunch then we continue our class. And then 3rd lunches are for the people who eat lunch after their 3rd block classes, they’d eat then go straight to their last class of the day (history, PE/driver’s ED, health, home economics).

I was sitting with some of my friends when I heard a voice call out to me.

“Hey (Y/n)!” I turned and saw my group of friends. I walked over to our table and that’s when one of my friends Courtney said.

“Yo (n/n) what be up?”

“Nothing much, just trying to get by in Mr. Gordon’s class.”

“I still can’t believe you somehow managed to pass his class when a friend of mine is struggling so bad. And he’s never done bad in the advance classes.” Said another friend of mine, Bobi said.

“I think it comes from having a neurosurgeon as a father. Well former neurosurgeon.” I said recalling the accident. Of course I never told my friends that my dad eventually became a superhero that could bend time and reality to his will all thanks to his training he did with the former Sorceress Supreme.

“Well no worries (n/n), I’m sure your dad will get back on his feet soon.” My friend Jay said.

“Yeah, he is a strong man.”

“Then how come he got bleeped away like the rest of the world did?” said Kira. I looked up at my ginger haired friend in shock.

“What did you just say?”

“I said then how come when my dad gets the shit knocked out of him, he just bitches about it?” I looked at her confused for a second and that’s when Kelsey answered.

“Just be thankful your dad at least tries to work. All my dad does is drinks and sleep.” I patted her shoulder comfortingly as I continued eating my pizza.

When school was over, my friends and I went down to the bowling alley since it was Friday. We reserved our usual lanes and got into our teams. I was up next to bowl for my team, I took hold of my red bowl, lined myself up and took a deep breath in then exhaled out.

‘(Y/n)! (Y/n)!’ my dad’s voice soon screamed in my head. His tone sounded urgent and—worried? What was going on?

“Yo (Y/n) you alright?” Mikaela came up to me placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah sorry.” She gave me a comforting squeeze on my shoulder.

“It’s okay, just make the shot otherwise we’ll lose and you are our best striker.” She went back to her seat and took a sip of her diet coke. My team was cheering me on, I took another deep breath but just as I took my run and let the ball go, my head suddenly felt like it was splitting open.

The ball went straight down the gutter and I was soon met with all these flashes. I saw my dad, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, and these—other people including myself on what looked like a deserted wasteland of rubble.

There was this giant purple being that we were all fighting, a flash of green and then I saw my dad turn to dust. When my vision came back I could hear my team groaning and my other friends who had their team cheering.

“WHAT THE FUCK (Y/N)!!!” Danielle exclaimed.

“Gurl you never. Miss. A. shot!” Mikaela snapped at me.

“What the fuck was that (Y/n)?!” Jay yelled.

“Ehhh thanks (y/n). Now you guys have to pay for the meal.” Courtney said as she snapped her fingers in victory.

And I don’t know how or why it happened but suddenly I was back holding the ball in my hands, staring down the pins and my team was cheering for me. How did I get back here? Why was I back here? I felt myself step forward a few times and release the ball and soon I got a perfect strike.

My team cheered as the pins were cleared and a new set was placed down in front of me.

“Alright (n/n)! One more strike and we win!” my ball soon came back onto the ramp and I picked it up, stepped forward and released the ball and low and behold another strike! My team cheered while the other team groaned in defeat.

“Oh yasss Queen!” Chris exclaimed.

“Alright Courtney, pay up you’re buying the pizza now!”

“Damn you (y/n).” Courtney sneered at me as she took out her wallet and left the payment for all our pizzas and a tip for our waiter.

After that it was already getting dark outside and when I looked at my watch I had seen that it was now 10:30pm.

“Well guys I gotta get going.” I told them.

“Yeah I promised my mom that we’d go shopping for my sister’s wedding next month.” Mikaela said.

“Yeah and I gotta get up and ready for work by 8am. See yah guys.” Courtney said and soon all my friends and I went our separate ways. I went into an alleyway to open up a portal to get me back home when I heard a sudden crash behind me.

“Hello?” I cried out. Nothing but silence replied back to me. “Who-who’s there?” another crash was heard just head of me but I didn’t see anything.

The quick fluttering sounds of a cape or cloak whisked past behind me and when I quickly turned around I thought I could see the cloak of levitation, but it was so dark and so fast I couldn’t tell for sure.

I quickly made my portal and jumped through it and immediately closed it before finally starting to hyperventilate. My knees turned to jelly as I collapsed to the ground trying to control my breathing.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong sweetheart are you okay?” I looked up and saw my dad kneeling down beside me.

“I—I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not. Come on let’s get you up to your room and settled in your bed.” He picked me up, holding me like how he always used to hold me when I was little and carried me back to my room.

I was now in my sleep pants and an old nightshirt. My dad made a tall glass of milk appear by my bedside and he said as he brushed a strand of hair out of my face.

“Now, you wanna talk about why I found you hyperventilating at the bottom of the stairs?” I took a sip of my milk and said.

“It’s just…..I don’t know. Something weird happened today.”

“Like what?”

“Well there was something that Kira said to me. She—” but for some reason what I was about to say slipped my mind.

“She was going to say what?”

“She……she said……I-I can’t remember. I had it but now it’s….it’s gone.”

“Okay, what else happened? I know it couldn’t be just because of what she said.”

“Yeah, yeah then there was this sense of……déjà vu. Like when I was bowling I……” but again like before, when I was about to speak about—the thing it slipped my mind once again. At this point my dad was looking at me like I was mad. “I…..I can’t remember the déjà vu thing either. Daddy, am……am I going mad?” he pressed his hand against my forehead.

“I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers.” He said gravely. “But I’ll tell you a little secret. All the best people are.” He said with a grin. I looked at him with my bitch face which made him chuckle.

“Must you always quote Alice in Wonderland to me?”

“It’s your favorite movie and book of all time. You remember how you’d always beg me to read it to you as a little girl?”

“One look with my puppy dog eyes and you succumbed every time.” He pressed his forehead against mine as his nose gently rubbed against mine as he chuckled that deep baritone chuckle of his. The type that always made me feel safe.

“How about this, tomorrow we just take a day for ourselves. Just the two of us. We don’t even need to leave the house.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Great, love you sweetheart.” He leaned in and kissed my temple before leaving my room and shutting the door behind him. I downed the rest of the milk and suddenly felt sleepy. I collapsed onto my pillow and like a lightbulb I fell right asleep.

But throughout the night I kept tossing and turning as I was hearing not only my dad’s voice but Wong’s voice too. They were both frantic with worry as they kept calling out to me.

When I opened my eyes I found myself back at that wasteland and I saw myself fighting against the giant purple alien. I was holding the sacred sword of Vishanti. I saw myself leap into the air and swing the sword downward but the alien caught it with his bare hands. The two of us struggled with our strengths until he grabbed me by my white tunic and threw me like a ragdoll.

My dad soon came in with the bolts of balthakk which broke apart the ground around the purple giant but his gauntlet glowed a bright purple and shit a blast towards my dad. But my dad summoned a portion of the mirror dimension and used it as a shield to protect himself before sending it towards the giant.

While the giant was distracted I then suddenly came flying over my dad and sent the Crimson bands of Cyttorak to bind him while my dad multiplied himself using the images of Ikkon. He surrounded himself around the purple giant and each image created their own binding bands which shot down towards the giant purple creep.

But he used the gauntlet again and soon my dad’s image went back to just himself and my hold on him was also severed. He used the gauntlet to bring my dad closer to him but I couldn’t hear what he was telling my dad.

What I did see was him taking the eye of Agamotto and crush it into his palm before throwing my dad aside knocking him out. I then heard myself scream out towards me dad and saw the rage in my own eyes.

I saw myself let out a battle cry as I leapt into action. This time using hand to hand combat using the sword as well as creating my own shields to block his attacks. Wow I was a rageful monster with whoever this guy was. But—why is this so familiar to me? I know this couldn’t be just a dream, it’s like—a memory? A vision maybe?

All I know was that I saw myself getting weaker with each kick and punch I tried to throw. That was until I saw myself getting stabbed in my side. The purple giant then said.

“I respect you young witch. But now you’re starting to become a nuisance.” I then watched as he took out the sword from my side and I saw myself collapse onto the ground bleeding heavily.

I found myself gasping as I woke up and looked around to see myself still in my bedroom. I turned to the clock and saw that it was 1:45am. I quickly raced downstairs, in the total pitch black of my house not knowing what I was doing.

“And just where do you think you’re going little miss?” my dad’s voice soon said. He turned around in a chair as he turned on the light beside him.

“I-I was only…….”

“You weren’t planning on sneaking out were you? You know my rule. No venturing out after midnight.”

“No dad I-I-I wasn’t.” he stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder. However I felt his nail sink onto my skin piercing through my shirt painfully. I bit my bottom lip trying to keep in a scream or even a sound of pain.

“You know how it makes me feel whenever you disobey your father. You wouldn’t want to make father angry, do you?”

“N-no.” I whimpered out.

“That’s my girl.” Suddenly my dad was shot with a bolt of balthakk. I ducked down holding my shoulder and saw a small amount of blood actually on my fingertips.

“She’s not your girl, she’s mine!” I turned around and saw Wong and my dad?! Wait what was going on here? Why were there two of them? My dad was in his full Sorcerer Supreme outfit as the cloak of levitation had him hovering over a few inches off the ground.

My dad who had been shot across the room growled out as he stood back up.

“Impossible. You were gone! I’d seen it for myself!” he hissed. My other dad smirked and said.

“14,000,605 possibilities I had seen and only one victory. That possibility has already come to pass. Now I’ll only tell you this once,” he clapped his fists together and soon his shields came over his hands and he warned my dad. “Let. My daughter go less you face the wrath of the Master of the Mystic Arts.”

“(Y/n) you need to come with us now before it’s too late.” Wong told me.

“I—I don’t understand……how?”

“Sweetheart listen to me, I’m your real father. Just come stand behind Wong and I and we’ll get you out of here.”

“Don’t listen to him (Y/n). I’m your real father. Who would know what your favorite lullaby was?”

“(Y/n) I know he may seem like me but he’s not. It’s Nightmare. He’s kept you trapped in the Dream Dimension for 3 years.”

What? Then suddenly behind me a giant green and black blast of magic shot up in the air. As my dad’s body soon began to morph into another male’s body, wearing a familiar green and black attire, his hair growing wild and madded like a lion’s mane, his nails growing sharper and blacker like claws, his teeth turning to fangs and his eyes. Those once warm blueish-green eyes that once held warmth now turned a frightening and haunting yellow with a black pupil at its center.

Suddenly it all came back to me. When Thanos had snapped half of the population away, it gave Nightmare the advantage and power boast he needed to try and escape the Dream dimension and enter our own.

So three years ago I along with some other Sorcerers (those that were left) went to the Dream Dimension to stop him from invading Earth. But due to everyone’s fear and guilt of losing their loved ones and what the world had come to, Nightmare was almost too powerful to stop. He had killed one sorcerer who was still in her training and another one he had driven mad with fear.

In order to spare the others as well as the rest of the Earth, I volunteered myself as penance. I told Nightmare that he could have me if he spared everyone on Earth. He agreed and sent the rest of the sorcerers I had brought with me back to Earth leaving me under his control. I guess he had me relive a normal life with my dad where it was mainly us, no Thanos, no other Avengers, just me and him.

A haunting laughter was heard as Nightmare spoke with his true voice.

“Right you are Doctor. However you’re only partially correct this time around.” He walked right up to me and placed his hands on my shoulders gripping them once again. “Your daughter came to me by her own freewill.”

“That’s a lie! My daughter would never surrender herself to the likes of you!” Nightmare turned to me and disappeared into black smoke before reappearing behind me.

“Do you want to tell him? Or shall I?” he said as I felt one of his claw-like nails nick across my neck. I hissed in pain and felt a small amount of blood dripping down. His finger brushed across the cut and I could see him lick the blood off his finger from my peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry dad.”

“(Y/n)…….why?” before I could say anything Nightmare simply shushed me which in turn silenced me. I tried to speak but not even a peep came out of me. Nightmare had taken my voice.

“Seems she had more common sense than you did. The daughter of the Sorcerer Supreme is a precious treasure to uphold.” I felt him stroke down my hair, the very same way my dad would always do it to me.

“This is your last warning Nightmare, let her go or else.”

“Or else what? In case you hadn’t noticed I’m the one in control here. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been before. And you’re in my dimension which gives me the homefield advantage!”

“Yeah, but there’s one thing you still haven’t let go of. Your constant need to brag.” My dad said with a grin. Nightmare looked at my father confused which gave me the chance to free myself from his grip and I binded him with the Crimson bands of Cyttorak. Wong soon joined in and pushed a wall from the mirror dimension right towards Nightmare sending him out of the room.

My dad raced up towards me and the two of us embraced each other. I felt his left hand press against my temple while his right touched the base of my throat. I felt this warmth come over me and I said to him.

“I’m sorry dad.”

“Apologize later. Right now let’s get you out of here. You’ve been in here long enough.” He took my hand and we quickly made a run for it.

The normal streets of New York melted away and I finally saw the Dream dimension for what it really was. A dark black shadow surrounded the sky with haunting eyes staring at you and fanged mouths snarling or taunting you with your worst fears and guilt. Doors were also scattered everywhere, each one leading to somewhere you didn’t want to be or even get lost in.

And at the bottom of the trail we ran along at, an endless, empty abyss. One trip or a slip, then it’s a never ending fall throughout the Dream dimension. Wong let out a few shield platforms for us to hop across.

“Come on! The door we came through won’t be in the same spot for long.” He was the first to hop onto the first platform but then just before dad and I could even take the first leap, a python suddenly shot out from the floor and took hold of my calf.

“(Y/n)!” my dad exclaimed. I was being dragged towards the edge of the trail. I tried my best to scratch myself back towards my dad but the python continued to drag me towards the edge till I was finally dangling over the abyss.

My dad summoned the sword of Vishanti and threw it straight into the python’s eye which forced it to let me go as it recoiled back in pain before disappearing into a puff of black smoke. Dad quickly brought me back onto solid ground and we both saw my leg was heavily bleeding.

“Never did I think I could hate snakes even more than I usually do.” I groaned out a joke.

“Just be thankful he didn’t conjure up a venomous one. Try to stop the bleeding.” The cloak of levitation came off my dad’s shoulders and wrapped itself around my leg, tightening itself up to stop the bleeding.

“You and Wong need to get out of here. You guys can come back with help.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here again that’s not happening!”

“Dad I can’t walk! And without the cloak you can’t fly.”

“We’ll think of something.”

‘I’m afraid there won’t be any time for you three, or should I say you two.’ That’s when we noticed that Wong had suddenly gone missing.

“Wong? Wong!” my dad called out.

‘Face it Strange, you’re in my dimension now. And thanks to your daughter’s powers I’ve grown more powerful than ever before!’ My dad picked me up bridal style and proceeded to run.

Somehow we managed to find somewhere to hide. One of many doors that simply looked like a dark cave. My dad sat me down and that’s when the cloak unwrapped itself from my leg and my dad began to heal my leg as quickly as he could.

“Dad…..if—if we don’t make it out of here…..”

“We’re gonna make it out.”

“Dad please I—I need to say this, after five long years please just let me speak my mind.” He looked at me worriedly but gave me a nod. “If we don’t make it out of here alive, I—just want you to know that…..I’m proud to call you my father. I know we had a—rocky start especially when I became a teenager but—after the accident I thought I had lost you forever. And then when—Thanos blipped you away. I’d come so close to losing you again without telling you how I’ve felt about you. I love you daddy. I really, really do love you.” He pressed his hand against my cheek and said.

“I love you too (Y/n). I love you so, so much. I know I haven’t been Dad of the year to you, but……I thought it was because I wasn’t ready to be a dad. I thought I would screw up and have you end up broken. But I am proud to call you my daughter, my little white witch.” I smiled at him sadly.

‘How sentimental.’ Nightmare’s voice echoed through the darkness. My dad pulled me close to his chest, his arms wrapped around me protectively, same thing with the cloak as it felt the red velvet material wrap it’s two edges around me.

“So what now Nightmare? Now that I’ve broken free of your spell you going to kill me?” I heard his haunting chuckle as he said.

“No of course not. He is.” Suddenly my dad was struck with one of Nightmare’s controlling spells. It hit him right in his eyes and I saw the black and green magic aura surround my dad, trying to manipulate him.

“No! Dad! Dad no please fight it!” I pleaded as my dad was groaning and writhing on the floor. He held his hands to his head as he exclaimed in pain. “Daddy no please, you’re stronger than him. You’re clever than him, you’re Doctor Stephen Strange!”

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but daddy’s no longer home.” Nightmare soon appeared as the cave light up by a single firepit just a few feet away from us. Nightmare stood on top of a ledge of sorts and that’s when I heard the snarl of an animal next to me.

When I looked down that’s when I saw my dad had now shifted into a Nightmare. Teeth like a wolf’s bared at me, gleaming like the full moon, his eyes now a haunting gold like a tiger’s eye but his pupils were slitted like a snake’s, claws like meat hooks, a whip-like tail that almost looked like a dragon’s tail and bat wings soon sprouted from his back as he stared me down snarling.

I backed up before hobbling away from him but my dad charged after me. That’s when the cloak of levitation came to protect me as it wrapped itself around my father’s face trying to smother him.

“You know maybe I should’ve made you deal with this the past three years. Your biggest fear is your beloved father turned against you.” I fell to the ground due to my injury and backed away up against the rocky wall. All the while I watched in horror as my dad actually began ripping the cloak apart before staring directly as me once again.

“Release him at once Nightmare! This wasn’t a part of our deal!” I snapped as I looked up to where he was standing above me.

“Contracts can be edited sweetheart. So long as I bind you to my will it doesn’t matter what you see. Unless by my word that I release you from your contract, you are stuck here for eternity.” I heard a snarl and when I looked forward, my dad was just inches away from my face.

His canine teeth gleaming right at me as he kept licking his fangs. He truly was a monster now, there was not a single trace of my dad anymore in this beast.

“No daddy.” He stalked closer and closer inch by inch till I could feel his hot breath panting right in my face.

“Sweet dreams love.” Nightmare gave me one last taunt using my dad’s real voice.

Then quicker than lightning the beast that was once my father actually lunged for my neck and I felt his canines pierce my skin and I let out a blood curdling scream.

“Blech! Blood, blood, blood! And—death!” I said as my dad released my neck grinning at my over dramatic death scene. I then collapsed to the ground and played dead with my tongue out and everything.

