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Cesar had asked the whole team over to his house after Sunday’s match because he knew, as team captain, it was time to organize the troops. Tuchel had given them pep talks. Petr Cech had been at the training ground every day with encouraging words. Everyone was still getting paid. They’d make sure there were clean kits and buses to the matches. No one was getting sacked.
But the team hadn’t sat down together, just the players, just the people whose faces represented this club. People who needed to remember the fans. The history. The future.
Cesar’s wife had taken the kids to the park and then would go for ice cream. “Take as long as you need, love,” she said with a kiss on the cheek as she herded the kids to the door.
Jorge, his vice captain, arrived first, his usual smiling face somber. “There’s beers,” Cesar gestured to the bar and Jorge nodded as he went to collect one.
It was hard to be a Chelsea player. They’d all signed knowing who owned the club. Voluntarily joining up with a team owned by a man who benefited from and supported a terrible leader. However, everyone ignored it. It wasn’t their fault, surely?
But now the public sentiment, once low key disapproving, had turned, and now it couldn’t be ignored. People were dying. Homes lost. Children hurt. People whose struggles made the moral dilemma of rich men seem petty at best.
Cesar saw the kids come in a herd. Mason. Trevoh. Reece. Ruben. Players who’d signed for Chelsea when they were just about tall enough to see over the table to do so. Chelsea was everything they’d ever known.
Soon the room was full. The whole first team assembled. Most of them with a beer in hand, few actually drinking much.
“Thank you all for coming,” Cesar said as he stood near the fireplace in the massive living room of his family’s home.
There were murmurs of assent. They all knew why they were here.
“First of all, I want to thank everyone for keeping their chins up over the last week. We’ve put in some team performances that have given the fans a reason to smile. At the end of the day, everything we do is for the fans.”
“They deserve better,” Mason spoke up. “They’ve been loyal to us through a lot.”
Dave nodded. “And we can never forget them.”
Nods.
“What’s happening to us right now is hard. We didn’t cause any of this, but we’re the ones who may have to take the hit. I know we all depend on our checks, but if, for some reason, they stop coming, let’s all keep it together, alright? No one complains. If someone is short for some reason, come to me, not the media, alright?”
More nods of agreement. On their wages, no one had a good excuse to be short of funds, but many supported a lot of family. Maybe had a few too many cars on payments.
“If the staff stop getting paid, I think we need to organize for them as well. The people who clean up our dressing room, make our dinners, and make sure this club functions aren’t on thousands a week. We’ll do what we can for them.”
More agreement. They certainly couldn’t cover all the wages, but they certainly could help make sure mortgages got covered and kids went to school with lunches.
“And if we have to wear an old kit, sort out a car pool to the matches, or start buying our own lunches, we will do so. Without. Complaint.” Dave looked around and was pleased to see no one looking away. Nods.
“And if, at the end of the season, none of this is sorted. If contracts expire and people are forced to make decisions for their futures, we will all still stand together. People have to do what they need to do to see to their families and their careers. Those of us who can stay, I hope we do. I really don’t believe it will come to that, but we’re family. And family forgives.”
Many players looked at the floor. He knew. He knew some were already making other plans. But he did forgive them. He loved them.
“We’re Chelsea,” Cesar finished. “The club means more to people than we can ever actually understand. And in this time, this moment, we have to stand together. Together with the board. Together with the staff. Together with the fans.”
“Together with each other,” Thiago finished for him.
“Together with each other,” Cesar sighed, his eyes bright.
“For Chelsea,” Mason said, a catch in his voice.
“For Chelsea.”
“FOR CHELSEA.”