Chapter 6: Daniel

Practice is a lot of fun lately. Why? The rookies. We're watching them closer than before. Pushing them more, forcing them to show what they're made of. It's awesome.

There's a lot of trash talking by the veterans, and you can tell the newbies are scared as shit. They have no idea where they stand, so they should be. Will they be benched for the next several seasons? Will they be practice players only? Will they be the next starter or even the next star? No one knows.

One of them stands out among the rest, though. Rowen Flanigan. The kid is probably six one, so he is already on the tall side for a soccer player. His bright red hair, seriously white skin, and bright green eyes draw attention. If his name wasn't a dead giveaway about his Irish heritage, his looks would be.

But that's not the only reason he stands out. The kid is a machine. As a draftee straight out of college, not only is he keeping up with the veterans, it looks like he may run circles around our current starting right mid-fielder.

"Zavaro!" Coach booms as he walks into the locker room.

"Yo, Coach!" I yell back from the bench I'm sitting on while I tear off my shin guards and athletic socks.

He catches my eye and gestures to his office. "I need to see you."

"You got it." I throw my socks in the giant laundry basket and slip on my black flip-flops. I stink, and I desperately need a shower but I don't want to leave Coach waiting. He loves this part of the season as much as I do and loves bantering back and forth about what we're seeing on the field.

I make a mental note to talk to him about Flanigan being groomed as our new starter. Coach won't make a decision about that based on my opinion - hell, I'm only a player - but being the captain of the team, he'll at least take it into consideration. He relies on me to take stock of how the players interact, how they get along, who gels well and who doesn't. And frankly, our current starting right mid, Mack Shivel, is getting on my fucking nerves. He's way too cocky, and it's starting to show on the field.

After a quick knock, I walk into his office and close the door.

"Have a seat." He's watching video of today's practice. I sit down but lean forward in the chair so I can see what he's looking at. "See that right there?" he asks, pointing at the screen. "That's the third time that kid Ratheson used his head and he nailed it every time."

"I noticed that," I say. "I was surprised how accurate a shot he is that way."

"That's what I was thinking." He presses play, and we watch for a few minutes until the video ends. Sitting back in his seat, he clasps his hands and rests them on his chest, putting one foot up on his desk. We've done this enough times, he gets right to the point. "Thoughts about today?"

"I think you've got some solid picks this year," I say, resting my back against the chair and stretching out my legs. "We've got some training to do to get them up to par, but they've got a lot of potential."

"Anyone in particular impress you?" he asks.

I smile. "I'm sure we've got our eye on the same guy."

He smirks. "Rowen Flanigan?"

"The kid's got some good moves."

"I knew he was gonna be a good pick before I even saw him play. Comes from good genes."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. His daddy is Ryan Flanigan. Sound familiar?"

It takes a second to recall the name from so long ago, but when it does, my jaw drops. "No shit?" Coach just smiles. Ryan Flanigan is a legend in European soccer, also known as football to everyone else in the world. He holds multiple records and has a career spanning almost two decades. He retired as one of the highest paid soccer players ever. If the team wasn't impressed with our rookie before, they will be now. "You're not kidding he has good genes. But why is he a midfielder? I would have thought he'd be playing forward like his dad."

Coach drops his foot to the floor. "I asked him that during the interview. Says he doesn't like being offensive. Prefers a defensive position."

"Damn, Ryan Flanigan's kid." I shake my head. "He's been retired and out of the spotlight since I was, what, eight or nine? I guess that's why I didn't put it together. But now that I know, it makes perfect sense. Not to mention the resemblance.

"It's hard to miss," Coach says. "But if he hasn't brought it up in the locker room yet, I'm not sure he wants everyone to know. My guess is he wants to make a name for himself, so you need to keep that information to yourself."

"Understood."

