The conversation with Emma was a turning point. It was the emotional and psychological reboot I so desperately needed. I had been drowning in a sea of self-pity and failure, but her unwavering belief in me had been a life raft.
She had reminded me of my own strength, my own vision, my own purpose. I walked out of her flat not with a magic solution, but with something far more valuable: a renewed sense of self, and a clear, determined plan of action.
The next training session was different. I told the players to leave their boots and their balls in the changing room. There would be no football today. There would be no tactics, no drills, no running. There would just be talking.
We sat in a circle in the centre of the pitch, a cold, wet, and miserable collection of individuals who had once been a team. The atmosphere was tense, awkward, and thick with unspoken resentment. This was either going to be the moment we saved our season, or the moment it finally, and irrevocably, died.
