The Greatest of all Time

On reaching the dressing room, Zachary quickly dried his face with a towel and then changed out of the warm-up gear. He ignored the chatter around him and carefully picked up the hanger with his jersey from a nearby wall hook.

A smile lit up his face, softening his features as he held his black Rosenborg Jersey up in front of him for the first time before a match. He was pleased as a punch at having almost fulfilled his previous life's dream. In only a few minutes, he would play his debut game as a professional in Europe. It all seemed so surreal.

Only a few months prior, he had had to properly fold his jersey and shove it in his backpack before heading to the venue of a match. But since he was already a professional, on contract with Rosenborg BK, he could finally enjoy the taste of finding his jersey already prepared in the dressing room. Moreover, even if he required new boots for a match, the club would prepare them. Being a pro had its perks.

Without caring about the coaches and fellow teammates in the dressing room, he held the jersey in front of him—and then looked it over for a while. It was the typical black trefoil 3-stripes t-shirt with the words REMA 1000 inscribed on its front.

Zachary decided that it wasn't the best of designs since his name was displayed in smaller letters below the large 33 number on the jersey's backside.

But he had no right to complain about the club's fashion. That was the job of the club's marketing and public relations personnel. So, he quickly slipped on his jersey and nodded to himself after noticing that it was the perfect size for him—not overly large and not tight in any place. It seemed the club's fashion handlers had done their job well. He was content.

"Hurry and finish up," Zachary heard Trond Henriksen, the assistant head coach, yelling after a few more minutes. "The pre-match tactical briefing will start in two. Be ready."

Zachary looked up and noticed that Coach Johansen had already started inscribing the formation on the tactics board at the front of the dressing room. So, without further ado, he quickly tightened his ankle guards and pulled on stockings before slipping into his green boots.

He could finally let go and relax since he was fully prepared to begin the game. He knew he was in good condition. He could feel it right into his bones that he had more than it took to play well in his debut match. So, he leaned back on the bench and started sipping on water while waiting for the coach's pre-match tactical briefing.

**** ****

After sketching the starting formation on the tactics board, Coach Johansen took a moment to observe his players. Most of them had already finished donning their away-match outfits and were only waiting for his briefing to commence. They all had a confident air about them and seemed quite eager to start the match.

Coach Johansen nodded in approval, a soft smile outlining his face. He was pleased with the high energy levels his players were projecting. For the Norwegian Football Cup second-round game, he had mainly selected the line-up from second-stringers. He intended to rest his starting eleven for the match against Aalesund the following weekend. Aalesund had been performing well since the new Tippeligaen season started. Under their new manager, formerly a Rosenborg coach, they had played good football in the first six matches—and as a result, were even in the top four of the table.

So, Coach Johansen couldn't take the next Tippeligaen fixture lightly. He didn't want to risk losing a third consecutive time in the league. He had readily switched out all his starting midfielders against Strindheim, the second-division team.

But he wasn't worried in the slightest. The young players he had selected were all in top shape and with a high-enough match condition index based on how they'd been performing during training. If they managed to maintain their composure, they would demolish the second division team with little effort.

Coach Johansen looked at his watch and noted there wasn't much time remaining before the kick-off. "Okay, fellas," he shouted, clapping his hands. "Eyes on the board. Let's go over the main points of our game plan once again before we go out into the field."

The players in the dressing room instantly quietened down and focused solely on him. He nodded before saying: "Today, we're playing Strindheim Idrettslag in the second round of the Norwegian Football Cup. We're the stronger team—the team with a rich history in Norwegian Football. We can't be losing to a second division team in the second round of the Cupen. So, my instructions are to play with confidence and to play as a team. As long as we do those two things right, we'll win this game, hands down. Are we clear?"

"Yes, coach," the players replied, more or less in unison.

"I already discussed the game plan yesterday night—so I won't delve much into it again," the coach said, caressing his chin.

"But remember: we're playing with a 4-3-3 attacking formation." He pointed at the tactics board. "We need to be highly agile, especially in the midfield."

"Ole, Zach, and Fredrik," he intoned, his gaze resting on the three players. "I expect assertiveness and quick thinking in the middle of the pack. I need swift transitions from defense to attack. You'll need to work together and cover each other to achieve such efficiency. Play smart, release the ball with accuracy, and set up the forwards quickly. That way, we'll tear Strindheim apart easily. Are you with me, Zach, Ole, and Fredrik?"

"Yes, coach," the three players replied spiritedly.

Coach Johansen nodded, half smiling.

