My Footballing Legend

It was the first full training session after the loss at the Bernabéu. The players arrived quiet, exhausted — but not broken. The 4–0 score still hurt, but there was something exceptionally frustrating about the loss. Something still lodged beneath the bruises, somewhere in their bodies.

Laurence had felt it too.

Before the cones had been put out on the pitch and before a ball had even been kicked, Laurence brought them all close, like kids standing by the touchline. The winter air was cold but there was warmth in his voice.

"We lost," Laurence said plainly. "Horribly. No sense hiding that."

There were a few heads that dropped. He let it sit with a silence — not too long, but long enough.

Then: "But I've never been prouder."

Some looked up. Others confused.

"You held the line against Ronaldo. You executed a system top teams spend months fine-tuning. You believed harder than you thought you could. By the second half, Madrid didn't know what it hit them."

He pointed out at the training pitch. "That's exactly what I want. Every match. That feeling. That belief. Play like there is nothing to fall back on, except each other — brave, tight, and precise."

Victor raised an eyebrow. Arms folded but listening. "Even if we concede four again?"

Laurence smiled faintly. "Especially then."

The mood shifted. Not significantly, but just a little.

Drills got sharper. Juanlu and Luna both led backline coordination under Laurence's whistle, stepping and recovering while working on the offside trap. Kitoko worked with Casemiro and Ricardo León on midfield rotations - timing, pressure, communication.

Only ever two in, no more. Casemiro still had Atlético breaking him a little sad. But here in the winter sunshine and cold breath, he looked like a man trying to forgive himself by doing the work over and over. 

And Neymar?

Still darting between cones like starlight. This time, however, less like a show-off. More like a player on a mission. 

Laurence had been around long enough to know that change wasn't something that happened in a big burst. It happened in little flickers. From work. From trust. From sweat.

Now came the next test.

A home game. A winnable game - on paper.

_____

Tenerife vs. Levante

Estadio Heliodoro Rodríguez López – 19 December 2010

The stadium wasn't packed, but it was rarely full anyway. But there was a new type of tension here also — not fear, not pressure, but hope.

Tenerife were in 11th place. Safe — for now. But feelings didn't stop the league rolling on. Levante were close behind.

Laurence made no wholesale changes. Casemiro started again — renewed faith. Neymar kept his place on the left. Natalio led the line, still switching from forward to striker, still trying to find a rhythm.

And from the whistle, Tenerife had intent. Not control. Not brilliance. But intent. They pressed in packs, not always with precision, but purpose. The lines were tighter. The movements were more coordinated.

But it still felt flimsy.

In the 18th minute Levante almost cut them open — a chipped ball over the top left Rubén Suárez one-on-one with Aragoneses.

The veteran keeper stuck out a leg and saved. Just.

Laurence called from the touchline, "Reset! Squeeze the line!"

And his players did, sort of. Juanlu and Luna didn't recognize that they were on the same team and miscommunicated while clearing the ball out. Levante was pressuring again.

Though they had Neymar.

Then, in the 34th minute, he did what the world knows he can do: turned two defenders inside out and won a free-kick in a dangerous area, just outside the box. Ricardo León's service wasn't any good — it floated far too close to the goalkeeper — but in the madness, Kitoko swung a foot.

And sliced a shot. Mis-hit. Deflected.

And somehow… it rolled into the bottom corner.

1–0.

More relief than celebration seemed to erupt around the stadium. The players hugged. Laurence barely moved in his coaching box. He rubbed his chin and said to Victor, "Lucky. They know it. We know it."

Victor nodded. "But part of survival is luck."

In the second half, Levante were pressuring harder. But Tenerife were sitting deeper still. The lines where getting nervier. But the structure held.

Aragoneses came up with two more key saves — one from a long-ranger, and one diving parry from a late header in the 89th minute.

Laurence screamed from the sideline: "Hold! Hold!"

And they did.

The final whistle blew.

Tenerife 1 – 0 Levante.

In the dressing room, players plopped down on benches or their gear bags, spent but smiling. A handful of players slapped each other on the back. One of them started humming the club song.

Laurence was quietly sitting on a cooler just inside the door, arms on his knees.

Neymar, towel over his shoulder, walked past with a boyish smile. "So, we defend like machines, huh?"

Laurence laughed. "You keep distracting half the league, then yeah—maybe."

Victor came up to him, arms crossed again—his default position. "It wasn't clean."

"No," Laurence said. "But you saw it too, right? Just flashes. Spark here. Movement there."

"They're starting to trust it," Victor agreed. "It's not tactical now. It's starting to feel like...personal."

Laurence nodded, glancing around the room. Kitoko laughing. Juanlu showing something on his phone to Luna. Neymar pretending like he wasn't tired.

"They're starting to believe in each other," Laurence said, "and that is...everything."