“Alright now you’re just milking it.” My dad spoke with a slightly more gravel to his normal voice (kinda reminded me of Smaug from the Hobbit films). “Besides, I think we’ve got him. Thank you Nightmare you’ve been a great costar.” Dad said as he helped me stand up.

“What?” oh the confusion on Nightmare’s face was priceless.

“Oh did you think you actually affected me with your Nightmare magic? Well spells can be contained by other spells, and your attack is trapped in the mirror dimension.”

“And I’ve been working on some other forms of magic like shapeshifting thanks to some Norse spell books.” I explained to him gesturing to my dad.

“My girl is a clever one. Cheeky at times too.” Dad said as he ruffled my hair. Nightmare growled and said to me.

“But you forget one thing, you’re still under my control (Y/n) Strange. So says my law.”

“Yeah about that.” I then pulled out a small tape recorder from my pocket, rewind it and played the part that I needed and soon Nightmare’s voice said.

‘I release you from your contract.’

“Now by your own law, I am no longer tied to the Dream Dimension, or your control.” Nightmare’s face dropped from pride to utter defeat.

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

“Oh yes. It’s called a hustle bitch. Mic drop!” Soon a portal came behind dad and I and we both jumped through it sending us back to the New York Sanctum. The last thing we heard was Nightmare’s defeated tantrums.

Wong immediately closed the portal behind us and I dropped the spell from my dad turning him back to his normal self.

“You know he’ll try to return.” Wong told us.

“Yeah and now it seems I’m a bigger threat to him than you are dad.” I said.

“Well no matter what happens, we’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t try to return to Earth. Whatever it takes.”

Later that night as I was browsing through my phone, a knock was heard at my door.

“It’s open.” My dad soon came in and he said.

“How are you feeling?”

“After finally getting some real food in my system, and finally getting to use the Internet again. I’d say I’m doing better.”

“You know you didn’t have to be the one to do it. Wong was willing to hold Nightmare off.”

“I know, but the Time stone did show you that I needed to be the one to do it. Plus a poor, helpless, defenseless little girl willing to sacrifice herself for her friends. Nightmare could never resist such a scenario.”

“But to be tortured by him for three years? I’m surprised your psyche hasn’t been damaged.” He said as he sat down beside me.

“Well truthfully it wasn’t any different than what we’re doing right now. I was basically living a normal life with you, still using our powers but it was all before Thanos ever came into the picture. It almost felt like a sitcom at times.”

“Interesting.” Dad pondered.

“In all seriousness though dad, I’m fine. Mentally and physically. Well most of me anyways.” I said raising my newly bandaged leg. “But that’ll heal in the next few days thanks to Wong’s herbal remedies.”

“Well it’s getting late, so your head goes right there.” He said pointing to my pillow.

“Nah think I’ll just stay up all night. I mean I have been asleep technically for 3 years.”

“Fine, but don’t come whining to me when I come in here at first light for your morning training.”

“Please dad. You hate mornings even more than I do. Even when you were a neurosurgeon you hated your morning shifts.” He chuckled and gave me a kiss on top of my head.

“You really are my daughter.”

“And damn proud of it.”

“Goodnight (Y/n).”

“Night dad. Glad to have you back.” He winked at me before leaving my room. I laid back against my pillow and sighed heavily continuing to go through the web and looking at my old social media accounts that I hadn’t used in awhile and seeing just what some of my old friends were up to. “You may have created the perfect paradise for me Nightmare, but I wouldn’t trade my reality for anything else.” I spoke out loud knowing that Nightmare could be potentially listening in.

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apricotstone47 · 6 years

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Wontorra Interview with Erik Durm complete

W: Welcome to the Unitymedia digitaltalk. Today with BVB-star Erik Durm. We are very happy that he is here with us today, [turns to Erik] because you were inured for a long time and you had your comeback to the squad this weekend. First question: How are you feeling and what was it like to be back in the squad ?

E:I'm feeling fine and of course I was very happy to be back in the squad. Sadly this was my third long-term injury ,so its even nicer to be finally back again. This counts for me but as well for my family and friends they are all happy that I'm back again. (unimportant stuff) W: As I said, 140 days are a very long time. How did you deal with that, not able to do anything. How did you tackle this challenge and how did you distract yourself or maybe even work off ? E: Well it is more work off than distract myself. But as I said this was my third time and I wanted to be out of Dortmund, so I went to Munich for my reha and that was really good for me. Both physically and mentally. My family and friends often visited me and I was in regular exchange with our other injured players. It was helpful for everyone of us to share their “Misery” with the others. So it was good. W: Now that you are back: What are your personal targets for 2018 ? E: I think I’m saying this ,every year but I want to stay healthy and without any injuries... with everything else I will see what comes. And it would be of course cool if we would reach the Euroleague final. But, and that is something I’ve learned in the past three years: the health is the most important thing. W: Sunday Dortmund played 0-0 against Wolfsburg. It was your first game on the bench. How would you evaluate this match ? E: Yeah... both teams had their problem entering the match. But nethertheless we played forward and we had two to three very good chances. We can live with that point, especially because the other teams played a little bit for us as well. Now it is our turn to beat Berlin on friday and take the three points hime, and then we are good in the table.

W: During your injurytime a lot of things have changed here in Dortmund. Peter Stöger, thats how the new coach is called. Now that you have trained under him and collected first impressions... what is your feeling about him ? E: He is a very pleasant, good coach. He have a lot of fun in the training right now, and I think that is good for all of us. But I want to say that Peter Bosz was also a very nice guy and a very good coach. But sadly it didn’t worked out very well at the end, for whatever reason. - Therefore we are happy that we have Peter Stöger now. By now I can’t tell much about him, for obvious reasons, but I know that it makes a lot of fun to train on the pitch with him. W: The next tasks for the team are Berlin away and then Freiburg at home. What are the targets the team set themselves for this matches ? E: Of course we want to win both of the games to get 6 points, so we can take back the second position behind Bayern again. Thats our big goal and I believe that we have the squad to make this. Especially because more and more injured players are coming back. I’m positiv that we can make this. W: Dortmund’s new player, Manuel Akanji, what is he like ? Did you meet yet ? E: He is a very calm guy, like everybody from Switzerland I think. He is nice, a good boy and the two trainings we had together, he trained well. He seems to be down to earth. That is all I can tell by now. W: During our talks the first questions arrived from the fans. Lets talk a bit about you. What do you like to do here in Dortmund ? E: Oh.. privat... ehm... the obvious stuff... doing much with friends, like playing a small billiard-tournament, I like to stay at home, to relax and to watch a bit netflix. Nothing spectacular. W: Its a big discussion topic, that former football players had a bit more freedom. Because todays players are under more pressure, people expect more from them, in sport way. What are you thinking of this ? E: I believe so. Football got even more professional in recent years, and I am saying this with the hope that i wont hurt anybody. [Nobby Dickel enters the conversation and says to Erik: “ Well now i listen very carefully Erik”] - Yes Nobby, well I think we today are a bit more professional than you back then. [Nobby: I dont believe so] And thats why I think, an I#m speaking for me and my team, we don't really need this going out and drinking and partying. [Nobby: But It ca help sometimes ? To get your head free or to calm down when you are a bit angry?] Yes maybe but for me.... I have to be honest I dont like it.. and I am happy about this. [Nobby: Maybe we two should go out some day ?] W: So if you cant tell us something about the clubs and pubs here in Dortmund, because your are not familiar with then, you can tell us something about the atmosphere in this stadium. We all now, the atmosphere here is unique. The fans want to know how you experience this on the pitch. E:Of course we can hear the fans when we are playing. I mean you are sometimes in like a tunnel, when you have the ball on your foot or when you into the game but i hear them when I run to the side line for a throw in. Or I hear them when the match is paused for a bit. I still get goosebumps, especially when I look at the Südtribüne. It was also a good feeling being back on the bench, and experience this again. - I think for a football player there is nothing more beautiful then coming in our stadium, going onto this pitch. And of course it is even more beautiful if you are able to play for this team. And get the support. W: What were your three Top-Moments here in the Signal Iduna Park ? E: (thinks for a longtime) For me, of course the match were I scored my first Bundesliga goal against Hertha BSC Berlin. To be honest i was a bit shocked that I’ve scored that goal, I wasn't prepared for this and strangely enough I ran away from the Süd.. I ran towards Schmelle because I didn't know where to go and what to do..... And the other two ....Derby wins.Because of the atmosphere....Any my first championsleague home match against Marseille. W: This are really special moment. Now we have the first fan question. Who is your [football] idol ? [laughs] And there is Nobby Dickel waving. But you can be honest Erik. E: After Nobby... my first idol was Luis Figo when I was a little boy... W: [interrupts] Excuse me but I have to tell a personal story here. I met him once in a holiday. He was in the same hotel and I was so excited that i went to him like a groupie and asked for a picture with him.He is really such a big player.... E: I would have done it like this too..... I think. But like I said as a kid i idolized him because he was so good at Real Madrid and I think that was my first jersey wich my dad has bought me. A Real Madrid Figo jersey. Furthermore I was a big FC Kaiserslautern fan back then and of course Miro Klose was a hero for me.. that why it was so special for me to play the world cup with him. Those two..... and Nobby... those three are my big idols W: You brought up the World Cup, maybe you could look back and tell us how you experienced this summer ? E: I still didn't processed all the experiences I`ve made, there was no time for this. It was such an extreme year. I was retrained from striker to right back and right wing, had my first championsleague game, like I told earlier, a year later I was able to go to Brazil and we won there and became World Champions. For me, my family and for my friends it was something like the highlight of a carrier. Many things changed after that. I was world cup winner and everybody knew it, so they measured me on this. It wasn’t easy for me. Also because this year Dortmund didn't play well. I think we were on place 18 back then... again an extreme. It wasn't easy to deal with this positiv and negativ extremes. W: Now in 2018 we have a World cup again. What do you think ? How possible is it for the german national team to become world champion again ?

E: I think we are one of the top-favorites. We have really good players and I believe it will become hard for Löw to pick the right players for Russia. Germany is a tournament team and thats why I think that we are top favorites alongside France and Spain. W: What would be your dream final ?

E: Difficult.... Germany against France with a happy end for us.

W: Who is the best player you’ve ever played with ?

E: First of all I play with so many really really good players together. Though I have to say that Ousmane Dembélé was really special with his technique, speed and his understanding of the game. So I think he is the best Player I’ve ever played with. He made things in training, where I felt.. yeah.. a bit stupid to be honest when I was his opponent. Because he is so good... W: A really nice story. Why BVB and not FSV ?

E: I assume with FSV they mean Mainz. Mainz was my youth club. I was in the A-youth.. and the Coach and the Vice Coach from Wolfsburg, which we played on the weekend, were my first coaches in Mainz. Mainz wanted to keep me back then, but they had a few problems with the headquarters and we couldn't reach the same level, and then Dortmund contacted me. As Kloppo went trough the door, shook my hand and told me that there is also a chance for me playing Bundesliga in Dortmund, I knew that I wanted to play for Dortmund. W: You said you shot your first Bundesliga goal agains Berlin. Maybe you can score your next goal against Hertha next weekend ? Would be a good time. E: Yes the time would be good, but first I have to get in the squad. This is the most important thing for me. The coach has good options and we have a lot of fit players. I will be happy If I’m in the squad and its important for us to take the three points back home. W:And to stay healthy. Thank you very much Erik for this open talk

#Borussia Dortmund #erik durm

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Footie II

MORE lexa soccer player please and thank you!

Previously on Footie

The ride home after a game was one of the best times on the planet. Coming down from the high of playing, from the adrenaline of winning, from the pressure of the team and herself, from that glorious feeling of her muscles twitching with built up lactic acid from leaving every ounce of sweat and preparation on the field. It was an almost sacred time.

On the flight, most slept. Lexa usually read or relaxed, maybe snuck in a movie or something to numb the very excited and antsy part of her that came with the coming down she adored. It wasn’t often that she kept up on her phone, but something about the flight and her boredom and the antsiness made her scroll.

They were nearly home by the time she found a certain remark that made her pause. Fate did not disappoint her once again.

Anxiously, Lexa sat up as soon as she found the girl. She looked around as if she were about to do something illegal, as if at any moment someone would catch her, though deep down she knew there was nothing wrong about looking, she felt… she felt the tiny jokes and hard time her team would give her.

Satisfied that she was alone,she snuggled deeper into her sweatshirt and plane seat. Outside, the world passed, the night grew darker. The striker rubbed the soreness on her knee though it was not because it was worse than normal, but merely out of nerves.

For a moment she reconsidered, putting the phone into her pocket and clenching her jaw. Her foot tapped at the bottom of the seat in front of her before she sighed, long and heavy and gave up to herself.

When she was a child, her mother often joked that Lexa was her own babysitter. She had a strict moral code, and a police state-like vigilance over herself. While Anya was prone to sneaking out and being generally difficult and rebellious, Lexa was the opposite. NO one knew why. Her father certainly wasn’t like that, according to her mother. And her mother, well she was the one telling Lexa to sneak out with her sister just so she could have something to yell about sometimes. But Lexa was cursed with her own kind of conscious that she was only slowly learning to trick.

For instance, she could now lie to herself about this girl because it was just looking, right? It wasn’t like she was waiting around, and so there was no harm, no risk of getting more attached, no real risk at all.

It was the part of her that wanted to be attached that scared her.

The first few tweets were just silly, random things. One was an innocent retweet of a little video of Lexa’s goals from the game, and that made her smile into her collar. A bit deeper down were videos of songs, a few jokes and replies, some education-based government initiatives and politically motivated snide comments.

And then came the pictures.

Nervously, Lexa looked around again like she’d get caught with porn.

But from the overview, none looked to be that, just colorful squares and a pretty blonde peppered throughout.

She should stop, she argued with herself. But she was too deep.

Instead, she grinned when the first picture appeared. Twirling the end of her drawstring between her fingers, she bit at it a second later.

There was Clarke at a graduation for what looked like elementary students in miniature caps and gowns. There was a picture of freshly baked cookies. There were friends at a cookout. There were little words inked on pale skin, made visible by a slightly lifted shirt. There were car trips and books and music and lots of pictures in an apron at some restaurant. The more she scrolled, the more she grinned.

She stopped at the one of Clarke at a charity race. She stared at the girl who beamed with a medal beside her cheek, and she read the caption about her father

Of course she was, Lexa sighed. She had to be the daughter of one of the best football coaches in all of history, and Lexa’s all-around hero for most of her life.

“Fate,” she groaned and let her head loll back against the seat.

The little restaurant was nothing at all. It had enough tables for the regulars. It had good enough food and cheap enough drinks that it filled and emptied onto the patio. The atmosphere was always genial and calm and quiet. Clarke knew it better than she knew herself. It’d been her first job, her support through college, and even in the summer months, it was a nice reprieve from teaching and stress. It was a quiet slice of familiar for her.

Still, she caught the score and highlights and shook her head at the girl who lead the league in goals. Still, she couldn’t believe she almost thought fate would push her toward a soccer player.

It must have been comical.

“We’re closed,” she hummed as the bell rang and she finished stacking silverware on the side.

“Sorry. I just… I was in the neighborhood.”

As soon as she heard the voice, she knew and sighed before looking at the ceiling and asking the entire will of the world why this was so enjoyable for the forces at work to watch. Soccer players were bad news. It was that simple.

“I thought you were in Germany.”

“Poland,” Lexa shrugged, hands deep in the pockets of her shorts. “But you did figure it out then?”

“Okay, it only took me a little longer than embarrassing,” Clarke shrugged as she resumed her task of cleaning up behind the bar. “Honestly, had I not stopped by to see my dad, I wouldn’t have known. He’s a huge fan. He coaches.”

“An understatement,” the intruder mumbled. “So fate brought us together again?”

There was a bashful kind of grin there as they stood, strangers and nothing more.

“You literally had a game tonight. How are you here?” the waitress shook her head. “Wait. How are you here?”

“I’m running off of that post-game adrenaline.”

“Right.”

“I saw your comment a few days ago. I’ve been trying to usher fate along a bit. I’ve run past this place every day this week, but no luck.”

She had this air about her, this quiet, this calm, this strength, this worry, these thoughts that were impossible to not be endeared by. For a complete stranger, Clarke understood some of it, at least more than she thought she should.

“Isn’t that a sign?”

“I just don’t have the patience,” she shrugged again. “There was a little bit of fate. I took a little bit of circumstance and made my own luck.”

“But how did you know I was here?”

“I, uh, you know. Um. Internet.”

Clarke shook her head and untied her apron. Perhaps it was pointless to fight fate, perhaps this was the moment, the one where everything changed and nothing stayed the same. Perhaps all she had in front of her was a very bored soccer player who would break her heart like the last. Perhaps it was magic.

“So, what now?”

“I thought of a lot of really cool lines, like if we bumped into each other and stuff. I honestly hadn’t planned this part. You know, with the--”

“Adrenaline, yeah,” Clarke chuckled as she clicked off the lights in the back. “Well, what are they then, champ?”

“Huh?”

“What were you going to say?”

Clarke was distracted by the slope of her nose. The slight Roman tilt to the bridge of it, high and noble. The gentle part of her jaw. The way she dug her thumb into her palm to lessen the nerves.

“Marry me,” Lexa grinned.

“Right for the kill, huh?”

“I can’t think of any of them right now. Just. There’s a bit of fate here, isn’t there?”

Hopeful and eager, Clarke was certain she was party puppy herself. Lexa swallowed and watched the waitress move toward her.

“Do you want to go get a drink before the whole proposal thing?” Clarke ventured, turning off the final light.

“I don’t drink.”

“At all?”

“I like ginger ale.”

With a heavy sigh, Clarke appraised the girl in front of her.

“One ginger ale. On me. That’s all you get to plead your case.”

“I’m pleading now?”

“I don’t date soccer players.”

“Well I’m not sure I want to date at all, so this works out well,” Lexa decided, earning a smile.

She already knew it was too late, but that lone dimple sure as hell was the final nail in her coffin.

The riverfront was quiet. Tuesday was boring, even in July, but the stillness of the water, the quiet of the humidity, the wilt of the leaves, the curls of hair that refused to even battle the elements, the smell that comes at a certain temperature when the breeze picked up that is so innately summer, it strangled the city.

“My niece. She invited me as her Show and Tell object last year, and I had to stand there, in full uniform, while she explained what I did,” Lexa grinned as Clarke picked pictures for her to explain. “Then, she made me do tricks.”

“And you agreed to it?”

