Chapter 85: First Team Call-Up
Tuesday, 17 April 2012 - Zoudenbalch Training Complex
A thin ribbon of mist hovered above the grass when Amani arrived for the morning U‑17 session. Zoudenbalch looked almost theatrical in the new sun: a gauze of dew over emerald blades, breath‑puffs curling from every mouth, boots clicking briskly on the concrete walkway. Sparrows hopped along the stand roof, chirping like over‑excited commentators.
On pitch 3, Coach Pronk had the group boxed into a forty‑by‑thirty‑meter grid, six‑a‑side rondo with two floaters. Amani wore the yellow bib and, as usual, the black‑banded strobe lenses that flickered his vision on and off at half‑second intervals. Darkness, light, and darkness again. Half the session he played by sonar: footfalls, shirt‑rustle, the zip‑sigh of a pass through damp air.
"Quicker, Malik!" he called, voice slicing through the thuds and huffs. The ball came skidding to his right boot. In blackout, he felt Malik’s sprint studs hammering a lumpy triplet rhythm, so he rolled a no‑look reverse pass into that sound. The momentary flash returned just in time for him to see Malik cushion it sweetly and pop a first‑time lay‑off toward Tijmen.
Laughter followed. Tijmen milked the moment, goose‑stepping like a toy robot. "Beep‑boop, goggles boy doing witchcraft again!"
Amani grinned, spinning away before the next blackout swallowed the pitch.
They were twenty minutes deep into the rondo, pulses drumming in sync with the slap‑slap of the ball, when a single word delivered in that measured, almost courtly baritone sliced the rhythm in two.
"Hamadi!"
The drill hiccupped. Malik’s pass bobbled to a standstill, Tijmen’s boot froze in mid‑swing, and even the birds perched on the floodlight gantry seemed to hush. At the far touchline stood Mr. Carlos Stein, Senior‑Squad Coordinator and Official scout of the team, immaculate coat buttoned to the collar, silver hair unmoved by the breeze. Beside him loomed Assistant Coach Mark de Vries, hands clasped behind his back like a sergeant inspecting troops. Their shadows stretched long and dark across the dew‑striped grass, pointing straight at Amani.