08-27-2022, 05:02 AM
Lumeniola, Libertas Omnium Maximum
"Man, you're telling me our first game is against the hosts? No way we're winning that one!" The shrill voice of midfielder Asger Svendsen could easily be heard across the locker room as the Grundhavish team undressed after their latest practice.
"No worries, Svendsen, it won't be you getting your ass kicked, 'cause you'll be glued to the end of the bench," sniggered Bent Troelsen, one of the backup strikers.
"Hey, take it back, you spoiled pissant!"
"Make me, bricklayer!"
The two, the one from the working class Dockworkers' Football Association, the other from the upscale Kingschurch Football Association started towards each other and looked like they were about to come to blows, a powerful voice boomed across the room, "For helvede! Jespersen, stop the two of them!"
Axel Jespersen, a 2-metre, 101-kilogram behemoth of a man stood up and seized both of them by their collars, holding them apart. In his gruff bass, he said, "Holde kæft, klaphater! Berthelsen has something to say."
The owner of the powerful voice strode into view. It was Magnus Berthelsen, first-string goalkeeper and captain. "Listen up, idiots. Neither of you are probably playing, and fighting each other won't change that. We have a real game tomorrow and we need everyone if we expect to get a result. Sit down, both of you. Davidsen will be here in a minute."
Everyone sat down, with Mikkelsen keeping a close eye on Svendsen and Troelsen. Moments later, in entered a paunchy, middle-aged man, who walked confidently to the front of the room.
"All right, boys," he said, "I've heard some talk that we're under a lot of pressure tomorrow because we play LOM in our first game. They're going to blow us out of the water, or so the gamblers say."
He smiled. "Well, I'm here to tell you that they can all blow it out their asses. What pressure? All the pressure is on LOM. They're hosting the tournament, they're opening their own tournament against us. They're about 200 times our size, both in population and in square kilometers. Everyone expects them to wipe us off the map. So we're in a win-win situation, and they're in a lose-lose. If they win, they get no credit and we get no blame, because that's what's supposed to happen. If we even keep it close, they'll be blamed. A draw's as good as a win to us and a loss to them, and if we somehow come out on top, well, then, their tournament's probably over before it began. We're a tiny city-state, they're a major regional player; they'll be playing to avoid embarrassment, while we'll be playing to snatch anything we can."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "Now, a word on strategy. These boys will need to score a bunch of goals to make it look like they're as much better than us as everyone says. Their new coach has promised a more aggressive strategy as well. That means they will be pressing. When you press, you lose, because you're trying so hard to avoid failure, it loops back on you. They play a 4-4-2, so our back 5 should be more than able to handle it. Their midfielders will push up as well, because we outnumber them their strikers, and I wouldn't be surprised to see aggressive fullbacks as well. This leaves them vulnerable to counterattacks. Mikkelsen, Vilhelmsen, I'll expect you to leak out whenever we win possession to support Lind and Jacobsen. As for our midfielders, I don't need you to push hard. Just control the middle as best you can, control possession. Stop them from overwhelming us with relentless attacks and then find a spot to get the ball to someone up front. Stand strong, men. We can do this if we stick together. Defend, defend, defend, and then strike when the time is right."
"No worries, Svendsen, it won't be you getting your ass kicked, 'cause you'll be glued to the end of the bench," sniggered Bent Troelsen, one of the backup strikers.
"Hey, take it back, you spoiled pissant!"
"Make me, bricklayer!"
The two, the one from the working class Dockworkers' Football Association, the other from the upscale Kingschurch Football Association started towards each other and looked like they were about to come to blows, a powerful voice boomed across the room, "For helvede! Jespersen, stop the two of them!"
Axel Jespersen, a 2-metre, 101-kilogram behemoth of a man stood up and seized both of them by their collars, holding them apart. In his gruff bass, he said, "Holde kæft, klaphater! Berthelsen has something to say."
The owner of the powerful voice strode into view. It was Magnus Berthelsen, first-string goalkeeper and captain. "Listen up, idiots. Neither of you are probably playing, and fighting each other won't change that. We have a real game tomorrow and we need everyone if we expect to get a result. Sit down, both of you. Davidsen will be here in a minute."
Everyone sat down, with Mikkelsen keeping a close eye on Svendsen and Troelsen. Moments later, in entered a paunchy, middle-aged man, who walked confidently to the front of the room.
"All right, boys," he said, "I've heard some talk that we're under a lot of pressure tomorrow because we play LOM in our first game. They're going to blow us out of the water, or so the gamblers say."
He smiled. "Well, I'm here to tell you that they can all blow it out their asses. What pressure? All the pressure is on LOM. They're hosting the tournament, they're opening their own tournament against us. They're about 200 times our size, both in population and in square kilometers. Everyone expects them to wipe us off the map. So we're in a win-win situation, and they're in a lose-lose. If they win, they get no credit and we get no blame, because that's what's supposed to happen. If we even keep it close, they'll be blamed. A draw's as good as a win to us and a loss to them, and if we somehow come out on top, well, then, their tournament's probably over before it began. We're a tiny city-state, they're a major regional player; they'll be playing to avoid embarrassment, while we'll be playing to snatch anything we can."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "Now, a word on strategy. These boys will need to score a bunch of goals to make it look like they're as much better than us as everyone says. Their new coach has promised a more aggressive strategy as well. That means they will be pressing. When you press, you lose, because you're trying so hard to avoid failure, it loops back on you. They play a 4-4-2, so our back 5 should be more than able to handle it. Their midfielders will push up as well, because we outnumber them their strikers, and I wouldn't be surprised to see aggressive fullbacks as well. This leaves them vulnerable to counterattacks. Mikkelsen, Vilhelmsen, I'll expect you to leak out whenever we win possession to support Lind and Jacobsen. As for our midfielders, I don't need you to push hard. Just control the middle as best you can, control possession. Stop them from overwhelming us with relentless attacks and then find a spot to get the ball to someone up front. Stand strong, men. We can do this if we stick together. Defend, defend, defend, and then strike when the time is right."
"Finally, as for players to watch out for, it's Brookshire up front, team captain and all..." As he continued, the mood was changing in the locker room. Pressure was falling away. Maybe they could do this after all.