“Look at those dimples and those eyes,” she groaned. “I’m a sucker. And she’s my biggest fan. She wears a shirt with my name on it and I’m just… It probably fills me with the most pride.”

“She’s a cutie for sure,” Clarke grinned, taking a sip of her own ginger ale.

The pair leaned against the railing, ignoring proximity and the city and enjoying their own little world, as they had been for the past two hours. It wasn’t how she expected her night to go, but Clarke wasn’t terribly upset with a night like that.

“It was just me and Anya. We had this age difference that always teetered on this line of her mothering me. Then, after our mom passed, it just brought us together. I miss her a lot. My sister. And my mom,” she added, swallowing and chewing her lip before thinking about it too much. “Has anything ever happened to you, where when you look back at the past, you see yourself, and you just… it seems so far removed? You can’t imagine that person anymore?”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighed.

“What was it?”

“I liked it better when you were proposing.”

“It’s fate.”

Clarke took a deep breath and refused to meet those eyes. Those eyes were attached to that mouth, the same one that smiled when Clarke told her about some of her students and the things they said, or that frowned when she explained her dislike of the sport because of a shitty ex.

“My mom’s a doctor. Her father was a doctor. His was a doctor. It went back probably to healers in clans or something,” she shrugged. “And I put a lot of pressure on myself to do it, and I didn’t want to be a doctor. So I sabotaged myself a bit, I guess. Senior year of high school, I was admitted to the hospital for exhaustion. Which spiralled from there. It was a long year. And sometimes I’ll think of me in high school, and it’s a different person. I’m just… I’m happy now. I can’t remember ever having that feeling before.”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“A year ago we found out my dad has cancer. Things haven’t been the same since that, honestly. But I’m not far enough in the future to separate it yet, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Lexa nodded, fiddling with the tab of her soda can.

“Tell me your deep dark secrets now, World Champion Trophy Award-Winning Superstar with A Million Endorsement Deals.”

“Are you mocking me for endorsing products?” she laughed, twisting her side against the railing and facing the enigma of a girl who made her ache and fixed her up so quickly she hadn’t seen it coming. “I go through a lot of cleats. I have to get some for free.”

“What about sports bras and running shorts that you use on unsuspecting girls in the park?”

“Oh, you remember that?” she grinned, all mischievous and good and Clarke was certain a bit of the devil mixed in for good measure.

Lexa earned a blush. She saw it right there in the evening under the street light.

“Who were you before?” Clarke ignored her.

Lexa took a deep breath as well and tilted her head up to the sky with her eyes closed, enjoying the night and the warmth and the company.

“I can’t remember. I mean. I watch memories happen. I just don’t remember the motivation for much of it. Anya says I get all stuck in my head. I think I used to be happy and loud and she says I would make everyone laugh. But I can’t picture doing it.”

“What happened?” Clarke’s voice was tiny, but such was the appropriate volume to ask such things after midnight on a Tuesday in July.

“My mom worked really hard so that I could play. It was always just us. My dad pissed off sometime before I could know him,” Lexa shrugged. “She picked me up from practice even though she had to go back to work that night. We were talking about dinner. I remember that. She was laughing because I was hungry. I’m always hungry,” she smiled. “And then we weren’t. And I remember opening my eyes and she was just staring at me. Only we were upside down and there was glass and blood and the smell. I remember that a lot.”

“I’m… Lexa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I mean. I. Your’s is so much--”

“It’s not more or less than anyone else’s. It just is,” she stopped Clarke before she could fret over it. “My mom used to be very superstitious. She’d have prayers, toss salt over her shoulder, spit on my cheeks. Everything was meant to be. I never believed in it. Now it’s kind of just habits. But it was nice thinking of her when I ran into you twice.”

“I like that though,” Clarke smiled, leaning closer. “I think the summer is magic. I always have. I don’t know why, but it just… It feels like magic, doesn’t it? It was missing before someone asked me for directions. With my dad and stuff, the magic has been at a minimum.”

“A bit of fate then did us both some good.”

“Something like that.”

By two in the morning, the streets were slumbering despite the wonderings of two strangers who didn’t know where their feet led them, and frankly didn’t much care. If there was magic, it wouldn’t let the night end.

“I can appreciate that, but you’re wrong,” Lexa argued vehemently.

“I don’t care how much you love action movies. Big Trouble in Little China is not a cinematic masterpiece,” Clarke scoffed, unable to believe it.

“What about They Live?”

“What now?”

“I’m here to kick ass and chew bubblegum,” Lexa mimicked, arms out and full of fake guns. “And I’m all out of bubblegum.”

“Seriously?” Clarke laughed, pushing her slightly.

“Okay, but Robocop? Terminator? Lethal Weapon?”

“I mean, those are movies,” she shrugged while Lexa balked at the simple description. “I’ve never really been into them.”

“Oh my goodness,” the soccer player let her head droop forward, shaking sadly. “Out of all of the girls in the universe.”

“I told you I was hard to love.”

“You can just watch them with me. I’ll corrupt you yet,” Lexa offered, nudging the blonde to get back on the sidewalk as one of the first delivery trucks of the morning crept along, turning into the alley they passed.

“Making plans already?”

“I gave up fighting fate when I was hanging upside down in a car,” she shrugged. “Makes those penalty shots a little more tolerable, too.”

Clarke smiled to herself at the words. She wasn’t sure how, but she slid her hand around Lexa’s bicep and rested her chin on her shoulder.

While she was still very unfamiliar with the city, despite the beautiful buildings, despite the quiet and the slow, meandering walk they allowed themselves, Lexa couldn’t look at much else other than the girl who talked animatedly about her students and the state of affairs of her very nosy neighbors.

It was distracting at best, but the city took such a backseat to this stranger who was becoming not a stranger over the course of a few hours.

“When I was seven, my mom decided I needed an outlet for my energy, so she signed me up,” Lexa shrugged, oddly self-conscious when the conversation turned to her. It was easy to talk about movies and stuff, it was impossible to be honest.

“I can imagine you as a bundle of energy.”

“Something like that,” she grinned as she kicked at an old can on the ground. “Our neighbor helped out a lot, Mr. Nash. He’d drop me off at practice, go to games when my mom worked. He’s my biggest fan, to be honest.”

“I bet that’s a long list.”

“He was the original. His wife died a few years before we moved in, and he needed a hobby, so yelling at me when I kicked balls against the fence was his. And then he just kind of… became our family. Mia calls him Pappy. He has his own kids and grandkids, but he always helped us.”

“He sounds fun.”

“He introduced me to your dad.” Clarke cocked her head and paused their walk, making Lexa flustered at the admission. “I mean. Not in person. But this was back when your dad was coaching, and he won three years in a row. Mr. Nash dug out old games and I watched him play. He was… It was amazing. I would practice moving like him.”

“How’d you figure out he was my dad?”

“Pictures on your… you know. I saw him and I got so mad at fate,” she chuckled.

“So this has been about twenty years in the making?” Clarke laughed with her.

“Cosmic long game,” she agreed. “Is that why you don’t date soccer players? Grew up around them?”

“No, most were fine,” she shrugged. “All it takes is one though. A rookie jerk who broke my heart. Swore them off after him.”

“Was he as good as me?”

For a moment, Clarke considered it and wanted to tease, but she could see the genuine curiosity. They stood on the corner and waited for a light to change despite there being no traffic at all, as if they waited, and time would wait, too.

“He’s rubbish,” Clarke finally admitted. “But I doubt anyone is as good as you.”

“You’d have to watch more than one game to know that though.”

“My dad said you were the best he’s seen. I trust his expert opinion.”

“He said… You mean. Wait,” Lexa stopped walking as Clarke continued. “Jake Griffin said I was-- Clarke! Wait! You have to tell me every word he said.”

With a shake of her head, the daughter of Lexa’s hero rolled her eyes and waited for the soccer player to catch up.

“Sorry,” Lexa swallowed and blushed, averting her eyes from Clarke’s as she finally slid into the bench that they found by the bridges. She handed over a cup of coffee and a little paper bag with some breakfast in it.

Clarke had already mocked her from afar as she got stuck taking pictures with a few apparent fans before entering the café across the street. She gave herself the five minutes they were separated to really think about what she was doing, about how she’d suddenly spent six hours walking around the city with this perfect stranger who was delightfully rambly and perfectly kind and decent and too obsessed with bad movies.

“It’s cute. That little girl was so happy to see you,” Clarke promised as the soccer player sat down.

They sky was grey, was quiet and not really worried with waking, though the streets picked up, the foot traffic growing as the inevitable buzzing of alarm clocks woke the world despite the two who sat on the bench as if they had nowhere else to go.

All down the river, barges pushed and boats moved as much as they could, their pace leisurely and undeterred. Across the water, on the other bank, businesses and buses billowed up and hummed along, as the volume began to be turned up.

“She reminded me of Mia.”

“When do you get to see her again?”

“My sister is bringing her husband and Mia for the playoffs and such, if we make it. Probably in the spring,” she grinned and took a sip of her own coffee. “I’m so excited. I’m going to take her to see a castle and she’ll watch me play.”

“I wonder which she’ll like more.”

“The castle, definitely. She gets bored at my games,” Lexa chuckled, carefully tearing a piece of muffin from inside her bag.

For the morning, right there in the middle of town, as the city woke up and the world failed to realize they were missing, the two just talked, just sat and talked and were anything but what they always were, which was alarmingly refreshing and terribly addicting.

Lexa was already terribly fond of the way Clarke used her hands to explain things. She kind of liked her eyes, too. There was also that terrible problem of her damn lips and how much she wanted to kiss them, but she refused to think about that for too long.

“You still never explained the blind date things,” Clarke pressed, cocking her head slightly. She felt Lexa stretch out her long legs and adjust closer. “That your teammates were determined to set you up on,” she explained when she earned a cocked head.

“Oh! Oh. Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “I um. You know. I guess. I just. They said I was too serious. I needed something outside of work.”

“And none of them stuck?”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Lexa decided. “Now. How do I get around this No Footballers rule you’ve enacted?”

“Switch jobs.”

“There is a pretty significant clause in a pretty ironclad contract that would forbid that,” she wagered. “What if I just promise to never cheat on you and win the championship.”

“Just a championship?” Clarke pfft’d.

“What else can I do?”

It was hopeful and eager, but Lexa meant it. She’d probably try to set a record for goals in a single game if Clarke asked her to, because this girl. This girl.

“I’ll try to think of something.”

The grin that came was mesmerizing and catching. Lexa leaned back and felt Clarke’s shoulder against her own, and she smiled too.

There kept being reasons to not leave each other. There was drinks, and then a walk, and then coffee, and then breakfast, and then slowly meandering toward the closest apartment. But the reasons were dwindling and time was happening despite their insistence that it stop.

The day opened up and early morning dawn became full morning, became traffic and people in suits and two very out of place and sleepy wanderers amidst the chaos of structured society. Lexa just wanted Clarke to hold onto her arm again, like she had the night before, because that was something. Clarke just wanted to stop smiling so much and trying to memorize Lexa’s voice and how her laugh started, soft and deep in her lungs before making it to her lips.

They debted movies. They argued about home. They complained about the future. They mourned the past. They offered assurances and guesses based on just a few hours and a gut instinct. They joked and teased and flirted and forgot what it meant to be part of reality.

But nights end. Days start. Lives happen.

“This is me,” Clarke finally stopped in front of her building. The stadium and the park poked itself out just a few blocks away. Lexa almost recognized the place.

“I. Uh.” Lexa took a deep breath and fidgeted in her pockets again. “This was fun. I had a good time.”

“Better than fine?”

“Much better than fine,” she nodded. “Would it be terrible to ask your number?”

“You don’t want to let fate decide any longer?”

“Listen, you can’t trust fate too much. It’s just a nudge. You make your own luck,” Lexa explained, the self-appointed expert on the subject.

Intense eyes searched her, debated, and Lexa felt very small under eyes like that, very raw and very open. But she stood a bit straighter and she tilted her chin up, ready to fight.

“I can’t believe I’m going to break my no soccer players rule for you,” Clarke sighed and dug in her pocket for some kind of paper. She pulled out a single dollar from the night before and wrote on it.

“I’m going to use this to ask you on a date,” Lexa explained as she looked at it and asked permission once again. “Just so you know. You don’t have to give it to me if you’re uncomfortable with that.”

“I wouldn’t be giving it to you for any other reason.”

“Summer magic, huh?” she grinned, shoving the bill into her pocket.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Still, neither wanted to move. Not even when the door opened and a neighbor came out, carefully shuffling past them on the steps. Both simply leaned over the railing and let her scootch past.

“I should let you go on then,” Lexa nodded to herself.

Before she could register it, she felt arms around her neck and a big kind of hug strangling her. Her own hands remained at her side for a moment before she could translate what was happening. Clarke’s chest was on her chest, her arms were strong around her neck, her cheek was pressed against her own, and all across her body, Lexa felt her. She smiled into Clarke’s shoulder and closed her eyes, taking a big breath of that memory.

“Thank you for giving fate a nudge,” Clarke whispered.

“Anytime.”

Clarke untangled herself and made her way up the steps while Lexa remained there at the bottom one, fiddling with the new dollar bill in her pocket, overjoyed and unsure what to do with it. Bashfully, she waved as Clarke gave her a final goodbye. Tired as the soccer star was, she glided all the way home.

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thesportssoundoff · 6 years

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“What’s At Stake In St. Louis ?” The UFC Division Breakdown

(Gonna try this for a month or so. See how it goes)

Joey

Jan 11th

Middleweight Fights Booked: 1 (Vitor Belfort vs Uriah Hall) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake? A torch passing.

Vitor Belfort has spent plenty of time in the UFC and while his value has dipped from being a potential title contender and bonafide numbers maker to being a guy who makes his bread as a dude who fights frequently and more often than not puts over the next generation of talent at the 185 lb division. Vitor is planning his retirement which is a big deal until you realize that he's basically retired about eight times now. Vitor is more than likely "retiring" to head elsewhere but in his place, he potentially could pass the torch to a new Vitor Belfort. If one truly wishes to think about it, Uriah Hall is basically what Vitor Belfort is. He's the ultra fast athletic striker who looks awesome in a highlight reel but has all of those dead spots in between Point A and Point B. Hall's best value to the UFC is what Vitor's value is; he fights frequently and is a name who more than not drags in viewers because of what MIGHT happen. There really isn't anything pertaining to relevance inside the division but there's a good shot that Uriah Hall is basically taking a good glimpse into his future when he faces Vitor.

Welterweight Fights This Week: 2 (Emil Meek/Kamaru Usman, Thiago Alves/Zak Cummings) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake? Keeping Pace

There's something to be said for keeping pace with your cohorts as opposed to waiting for the perfect opportunity. For Thiago Alves, he's taking a serious step down in name value from the likes of Patrick Cote, Carlos Condit and Jordan Mein but at this point, he was losing steam compared to the other veterans in the division. After two straight losses, the popular Alves probably needed to get back in there ASAP or run the risk of being forgotten for good as this WW division develops and matures. This though is mostly about Kamaru Usman. The one major component to Usman's game that's prevented him from really having top 5 potential in my opinion were his hands. He took a big step forward in that regard vs Sergio Moraes en route to a decisive violent finish. Since then, Mike Perry has fought twice (once on Fox), Darren Till ruined Donald Cerrone, Yancy Medeiros had a war for the ages which has vaulted HIM into a main event spot, Stephen Thompson made Jorge Masvidal look as bad as he's ever looked in the UFC, Colby Covington has set the world on fire with his words and Tyron Woodley has flirted with big fights. I would probably pick Usman to beat most of those guys if not all of them but he sort of needs to force the issue and make this happen because otherwise he's not going to be getting many call to arms when it comes to getting those fights.

Lightweight Fight This Week: 2 (Matt Frevola/Marco Polo Reyes, James Krause/Alex White) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake: Staying On The Track

If 2018 is anything like 2017 then at least once a month we're all going to have a brand new lightweight prospect to go crazy over. MMA's gone from being big and bulky to where 135 to 155 lbs produces prospects by the bushel and so chances are, these four guys are all competing just to stay in the conversation. James Krause is a local guy who has been in the UFC a good spell while Alex White is a top prospect from yesteryear who has sort of lost his way. He's from "the area" so it's basically Missouri vs Missouri for the fans. Matt Frevola vs Marco Polo Reyes is the battle between two dudes pitted through some UFC gimmickery. Frevola was the final DWTCS signing and he's an ultra exciting prospect out of Serra-Longo while Marco Polo Reyes is a TUF LAM brawler who will forever have a gig in the UFC by virtue of the fact that dude throws hands consistently. The likelihood is none of these guys have big money futures in the UFC as major stars but the key is to stay on the track the entire time.

Featherweight Fights This Week: 3 (Doo Ho Choi/Jeremy Stephens, Darren Elkins/Michael Johnson and Mike Santiago/Mads Burnell) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake: The potential for a shake up.

Any division with the headliner on a card is in line for something big to change but this could be a much different scenario. Doo Ho Choi had the FOTY (and maybe top 10 fights ever) vs Cub Swanson, was booked for Renan Barao and pulled out due to injury. He spent the entire year rehabbing and recovering but he's back----just in time for his mandated military service to creep into the scene. It's worth pointing out that Choi's rising star power once rivaled the likes of the Korean Zombie and Brian Ortega prior to dipping out. Now we'll see if the fans still love him the way they did before he lost and took a year off. If Choi beats Stephens then it wouldn't surprise me to see him fast tracked just behind the likes of Ortega and Emmett as a potential title challenger. I don't think he'd GET a title shot but he'd at least have some weight to challenge for it. Another potential shake up? The arrival of Michael Johnson to 145 lbs. If he can make the weight and if his power carries then Johnson has the ability to really stick at the weight. With 145 losing some talent to surrounding weight classes then Johnson might be a bit of a mid level cure in the division. One last shake up could be Mads Burnell as an arrival at 145 lbs. Burnell is moving to his more natural weight class after pinch hitting at 155 lbs on short notice. The Dane is just 23 years old and is flush with athletic potential so you'd imagine he's got a great chance to stick if he can pick up some wins.

Bantamweight Fights This Week: 1 (Kyung Ho Kang vs Guido Cannetti) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake: A dark horse returns at 135 lbs.

