Poor girl.
I wonder how the rest of her stay went.
At that moment, Trent swaggers into the dressing room. "All right, ladies, I've got plans for tonight so if you can keep your injuries to a minimum, I'd appreciate it."
Like any of us want to get injured. To be in pain. To miss playing time. To possibly have our career ended because of a wrong slide tackle or missed header.
Also, he's calling us ladies like it's some kind of insult. Has he seen the US women play football recently? They've made it into—and won—the Global Games much more recently than the men have. But it doesn't shock me that he thinks this way.
He's a complete and total tosser.
"Yeah? You got plans withromantic surprisegirl?" someone calls from the other side of the lockers. Laughter erupts, and I find myself sniggering a bit as well.
Trent freezes and then at least has the decency to look down at his feet. "Um, no, she left."
"Did she rip you a new one?" That's Maken asking. "She caught you red-handed. The world is on her side."
"What are you talking about?" Trent looks confused. If I hadn't thought so before, I've now come to the conclusion that he has a very punchable face. I sort of wish we could get him out on the field, even during a practice or something, so I could give him a proper elbow jab. I'd take the yellow card.
"Check ClikClak. Searchhashtag romantic surprise," Maken advises.
We all watch as Trent checks his phone. His face grows pale and then seventeen shades of red all in an instant. "I'm gonna kill her. That bitch. I can't believe she did this to me!" he finally sputters, a vein popping out in his forehead.
It's not a great look for him.
Of course, neither is how he's portrayed in the video. The comments are ruthless and scathing. In other words, what he deserves.
"Isn't she your girlfriend?" Alastair asks.
"Was. I thought by moving away, she'd get the hint. Should've just ghosted her dumb ass," Trent mutters, still scrolling through the comments. "Stupid booty call gone wrong."
In my humble opinion, girls don't make the effort like that when they're simply a booty call.
She didn't know she was a booty call. She thought she was a proper girlfriend. Maybe she didn't know he was a wanker.
"Are you going to respond to Lia?" someone asks.
"Lia? Who the hell is Lia?" Trent asks, still flicking at his screen. "Oh, yeah, that. It's stupid. Her name is Ophelia. She thought she was being all sly and everything, making a profile that would keep her from getting trolled. Ridiculous. Her name is Ophelia Finnegan. You all should find her and harass the shit out of her for doing this to me. Bros before hos, am I right?Ophelia Finnegan," he repeats slowly like we're jotting this down.
I think he's expecting a high five or arse slap from the team collectively, like he's one of us. He's not a player, he's a trainer. He's not part of the team, he's part of the support staff. Of course, he doesn't pick up on those subtleties.
I'm guessing nothing short of a massive lorry running him over would be subtle enough for Trent.
But enough about him. The Terrors have a game to play.
*****
And lose. We lost. Again.
We knew the season was ending tonight, but none of us wanted to go out like this.
"This blows." Maken slams his locker shut. As the captain, he feels a large chunk of responsibility for the team. Personally, I feel like that rests on the shoulders of the front office who fired most of our coaching staff and traded or released our highest-paid players. They cheaped out and got what they paid for.
Maken, Alastair, and I all want out. Maken's the only one who can be traded in the off-season. Al and I have to wait for the March international trading window to open. And the five months until then seem interminably long.
The US Soccer League—USSL—is serious about developing American talent to increase their competitive standing on the world stage. In other words, they really want Americans playing who can represent the National Team at the Global Games. Ones who won't get their arses handed to them in the first round, assuming they qualify at all.
The USSL’s solution is to limit the number of non-American citizen players to twenty percent of the roster and to restrict the trading of international players to two narrow windows during the long nine-month season.
