My Footballing Legend

July 1, 2010. The summer transfer window had opened that morning, and for the first time since unwittingly being thrown into this odd new world, Laurence Gonzalez woke up not feeling dread but feeling purpose. 

The hotel room he had temporarily moved into (he was apparently the owner of an apartment flat that required renovations) was small but efficient. The local newspaper, El Día, was neatly folded next to his morning toast. The front page of El Día didn't have much to say about Tenerife at all. Instead, there was chatter about Spain's advance in the World Cup. David Villa was on everybody's lips. Andrés Iniesta was starting to have his name mentioned outside of Barcelona.

Tenerife, however, was just a jot in the league tables printed in the sports section: "Promoted: Real Sociedad, Hércules CF, CD Tenerife." 

They were footnotes. For now. 

Laurence had a sip of coffee and glanced at his notes. The club had not made any signings, yet. However, with the transfer window now open, that would begin to change. Slowly, probably frustratingly so, but sometimes that was the nature of phase of being in charge of a club with limited money, limited draw and a squad potentially with depth now beginning to look paper thin under scrutiny. 

At 9:45 a.m., he entered the training complex. It was more quiet than usual. Preseason training would start again in a few days, but the sporting administrative staff were in the office getting preparations underway. The ding of keyboards hovering in contemporary space, the new ink from the printers in the air. Laurence weaved through the sporting offices and found Víctor in the first office, drinking from his own cup of espresso and Mauro Pérez behind him partially standing writing on a scouting report, looking busy with a pen in one hand and the phone in his other hand. 

"Morning," said Mauro, finishing his sentence and putting down the pen, "Window's open."

"Feels like walking into a market without cash," Víctor grumbled without looking up. 

Laurence pulled out a chair and sat. 

"So," Mauro started, sliding a file across the table, "we have officially opened negotiations with Elche for Nino. They offered him a player - coach contract and a symbolic fee - fifty grand. It's not much but it's respectful. Nino is agreeable." 

Laurence nodded. "Get it done. He deserves to finish softly." 

Mauro continued. "On the incoming side, I have contacted a few names. They are mostly out-of-contract players. We are not in the market for marquee signings, so I have been targeting experience and reliability. I have a short list. 

He handed it across the table. 

The list contained names like Carlos Bellvís, a decent left-back released by Celta Vigo but no more than that. Dani Kome, a versatile midfielder whose contract had expired by mutual consent at Rayo. Nothing to get excited about. Just dependable legs.

Laurence read quietly for a beat. "We're going to need three things," he said. " A second striker with pace. A defensive midfielder who can run all day. And a fullback - left or right, ideally with lungs."

Víctor stroked his chin. "We should also discuss the goalkeeping situation. Aragoneses is reliable, but he's creeping up on thirty-four. Depth is a concern."

Mauro nodded. "I have one in Segunda B - young, cheap and local. But raw. You would have to really believe in him."

Laurence sat back and checked his personal notepad. There were five circled instances of the name 'Neymar', with one underline. He was aware this was a long shot, and a long one at that, but he could not get it out of his mind. The kind of vision that blindsides common sense.

"Anything on Brazil?" he quietly asked.

Both men froze.

Mauro sighed. "I made a call to our South America scout, Lemos. He watched Neymar again last week - a friendly against Portuguesa Santista. He says the kid has a ball of hidden magic, but too much of a show pony still. Doesn't track back. Walks if he loses the ball. But when he makes a run, it was like lightning in a bottle."

"Price?" asked Laurence.

Mauro paused. "Right now? Santos would value him at around 2.5/3 million euros. But they're bluffing. They know Europe is watching them. We will have to shoot for starting negotiations around 1.8 and add some sell-on releases."

Victor frowned deeply. "You want to put everything? All of it? On him?"

Laurence didn't answer for a few moments.

He stood up and walked over to the window, staring out towards the training pitches being prepared for the first day of preseason. "Not just him. He's the centrepiece. The bet."

Victor shook his head slowly. "You are not building a team, Laurence. You are planting a tree with the hope that it, somehow, gives you fruit before it dies in the winter."

Laurence turned. "Actually, that's exactly what I am doing. Because if we just build for survival, we will die slowly anyway! I would rather go young. Fast. Unpredictable."

Mauro did not disagree, but he did not agree either. "We will try. I will make contact formally with Santos within the week. Quietly."

Laurence nodded. "And the rest?"

"We'll bring in two or three low-cost veterans to balance the squad. Plug the gaps. But if you want Neymar, you'll have to live with risks elsewhere."

As the meeting wrapped, Laurence felt the quiet pressure of the window beginning to settle into his bones. This wasn't FIFA Career Mode. There was no reset button. No simulate-to-next-match. Every phone call, every salary negotiation, every minute wasted could be the difference between survival and disaster.

As he walked out of the office, his phone buzzed. A message from one of the club's Brazilian contacts. It was just two words, but they made Laurence stop in his tracks:

"He's interested."

He stared at the screen for a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket.

The transfer window had only just opened.

But so had the first real door to the future.