Kyung Ho Kang has a 2-1-1 UFC record which isn't overly impressive but it's not about the record its about how we get there. Kang took on Alex Caceres and give him fits en route to a split decision turned no contest. He gave Chico Camus fits in a frustrated/infuriating fight he lost by razor thin decision. From there, Kyung Ho Kang subbed Shunichi Shimizu in Singapore and then beat Michinori Tanaka in a fantastic fight in Japan. From there? He also got hit with the mandatory military commitment. He's been gone for OVER three years now but he's still just 30, he's a frenetic grappler and he's got some upside as a pesky gnat at 135 lbs. Guido Cannetti is a TUF LAM-er who hits really hard.

Women's Bantamweight Fights Booked: 1 (Talita Bernado vs Irene Aldana) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake: "The Future Of WMMA"

That ill fated photo of Irene Aldana, Dana White and Alexa Grasso paints a picture of being a bit too overenthusiastic with some insanely talented women. Alexa Grasso for the most part has lived up to the hype with a 2-1 record in the UFC that could've/should've been 3-1 had she ramped up the tempo vs Felice Herrig. It's Irene Aldana who stumbled hard. She was overwhelmed by Tanya Evinger in Invicta and then eventually got to the UFC where she's amassed an 0-2 record. She's been game and put on great efforts in those losses BUT in both losses, she's either not done enough offensively or been too lax defensively. She's got a third shot against Talita Bernardo in what is, in my estimation, a more favorable matchup for her. A loss here and I don't think they'll be any rope left for her.

Women's Flyweight Fights Booked: 2 (Paige Van Zant/Jessica Rose Clark, Jessica Eye/Kalinda Faria) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake: A Title Shot?

So this MAY burn a few asses but here's an inconvenient truth; this division probably benefits more from PVZ fighting for the title ASAP. She brings notoriety and attention to this division that the likes of Valentina Shevchenko or even Joanna Champion couldn't bring to the discussion. It makes sense for the UFC to want to see Paige win and yes, as much as it might burn our collective asses, the division is better off with Paige fighting for the belt on free TV than it is with a more accomplished 125er or a bigger named 135er popping up to handle business. The problem is getting there and Paige Van Zant is no lock to win this fight. Jessica Rose Clark is the sort of fighter that Paige CVan Zant normally beats comfortably----but we haven't seen Paige in a year. She's changed camps during that time period and undergone shoulder surgery. She has squabbled with the battle to balance her entertainment career with her fighting career and at times squabbled with the UFC itself. Who knows where her head is at, if she's made any improvements and if she's just here to kill time until something better comes along.

Women's Strawweight Fights Booked: 1 (JJ Aldrich vs Danielle Taylor) Fights This Year: N/A

What's At Stake? A streaker.

115 lbs is in a weird spot. The division seems to be a somewhat morphed version of the 135 lb division where there's a ton of fighters who can all beat one another but no definite dominant person to reign above all. Joanna may not be long for this division and even so, the problems she's suggesting about the weight class leave me no comfort in believing she can come back and beat Rose Namajunas in a rematch. As such, it's a collection of fighters who can all beat one another on any given week which in turn paints the picture where instability and chaos will reign until one rises to rule them all. That means that accumulation of wins is probably as important as the quality of competition. JJ Aldrich is coming off a win over Chin Mi Jeon while Danielle Taylor is living well after decision wins over Jessica Penne and Seo Hee Ham. In a division where I think a grand total of three women are on winning streaks, you'd assume Taylor going to three in a row could open up her up for potential big fight opportunities.

Off This Week

Heavyweight Fights Booked: N/A Fights This Year: N/A

Light Heavyweight Fights Booked: N/A Fights This Year: N/A

Flyweight Fights Booked: N/A Fights This Year: N/A

Women's Featherweight Fights Booked: N/A Fights This Year: N/A

#MMA #UFC #Fight Night #Divisions #HW #LHW #FW

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jostenminyard · 7 years

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Signing on the Line - Ch. 1 & 2

Summary: When Neil Josten is offered a position as a starting striker for a professional Exy team, he feels like all of his dreams are coming true. He signs the contract, not caring about the strict morality clause that controls who he can and can't date in the public eye.

Then he meets Andrew Minyard, the top-ranked goalie of a rival team, and then Neil thinks he might just have to care after all.

A/N: Detailed tag list and warnings on AO3. I’m posting around twice a week there, and will round up the chapters once a week here!

Chapter 1 on AO3 | Chapter 2 on AO3

The contract was read by his manager first, then his lawyer, his manager again, and then finally given to Neil.

He had a week to read it over, and he took to every word like they were something sacred, like he needed to memorize all of it. He hardly understood a thing, but was fortunately smart enough to not let his eagerness of being signed cloud his judgement.

From that first day in little league, to his last day at the University of Arizona, he’s been working towards a contract like this all his life. Playing for the pros, he’d be larger than his own existence. His name would grow to be bigger than his body, no longer associated with anything else, attached to Exy and only Exy, longer than he’d ever be alive.

In the heat of the moment, the fruition of a dream, he almost signed the contract before he even read the opening statement.

But thankfully, he didn’t, so now he sits here in his manager’s office with his manager, his lawyer, the head coach of the team, and one of their recruiters.

The lawyer goes over all the parts Neil had highlighted, the parts he couldn’t quite grasp. The salary he understood and thought of as unimportant, but the sponsor part, not so much, so his lawyer helpfully explains the process; a proceed of any profit made from a sponsorship or ad goes directly back to the team’s management.

His lawyer says the percentage is negotiable, but Neil waves it off. Money is the last thing he’s playing for.

When they get to the public relations section, everyone in the small room grows tense, aware of who Neil is, who Neil was.

He was a Wesninski, but Neil had left that name in his past long before he ever attended UOA. He hadn’t known what that name even meant until a camera crew showed up at his stadium and deemed him ‘The Butcher’s Son’.

Neil’s mother never did explain it, never told him why he had to be Alex, Stefan, Chris and then Neil Josten, of all names, and that he could never again be Nathaniel Wesninski after his father passed away. He was too young to ask why, so it was a new name and a new home every few years until his mother too, had to move on from life.

She died with her sickness and with every secret and with the very strict order to be anyone else but himself.

It made for a very interesting start to Neil’s final year of university, to be cut from class so he could be interrogated by the FBI. But Neil didn’t know anything; who his father was, what his father did, what his mother told him, where the money went.

Mary hadn’t told Neil a thing, so he could never be incriminated.

But the name stuck - Nathaniel Wesninski, the son of a murderer - and it made captaining his team all that much harder. Working with a team that refused to listen to him and was sickened by the sight of him made for some very easy losses, and prevented them from entering semi-finals.

It had every recruiter turning their gaze away from Neil, writing him off as unimportant, even though he was fighting with every tooth and nail to rally his team together.

Somehow, however, one pair of eyes stayed on him, and those eyes weren’t able to deny his talent.

Those eyes brought Neil here, to the San Francisco Seakings.

Here, to where he’s about to sign the contract of his dreams, except for one little thing:

The contract is a story, a script, and his freedom of speech has been stripped.

Every interview, TV spot and paparazzi picture will all be handled by someone above Neil’s head. He’ll be assigned his own publicist to go over media training with him, to create plans and strategies, and to control all his social media accounts from here on out.

But . . . he doesn’t care about any of that, not really. He’s here to play. He’s used to being anyone but himself.

They go over a few more things about his image clean up. It’s already been decided how Neil will be marketed - the official partner of Kevin Day. The rookie that’s going to help Kevin bring his team up the ranks, the same way Neil was able to run UOA up until his fifth year.

Kevin’s eyes were the ones on him, apparently, when Neil was sure nobody was watching him.

The talk of PR naturally brings up the part in the contract that had Neil scratching his head in confusion the most, because he didn’t understand how ‘dating and relationship(s)’ could be associated with playing for the pros.

It’s apparently a very big association, as it takes up a large paragraph in his contract.

Like everything about his own life so far, who he dates can only be shown in the limelight if it’s beneficial for him, the team, and the sponsors. As if Neil is nothing more than a special-edition trading card.

Any celebrity, from A to Z, could end up on Neil’s arm at some point. If it’d help his image, bring in sales, increase viewership, the Seakings’ PR team will be signing a check to whatever starlet’s name is most popular at the time.

It’s about image.

A morality clause; saying that his name must be publicized a certain way, and if he acts against it, Neil will be, in other words, slapped with a legal fee to cover the cost of potential damage, and be forced to forfeit his contract.

The black words on the paper don’t say he can’t be anything outside the ‘norm’, but they do say he can’t be perceived as such. Neil scowls at the wording, sending a scathing look at everyone in the room, hoping it’ll somehow reach whichever airhead wrote that and felt that they got to decide what normal is.

He stares down at his dream contract and suddenly sees it as a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m not comfortable with signing that,” Neil explains, and waves a hand at the thick binding of paper.

“It’s not real, Neil, it’s a show. It brings in the viewers and the ticket holders, which then raises the amount the sponsors are willing to put in,” his manager explains, as if it’s all obvious. “Every player you’ve ever seen in a game has signed this part of the contract. It’s nothing.”

“This basically says you’re forcing players out of their orientations,” Neil says, one eyebrow lifting. “That’s nothing?”

“Listen, kid, nobody’s forcing anybody. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, whatever, because we’re not saying you can’t be,” Coach Mullens suddenly says. “The world just can’t know and that’s how it is. If you want a career, then you’ll keep your secret love a secret and away from my court. If that’s gonna be a problem, then you’ll never find your footing in this world, I can promise you that.”

Neil hears the click of metal, the handcuffs sliding into place. “For the rest of my life?”

“You wouldn’t be considering this contract if you didn’t want to play Exy for the rest of your life.”

And that’s what it all comes back to, the handcuffs sliding off, the room tilting back into colour.

Exy.

It doesn’t really matter to him anyway, does it? He’s yet to encounter anyone electric enough to spark up his skin. Nothing will shock him as much as this sport does.

If they want to control who he holds hands with just to make a profit, then he won’t stop them, because it won’t stop him from his game. It won’t stop him from winning medals and trophies and championships. It won’t stop him from standing on an Olympic podium one day.

So he picks up the pen, signs the contract, and doesn’t think another thought about it.

He can’t believe he ever thought it was as easy as just playing Exy.

The season officially starts in October, training starts in August, but now, mid-July, he stands in his manager’s hotel room as a stylist yanks him into a black velvet suit. The first step to playing for a professional team, it seems, is attending charity event after sponsorship dinner after press conference after banquet after charity event. And repeat.

Tonight the NEL hosts its debut banquet, with every team attending, with every sports journalist in the country going to try and snatch as many first-time interviews as they can.

His manager and his publicist have been drilling him all week, preparing him for whatever questions may be asked and how he’s supposed to respond. His publicist will never be more than ten feet away, and in case that fails, and in case Neil’s mouth gets away from him, Kevin Day will be attached to his hip.

Neil would complain that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but he understands the role he’s playing now.

The Exy world knows who Neil is, knows that Kevin’s the one who saved his career. They’ve only exchanged the barest of words so far, but Kevin and Neil are far past the point of being teammates now. They’re to be a pair.

One of the dynamic duos that fans go crazy over. If successful, their names will be on shirts, hats, signs. When you hear the name Day, Josten will never be far behind.

It just sucks that nothing in his life is under his control. He doesn’t even get to choose the colour of his socks tonight.

A town car arrives to pick Neil up, Kevin already sitting inside, dressed in a similar suit. His tie is aqua, Neil’s is silver; the two colours of their team.

“All this for a game?” Neil asks, as they draw closer to the banquet. From the car he can see the red carpet, the security guards, the paparazzi and the news teams and journalists and the flashing cameras. “We’re athletes, not celebrities.”

Kevin hasn’t said a word to him all throughout the ride, and he doesn’t bother to meet Neil’s eyes, choosing instead to look out the window at the awaiting media frenzy. “In this world, it’s the same thing. Most people like it.”

Neil swallows roughly, and wonders for a split second if this is what he was really made for. “Are you one of them?” he asks, his voice slightly shaking.

Nothing in Kevin shakes. He’s been playing for this team for two years. He’s walked this red carpet before.

“I get paid to play something I would pay to play. It works for me.”

The words effectively stop the race to Neil’s heart. The words latch onto him and pull up the corners of his mouth, releasing the smallest of smiles. The words are exactly what Neil needed to hear.

“Then it’ll work for me.”

There’s a roar of a crowd once they step out of their car. Immediately they’re met by flashing white lights and their names being called, security trying to hold back aggressive reporters from crossing their line.

Kevin smiles, tight and clipped but somehow wide, his signature look. Neil’s publicist instructed him to leave behind the hard, jagged, bitter mess of what he was at UOA. His script tonight says to smile, smile, smile, be warm, be forgiving.

If Kevin can do it, then he can do it.

Their publicists push them past certain reporters, usher them closer to others, and Neil answers the questions that come his way as best he can, actively trying to be on his best behaviour, to be the face they want him to be.

Kevin’s partner; the untapped potential that Kevin saved, pulled from the rubble of a crumbling career and given another chance.

If that’s the story they want to portray then he’ll play it, as long as he gets to play his own game. That’s the one thing they can’t control; how hard he hits and how fast he runs and how many goals he gets to score will be all his.

Still, once they’re finally inside the dimly-lit banquet hall, with fewer reporters and more athletes, Neil lets out a breath of relief. Event workers direct them to their table where their other teammates are seated.

Neil’s met a few of them before, and has played against a few of them too. Laila Dermott was the goalie for the Trojans when Neil’s team went up against them in his first and second year. Matt Boyd, who greets Neil with an eager handshake, played with Kevin for the Foxes, but he graduated before Neil could ever get a chance to play in the championships against him.

Small talk ensues, most of the team happy to be reunited after the off-season, eager to get back to their stadium next month and begin practices.

But he’s been directed to talk only to Kevin in public for the time being, so unless he’s spoken to, he doesn’t open his mouth.

There’s a loud commotion near the entrance way, a flood of reporters flocking the doors, lights going off and names being called. Another team has arrived.

Beside him, Kevin goes tense.

Then his hand is on Neil’s arm, and he’s beckoning him upwards. “Come on.”

Their publicists remind them the entire walk over of what they should and shouldn’t say; Kevin has to flaunt his new partner, and if Kevin and Neil are to be the duo that dominates the country, they’ll have to find a way to best the current duo that holds top status.

Riko Moriyama and Andrew Minyard, of the New York Nighthawks.

They stand next to each other like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world, faces stony and cold, eyes sharp and on anywhere but each other. They allow their pictures to be taken, but their patience doesn’t last, and Riko raises a finger to the nearest photographer in an immediate order for them to disperse.

The season hasn’t even started yet, but the pair’s presence has fear and rivalry hot in the air, soaking into the skin of every team present. The two stand there in their matching black and metallic suits and strike the atmosphere like a bolt of lightning.

They’ve been a fascination of Neil’s since he started university. He knows all about the cracking partnership of what was once Riko and Kevin, and the intense rivalry between schools that soon followed.

But it was Andrew who was the focal point of Neil’s fascination.

Andrew signed with Riko’s team immediately after graduating from Palmetto State, and caused the whole world to disrupt into a maddening dark chaos.

Because he was supposed to sign with Kevin’s.

Spurned by two former teammates and partners, Kevin leads the way towards them, looking determined to wave his new partner in their faces. As they get closer, Neil becomes aware of the fact that he’s Kevin’s choice now, but he was never his first.

“Riko. Andrew,” Kevin says cooly, and it feels like the entire room goes quiet. “Welcome.”

Neil keeps a step behind Kevin, not using him to hide but letting him be the focus of whatever is to come.

Riko Moriyama is not what the TV makes him look out to be. Neil has spent a portion of his college career watching Riko’s every move, studying all his games religiously, taking notes and copying moves and techniques to use in his own game.

During a game or facing off against a reporter, Riko is venomous, dangerous.

Standing in front of Kevin, he looks a foot shorter. If he wants to meet Kevin’s eyes then he has no choice but to tilt his head up, a fact that only increases the hatred radiating off of him.

His voice and his presence have him standing seven feet tall, though. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,” he says easily, his smile glinting in the dark of the room.

And then there’s Andrew.

Neil wasn’t aware that Andrew was staring at him, and accidentally locks eyes with him when he looks over. It feels like a stab, and it takes everything in Neil to not jerk back. Andrew’s energy is just that; a knife held out, ready to slice.

“I wanted to formally introduce you to our new starting striker, Neil Josten,” Kevin says, and turns slightly to put a hand on Neil’s arm, beckoning him forward. It’s the last move Neil wants to make, feeling more like being shoved into a shark tank with an open wound than anything else.

“Oh, yes,” Riko says, nodding. “The one from Arizona. His team’s performance last year was quite miserable, so I understand why you had to beg for him. Good thing you’re used to begging, right, Kevin?”

Riko doesn’t shake Neil’s hand, and instead makes direct eye contact with him, as if that’s enough.

“You best get acquainted with Andrew. He’ll be blocking all your shots this season.”

Standing there in his silver and black suit, hair sleek and eyes sharp, Andrew says his first words of the night, and directs them all at Kevin. “Another pet, Kevin? What if this one tells you no, too? Where will you be then?”

“Andrew,” Kevin says, almost warningly.

It all goes above Neil’s head, words clearly holding message from a past that he wasn’t part of. It’s not part of his story, any of it, so he focuses on the story he has to tell now; being Kevin’s partner, starting striker for the San Francisco Seakings.

“I’m Neil,” he says brightly, or as bright as he can in the face of two devilish beings. “I played against you my junior year at Arizona.”

He thinks he hears Kevin’s breath hitch when he extends his hand out for Andrew. The atmosphere of the entire room slows and swirls with danger, but it’s too late; Neil’s hand is already out, presenting itself clear to Andrew.

Nothing changes in Andrew’s bored expression, but his eyes drop to the offered hand.

Then he takes it, gripping it tight in a firm shake.

“Odd. I don’t remember you at all.”

Immediately, there’s a flash of a camera near them, but neither pull away. Neil lets his hand be held for another moment, and when it becomes evident that Andrew won’t be the first to let go, he forces his hand to slide out and away.

“I can’t wait to get acquainted,” Neil says, going for simple and light-hearted, but it comes out more heated, more twisted, more teasing.

Andrew effortlessly slips his hands into his pockets and doesn’t take his eyes off Neil. “The pleasure will surely be yours. Or maybe not. Riko? Let’s go.”

Kevin grabs Neil’s arm tight and doesn’t give him a chance to try and respond, hauling him away from the duo and taking him back to their table. “That was a mistake.”

Neil is too busy looking at his hand to look at Kevin. It feels like it’s still being squeezed, tingling along his palm. “That was your idea,” he says pointedly.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Kevin says, gripping Neil’s arm harder. “Do you have any idea what you just started?”