"For the forwards," he continued, waving a casual hand across the tactics board. "As I mentioned during yesterday's training, the two on the flanks will have to keep falling back to help the defensive backs. You can't just relax when we don't have the ball. I don't want to see what happened against Sandnes repeating itself in this game. Play like professionals, not like a bunch of kids out for fun."

"Jaime, John, and Nicki," he said, sweeping his gaze over the three Rosenborg forwards for that match. "Are you with me?"

"Yes, coach," the three replied.

"In case the Strindheim players decide to hold possession within their half, you—the three forwards will need to press them as quickly as possible. Pressure their defenders with high pressing zones around here." He paused slightly, tapping rhythmically at the attacking positions of the three strikers on the tactics board. "Force them to lose the ball. That way, we can always win back possession quickly and recommence our attacks."

"For the defenders: keep it cool, play with confidence, and always clear away from goal when you don't have options. I don't want to see any dribbling close to our box. Are we clear?"

"Yes, coach."

"The rest is all up to you as players," he said, half-smiling.

"Are there any questions?" The coach asked, sweeping a glance over the dressing room. "Zachary, Ole, John, any questions?" He singled out a few of his players on seeing the whole squad remain silent.

"No, coach, no, coach..." All three singled-out players replied with negative responses.

"Okay, then," Coach Johansen said, the corners of his mouth morphing into a smile. "Let's go out and win the game. We are aiming to become champions. We'll not be—stopped at this round of the Cupen."

"ROSENBORG, VICTORY, VICTORY, TROLL KIDS VICTORY..."

The players started chanting their routine dressing room victory slogan after Coach Johansen had completed his pre-match briefing. He noted that most of the starting eleven and the substitutes sang with animated voices, clearly excited about the game that was about to commence. He wasn't surprised since that was how Rosenborg players always boosted their morale before every fixture they played.

But what bugged him slightly was that Zachary didn't take part in the victory chanting to boost himself up. Instead, he remained seated on the side with his eyes closed. Coach Johansen couldn't help but wonder whether the boy was praying or if the pressure of his debut match had caught up to him.

He'd observed that the boy had been in a quiet mood—different from his academy self over the previous month. Although he was a workout addict back in the academy, he had still tried to interact with a few of his teammates before each game. He'd even had three close friends on the academy team.

[Is it because he wasn't on the starting line-up for two months?] The coach wondered, still observing Zachary. But he didn't want to mix in different issues when the kick-off was only minutes away. So, he made a mental note to have a small chat with him after the game. He didn't want any unstable factors on the squad.

**** ****

Concurrently in the dressing room of Strindheim IL—

Finn Morten Moe, the head coach, was giving the concluding remarks of his pre-match briefing. He repeated his tactical analysis of Rosenborg, albeit a summarized version of it, for the umpteenth time that day.

"We have an advantage since they're only fielding their young players in the midfield," the coach said, his tone solemn. "I have even heard that one of their central midfielders is an 18-year-old fresh graduate from the academy. He hasn't even played a single game for Rosenborg. That means they're taking us lightly." He grinned, folding his arms across his chest.

"But we can use that against them," he said after a moment.

"So, Emil, Preben, and Sindre, I want you to give their midfielders hell," he said, casting a glance at the three players. The three were the central midfielders in his 4-3-3 starting line-up. "I want you to run at those young players whenever they have the ball. Give special care to that 18-year old, show him the difference between the academy and the pro stage. If we can do that, we'll surely create several good chances in the first half. Okay?"

"Yes, coach," the players replied in chorus.

Finishing his tactical breakdown of the opponent's weaknesses, the coach swept a glance over all his players. He noticed that they were very confident and stable—at least from their body language. The excited looks on their faces were obvious.

The coach nodded in satisfaction before continuing. "I know that Rosenborg is a strong team. They play a steady game and will be the fiercest opponent we have faced so far this season. But believe in your selves. Believe that you can score and win the game."

"But above all, give your best while enjoying your football," he added, smiling softly at some of his players. "Give the best you have. That means putting in one-hundred-and-twenty percent effort. Remember the hard work you have put in during the offseason. Don't leave any regrets on the pitch. That's all I'm asking. Okay?"

"Yes, coach," the players replied in chorus, their voices full of energy.

"Okay then, let's go out and create history," the coach said, pumping his fist into the air. "Strindheim!" He shouted after a few moments.

"STRINDHEIM, STRINDHEIM, VICTORY..." The players roared out loud—together in a huddle and ran out of the dressing room. They were eager to start the game and give the Troll Kids hell.

**** ****