"Find Johnny out left! LEFT, LEFT, not RIGHT! Fuck's sake, get your heads out of your asses and PLAY SIMPLE BOYS!"
The other intercepted our central midfielder's pass, thundered through my center backs, and slotted coolly home into the corner. I gazed up at the scoreboard, lighting up next to the waving American flag.
The final whistle blew, and my ragtag group of fifteen year old boys gathered round. I sighed, before waving my hand at the inadequate 'footballers'. If they could even be called that. This country really needs some work on it's youth.
"Go home. We'll talk at training tomorrow."
I checked my watch. 8:30. Why do I even waste my time on this? Not like I'll ever make it big. I started back toward my car, and ran into the U17's coach on my way.
"How'd the 15's do, Neal?"
"3-0. Couldn't complete two passes in a row. We've got a lot to work on with them before they're ready for you, Andy."
He laughed. "Hear about Sociedad? Montanier left." Andy was one of the few coaches around here that actually
followed European football, like me. Sometimes it felt like he was the only football friend I even had.
"You down for a friendly bet?" he continued with a glint in his eyes. Intrigued, I nodded.
"We both submit CV's, if either of us get a reply, the other owes the one with the reply $25."
I laughed, sarcastically slapping my knee, before I realized he was serious. He was as tired of working with these garbage American youth programs as I was, and even if there wasn't much of a chance at all, it was worth a shot.
"Yeah, what the fuck, I'll give it a go."
He laughed at me again. "Sounds like a deal. Do you curse like that in front of Nicole?"
I smirked right back. "Speaking of which, she's probably waiting for me at home. See you 'round, Andy."
He waved, and I got into the car. As I put my key into the ignition, I couldn't help but imagine myself on the touchline, surrounding by thousands of fans, screaming my head off at Xabi Prieto not staying wide enough.