Page 65 of Dominate
“No, we worked on punting,” Booker defends and looks to me for explanation. “We did visualisation this morning.”
I roll my eyes toward Tanner. “Ignore him, Book. Tanner is just dying because the prat spent the last six months eating pancakes like they were his last meal, and he’s out of bloody shape.”
“Fuck off,” Tanner cajoles, dropping down on the ground. “And the joke’s on you because they were completely worth it.”
Hobo is next to join us. The tall, curly-haired German’s smile is pretty much permanent since he got called to join the camp. His dual citizenship in England and Germany made his presence on the England team a possibility, but it was his stellar season with Man U that earned him the spot.
Hobo looks down at Tanner’s crumpled up posture as he sits on the grass. “Tanner, why do you always appear like a corpse at the end of camp every day?”
“I don’t!” Tanner retorts with a serious furrow to his brow.
“You do. You are out of shape, my friend. I think perhaps you have been too repetitive in your workout routines.” Hobo sits down next to Tanner and uses his hands as he gesticulates what he’s saying. “See, every club and manager is different. I’ve played for so many teams, I am used to drastic changes in workout regimens. This skill makes me a valuable player. Let me show you.”
Hobo rolls into a push-up position and looks over his shoulder at Tanner. “Tell me this. When you make love to your wife, is this how you do it every single time?” Hobo begins pumping his hips into the grass in the missionary position but with comical, fast, jerky motions.
Booker, Camden, and I burst into laughter as Tanner’s face crumples in disgust. “Fuck right off, German!” he bellows, bolting at Hobo and shoving him onto his side. “I can’t even understand a word you’re saying. What language are you speaking?”
“English, but I know four other languages if you prefer I try those instead.”
Tanner blinks stupidly at him. “Why don’t you try the language of shut the hell up?”
Hobo laughs, not the least bit put-off. “I can stay late and do some conditioning with you if you’d like.”
Tanner swerves his eyes to me. “Gareth, control your teammate. I think he’s coming on to me.”
I laugh and shake my head. “He’s your teammate, too, right now. And he has a point. You wouldn’t be hurting so much if you watched your diet,” I state, eyeing him seriously.
Tanner stares up at me. “Gareth, why do you hate fun so much?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Chelsea team making their way onto the pitch. We’ve been passing them the last few days as our camp ends and their daily training begins.
I spot Vince Sinclair amongst his teammates, his beady eyes darting away from mine as soon as he sees me. He’s been giving me a wide berth since the trash talking that happened in the tunnel at our last match. It seems uncharacteristic for him, but I imagine it’s because he’s angry he wasn’t invited to train.
“Is anyone else surprised that Sinclair wasn’t invited to this camp?” I ask, looking down at my brothers and Hobo.
“I’m not. That guy’s a fucking wanker,” Camden growls. “You saw that highlight where he tackled me from the backfield a couple weeks ago, right?”
“Yes,” I reply through clenched teeth. It was entirely fucked-up. The reporters remarked on how lucky Camden was to be able to walk off a hit like that.
“He was completely going for my bad knee. The prat should have been red-carded.” Camden rips up some grass and tosses it out in front of himself.
“Well, at least we won’t ever have to play on the same team as him,” I console.
“Thank fuck for that,” Camden grumbles.
I stare at Vince again and an odd feeling pricks the back of my neck. One that I can’t quite put my finger on.
The rest of camp goes incredibly. Tanner—whiny as he may be—picks up the pace and comes alive the last few days, especially when he and Camden break off into offensive work. They immediately click like no time has passed since Cam left Bethnal Green. And Booker is one of three keepers here. What he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for with his passion.
Eventually, Austin splits the group off into two teams for a closed friendly match, and I’m thrilled to see that he’s put my brothers, Hobo, and me all on the same side.
Playing alongside my family again is a thrill I never realised I was missing. It’s been years since we’ve all played together, but I guess all those years of going over match films with Dad has finally paid off. I know exactly what my brothers are going to do before they even do it. It’s instinctual. Blindfolded, we’d each probably know where the other is at out on the pitch.
It’s especially exciting to play with Booker. I was never able to play on a team with him since I signed with Man U before he started for Bethnal. But knowing I’m not only defending to keep my keeper safe, but also my brother, brings a whole new level of intensity to my game. Not that Booker needs my help. He stops three goal attempts from the other side with the ease of a seasoned athlete.
The rest of the team feeds off of our energy. In the end, our friendly match becomes a bit of a walloping as Tanner and Camden bounce the ball back and forth, scoring goals and sending the opposing keeper into fits. It’s a beautiful game of football. If we never make it to the World Cup tournament together, this day alone will be an experience I cherish for the rest of my life.
But when Austin calls us into his office and says he wants all four of us to be at the press conference room at Wembley Stadium tomorrow morning, we’re practically buzzing with anticipation. He won’t tell us what is going to be announced, but we have a good idea what to expect.
