My Footballing Legend

Fireworks were not to be had. Enormous wins were subpar and disruptive news headlines were absent of revolt.

But survival took place.

And that was everything.

Laurence trudged through November with three low wins and two horrible defeats – a record capable enough to keep CD Tenerife breathing above the relegation line. More significantly, they seemed alive in the minds of a fanbase that, for the first time in forever, began to believe again.

The wins, while meaningful, came in fits and starts. They were ugly, drawn out things where the clock, fairly, appeared to slow in the last ten minutes of play, a bad pass creating an audible gasp. But Laurence is happy to embrace tension over despair. He understood that this was: a slog of a season. The slog could endure no other way than with resilience and thoughtful calculation – not series of glory.

Neymar, as expected, remained the shining beacon for Tenerife. The teenager was a mystery no longer. Teams had found him, or, had attempted. Double him. Get him early before the fouls build. Trap him in the left channel and remove passing lanes. But brilliance has a way of evading the traps. Neymar adjusted, mixed his rhythm, and began to float inside more. Even without a chain on him, he created tension. And tension opened space for more.

Laurence responded in a thoughtful way. Giving Omar a little more room to get to Natalio and turning long flutters into central overloads. He started asking Kitoko to carry it a little further up, and feel his natural engine in the halfspaces. He told Ricardo León to hold deeper, and to start linking through Casemiro. Nothing earth-shattering – just nudges. Marginal gains. Just enough to keep the team ticking over.

It worked. Occasionally.

The first win was at home against Racing Santander. An own goal, although no one actually knew if it was Omar's or not, and an ill-conceived set piece which resulted in a poacher's tap-in from Natalio. A 2–1 home victory for Tenerife. Not pretty, but it counted.

The second was Almería. Neymar had been poorly marked and largely ineffective throughout the game, but he conjured a penalty out of nothing in the dying moments — a little feint, step inside, and a trailing leg that he never even glanced at. He converted there himself. Tenerife 1, Almería 0. Report completed.

The last one was Mallorca. This was Casemiro's night. He had his best game as an 18 year old, looking a lot more mature than most of the veterans at times. He tackled antagonistically, he controlled the back line with class, and he set up Omar with a pointlessly long, scraping diagonal ball from deep for a volleyed goal. 1–0. Three points.

But the hurts kept coming.

Away to Sevilla, they were second-best from the first whistle. Jesús Navas was blistering, turning Luna and Bertrán in a circle, exposing Tenerife's flanks again and again. They lost 3–1 and could've lost 5–0.

Worse came in Valencia.

Fifteen minutes into the match at the Mestalla, the score was 3–0. Clinical. Brutal. Three passes. Three goals. Tenerife were left gasping between transitions. The press fell away. The midfield evaporated. Laurence had to change shape twice before half time, just to stem the bleeding. Neymar pulled one back, and Natalio stole another late on, but the 3–2 defeat felt worse than the scoreline suggested.

After the final whistle, the dressing room was silent.

Laurence stood at the front and said nothing. The players sat slouched on benches, looking at the floor. Tired. Not just physically, mentally tired. The league showed no patience. No breathing space. No mercy.

This was life in La Liga.

Two days later, the rain was falling again at the training ground — soft, steady, gray. The canteen was halfway full when Mauro Pérez sat down opposite Laurence with a tray he hardly touched. Both of them gazed out the window, the air between them thick.

"I've been thinking," Mauro said, quietly.

Laurence did not look up. "That's dangerous."

Mauro smiled. "I understand we have talked about short-term loans in January. Plug-the-gap loans. But what if I could persuade the board just a little? Not a purchase — not really. But a loan-to-buy. A loan that gives us a player immediately, a player who can help us survive this season, and maybe... gives us a piece of the future, if we make it."

Laurence lifted an eyebrow. Now, he looked up.

"Who?"

"Real Madrid," Mauro said. "Their Castilla squad is loaded. They have too many kids for the minutes available. They are loaning out guys everywhere: some with clauses, some without. What we want is one of those guys. A kid with talent, who's currently stuck. Who looks at Tenerife as forward motion, not backward." 

Laurence reclined in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Madrid's kids aren't cheap."

"Which is why we don't buy. We loan. With an option. We add a clause. If we stay up, we can talk."

Laurence paused. "And they'll agree to that?"

"They might. Especially if we give them resale value, or a percentage if we move the player later. They don't want these guys rotting in Segunda or wasting on benches."

Laurence drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought.

Mauro leaned forward. "We aren't talking Galácticos. I'm talking fringe. Hungry. Still trying to make a career. Most importantly, they're wanting to play."

Laurence nodded slowly. "The shirt sales have been helpful. Neymar's name is marketing half the island. Casemiro is getting buzz back home. But we are still nuts and bolts short of real cash. Not yet."

"You said it," Mauro continued. "We're surviving. Surviving gets you options. We just have to continue surviving."

A moment of silence hung in the air.

Then Laurence said, "Make calls. Quiet calls. Get a feel for what's available. Ask for training footage. I want to see how they play, how they move — with and without the ball."

Mauro stood up, a look on his face that was a combination of speculative and hopeful.

"One thing," Laurence said.

Mauro turned.

"We don't take egos. Not now. I don't care how talented the kid is. If he walks instead tracks back, if he's pouting about not being in, if he wants headlines — we walk."

The idea of reinforcements — real, targeted, meaningful — gave Laurence just enough energy to keep scribbling notes into his yellow pad. The board might be stingy, but his staff were sharp. And he had something rare on his side:

Momentum.

Bruised, bloodied, barely breathing — but still moving forward.

Sometimes, that's all a team needs.