Confusion weighs heavier on him than the impending fear of danger, so he frowns and asks, “What?”

Kevin groans, finally releasing Neil like he can’t stand to touch him anymore. Then, away from the table still and away from the whole world dying to catch just a few of their words, he leans in and hisses near Neil’s ear, “Andrew wouldn't have bothered to shake your hand unless he found you interesting.”

And at first Neil doesn’t understand.

But then, he does.

And he can’t help but feel like he just shook the hand of death itself.

After listening to a few speeches, hearing his own name come up a couple of times, posing for various pictures with various teammates and being asked the same round of questions over and over, he desperately needs to breathe.

Breathe in smoke that is, the scent reminding him so much of his mother, so he pays a server twenty bucks to tell him where the most discreet place to take a smoke break is. Kevin sends him a look when he pushes away from the table, but he ignores it, buttoning up his suit jacket as he stands, then takes off to follow the server.

He’s guided through a hectic kitchen, led down a hall and then another hall before being led out a large metal door. The loading docks, he guesses, judging by the packing boxes and the garage doors.

Neil says thank you, then quickly lights up a cigarette as soon as he’s left alone. One deep inhale to get it going, and the heavy weight of expectation seeps out of him, replaced by a temporary ease. He knows he’s being stupid, and that this is just how it is and that he needs to get used to it, but he just didn’t expect it all to be - like this.

Maybe when practice starts it’ll get easier, it’ll feel real, like he really is here to play a game and not pose for a picture with a practiced smile.

“Does Kevin know you smoke?”

In the empty loading dock, the sound of another voice echoes, rebounding off every wall, but even when the sound fades Neil’s heart is still racing. He immediately looks around, eyes narrowed and posture careful.

Across the way, shadowed by a stack of crates, stands Andrew Minyard. His regal suit and equally regal hairstyle contrast too sharply with the mess of crates and boxes and graffiti, but leaning against the wall with one leg propped, Andrew looks casual, relaxed.

Pretending his heart didn’t nearly just detonate from shock, Neil takes another inhale of smoke before crossing over to Andrew. He notes the cigarette in Andrew’s own hand, nearly burned down to a stub, and arches a brow. “I don’t, but does Riko know that you do?”

“Doesn’t matter. Riko doesn’t own me,” Andrew says simply, then crushes the end of his cigarette against the wall and tosses it.

Neil pauses, considering that, then says scornfully, “Kevin doesn’t own me.”

Andrew answers that with a bored look.

“He doesn’t,” Neil insists, not sure why that look riles up his every nerve. He takes another breath in and holds the smoke in his lungs for too long of a second, then slowly lets it out, but it does nothing to calm him now.

“When somebody is the reason for your very existence, they own you. Kevin got you your contract, yes? Well then he owns you.”

Anger flares in Neil’s chest, along with something he can’t place, something sharp and jarring. The truth, maybe.

Neil keeps it reined in, making his face blank as he can make it. He’s barely aware that he’s speaking, that annoying flaring feeling still bright in his chest, masking the increasing rate of his pulse. “Is that why you wouldn’t sign with him then? You didn’t want to be owned?”

Andrew considers that, it seems, by the way he tilts his head slightly to the side, but that illusion of confusion is snapped when he leans forward and grabs Neil’s cigarette from his fingers, bringing it up to his own mouth.

“A heavy question to be asking,” Andrew says slowly. “For a man who doesn’t know me.”

“I don’t have to know you to know your statistics,” Neil says, voice heavier now with annoyance over his stolen cigarette. Oddly enough, his lungs don’t ache without it, not if he can watch the ring Andrew’s lips make around the filter. “You’re not just the top-ranked goalie in the NEL.”

It only takes a few seconds for his mind to cough up the info he needs, the small facts and the large facts about Andrew Minyard, jersey number three, the New York Nighthawk’s starting goalie. Facts ranging from his speed to his aim to how many shots he blocked in total all of last season.

When he’s done listing the facts, the statistics, he expects something in Andrew’s face to change, expects to see some form of pride or triumph, but Andrew doesn’t even blink.

He blows out a cloud of smoke right into Neil’s face and says, “You’re straddling the border between obsessive and creepy. I should be calling security.”

“They’re facts. Everyone knows them.”

“Not like that.”

“I have to know,” Neil says defensively. “If I ever want to score on you.”

“Knowing all that won’t increase your level of talent,” Andrew scoffs, finally showing a sliver of emotion - judgement.

“I just don’t get it,” Neil says, backtracking to turn the subject to its origin point. “You and Kevin were a great pair. You’d do even better if you were on the same team again. Why’d you sign with his enemy?”

Andrew says, too easily, “Kevin’s enemy is not my enemy. I am my own enemy. Signing with the Nighthawks made that less so.”

Neil barely has a second to frown, to think about that, before Andrew is pushing away from the wall and taking a step closer into Neil’s space.

It’s strange, he thinks, in the brief few seconds he has before Andrew opens his mouth again, that he’s spent all night feeling suffocated but now, with a stranger breathing smoke in his face, standing toe to toe with him, all he feels is air.

“My answers come with a pricetag. You can compensate me with one of your own; why did you sign with the Seakings?”

The way he says it almost sounds like he’s implying that Neil had a decision, that Neil had other options to consider.

It takes a few seconds, but then it hits Neil.

Andrew isn’t implying that at all, he’s implying the opposite.

Rubbing dirt in the wound, running a highlighter across every word, shining a spotlight right on Neil’s still-aching heart.

He didn’t have any options.

“They were the only team to offer me a contract,” Neil admits, low and quiet, and even though that rage is back in his chest, he doesn’t push Andrew away.

“Then perhaps you should quit harping on what contracts I did or didn’t sign and focus on yourself,” Andrew says, and it’s venomous but it’s bright. “Like the real reason Kevin signed you. I bet you still think it’s because you’re his chance at finally besting Riko, right?”

Neil stares at a spot over Andrew’s shoulder, trying desperately to build his wall back up brick by brick, but every breath and word from Andrew has cement crumbling like dust in Neil’s hands.

“That’s one of the reasons, yes,” Neil says flatly, avoiding Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew leans in closer until his mouth is near Neil’s ear, and makes a buzzing noise, deep and grating, like Neil got the answer wrong. This close, a noise like that can’t echo off the walls, but Neil still hears it being repeated in every nerve in his body.

“No. Kevin will never have faith, in anything or anybody, a lesson you need to learn quickly. He will give up on you if you cannot give him what benefits him,” Andrew says quickly, that venom in his tone stinging so much Neil thinks it’s paralyzing him. “You know what you are? His scapegoat. When your team inevitably loses, he can place the blame on you, and no one will question him.”

Neil is still, from head to toe, but some bright hot instinct kicks in a second later, giving him the strength to snap his neck down and face forward, glaring down the scant few inches between him and Andrew.

“You’re going to eat those words,” Neil promises, and without looking he reaches between them for his stolen cigarette.

Andrew jerks his hand away, holding it out of Neil’s reach.

“I’m not hungry,” Andrew says, then flicks the cigarette behind him and turns away to walk back inside.

Then Neil is alone, with nothing and nobody saying his name, with nothing but his thoughts and the truth of him and the weight of his reality, and a sudden burning promise fueling its way through him.

He suddenly doesn’t need to breathe. He just needs to prove Andrew wrong.

- Chapter 2

If that one brief interaction out by the loading docks supplied enough rage-induced encouragement to last a decade, the question that Neil answers on his way out of the banquet supplies enough encouragement to last a lifetime.

When he’s asked it, he doesn’t think of the repercussions, doesn’t think about the fact that every word said in public is a play in a game.

It’s the truth, at least, and maybe that’s why he says it.

Two security guards guide Neil and Kevin to their town car, the night having run its course on Neil and the effects of alcohol having run its course on Kevin. But the guards’ presence doesn’t stop the remaining reporters from flocking to their car, doesn’t stop the flash of cameras.

Doesn’t stop the question; “Neil, Neil! Now that you’ve met the opposing teams, how do you feel about your chances? Do you still think you can help Kevin bring your team to the playoffs?”

Neil stops, turns, and fixes on a smile that he doesn’t have to fake. He can see Kevin shaking his head from the corner of his eye, their publicists practically begging him to not answer this question.

He has to. He made a promise in his head to Andrew.

“Actually, if anything, I feel even more encouraged,” Neil says warmly, as if his words are pleasant opposed to cruel. “I know that with Kevin’s guidance, together we’re going to change how the playoffs are played. His enemies are now my enemies.”

He hopes that somehow, someway, Andrew watches this, and knows Neil’s words are for him.

“Are you referencing Riko Moriyama and his team?”

His smile deepens. “Andrew Minyard,” Neil says, and likes the way his tongue feels after saying his name. “He’s not as impenetrable as he thinks he is, and I’m going to take him down goal by goal. I’m going to score on him.”

Instead of prompting Neil for more, the reporter directs the microphone to Kevin, who stands there shell-shocked, as if Neil just reached into his chest and punched his heart. “Comments?”

Kevin glares at Neil, then faces the camera. “With enough coaching and practice, I fully believe in Neil’s future success,” he says dully, before motioning towards his publicist to clear out the reporters.

All in all, the question took less than a minute to answer.

Neil smiles to himself on the drive home, not knowing that one question will fuel the rest of his life.

It was an inevitable feud.

Long in the making, already in the process before Neil Josten was ever a Seaking. This feud was perhaps the main reason Kevin vouched for his recruitment. There hasn’t been a hype like this over a season since Kevin and Riko signed to the pros.

Because this feud started off between the Ravens and the Foxes, technically.

The Foxes lost the championships in Kevin and Andrew’s final year. That loss against the Ravens was only intensified when Andrew signed with Riko, and Kevin was forced to start his professional career on his own.

In Neil’s opinion, Kevin’s the best, but he was too used to having support. His first year as a Seaking, they made it to playoffs and were eliminated after the first round. His second year, they hadn’t earned enough points to qualify.

Losing three years in a row to someone he used to win with only had Kevin playing harder.

But now, Neil isn’t sure what Kevin saw in him that made him think partner.

Kevin’s Comeback Key, most articles had nicknamed Neil. It put a new spark in an old feud. Kevin had ammunition now - or, as most of the Exy world saw it, Kevin had no excuse not to win now.

With a new season, a new striker, a new attitude to Kevin’s playing style and a determination that nothing could cut through, it was an inevitable feud.

It was never meant to be like this, however, between the rookie and the goalie. Nobody ever thought it’d be Neil vs. Andrew, but now that it is, it’s everywhere.

Neil knows how press works, he’s seen his own interviews show up online as soon as they’re filmed, he knows better. Yet he still feels a bit stunned at how quick this - whatever this is - blows up. Everything and everyone, between the ESPN channel to the smallest online magazine, has something to say about it.

The picture of their handshake dominates every single article, with screaming headlines printed over top, their names flashing and bright. Minyard vs Josten, 03 vs 10, Rookie to Score On Goalie?

One news site tracks Andrew and Neil’s college career, and pulls up the footage of Neil’s deathmatch against the Foxes. In the video, Neil tries to run at the goal and score, only to have Andrew catch his ball and rebound it off Neil’s helmet.

It’s their only in-game interaction to date, but it’s more than enough to tip the scales in Andrew’s favour. Neil’s rookie image is painted even darker.

Statistics are compared, histories are recovered, stories are made up. The more gossip-run sites say Kevin only recruited Neil to replace the hole that Andrew left in his shield. Some sites say that Andrew’s going to use Neil’s inexperience to flaunt his own talent back in Kevin’s face.

It’s a mess, and Neil helped make it.

Unlike before though, there are people who want to support him. Neil almost doesn’t believe it when old teammates from Arizona are recorded vouching his name, saying their praises, citing his grim determination as an advantage over Andrew Minyard.

In August, the Seakings start preseason practice, often hosting open practices for fans and reporters to sit in and watch. Kevin pushes Neil to play harder, even if it is against his own team, reminding him that the world is watching.

The world is watching, and once they witness that grim determination in action, the scales tip slightly under Neil’s weight. Reporters begin to comment positively on his accuracy. Fans start to show up at their practices with signs.

Neil can’t remember the last time a fan held up a sign with his name on it that wasn’t followed by massive black X’s.

It’s inspiring, and has Neil fighting more aggressively during practice to prove them all right, that he deserves their faith.

It’s inspiring until the day it isn’t, when the feud hits its next point, and then even Neil loses faith in himself.

The whole team is gathered in their lounge after practice, sweaty and exhausted, but whatever’s about to play on the TV is apparently more important than showering. Coach Mullens stands by the television with his arms folded, face grim, remote control clutched tightly in one hand.

When he’s sure he has his team’s attention, he faces the TV and clicks play on the remote.

All the way over in New York, the Nighthawks are having their own open practice. A sportscaster from ESPN talks at the camera, commenting on the team’s impressive technique as a scrimmage plays out.

Any reporter who knows Andrew Minyard knows the risks of putting a microphone in his face, yet that doesn’t stop this reporter from approaching him as he walks off the court, helmet in his hands and eyes uncaring as he attempts to walk past them.

“Andrew, what do you have to say about the current buzz surrounding Neil Josten of the San Francisco Seakings? He says he’s going to score on you, what do you think his chances are?”

Andrew stops abruptly and turns to face the camera, fixing it with a look that could shatter glass.

“To say he has a chance would give him false hope. There is no chance and there is no hope,” Andrew says, cooly. “If Neil ‘Pipe Dream’ Josten wants to challenge me in public, then he better be ready to be destroyed in public.”

Not sparing another breath or word, Andrew turns from the camera and walks away, leaving the reporter stunned in their spot.

There’s something satisfying about hearing Andrew say his name, but Neil can hardly focus on that when his chest suddenly feels ten times heavier.

Coach is talking, the team is murmuring, Kevin is sending an angry, frantic glance in Neil’s direction.

Neil stares at the TV screen, still seeing Andrew on it. His heart turns in panicked circles, spinning faster every time he replays Andrew’s sharp words.

His heart stops spinning, and decides to land on a feeling Neil hasn’t felt in awhile, a feeling that Andrew’s rivalry ignites; the silent swell of hope.

“You shook his hand,” is Kevin’s explanation for ripping Neil from his apartment at 10:00PM and dragging him to the stadium. “You started this, now you are going to find a way to end it.”

It’s incredibly jarring to be two souls in a stadium that seats thousands. Loud and echoey and all-consuming. Neil almost prefers it. He almost doesn’t quite mind the sleep deprivation that will follow. He almost thinks he can tolerate Kevin’s harsh words and harsher critique.

“Andrew doesn’t do challenges; he crushes them. By putting yourself in his path you’ve single-handedly obliterated our chances of facing them in the playoffs.”

Neil glares up at Kevin through the faceguard of his helmet. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know Andrew, he works on spite or not at all. He’ll personally see to it that you never make it within ten feet of his goal. Lucky for him, it should be rather easy.”

It aggravates Neil, but that was likely Kevin’s aim, to get Neil to push himself the next step forward. His shots are forced to be faster, more aggressive, until Neil’s every cell is cursing the very second that Kevin Day was born.

Their private practices continue until Neil feels reformed, shaped into something - better.

That feeling of such elevation might have gotten to his head, because at their next open practice with the team, a reporter asks Neil, “Are you excited for the season to start?”

And Neil easily responds with, “More excited than I’ve ever been. Kevin’s an incredible captain, and he’s shaping us all into a weapon. The Nighthawks should be scared, and Riko should be sorry.”

“Why’s that?”

“That he ever doubted Kevin in the first place,” Neil says, frowning a bit, as if the answer was obvious. “But he can apologize on our court come November.”

To the viewers and the multiple news outlets that try to analyze Neil’s statement, it sounds like good-natured team rivalry. It sounds like the role he’s meant to play - the rookie to Kevin’s captaincy, partners, together, a duo.

That’s not how it sounds to the Nighthawks.

Not at all, Neil realizes, the next day during a closed practice, when Riko Moriyama steps onto their court all the way from New York City.

The entire team falls silent.

Riko’s dressed in a blue so dark it could be black. His eyes scan the lines of their well-worn court as if the floor is fouling his shoes. The Seakings stand around in their gear, scrimmage paused, looking from one to the other with a million silenced questions. Their coaches stand in the inner court, equally quiet, not making any movements to signal a stop to Riko’s presence.

Laila’s the first to speak up, storming out of her goal as she rips her helmet off. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

Riko doesn’t look at her, his glare trained on both Kevin and Neil.

“Your court is a shame to the very sport you play,” Riko says, crossing his arms over his chest. “My family invented this sport. It is not difficult for me to gain access to any and all stadiums.”

Despite their hostile history, and despite the anger rippling across his face, Kevin remains wordless.

“This is a private practice,” Neil finally says, after sending a disappointed look Kevin’s way. “You’re in violation of the rules.”

“My family invented this sport,” Riko repeats, more viciously, turning all his attention on Neil. “You are a mockery to it. What makes you think a rookie like you has the right to speak against my team? Your name does not belong anywhere near mine.”

“It wasn’t you I was challenging,” Neil says, as calm as he can make it. It’s not that Riko unnerves him, it’s that Riko irritates him, and it irritates Neil even more that Riko has the audacity to say such things while standing on the Seakings’ logo.

“I didn’t come alone,” Riko says, and doesn’t turn around when the court door suddenly slams open. “You think you can score on Andrew? Prove it.”

The Seakings remain dead quiet as somebody else steps onto the court, footsteps like gunshots off the floor. Andrew comes up towards them wearing his own team’s gear, clashing harshly with the aqua of the Seakings.

Andrew stops right behind Riko and swings his racquet up to rest against his shoulder, looking like he’s contemplating taking a nap in the next five seconds.

“I’m not doing this,” Neil says firmly, taking a step back.

That only strengthens Riko’s grave smile. “Then we can give ESPN a ring and have a reporter here in minutes. I’m sure they’d love to hear you admit defeat.”

“You can’t -”

“This is what you get when you run your mouth off with foul and false accusations. Do not make promises if you have no way to make them true. You will practice against Andrew until you finally see how dim your chances are.”

Riko sends a look Kevin’s way, something dark and controlling in his eyes, and Neil’s stomach sinks, knowing fully well how Kevin will respond to that look.

With a small sigh, Kevin steps up to Neil and grabs his racquet, halting it. “Don’t use all your energy at once,” he says, a red-hot warning low in his voice. “Pace yourself.” Then he gives the racquet’s net a tug and walks away, following Riko and the rest of the Seakings off the court.

