Life was looking sweet for 18 year old Andy Hawke. He walked up to the iron gates of the Portdean training ground, and looked across the car park, over to the distant figures, sprinting from one end of the playing field to the other. An aging man in a severe suit sauntered over.
“Can I help you son?”
“I am here to see Mr Ashley. I have a trial for Portdean today”.
Andy paused and lost himself in the moment. A trial for Premiership giants Portdean. If he nailed this, the sky would be the limit, as they say.
The security guard opened the gate, and directed Andy over to the offices, where he would find the changing area. With no difficulty whatsoever, Andy found the changing rooms, and met another guard. He explained who he was, and his business.
A further five minutes later, and Andy was changed and tying his boots. This was going to be great! He wondered why he seemed to be the only person who was changing.
Still, he jogged out towards the players.
“Oi!!! Where do you think you’re going?”
Andy swung round, startled by the voice. It was Bryan Ashley, the scout who had set this trial up.
Andy smiled. Ashley didn’t.
“You are fifteen minutes late. When I said meet at the training ground at 8.30, I meant 8.30. If you want to be a professional footballer, you have to be professional in your outlook to life as well. Tardiness will not be tolerated here. Also, you will not be training with the first team, as you seem to think…”
Andy glanced over and recognised some of the players training. He realised that they would not want to waste their time with trialists. Ashley pointed to a group of around a dozen younger lads, who were jogging round the edge of the field.
“Join them. Sprint and catch them up. I will try and explain to Mr Cooke, your assessor, why you were late”.
Andy sprinted round the perimeter of the pitch. The other lads were already more than halfway round, and it took Andy a lot of hard work to catch them up. By the time he had reached them, he was almost exhausted. However, he was there to realise his dream. He was there to make an impact on his assessor, and prove he was worth the chance that Portdean were offering him. He carried on sprinting, and was soon second in the group. The trialists approached Mr Cooke and Mr Ashley.
“Keep it up lads, another five laps please”.
WHAT? Andy was practically finished now! He slowed to a jog, and very soon, the other lads were jogging past him. Andy’s breathing was laboured, and he felt like his lungs were burning. Still, he soldiered on, but before long, he was at the back. He began dropping further and further behind.
“Hey you in the blue tracksuit! Pick up your pace!” Cooke shouted at him.
Andy put his head down and tried to pick up the pace His legs objected in the strongest possible terms, and within twenty paces, he had fallen to the floor. He got up, and tried to run again. It was no good. Every time he took a step forward, he felt as though he wanted to vomit. He had the Mother of all Stomach Cramps, and couldn’t get his breath.
Cooke stopped him as he walked past.
“Is this the best you can offer us son? What’s your name?”
“My name is Andy Hawke, Sir, and it is my dream to play for Portdean Football Club”.
“Hmmm. You don’t look as though you are very committed to your dream to me. Mr Ashley told me you were late. Is that correct?”
“Yes Sir. My train was late to the station, and I missed my bus”.
Cooke paused. Eventually, the frown on his face disappeared, and he put his arm on Andy’s shoulder.
“OK Son. I guess that could happen to anyone. Tell me, what position do you feel is your strongest?”
“Left side of midfield”.
“We’ll wait until the other lads have finished their laps, and then you will take your punishment. We’ll have a game of passing, in a circle, and it will be your job to intercept the ball as the other players pass to each other. Consider this light punishment. It’s only because Mr Ashley thinks so highly of you that I haven’t booted your backside back to the dressing rooms already”.
“Yes Sir, thank you”.
Andy sat on the ground. This was not the start he had anticipated. He had not made a good impression at all. He felt tired out, and still wanted to be sick. He noticed some water bottles close by, and slowly reached for one of them. He sipped it gently, hoping that he would not vomit.
After ten minutes, the other lads finished their laps. Mr Cooke gave them five minutes to rest, and then he told eleven of them to form a circle. He passed a ball to one of the lads, a tall one with red hair. Then he gestured that Andy would go in the middle, and try and get the ball.
The other lads in the group were good. Totally outnumbered, Andy tried hard to get the ball from them, but as soon as he got close, they passed the ball on. It seemed like an hour when Mr Cooke called a halt to the exercise. Andy had not got the ball once. It was probably only around ten minutes, in reality.
After all this, Andy’s stomach finally surrendered, and Andy made a small pool at his own feet. Mr Cooke beckoned him over.
“I’m sorry Mr Hawke, but we want the best of footballing talent here at Portdean. If your fitness is not up to scratch before you get here, you aren’t going to make the grade. You seem very keen, but I’m afraid it’s not enough. Go and get changed”.
Andy could not believe it. They hadn’t seen any of his ball skills, his passing, his tackling, his dribbling…. He knew he could make the grade. He tried to say something, but felt he was going to be sick again. He could barely get his breath.
Andy slowly walked back to the changing room, with tears in his eyes. Mr Ashley approached him.
“I do not appreciate people who I recommend to this football club, letting me down at their first trial. You have made me look stupid. I hope you never come back here again” he snarled.
Insult heaped upon insult. Andy trudged into the dressing room, and quickly got changed. He headed out of the gate.
“You didn’t last long then!” laughed the security man on the gate. Andy just kept walking, and headed for the bus stop. Portdean were not the only football club who were interested in him. There were two others, one in the Premiership and one in Division One. He would ask Dad to get in touch and arrange trials with them, after he had got fitter.
