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“Well, Roy, I think you’re exactly right,” said Ted, looking infuriatingly chipper per usual.
Roy grunted. “I know I’m right. That’s why I said it.”
“You know what the solution is, right?” said Ted with the kind of steady patience Roy just knew was going to precede something he didn’t want to hear.
“Fly you out and have you handle all the emotional bullshit?” he tried.
“Nope.” Ted even popped the “p” at the end. Fucking twat.
“Have him talk to Doctor Sharon?”
“Yes, if he’s not already, but that’s not what I was going to say. You need to talk to him.”
Ugh. “Fuck no. I’ll make it worse.”
Ted hummed patiently. “Roy, ain’t no one else who knows what that man is going through like you.”
Roy groaned. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know how to talk about it.”
Ted smiled. “I think you’ve shown yourself more than capable of seeing what the players need and speaking to them on their level. It’s why Rebecca gave you the job.”
Roy just glared at the phone.
“Tell you what,” said Ted. “You give talkin’ to him a try, and if that don’t work you can give me a call and we’ll figure it out from there.”
“Fine,” Roy gritted out.
“Hey, I always appreciate hearin’ from you. Say, how’s it goin’ with-“
“No,” said Roy, hanging up. He was pretty sure Ted was chuckling as he hung up. Ugh.
Still muttering to himself, Roy strode down the hall, hoping a solution would jump out at him from the hallway. Instead, he saw Zorro in the treatment room sitting on one of the tables, his head hanging low. Fuck.
Zorro had been having a rough few games and was getting crucified for it on social media. It was brutal. There were memes. Some fucking pricks were calling him Zero. It was relentless.
This was the kind of emotional bullshit Roy wasn’t prepared for. Feeling like you let the team down? Being ridiculed by the fanbase? No matter how many people who love you try to cheer you up, it would get to you. Someone had to do something and some idiot had made Roy that someone. Which was bullshit. It’s not like Roy had the solution to any of it. “Chin up, lad” wasn’t going to be enough. Ted was better at this sort of thing than he ever would be.
Fuck it. There was nothing else for it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“I don’t need… Can you just…? I’m sorry. I’ll be right out. Just give me a sec, alright?” said Zorro sounding near tears.
Roy ignored him and slowly, deliberately sat own next to him his posture ramrod straight next to Zorro’s wilted frame. He said nothing.
“I need to be better,” said Zorro.
There was nothing really to say to that, so he stayed silent, hoping at some point Zorro would give him something he could work with.
“I could have saved some of those, I know it,” Zorro said in a rush. “I moved like a fraction too late on some of the saves that should have been automatic.”
Roy nodded slowly. “Okay, so we’ll drill more.”
Zorro shook his head, slumping, if possible, even more. “You shouldn’t have to waste everyone else’s time in practice on shooting drills just because I can’t…”
“Yeah, having our strikers practice scoring goals is a major waste of time. That’s something I’ve always thought,” Roy drawled sarcastically.
Zorro turned his head to the side, but Roy could still see his small, reluctant smile. “It’s embarrassing, you having to come up with special training just so I can do my fucking job.”
Roy nodded again. “Sure, I get that. I only do special training for our most embarrassing players, famously.”
Zorro huffed out a laugh. Which Roy hoped meant he was getting somewhere but what the fuck did he know? “Okay, but special training to make your star player into a superstar-“
“Please don’t call Jamie a superstar,” Roy said. “I’ve got my pride, but I’ll beg if I have to.”
“-is a little different than remedial training because I can’t save a single fucking goal.”
The lad was spiraling. “You saved five today,” said Roy.
“Yeah and I let four in. Guess which are the ones that matter.”
“All of them matter.”
“I don’t even belong on the same team as guys like Jamie and Sam.”
Now he was fucking quoting Twitter. Roy had meant it when he told reporters that Isaac was wrong to assault a fan but sometimes Roy really fucking got the impulse. He was silent for another full minute after that. Finally, he felt himself let out a small sigh. “Jamie’s job is easier than yours.”
That, at least, startled Zorro out of his slump. “What?”
Roy shrugged. “It is. Strikers get a lot of pressure, sure, but their highs are a lot higher and their lows aren’t nearly as low. If Jamie took nine shots and only four went in, the pundits would be so far up his arse praising him, Jamie would be vomiting them back out.” Zorro cringed. Yeah, fair enough. Probably too much imagery there. “You misread a player and think the ball is going top left and it goes bottom right, they get a goal. If he misreads a player’s body language we just lose possession. Bumbercatch can get it back in midfield. Or Isaac. Or Richard. Or you can, if they make it to the box.”
Roy finally turned to face him, trying to make sure Zorro heard him. “Our strikers are brilliant, and they work their arses off. I’m proud of them. But yes. Your job is harder. So don’t compare yourself to Jamie. Or Dani or Sam or anyone else out there. Your problem isn’t that you aren’t as good as the rest of the players on the pitch.”
Zorro dismissively scoffed but he still seemed to be listening. “Okay. What’s my problem then?”
“You miss a goal and you spend so much time dwelling on it you get in your own head. When you get confident, you’re on fucking fire. I’ve seen you make saves that had me believing in fucking miracles. But when you miss a few, you second guess yourself. You hesitate. Fuck the missed goals. And fuck the fans and the commentators, for that matter. Missing goals is shit – I don’t like it anymore than you do, but don’t let the mistakes fuck with your head. I’m not sentimental – if I thought you were shit I’d bench you in a heartbeat.”
Zorro smiled reluctantly at that.
“Just… Focus on the good. And not just the saves. All the times the team has passed it back to you, giving Sam or Richard or Jamie time to get open and create an opportunity. All the times you found someone open halfway down the pitch on a goal kick and created an opportunity for us. You’re…” Roy cleared his throat. Fucking Doctor Sharon and her stupid fucking therapy and double fuck her for being right. “You’re more to us than the mistakes you make. Focus on the good.”
“Easier said than done,” said Zorro, though Roy thought he looked lighter. A little less despondent.
“Don’t I fucking know it, mate.”
Both of their heads snapped up when Beard opened the door. “They’re waiting for you in the press room.”
Roy nodded. Of course. Ugh. Between a presser and a heart to heart about feelings he’d chose neither. “You’re still banned?”
“Yep,” said Beard, popping the p.
“Yeah, right. Fair enough.” He got up to go, patting Zorro’s arm on his way out.
Beard nodded to him in what looked like approval on his way out, but Roy really didn’t feel like admitting that maybe talking about feelings worked right now. “You’re all fucking mental anyway,” he told Beard. “The answer was Tom Morello.”
“I can’t have this conversation with you,” said Beard.
Roy pretended he didn’t see Keeley giving him big, shiny “I’m so proud of you eyes” from where she stood just outside the door. He was sure it was just his imagination that his grunt at her sounded warmer and less intimidating even to his own ears.