Then it’s just Neil and Andrew, and suddenly Neil’s knees feel weak.

Ignoring that, because nothing about Andrew unnerves Neil either, he steadies his face and turns a look on his opposer, souring his expression as best he can. Despite that sourness, he manages a smirk. “I thought Riko didn’t own you.”

Andrew says nothing but sticks his racquet out to roll a ball towards himself. Without breaking eye contact, he flicks it up and sends it flying right at Neil’s helmet. It bounces off with a sharp smack, then rolls away.

Neil doesn’t back down from that challenge.

He follows Kevin’s advice and paces himself, firing perfunctory shot after shot, carefully thought out and planned. Andrew responds to that by standing completely still and tilting his racquet whichever way he knows Neil is going to swing.

Irritation itches under Neil’s skin. He’s giving nearly every percent he has and Andrew’s barely turned his switch on, but Neil doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t give his one-hundred just yet. He waits for Andrew to break patience first.

Tens of minutes later, or at least that’s how it feels, Andrew finally stops moving to stare at Neil blankly. He leans down to pick up a ball, tosses it slightly, then smacks it with all his might, firing it at Neil at a speed that could hurt him.

Slow doesn’t exist after that. Fast, faster, fastest, Neil dodges every shot and shoots them back even quicker. He runs and leaps and tries from a different angle every single time, but somehow Andrew just knows where they’re going to land. Neil might as well be shooting at a brick wall.

His blood hasn’t felt like this before, never been so hot. It burns with determination, infuriation, some primal sort of need flowing through him to shoot and score and to wipe that stupid look off Andrew’s stupid face.

After trying every trick he knows, he thinks back to night practice, and shifts his body into a move he’s seen Kevin perform.

Andrew is expecting that, too, and flicks the ball away with a short snap of his wrist.

Neil stands a few feet back from the goal, panting and doubled over, watching his failure of a ball roll shamefully away.

“Remember,” Andrew calls out, the mocking in his voice sounding almost like a song. “All the night practice with Kevin won’t change a thing, he will never keep his faith in you. A few more shots and he’ll be done with you for good.”

“No,” Neil grits out, and snaps into action, investing his last percent into charging the goal with every ounce of passion and hatred he has. Except when he swings his racquet back to fire a shot, all his muscles twist to a stop. It forces his grip slack, has him skidding to a halt.

Without momentum, the ball slides free of the net and hits the ground with a low thud.

The only body part that doesn’t burn are his eyes, so he watches the ball roll away, physically unable to reach out for it.

A banging on the court wall has Neil fumbling to find enough energy to look over. Kevin is making a cutting gesture at his neck, while Riko stands next to him, arms folded and face expressionless. The lack of smug satisfaction across Riko’s face is somehow worse than any at all.

Neil gasps out in defeat and doubles over, and doesn’t dare look up at Andrew, not even when there’s a tap against his helmet, the large net of Andrew’s racquet in his face.

“At least you tried,” Andrew says, and taps Neil’s helmet again.

“I never said I’m giving up,” Neil says back, just barely, before finally looking up at him.

The rest of the stadium vanishes, disintegrating quickly as Andrew leans forward, too close, as close as he was the night they met in the docks. The sound of his breath and his voice right by Neil’s ear shouldn’t sound so familiar, but it is.

Their helmets are all that separates them physically, but nothing can stop Andrew’s words from touching him. “Then until we meet again,” Andrew says, and it’s too much of a whisper to be a threat.

Andrew strolls off the court looking as if he hadn’t moved so much as a muscle while playing against Neil. Without another word to the Seakings, he and Riko disappear.

Footsteps break up the world of silence. Kevin rushes onto the court where Neil is now kneeling, his every body part on fire. “Neil.”

For whatever reason, there’s a defiant part of Neil that doesn’t want to look up, to meet the eyes of somebody who isn’t Andrew. Staring at Andrew had forced Neil to look as honest as he’s looked in months - he means it when he looks at Andrew with intent. Looking at anybody else will force a mask back on, and he’s not sure if he can fake it right now.

Kevin tugs at him when he remains quiet, gripping him roughly until he’s steady on his feet.

“He’s good,” Neil says distantly, staring at the court doors.

“You can’t beat him alone,” Kevin says somberly, and then, after a pause, “We have to do it together.”

It’s far from the harsh criticism Neil’s accustomed to. It draws his eyes to Kevin’s retreating figure as he walks away, trying to piece it all together.

He stays alone on the court for a few more minutes.

Showing Neil just how unattainable something is won’t make him want it any less. There’s fire in his muscles, a stinging suggestion that perhaps he won’t ever score on Andrew, but if anything, it only makes him want it more.

Riko’s the one who failed tonight.

Neil’s alone on the court, but he feels the ghost of Andrew’s closeness, and now more than ever, he can’t quite quell the hope of it.

Even with his arms stinging and burning, he couldn’t quite make himself go home.

So now he stands alone in the Seakings stadium, out on the court, envisioning where the ball would go if he stood here, or there, if he lifted the racquet like this and not that. The only conclusion he can come to though, is that no matter how he throws the ball, Andrew will be there to block it.

Neil wants to find it strange that he only feels determined in face of such an impossible challenge, but he doesn’t. What he does find strange is what he can’t explain; how ontop of determination, he feels put-off, disoriented, like there’s an answer in Andrew that is right there but Neil just can’t see it.

He can feel it though, like pinpricks and frustration and -

Shock.

Because when Neil turns around after staring at the goal for an endless minute, Andrew Minyard himself is standing in the open doorway to the court, leaning against the plexiglass frame with his arms crossed and his expression cool.

Neil suddenly lets out his breath and begins to smile, and the urge to figure things out disappears as he lets curiosity take over. He was tired before, tired and sore, but for some reason, with Andrew right there, he no longer feels like sleeping.

“Hey,” Neil says, taking off his helmet as he steps closer. He looks over Andrew’s head for something or somebody in the distance, but Andrew is alone. “Where’s Riko? Did he finally loosen your leash?”

Andrew’s expression hardens, then fades into blankness. “One would think that with all the time you spend talking about Riko that he owns you, as well.”

“So he does own you?”

Andrew ignores that and steps further into the court, walking a circle around Neil. “Your determination to play could be admirable if it weren’t so pathetic,” he says, eyes drifting to the racquet still in Neil’s hands. “What’s keeping you here?”

“Uh, well . . .” Neil looks at his racquet and realizes then how much it hurts to hold it. “I want to?”

“You want to, or you feel you’re expected to?”

Neil frowns and plucks at a string in the net. “There’s not much of a difference if I like doing it though, right?”

Andrew scoffs and makes another lap around Neil, never making eye contact as he walks. “Let’s play a new game,” he says while nodding. “It’s called ‘let’s not talk about Exy for five minutes’.”

Neil frowns again, but it’s quickly won over by a smirk. “You want me to stop talking about Exy? When we’re currently standing on an Exy court, in an Exy stadium, where I am dressed in my Exy gear, while holding my Exy racquet?”

Andrew pauses, face falling even more blank. “Can you do it or not?”

“Do I win anything if I do?”

Andrew finally looks at Neil then, his eyes narrowed as he thinks, then says, “To be determined.”

For some reason, Neil laughs.

And even though he hasn’t gone more than a minute without thinking about Exy over the past five years, Neil has never been one to back down from an impossible challenge . . .

“Okay, you’re on. Starting now.”

Except Neil hasn’t ever been faced with a challenge quite like this.

Andrew stares at Neil for the first thirty seconds, as Neil’s mouth forms different shapes and half-muttered words escape his lips only to be bit back down - because everything and anything he has to say has to be about Exy, the game, his team, his sponsors, his statistics, press pieces for the media and pre-written answers to endless repetitive questions and -

And he hasn’t ever been asked to talk about anything else.

“I - uh -” Neil stammers, heat flooding his face. “What do you want to talk about?”

Andrew’s eyes look as if they’re about to roll back. “How did you manage to complete college with the vocabulary of a two year old? What do you want to talk about?”

There’s a force in Neil’s throat, like the hand of someone controlling a puppet, about to make him say what they want him to say. He grits his teeth in time to stop himself and then sighs, giving his shoulders a slight shrug.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he wants to say something.

Because Andrew stands there calmly, willing to listen.

“. . . my running shoes are beginning to break down,” is what Neil ends up saying, face flaming crimson now that the words are out. “I’ve put off buying a new pair though. I guess I hate spending money.”

He watches with his heart racing as one of Andrew’s eyebrows slowly lifts; clearly bored with Neil, and his pathetic attempt at normal conversation.

“I’m trying, okay?” Neil asks rather desperately, trying hard not to flinch as that eyebrow raises higher. “I’m not very interesting.”

All at once, Andrew smirks, and it transforms his entire face. He takes a step closer until he’s right in front of Neil, a powerful presence when compared to Neil’s nervous wreck of a body. He eyes the racquet that Neil’s still holding and threads his fingers through the net, giving it a quick tug.

“Your vocabulary is in need of a refresher, Neil,” Andrew says lowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I don’t think you understand what ‘interesting’ means. You win this round. ‘A’ for effort, and all that.”

He tugs on the racquet again before turning around to leave, and even when he’s gone, Neil doesn’t understand.

But he wants to.

#andreil #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil fic #lp writes

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soccerdrawings · 4 years

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Why Is Soccer Positions Striker Forward So Famous? | Soccer Positions Striker Forward

With aloof over three weeks to run afore the Jan. 31 deadline, the Premier Alliance clubs accept been quiet so far during the alteration window.

BBC SPORT | Football | Laws & Equipment | Positions guide .. | soccer positions striker forward 2 RelatedSo far, Liverpool accept been the alone club to accomplish a cogent move by commutual the £7.25m accord for FC Salzburg advancing midfielder/forward Takumi Minamino. Yet with the chase for trophies and Champions Alliance accomplishment demography shape, a January signing could prove transformative for some clubs.Liverpool abide on advance to win the Premier Alliance appellation and absorb the Champions Alliance while Leicester, Manchester City and Chelsea are sitting appealing in the European positions. Manchester United, Tottenham and Arsenal still accept arena to accomplish up, so what should the top clubs be targeting aboriginal to accomplish a aberration this month?LIVERPOOL: NothingLiverpool were acute and absolute to blanket up the Minamino accord advanced of the alteration window. The Japan forward, who fabricated his admission in the FA Cup win adjoin Everton, adds advancing affection and abyss to Jurgen Klopp's squad, while they got him at a arrangement amount by triggering his £7.25m absolution article at FC Salzburg.Considering Liverpool are 13 credibility bright at the top of the Premier League, there would be little amount in the club authoritative added signings this month. 'If it isn't broken, don't fix it,' would be the accessible mantra at Anfield.LEICESTER: A accurate striker

Know Your Soccer Positions, Responsibilities, and Formations - soccer positions striker forward | soccer positions striker forward Brendan Rodgers has exceeded all expectations at the King Power Stadium by putting Leicester on advance for a acknowledgment to the Champions League, four years on from the club's acclaimed Premier Alliance title-winning campaign. With a 14-point beanbag amid them in additional and Manchester United in fifth, Leicester are well-placed to assure Champions Alliance qualification. But a quick attending at their stats this division highlights the big weakness that could see it all break if Jamie Vardy gets injured.The above England striker has hit 17 goals in 19 alliance amateur so far this season, but Leicester accept no added amateur who has accomplished bifold figures, with their abutting accomplished scorer actuality midfielder James Maddison (six). If Vardy stays fit, Leicester will cruise into the Champions League, but signing a accurate striker this ages would accord them a much-needed allowance policy.MAN CITY: A axial defenderManchester City sit 14 credibility abaft Liverpool, accepting played one added game, and abundant of that can be put bottomward to the arresting problems that accept bedeviled the arresting champions all season. Pep Guardiola capital a new centre-back to ample the gap larboard by Vincent Kompany's abandonment to Anderlecht aftermost summer, but with City clumsy to assurance a adopted apostle (due to accepting already abounding its allocation of non-British players), he was larboard with bound options and one of them, Harry Maguire, concluded up acceptable the world's best big-ticket apostle aback he abutting Manchester United from Leicester for £85m. Aymeric Laporte's knee bond abrasion in August afresh accepted disastrous, abrogation Guardiola afterwards the arresting bond which guided City to the title.Despite Laporte actuality abutting to a acknowledgment to activity this month, the blunder of John Stones and Nicolas Otamendi has fabricated a new centre-back a allegation this month. Once afresh there are few accessible options, but City accept the money to acquisition the appropriate man.1:12With the January alteration approaching, Stewart Robson capacity the areas breadth Chelsea can add reinforcements.

8-8-8 Formation Soccer Tactics - soccer positions striker forward | soccer positions striker forward CHELSEA: A box-to-box midfielderN'Golo Kante is arguably the best arresting midfielder in the world, the France all-embracing boasting abundant added to his bold than annihilative qualities, but Chelsea are still too declining in the affection of the pitch. Administrator Frank Lampard has money to absorb this ages afterward the appropriation of Chelsea's two-window alteration ban and he needs reinforcements in every administration to add acquaintance to the club's arising adolescent stars. But if he can acquisition a adolescent adaptation of himself -- a box-to-box ambition scoring midfielder -- Lampard would potentially absorb all of his account on that acute accession to his squad.A amateur like Man City brilliant Kevin De Bruyne would be the absolute antithesis for Kante, but that is a abscessed accountable at Chelsea because that they let the Belgian midfielder leave beforehand in his career.MAN UNITED: A affection midfielderThe accessible acknowledgment would be to advance that Manchester United allegation advice all over the angle because of the accompaniment of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer's side. Injuries and accident of anatomy are bitter adamantine into what was already a anemic band busy by too abounding adolescent and amateur players. But while United do allegation reinforcements in every position, the best acute breadth is midfield. Alike with a fit Paul Pogba -- and that has been a aberration this division -- United abridgement affection and abyss in midfield. But if they acquisition an accomplished midfielder able of bringing maturity, energy, organisation, adroitness and goals to the team, it could be the aberration amid a top-four accomplishment and missing out.United basically allegation a modern-day adaptation of Roy Keane, but it may allegation three players to do the job of one. If they can allowance a accord for Ajax's Donny van de Beek, as sources told ESPN they are aggravating to, they would at atomic break the botheration of goals, activity and creativity.1:44

The Ultimate Soccer Positions Guide - soccer positions striker forward | soccer positions striker forward Mark Ogden doesn't apprehend many, if any, signings from Man United, but says the club badly needs them.TOTTENHAM: A advancement strikerHarry Kane's hamstring injury, which will accumulate the England striker out until April, has fabricated it alike added important for Spurs to assurance a striker this month. But advancing reinforcements were bare alike afore Kane succumbed to his latest setback.Spurs accept apparent in the accomplished that they are able of acceptable amateur afterwards their amulet -- they able for aftermost season's Champions Alliance final admitting Kane actuality afflicted for the final two months of the attack -- but, as Jose Mourinho acicular out this week, neither Lucas Moura nor Son Heung-Min are strikers in the accurate sense, alike admitting they both accept the adeptness to account goals.Signing addition striker would accord Mourinho and Spurs a much-needed option, but crucially he would additionally accredit Kane to be adequate added generally in the future. The 26-year-old rarely sits amateur out, but he additionally spends too abundant time on the sidelines because of injury. A striker to allotment the accountability of amateur and goals would advice everybody at Tottenham.ARSENAL: A reliable defenderMikel Arteta is adequate a animation as Arsenal's new administrator afterwards declining to win his aboriginal three amateur in charge, but he faces a difficult claiming to sustain the animation agency and bigger results. He should be able to await on Alexandre Lacazette and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang to abide to account goals and in midfield, Arsenal are assuming signs of actuality a harder working, added adamant assemblage than beneath Unai Emery.

Forward (association football) - Wikipedia - soccer positions striker forward | soccer positions striker forward But Arsenal still attending bizarre at the aback and Arteta needs to acquisition at atomic one reliable apostle this window afterwards the season-ending abrasion to Calum Chambers. David Luiz is consistently one bold abroad from a arresting catastrophe, while Sokratis is not quick abundant to cope with the Premier League. Rob Holding charcoal a acceptable prospect, but Arsenal allegation a centre-back they can await on to be fit and influential. And they don't accept that appropriate now. Why Is Soccer Positions Striker Forward So Famous? | Soccer Positions Striker Forward - soccer positions striker forward | Welcome for you to my personal blog, with this period I'll show you in relation to keyword. And from now on, this is the first graphic:

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sapphicwilds · 7 years

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You said I could give you prompts, so here one is, almost immediately. Nicky, Andrew and Aaron have never met renees brother, heard him mentioned (Nicky sometimes thinks Matt has a crush on him - or maybe that's just wishful thinking). They're expecting some neat bible-guy, they not expecting a guy with a grin like a knife, black ripped jeans and a cigarette hanging from his fingers.

Freaking bless. You should all know that yes, there is a sequel (and an eventual third part) in store following my big bang The Years of John Doe. So anything I may or may not write right now, might change later, but for now let me write this because I’ve had this scene in my head for actually forever.

There is a mixture of American Sign Language and a modified version that Renee and Neil use to communicate used in this ficlet.

Everyone was waiting to meet the new striker. Everyone knew about Renee’s foster brother, Neil. But no one really knew much. Renee and Dan had bonded over their mutual worry of their siblings back home. Dan had her stage sisters and Renee had Neil.

“He’s really smart,” Renee had told them one study session. “If I texted him a picture of this calc problem he’d send it back to me in five minutes completely solved probably in poem format, if he’s feeling cheeky.”

Matt had laughed, Allison had rolled her eyes, and Nicky hadn’t know to believe Renee or not. Not that he thought she was lying, but he just couldn’t imagine Renee’s brother being cheeky. Renee was so calm and serious.

It turns out there was a lot Nicky couldn’t imagine about Renee’s brother.

Preseason was just beginning and everyone was positioned around the Foxhole Lounge in their designated areas. No one even questioned how their arrangement would change with the arrival of the second Walker. He’d obviously be slotted with his older sister and that would be that.

When the boy with dark brown hair flopping over the front of his face with the sides cleanly shaven walked into the lounge with eyes as blue as ice, Nicky was sure there had been a mistake.

In stark contrast to Renee’s conservative skirt and her silver cross, this boy was everything she wasn’t. He grinned with an edge to his smile like a knife and his wicked blue eyes didn’t hold any of Renee’s softness. He wore a plain white tshirt and loosely fitting cargo pants that left everything to the imagination.