"The reason I ask you about him is because I think we need to start grooming him to take over Shivel's spot." I nod, not at all surprised at the turn in conversation. Coach and I have seen eye-to-eye about a lot of player strengths and weaknesses over the years. That's one of the reasons why he made me captain. "Mack's been a solid player for a long time, but I'm worried about his endurance. He's not keeping up like he used to." He presses play, and we watch a series of clips spliced together, all focused on Shivel. "He starts strong," Coach says without looking away from the monitor, "but about halfway through, see how he just got juked? It's like he sees them coming but can't anticipate their moves. He's definitely not giving the one hundred percent we used to see from him."

"I agree completely," I say. "They're getting around him way too often. Whatever his reasons, I'm glad this Flanigan kid is a midfielder. I think we're going to need him. Not only is Shivel slowing down, he's become a real dick to work with."

"I've noticed that, too. Kid's a little too big for his britches with nothing to back it up. I can't do anything about it now, and I'm not totally convinced Shivel isn't just going through a rough patch. But I want us to keep an eye on him while we start grooming Flanigan. If Mack gets injured, or we have to yank him, we need the rookie ready to go."

"Sounds good to me," I say.

We discuss a few more players, watch a few more clips. It's close to an hour before we're done, and I'm walking back into the locker room, where my teammates are still hanging out. Most of them haven't even showered yet.

"Why the hell is everyone still here?" I ask Christian, who's sitting on the bench shirtless, drinking a beer.

"Oh, you didn't hear yet, did you?" he asks, passing me a Shiner. I shake my head and pop the top. Normally, we wouldn't be drinking in the locker room after practice, so I figured this was a celebration of some sort. "Kuttnauer is getting married."

I raise my eyebrows. "No shit?"

"Yep. Seems everyone on our team is either getting hitched or having babies," he says with a snicker. His statement seems pretty accurate after the summer we've had. Chris Kuttnauer is the third guy to pop the question in the last few months. And two teammates became first time dads during the off-season, with three more babies ready to be born during the season.

"Not everyone," I say as I peel my now almost dry jersey over my head. "You planning on settling down anytime soon?"

He takes a swig of his beer. "I haven't met anyone interesting lately, so it would be hard to do but I'm not opposed to it. What about you? Any of your lady friends caught your eye for more than just a one-nighter?"

"Hell, no." I take another swig, peel the sweaty clothes off my lower body, and wrap a towel around my waist. "I have no interest in getting married at all."

Christian looks surprised to hear that. "Are you kidding? With your giant Mexican family, I would have thought you'd be the first person to walk down the aisle and start making babies."

"No way, but thanks for the stereotype." I shake my head adamantly while he laughs. "You saw the shit my mama went through when dad left her. No way in hell I am going to get married just so I can abandon my family later on. I may be a dick, but I'd rather be a single dick."

"Why the hell do you think you'd leave your family behind?" Christian asks, confused. "Not all marriages end. My parents are still happily married forty years later. They're still all lovey-dovey." He shivers in disgust. "It totally grosses me out." I laugh. "But it also proves my point. Just because your parents had a rough go of it doesn't mean you will."

"Apparently you've forgotten about my sister."

He sighs. "I haven't forgotten about Blanca. I know she had a nasty divorce, too."

"Look, I'm not saying marriage is bad," I say, holding up my hands. "I think I'd be better off not risking it. I'm perfectly fine with the way things are. No one has expectations of a future. No one gets hurt. I can get laid whenever I want." He rolls his eyes as I waggle my eyebrows up and down. "It works fine for everyone involved."

"If you say so, man," Christian says.

"And besides," I add, "like you said, I have a huge family. I have more than enough people to dote on without dealing with all the bullshit that comes from relationships."

Chris Kuttnauer walks by, showered and dressed to the nines. "You guys coming with us to celebrate?"

"Maybe," I say. "By the way, congratulations."

He beams at me. "Thanks, man. Michelle is a such a great girl. I can't believe she actually agreed to marry me." He starts to walk away. "Meet us at Morty's in half an hour if you're interested."

"Will do." I look at Christian. "See that right there? That look of excitement? It fades, man. I don't want any part of the decline."

Christian doesn't say anything as I stroll toward the showers. He knows I'm right.