Everything except for the scar that twisted across his neck and around his uncovered arms. The one on his neck was a gnarled, twisted thing of shinny scar tissue that stretched from end to end. The very sight of it made Nicky want to puke. It wasn’t helped by the twisted skin roping up his forearms.

Renee’s brother - was this even Renee’s brother? - saw him staring and cocked an eyebrow up with a silent laugh.

“Neil,” Renee said reproachfully as she stood up, but her voice gave way to fondness not even halfway through. Neil kept his smile as sharp as ever for his older sister and raised his hand in what Nicky had assumed would be a wave, but instead he brought his curled fist down against the door frame in quick knocks.

Short, long, short. Pause. Short. Pause. Long, short.

Renee smiled like the code meant something to her because she grinned like Nicky has only seen her smile when Allison and Dan were being particularly ridiculous or if they had actually managed to win a game.

In response Renee moved her hands in a soft cupping motion towards each other in what Nicky assumed was ASL. He didn’t know her brother was deaf. Or, looking at his throat again, possibly mute.

Neil cocked his head to the side and for a brief moment his knife-sharp smile softened just a smidge before he was nodding and repeating the same gesture back. Renee took this as an incentive to practically fly across the room and into the arms of her younger brother. She buried her head in the crook of his neck and hugged him fiercely. To everyone’s surprise (or maybe no one’s) Neil hugged back with just as much fierceness.

Nicky wasn’t close enough to hear whatever it was that Renee had muttered into her brother’s neck but it still made him smile to see her so happy. She pulled away fairly quickly, but stayed by his side with their shoulders barely brushing.

Everyone else had stayed fairly silent for the duration of the sibling’s exchange but as they pulled out of the hug it was like someone had unmuted the rest of the world.

“This is your brother?” Seth said incredulously. “You didn’t tell us he was a fuckin’ mangl-” Renee cut him off with a very pointed clearing of her throat and glared at the fifth year striker.

“I highly advise you don’t finish that sentence, or I won’t stop him from gutting you.” The last part of that sentence seemed far too out of place in Renee’s mouth and if simply to prove her point, Neil reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a knife. It was just a typical Swiss Army knife, but in the young man’s hands it looked deadly.

Neil’s smile said he wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on the threat his sister delivered on his behalf.

“Oh good,” Coach said, as he walked in on the exchange. “I see you’ll all met Neil. Renee, you promised me he wouldn’t kill anyone yet.”

“I don’t make promises for him, Coach, but me and Neil will play nice,” she said serenely. Neil just shrugged and tossed the knife into the air, only to catch it and pocket it once again. He proceeded to make two more quick gestures, once with his flat finger tips pointing towards each other and then another with his right hand brushing over his left fist. Coach must have understood what he meant because he moved to the middle of the room to start the meeting.

Neil stayed propped up against the door with Renee by his side. At least this would be interesting, Nicky thought.

#the years of john doe #van sunshine creates #my writing #neil josten #renee walker #tfc #tfc ficlet

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sportsleague365 · 5 years

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Virgil van Dijk is relishing the challenge of facing Lionel Messi (Picture: Getty)Virgil van Dijk believes Liverpool must defend ‘together’ as a unit against Lionel Messi when they do battle with Barcelona for a place in the Champions League final. Liverpool secured their spot in the final four with a 6-1 aggregate victory over Porto on Wednesday night after Sadio Mane, Mohamed Salah, Roberto Firmino and Van Dijk all got on the scoresheet in a one-sided second leg. The Reds face Barca for the first leg of a mouthwatering semi-final later this month and come up against Messi who is arguably in the form of his life. Messi produced a mesmeric performance on Tuesday evening, inspiring Barcelona to a 4-0 aggregate win over Manchester United with a first-half brace at the Nou Camp. MORE: FOOTBALL Van Dijk reveals how Liverpool plan to stop Lionel Messi after Porto victoryWhat Ole Gunnar Solskjaer told Man Utd in dressing room after Barcelona drubbingToby Alderweireld sends message to Ajax after Spurs reach Champions League semi-finalAsked how he plans to stop Messi following Liverpool’s defeat of Porto, Van Dijk told Viasport Fotball: ‘I don’t know, we’ll see. It’s going to be a great match-up for all of us. ‘Obviously we’re very happy to be in the semi-final again and that’s the only thing I can say. Messi ran riot against Manchester United at the Nou Camp (Picture: Getty)‘It’s about doing it all together, it’s never 1 vs 1, it’s never just me against a particular striker. ‘It’s always us against everyone and I think that’s the only way we can defend well. ‘And it’s going to be very hard and I think he’s the best player in the world but we’ll see.’ Liverpool put four goals past Porto in a comfortable second leg (Picture: Getty)Klopp has never before managed in a competitive match against Barcelona and the German is ‘looking forward’ to the clash. ‘We played better this season. It was always going to be a whirlwind here and that was what it was. Second half the energy level dropped for Porto and we could control the game and score the goals,’ he said following Liverpool’s win over Porto. MORE: SHOWBIZ Jeremy Clarkson slams climate change protesters: 'Police can't deal with knife crime'Couple accused of 'sham marriage' win two year battle to prove legitimacyRuthless gangsters who lured children to smuggle drugs facing jail‘We are more experienced, that is clear. We had difficult away games and we knew it would be the same as at City and Roma last year. It is all good. A difficult game but we go to the semi-finals. ‘It is first time for me to play Barcelona, apart from in friendlies. I am looking forward to that.’ MORE: Toby Alderweireld sends message to Ajax after Spurs reach Champions League semi-final #LionelMessi #VanDijk #ChampionsLeague

#LionelMessi #VanDijk #ChampionsLeague

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hellohackedtechposts · 4 years

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Football & Soccer| Latest Football News and Results

‘I had to tear the house down… get players out who weren't here in their minds’: Manchester United boss Ole Gunnar Solskjaer admits forcing out wantaway stars was only way to instill the ‘right mentality’ in his squad

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Fernandes shines for United but needs time, Bergwijn makes a flying start for Spurs while Rose wins over Toon fans... how the January signings rated on their Premier League debuts

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'We deserve better… it's ruining our game': Manchester United Women stars slam farcical penalty decision which saw referee give HANDBALL for captain's header away in Reading draw

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#Sports

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kingrajahofficialblog · 4 years

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Manchester United have signed former Watford striker Odion Ighalo from Shanghai Shenhua on loan until the end of the season. The deal to bring the 30-year-old Nigeria international to Old Trafford contains no option to buy. Ighalo, who is still in China but is expected to fly to the UK in the next few days, scored 39 goals in 99 matches for Watford between 2014 and 2017 "Odion is an experienced player," said United manager Ole Gunnar Solskjaer. "He will come in and give us an option of a different type of centre-forward for the short spell he's staying with us. "A great lad and very professional, he will make the most of his time here." Ighalo moved to the Chinese Super League in 2017, first with Changchun Yatai. After two seasons he moved to Shanghai Shenhua and has scored 10 times in 19 games. A last-gasp scramble & 'beating Mourinho' - how Man Utd landed lifelong fan Ighalo His form for his country has been eye-catching, finishing as top scorer in African Cup of Nations qualifying with seven goals, before scoring five at the tournament during the summer. It is understood there was interest from other Premier League clubs but Ighalo wanted to play for United. He is United's first senior loan signing since Radamel Falcao's arrival from Monaco in 2014.

http://360kampnews.blogspot.com/2020/01/manchester-united-have-signed-former.html

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biofunmy · 4 years

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A Reworked Davis Cup Requires Some Patience

MADRID — Nerves have been part of Davis Cup since tennis’s oldest team competition began 119 years ago.

But the edginess has a different source than usual this week in Madrid, where Davis Cup’s final rounds have been radically transformed by an unlikely partnership between the International Tennis Federation and Spanish soccer star Gerard Piqué.

The suspense, for a change, seems less about who will win the big, gleaming trophy and more about how much anyone will care who wins the big, gleaming trophy.

It makes for an odd vibe, and opening day on Monday was, first and foremost, about evaluating the size and passion of the crowds, not about scrutinizing the forehands and backhands.

The first impression was clear: Attendance was underwhelming at the Caja Mágica tennis complex, with all three of its covered stadiums far from full for the day’s three head-to-head team matches.

But in this new and uncertain era, it would be unfair to judge the product too quickly, even if, at this stage, the only matches that are sold out this week are the two involving Spain and its very popular leader, Rafael Nadal.

In all, there are 18 teams gathered for this final phase, including two nations that received wild cards: Argentina and Britain, which has Andy Murray back on its squad as he continues his comeback from major hip surgery.

Whether or not you relish the wild-card concept — and I certainly don’t unless it’s the host nation — the 18 teams are divided into six groups. The group winners and two next best teams will advance to the quarterfinals, which begin Thursday. All matches are best-of-three sets, and each head-to-head team matchup comprises two singles matches followed by a doubles match.

It feels like a sprint compared to the long-form Davis Cup duels of the past, which were best-of-five sets and contested over three days with four singles matches and a doubles match. At the top level, there were also four rounds over the course of a year.

But with the top players playing the event only intermittently and with long-term viability and revenue a concern, the I.T.F., led by its American president David Haggerty, voted to change the format beginning this year after receiving a lucrative offer from Kosmos, the investment group presided over by Piqué.

“I think you’ve got to look at it as a whole, look at the big picture,” said Mardy Fish, a former top 10 player who is the new captain of the United States Davis Cup team. “It feels different, a little different, sure, but the bones are there. The playing for your country is there, and the team part is there, and it’s always special putting on the flag and putting on the jacket. There is something very powerful about the American flag and having it on your chest.”

The United States, featuring two Davis Cup rookies in Taylor Fritz and Reilly Opelka, will make its debut in the new format on Tuesday. The U.S. will face Canada, which defeated Italy on Monday after another of the game’s bright young talents, Denis Shapovalov, clinched the victory over the new Italian star Matteo Berrettini, 7-6 (5), 6-7 (3), 7-6 (5), in what amounted to the new Davis Cup’s first thriller.

Participation of star players was one of the big justifications for messing with the Cup’s rich tradition, but only five of the current top 10 are in Madrid.

Though No. 1 Nadal and No. 2 Novak Djokovic are here, No. 4 Dominic Thiem and No. 6 Stefanos Tsitsipas, who dueled Sunday at the ATP Finals, are not because their countries, Austria and Greece, did not qualify. No. 5 Daniil Medvedev, worn down from a successful fall, withdrew and was not on the Russian team that beat Croatia on Monday. And Davis Cup refuseniks Roger Federer and Alexander Zverev are providing plenty of social-media competition with a big-money exhibition tour of Latin America.

Tennis Channel in the United States will show one of those exhibition matches on Sunday after failing to agree to financial terms with Kosmos on the rights to Davis Cup. Instead, Fox Sports 2 will broadcast the American team’s matches and the championship match in the United States.

“People go to Tennis Channel to watch tennis, and they have exhibitions on there instead of real stuff,” Fish said. “It’s disappointing, and I know the guys are disappointed.”

Eric Abner, a spokesman for Tennis Channel, said: “We’re disappointed, too. We want to show Davis Cup. It comes down to resources.”

Less extreme options were considered for the Davis Cup format: making it a biennial instead of an annual event; or having the semifinals and the final at a neutral site with two earlier rounds played in the traditional home-and-away format.

And if you listen to the skeptics, less extreme options may eventually be reconsidered.

“I will bet you anything you like that in maximum two years they are going to change the format again,” said Ion Tiriac, the former Davis Cup star for Romania, in a recent interview.

Tiriac is a longtime tennis coach and agent, who is also the owner of the tournament held in Madrid in the Caja Mágica each year in May. For Tiriac, 80, the Davis Cup transformation is a travesty.

“It is a joke and a disgrace,” he said. “They have ruined the jewel of tennis.”

Piqué, in an interview earlier this year, played down Tiriac’s criticisms.

“He’s very old school in the way he sees things and at the same time being in Madrid, both of us, is something that doesn’t help,” Piqué said. “Maybe if instead of Madrid, we were playing the first two years of this even in France, he would have a different feeling.”

For Piqué, more accustomed to dealing with opposing strikers than tennis power brokers, his Davis Cup journey has been quite a steep learning curve.

He approached leaders of the I.T.F. and the men’s tour, the ATP, with Kosmos’s concept of a World Cup-style team event. But even after the I.T.F. became Kosmos’s partner, negotiations continued with the ATP.

With the parties close to an agreement in 2018, the deal collapsed. The ATP created its own men’s team event, the ATP Cup, which will be held in early January in Australia with 24 teams and, for now, commitments from nine of the top 10 men in the rankings.

That will make for two very similar competitions within seven weeks of each other, which is, naturally, far from ideal. But Piqué has continued to express his belief that a merger or joint deal can eventually be completed.

“I’m very confident that in the future we can do it,” he said. “I can tell you that we have tried, and we will keep trying, because we believe this is the way to go, but at the same time we have to face reality.”

For now, the reality is that the Davis Cup finals will be staged in these less-than-ideal November dates in Madrid this year and next year. But Kosmos and the I.T.F. could choose a different venue or different dates in the future.

“I see it with a long-term view,” Piqué said. “The deal is for 25 years.”

The long-term view certainly seemed the more pleasant view when the opening ceremony took place on Monday afternoon in a main stadium that was less than half full.

But by the time evening arrived, there was the 20-year-old Shapovalov holding off the 23-year-old Berrettini and howling with unfeigned delight before celebrating with his teammates and a small but rowdy group of red-clad Canadian fans.

Mixed signals? Get used to them.

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torentialtribute · 5 years

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Man Utd: Ole Gunnar Solskjaer likens Mason Greenwood to Ryan Giggs

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer compares the emergence of Mason Greenwood for that of Ryan Giggs when the boss of Manchester United points to more playing time for teenage striker: & # 39; You cannot loan him and he is ready to join this team to sit & # 39;

It was the second kind in (19459005)

After Saturday's match, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer compared Greenwood to Ryan Giggs Age of 17 years and never played for another club

Chris Wheeler for MailOnline

Published: 16:13 BST, July 20, 2019 | [GuntherSolskayacomparedtothespectacularriseofMasonGreenwoodop Manchester United ] to that of Ryan Giggs after seeing the teenager winning goal against Inter Milan in Singapore

It was Greenwood's second game in a row to score on on the last day of last season

Chelsea in the first game of the new campaign, says it was never in his mind to send Greenwood on loan this season.

<img id = "i-fc57b843b6efc8da" src = "https://ift.tt/2YcRgwx -7267983-image-a-19_1563634997912.jpg "height =" 425 "width =" 634 "alt =" Teenager Mason Greenwood scored in Manchester United & 1-0 victory over Inter Milan "class =" blkBorder img-share "1-0 win over Inter Milan"

Teenage Mason Greenwood scored in Manchester United & 1-0 win over Inter Milan And he believes the striker's story could echo that Giggs who made his debut at the age of 17 and never played for another club side in his professional career.

& # 39; Mason has never been in my mind to Solskjaer said. "He is one that we must keep with us. It is good for him and right now for him.

& # 39; The child is only 17 and he learns to train with these guys every day. He has been with us in recent months, he has grown in confidence and he has grown in status. I said earlier when you have players who have a hard time keeping them out. Greenwood has made a huge impact in the absence of Romelu Lukaku.

Greenwood has made a huge impact in the absence of Romelu Lukaku who still has to play on tour the United and Inter tinkering about compensation.

Solskjaer admitted that Lukaku & # 39; s lack of training and match time due to an ankle injury could be important if he stays in the club, with the new season three weeks away.

<img id = "i-724fce042acfc115" src = "https://ift.tt/2Y6Nalr -7267983-image-a-20_1563635010013.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" The 17-year-old layoffs past Inter-keeper Samir Handanovic at the Singapore National Stadium -fold Sam-handlerovic at the National Stadium of Singapore "

The 17-year-old fired Sam-friend Samir Handanovic from the Singapore National Stadium

& # 39; If you are a player and can't manage for a week to train – he has now missed three games – it is a concern & # 39 ;, added the United boss. & # 39; He is working to get back on the field and see how long it takes.

& # 39; I think we did very well without Romelu, but we know he is one of the best strikers in the world. We played a different way. As a coach you can adapt to the available players. We look forward to the next game against Tottenham (in Shanghai) and show who is available.

Asked whether Inter's bid for Lukaku and United's failure to find a breakthrough with Leicester in negotiations about Harry Maguire hinders his pre-season plans, Solskjaer replied: & # 39; let your team settle down as early as possible.

A young Ryan Giggs pictured in 1991 "class =" blkBorder img-share "/>

A young Ryan Giggs in the picture in 1991

& # 39; As I said, whoever is available, we will work and train with them.

The crowd at the National Stadium in Singapore was overwhelmingly in favor of United, and yet Ashley Young was surprised when he came for Aaron Wan-Bissaka in the second half.

& I will have a chat with him & # 39 ;, said Solskjaer. & # 39; I think Ashley is a top professional, she always gives everything and her birth ends with a goal. We want fans to support our players and Ash has been a very loyal servant of this club. "

Wan-Bissaka again impressed the United loved a clean slate for the third game in a row. "We are building a team and Wan-Bissaka did very well today," said Solskjaer. & # 39; He is hard to pass by and I am very satisfied with his performance and that of the team.

& # 39; You see confidence grow in him. He has been here for two weeks and has influenced the team and the supporters. He has a great opportunity to have a good career for him. "

Intermanager Antonio Conte also talked about Lukaku in his press conference after playing. I answered about Lukaku yesterday. It is not correct to talk about the player right now. He is the player of United and around for this reason, I think we should show great respect for the club and at the same time for the player and my players.

& # 39; Like I said yesterday, I like it because I consider you a player who Our team could improve After Saturday's game, United manager Ole Gunnar.

After Saturday's game, United-manager Ole Gunnar Solskjaer compared Greenwood with Giggs "

<img id = "i-60d09fdf581fc4b5" src = "https://ift.tt/2Yerkko" height = "792" width = "634" alt = "After Saturday's game, United-manager Ole Gunnar compared Solskjaer Greenwood with Giggs"

After Saturday's game, United manager Ole Gunnar compared Solskjaer Greenwood with Giggs

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ultrasfcb-blog · 6 years

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World Cup 2018: Divisive Neymar

Neymar’s theatrics spark ridicule

The headline learn: ‘Neymar has charmed Brazil, however aggravated the entire world’.

That was how Brazilian newspaper Globo put it, capturing a few of the temper round a person who as soon as once more mixed the elegant and ridiculous like maybe solely he can.

Neymar, the world’s costliest participant, is arguably the final large international famous person left on this World Cup after exits for Argentina’s Lionel Messi and Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo.

However for all his good performances – and on Monday he was as soon as once more very important in Brazil’s 2-0 victory over Mexico in the last 16 – there may be nonetheless a way that he stays broadly unpopular amongst neutrals.

His contribution was at occasions sensible. There have been stepovers, jinks into area, the intelligent backheel that set Brazil shifting for the opening aim which he put away himself.

There was additionally the petulance and the play-acting that, relying in your opinion, is both a cynical approach to achieve a minor benefit or reprehensible behaviour that erodes the values of soccer.

It was weird to see how the sport got here to a standstill when Neymar orchestrated a significant flashpoint with beneath 20 minutes to play.

Highlights: Brazil 2-Zero Mexico

When Mexico full-back Miguel Layun gently stepped on the Brazilian’s ankle, Neymar started to wail and writhe as if it was a stamp, waving his arms to speak nice ache.

It sucked everyone in: his team-mates, the Mexico gamers, the referee, his assistant, the fourth official, everybody turned concerned because the state of affairs escalated.

I turned to the German journalist subsequent to me and he stated: “It is Neymar.”

The underside line for Neymar and Brazil after all is that they’re by to the final eight to play Belgium on Friday at 19:00 BST.

And the 26-year-old Paris St-Germain ahead was voted Fifa’s official man of the match. The winner of that award is all the time put up for interview.

He was about to answer to a query concerning the incident with Layun when Brazil supervisor Tite interrupted and stated: “They stepped on him. I noticed it on the display screen.”

Mexico coach Juan Carlos Osorio stated: “It’s a disgrace for soccer, we wasted quite a lot of time due to one participant”

Neymar then added: “Look, I believe it is extra an try to undermine me than the rest.

“I do not care a lot for criticism, or reward, as a result of it could possibly affect your angle. Within the final two matches I did not speak to the press as a result of I did not need to.

“I simply must play, assist my team-mates, assist my workforce.”

As for Mexico’s manager Juan Carlos Osorio, he stated after the sport: “It is a disgrace for all soccer. It is a detrimental instance for the sport, it is a charade.”

Former Aston Villa striker Dion Dublin stated on BBC Radio 5 reside: “I am embarrassed for Neymar.

“He is likely one of the world’s biggest gamers however when he rolls about on the ground, I simply do not get it. Come on younger man, you are higher than that, get on with the sport.”

World Cup 2018: The great, the dangerous, and the Neymar

Neymar is clearly one of many world’s highest. Simply take into account a few of the stats round his performances up to now right here in Russia.

At this World Cup up to now Neymar has:

Tried essentially the most pictures (23) and pictures on track (12)

Created essentially the most clear goalscoring probabilities (16)

Tried essentially the most dribbles 40

And suffered essentially the most fouls (23)

By sweeping within the opening aim in opposition to Mexico, he scored the sixth World Cup aim of his profession.

To succeed in that whole he has required 38 makes an attempt on aim. It took Messi 67 pictures and Ronaldo 74 to achieve the identical tally.

And but on the BBC Sport player rater, he was awarded the bottom rating of anybody on the pitch – 4.76. This regardless of scoring the opener and enjoying an enormous function in organising the second for Roberto Firmino.

There may be a lot response to Neymar: optimistic and detrimental. He has virtually 100 million Instagram followers and a put up instantly after the match had a million likes inside 15 minutes of it being showing.

However one other picture has been shared extensively on Twitter because it first surfaced in response to Brazil’s opening group recreation, a 1-1 draw with Switzerland wherein Neymar reacted to a problem by rolling dramatically on the ground.

Eight numbered images of the ahead writhing round in obvious agony are accompanied by a caption that reads: How do you are feeling on the Neymar scale?

Followers of Brazil – and followers of Neymar – will undoubtedly have their very own scale by which to guage him. What’s going to matter most to them is his means to outline video games on the largest phases.

Maybe his temperament is simply an unavoidable by-product of his expertise, or maybe it really works in symbiosis.

In Brazil’s second group match, a 2-0 win over Costa Rica, we noticed one other weird perception into his internal workings. It occurred when the referee, making an attempt to defuse some stress, positioned his hand on Neymar’s arm. Neymar swiped the hand away and appeared to say: “Do not contact me.”

After that match, a victory secured by two injury-time objectives, together with one he scored himself, Neymar was extraordinarily emotional and he broke down in tears.

Was it the stress? The reduction? The emotion of getting moved nearer to the World Cup’s latter phases?

Maybe it was a mixture that features some affect of what occurred 4 years in the past, when Brazil have been so devastatingly crushed by Germany on residence soil within the semi-finals.

Neymar himself was absent from that 7-1 defeat – having been injured by a nasty problem from Juan Camilo Zuniga in a quarter-final victory over Colombia.

That’s the spherical that Brazil have now reached once more – for the seventh consecutive match they’re within the final eight.

What occurs subsequent for this workforce will rely to a big extent on its star participant and whether or not he can discover his highest, nevertheless he goes about it.

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getyourgossip0-blog · 6 years

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Belgium

New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/belgium/

Belgium

I’m going to pootle off at this point. It’s been a remarkable evening. Bye!

He’s asked what he felt when Belgium scored their winner:

First, I was questioning myself, whether I had control of the game. We were 2-0 up, and still we lost. I don’t think you should blame the players. It was me who might have lost control of the game. When we let in that goal, I blamed myself, and I questioned my tactics.

I am devastated. We took the lead, but we couldn’t win. I felt there was nothing in it. Maybe it was my decisions as a coach, or my tactics, that meant we couldn’t keep up with Belgium when they upped their game. My players, throughout this tournament, were very positive, better than in the past. Even against the likes of Belgium, they were confident. Today, there were good performances from our players. I think they performed better than 100%. But we have to make up that difference, going forward.

On that last-minute free-kick/corner double-whammy:

We wanted to finish the match, to win the match. And at that point I thought we might go into extra time. However we did not really expect that kind of super counter attack, and my players didn’t expect within a few seconds, for the ball to be carried into our half. And that really decided the match.

Akira Nishino speaks to the press:

It’s not just that we played well, but we had to win it. We wanted to win it. Our team is strong enough, and against Belgium I believed we could at least match them. We started off very well, but at the end, right at the end, to have conceded a goal like that, it was not expected. When we were 2-0 up I didn’t change my players. I really wanted to score another goal, and we did have opportunities. We were to some extent controlling the ball and controlling the game, but at that point Belgium upped their game, when they really had to. At the end we couldn’t really match them. So we were leading, and we were going to win, but I didn’t expect this kind of reversal.

“While I fully applaud Japan’s wholehearted approach, it really was knuckle-headed not to play a short corner with 30 seconds left,” writes Martin Gamage. “Japan had won nothing in the air all game and with Courtois’ quick thinking, laid themselves wide open. What a pity; they must be kicking themselves but their game management was non-existent.”

History is written by the victors, and all that. Had Honda’s long-range free-kick flown in, or the subsequent corner dropped to a blue shirt, we’d be hailing their brave and glorious commitment to attack. Though they could have left one extra man back – as soon as Lukaku ran across the defence from right to left, bringing a defender with him, the entire right wing was unguarded, and when De Bruyne picked out the excellent Meunier they were doomed.

You’ve watched the players – now rate the players!

Roberto Martinez – absolute genius/flukey fraud (delete as appropriate).

OptaJohan (@OptaJohan)

2 – Belgium are the first team in #WorldCup history to have two subs coming on and score a goal in a World Cup knockout game. Masterminded. pic.twitter.com/9Z5oNWScxa

July 2, 2018

“So Japan switch off for the last quarter of the game,” writes Ben Simmons. “How deliciously ironic.“

Japan did brilliantly to keep Belgium’s best players quiet, and to threaten themselves. But Belgium always had the option of bringing on Fellaini – and, potentially, others – and with their height offering a threat that no amount of skill and effort from Japan could contain. De Bruyne and Hazard disappointed, and Belgium only came up with one killer move that ripped Japan apart. It concluded with two seconds of the game to play. Unanswerable. Undeniable. Unbelievable.

Kevin De Bruyne and Vincent Kompany celebrate at the final whistle as Yuya Osako and Gen Shoji look dejected. Photograph: Murad Sezer/Reuters

Here’s your super soaraway match report:

Belgium play Brazil in the quarter-finals. The manner of this victory, dramatically fighting back from two goals down to snatch a win in stoppage time, will massively boost their confidence, though the manner in which they fell two goals down will massively damage their confidence. So overall, happy! And also sad.

Japan fans despair at the final whistle. Photograph: Carl Court/Getty Images

Roberto Martinez speaks!

Well, that’s what happens in the World Cup. You have to congratulate Japan, they played the perfect game. They were so solid, they frustrated us, then they were clinical on the counter. And it was a test of the team. The reaction of everyone wanting to get back in the game. To win the game tells you everything about this group of players.

No negative things, believe me. Today was about going through, and we did that. Today was a day to be proud of this group of players. Keep believing. These players can. In the World Cup sometimes you want to be perfect. Football is about winning and the boys showed an incredible winning mentality today.

What a second half that was. Absolutely brilliant. And played in a wonderful spirit. Japan made no attempt to kill the game at 2-0 up. There was no time-wasting, no Neymaresque histrionics. Perhaps they were punished for it, but the result was fabulously compelling.

No team has come from two goals down to win a World Cup knock-out tie since West Germany against England in 1970 (and they needed extra time).

Belgium’s players celebrate Chadli’s late winner. Photograph: Rebecca Blackwell/AP

90+5 mins: What a counter-attack that was. Courtois catches the corner and rolls the ball out to De Bruyne. He carries it to halfway and passes to Meunier, in all sorts of space on the right, and his low cross is excellently dummied by Lukaku, leaving Chadli with a tap-in.

Nacer Chadli scores from close range. Photograph: Lars Baron/FIFA via Getty Images

Belgium have stolen it, with eight seconds of stoppage time remaining!

Chadli

90+3 mins: Honda shoots from a free kick 40 yards out, and it’s an awesome shot. Courtois saved it, because it was from absolutely miles away, but it was a great effort.

90+1 mins: We’re in stoppage time now, and there really haven’t been many stoppages. Four minutes will be added. Witsel gets a foot to Nagatomo’s cross, and it might have gone in had Courtois not turned it wide!

88 mins: Kawashima does not inspire a great deal of confidence.

87 mins: Vertonghen’s 20-yarder is saved by Kawashima but the keeper doesn’t push the ball out of danger, and the offside flag saves him as Fellaini tries to get to it.

86 mins: Double save! Meunier’s cross finds Chadli, whose header is palmed away. Chadli chases down the loose ball and crosses it back in, and Lukaku’s powerful header is tipped over!

84 mins: Chance! Kagawa plays the ball to Honda, bursting deep into the penalty area, but Kompany throws himself at the ball and gets in the way of the shot.

82 mins: A Japanese double substitution: Shibasaki comes off for Yamaguchi, and Honda comes on for Haraguchi.

80 mins: Fellaini is actually basically playing as a striker now, spending most of his time inside Japan’s penalty area. Belgium have been outplayed for much of this second half, but they now have a couple of really tall blokes to aim crosses at.

77 mins: Sakai rampages down the right again, and sends in an excellent cross that’s headed to Kagawa on the edge of the area, whose pass forwards rolls out of play. Whatever energy Japan saved in killing the second half of their game against Poland has come in handy tonight.

75 mins: A remarkable match, this. Down the other end Inui gets into the area, and Alderweireld slides across to block his shot!

Hazard’s delicious left-wing cross is gobbled up by Fellaini in the middle!

Marouane Fellaini powers in a header. Photograph: Lars Baron/FIFA via Getty Images

73 mins: Belgium break from the corner, and at the end of it De Bruyne has a low shot from the edge of the area which is brilliantly blocked by Shoji.

72 mins: Japan remain on the front foot. Nagatomo’s excellent cross is cleared by Alderweireld.

71 mins: A Belgium corner was flapped at by Kawashima and then headed (theoretically) away from danger. But Vertonghen was there, and he had other ideas!

Kawashima is helpless as the ball crosses the line. Photograph: Rebecca Blackwell/AP

Vertonghen scores with a 15-yard looping lob-header from an acute angle! What a header!

Eiji Kawashima watches the ball loop over him. Photograph: Murad Sezer/Reuters

68 mins: Meunier – Belgium’s best player – crosses again, and Yoshida does brilliantly to throw a leg between Lukaku and the goal, and the ball flies clear off it!

68 mins: So Fellaini isn’t on as a makeshift desperation centre-forward. Instead he’ll bring his flailing elbows to the midfield, allowing De Bruyne to move forwards.

66 mins: Nearly a third! Sakai scurries down the right and sends in a low centre, that Osako hits into Courtois from close range. Belgium make a double change, bringing Mertens and Carrasco off, and bringing Fellaini and Chadli on.

64 mins: “Yes, I know he’s a great player, and I know that there are different ways of doing things,” writes Matt Dony. “But, this is a moment for a captain to rally, gee-up, and inspire his teammates. Is Hazard that man? Really?” Hazard has just been caught on camera attempting to do this. So, at least he’s not totally ignoring this side of the job.

62 mins: What a chance for Belgium! An excellent cross from Meunier on the right finds the forehead of Lukaku at the near post, and after profoundly outjumping his markers he glances the header wide!

61 mins: The faces of Japan’s fans are an absolute picture. Pure, joyous incredulity.

Paul Howarth (@TOOFEE)

@Simon_Burnton The Japanese flag on face paint is not a good look, looks like you’ve been smacked one on the snozzer.

July 2, 2018

60 mins: Japan are playing this game perfectly right now, and with Belgium forced forwards there are massive oceans of space down their flanks. They’ve just won a corner, as a cross from the right is turned behind. “Perhaps if Courtois were shorter he would have been able to get down to one of those a bit quicker,” suggests Lee James. Any more for any more?

56 mins: Carrasco, who has been poor, blasts a shot high from the edge of the area. “Who’s throwing his legs in the air now?” asks Wendell D’Souza. With his comments about Pickford Courtois has essentially given the world an open goal, and at the moment the world is merrily knocking the ball into it.

55 mins: “If only Courtois were taller, he might have saved that,” notes Jeremy Solomon, of Japan’s opener. He asked for that, really.

53 mins: That was a class goal. Kagawa chests the ball down on the edge of the area but with defenders well placed in front of him lays it off to Inui, whose shot arrows past Courtois and into the corner!

Inui

And another! Inui slams it in from 25 yards!

Takashi Inui powers in the second goal. Photograph: Marko Djurica/Reuters

50 mins: The goal came on the counter-attack, after Meunier passed inside to Mertens and went for the return pass. Two defenders followed his run, and the pass back to him simply was not on, but Mertens gave it a go anyway. Ten seconds later Japan were in the lead.

Haraguchi

49 mins: And Belgium hit the post! It’s a nice move down the right and the ball is worked back to Hazard, on the edge of the area, whose first-time shot hits the near post!

Goalkeeper Eiji Kawashima can only watch the ball go past him. Photograph: Kevin C Cox/Getty Images

Japan take the lead! Vertonghen makes a total hash of an interception, allowing a long pass that should never have made it to run through to Haraguchi, who looks to dally when he needed to dash, but then unleashes a low drive that flies in at the far post!

Japan’s Genki Haraguchi fires in the opening goal. Photograph: Marko Djurica/Reuters

Courtois is beaten by Haraguchi’s shot. Photograph: Hassan Ammar/AP

46 mins: Peeeeeep! Japan get the second half started.

Gary P (@eismcquare)

@Simon_Burnton Kompany, KDB and Witsel have been way below par. Hazard and Lukkaku are just at par. Belgium need to wake up. Japan are tenacious and looks capable of scoring.

July 2, 2018

Belgium have got their attacking players in possession in good areas. Their decision-making has let them down a bit, and the ball hasn’t quite fallen for them, but surely if this continues over 90 minutes it’ll come.

Japan are closing down well, and defending diligently if not always very calmly. One minor tactical observation: when Japan have the ball in their own defence Belgium’s front three drop back and position themselves very centrally, all within the width of the centre circle. The midfielders behind them then move wide, which means that if the forwards don’t put pressure on the ball their opponents are left with a very straightforward pass down the middle of the pitch into their attacking third. Japan have only done this once, but it did worry me a bit.

On the BBC, nobody has mentioned Yoshida’s shove on Lukaku. This seems strange, as a near-certain goal appeared to be prevented. “Regarding Yoshida’s shove, that’s a penalty,” writes Christopher Barnes. “Are the laws of the game even applying at this world cup? Why wasn’t that subject to VAR?”

45 mins: No stoppage time necessary here. It’s been sterile, but played at a good tempo with plenty of interesting stuff happening. It is goalless, but for the entire game it has felt like one is just about to happen.

44 mins: Nagatomo’s shot goes straight to Osako at the near post, who is too surprised about it to spin and slam it in. It rolls off his toe and straight to Courtois, who bends down to pick it up and somehow misses it. Sadly nobody is on hand to convert this from embarrassing mistake to one of the all-time great World Cup goalie howlers.

Thibaut Courtois fumbles but manages to recover. Photograph: Kevin C Cox/Getty Images

43 mins: Shoji does a lovely 360-degree spin away from trouble just outside his own penalty area. He’s so happy about it that he immediately passes the ball straight back to a Belgian.

41 mins: Hazard has the ball, Lukaku makes a run ahead of him, and he doesn’t make the pass because Shibasaki trips him from behind. Yellow card.

Shibasaki takes down Eden Hazard. Photograph: Juan Barreto/AFP/Getty Images

39 mins: Japan aren’t so much competing here as being tenderised. This has the feel of a thrashing waiting to happen. “How nice that Fifa allowed both teams to play in their first kit,” notes Kari Tulinius. “The only consistently annoying thing at this World Cup has been Fifa’s overzealous rulings on kit clashes. It feels right to watch the Red Devils in red and Samurai Blue in blue.” I agree on all counts.

36 mins: Japan have a good period of possession, which ends with them giving the ball away in their own half and Hazard and then Witsel having shots that are blocked and blazed over, respectively.

34 mins: Japan play a long ball to the left wing, which leaves Nagatomo, at 5ft 6in, attempting to win a header against Meunier. He doesn’t.

31 mins: Japan have a chance! It’s a decent move, which ends with a Nagatomo cross from the left, and Inui heading at Courtois.

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