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It was winter in Strasbourg, and Patrick Vieira had officially frozen his butt off in the snow.
He should have known better. Marsch and the snow had never been a good combination in England, as the time he’d tried to build a snowman showed quite clearly. Yet Vieira, stubborn with the hope that their new surroundings and Marsch’s new job would give his friend some caution, had suggested that they bundle up the cats and go on an outing.
“Wahoo!” Marsch nearly dropped the mug of hot chocolate he was drinking when Vieira aired his idea to him. “This is a great opportunity to show off the cats’ new sweaters.”
When Vieira joined his new club, the players had given him some late birthday presents since he’d signed only nine days after his 47th birthday. One of those gifts included a pair of knitted cat sweaters with the words Santa Claws written in a goofy red font that was supposed to be festive.
“No way,” Vieira insisted, picking up Calista and scratching her behind the ears. “I relegated those sweaters to the basement faster than Leicester City in 2001/02. There’s no way you’ll find them.”
Unfortunately, announcing that something was impossible was the best way for Marsch to launch into action. After ten minutes, Marsch came up from the basement with their cats, dressed in sweaters and in their cages.
“Fine, you win.” Vieira gave up trying to win the sweater battle. There were other battles to win today, anyway. “Get dressed, we’re going to that fancy little boutique before we reach the park.”
“But my wallet hates shopping!” Marsch whined like a toddler. “Everything is too freaking expensive in your fancy-shmancy boutiques.”
“I know, Jesse. But we need presents for the Weird Manager Club members.” Vieira took Marsch’s Leeds United coat off the rack, helping him into it. “And I want to get Jose something that's so bourgeois, he’ll freak out while holding it.”
Marsch’s eyes lit up at that idea, and he didn’t say another word of protest as he, Vieira, and the cats bundled up in the car and backed out of the driveway.
*
At the boutique, Vieira didn’t have any problem finding potential gifts for his manager friends. The shelves were full of unconventional knick-knacks and unique items that Vieira thought would be perfect for the WMC members, and not all of them were expensive as hell. No; the problem was that Marsch wouldn’t stay close to him and kept darting around the boutique like a child, picking up items and showing them to Vieira.
“Patrick! Look at this snow globe!”
“Patrick, I found an ornament with a little CR7 in it!”
“Patrick, smell this candle, it’s amazing!”
“Wouldn’t these reindeer antlers look ridiculous on Antonio, Patrick?”
“Patrick? Patrick! PatrickPatrick PatrickPatrickPATRICK !!!”
“How about this, Jesse? If you don’t say a word between now and us leaving the store, we’ll pick up some sandwiches on our way to the park.”
It was a risk, considering how many toppings Marsch liked on his sandwiches. But Vieira was tired of hearing his own name being repeated by an American who’d overdosed on coffee at breakfast. Plus, they’d already finished shopping, so it wasn’t like he was asking Marsch to be quiet for a whole hour.
Marsch, to Vieira’s surprise, managed to stay quiet until they were in the car and driving towards the park. When they stopped at the cafe to get their sandwiches, Vieira decided to ask him what had happened, but he changed his mind when he saw Marsch biting into his sandwich as if it was the first thing he'd eaten that day.
*
Fifteen minutes later, the four were in the park. Monique and Calista watched on from a nearby bench while Vieira and Marsch tried to build a snowman.
"It's falling over!" Marsch packed more snow around the snowman's middle. "Why'd you give it such a wasp waist?"
Vieira rolled his eyes as he shoveled snow at the snowman's feet. "Because you gave it such a microscopic pair of legs and a skinny-as-hell derriere. Now shrink that head or it'll fall off.”
Marsch obliged, taking out a handful of snow from the snowman's head. Instead of setting it aside, though, he formed it into a snowball and threw it at Vieira's shin.
"You're it!"
"What the heck, Jesse? We're going to freeze!" Not to be outdone, Vieira threw nine snowballs back at Marsch before ducking behind a tree. "And if we freeze, who will take care of the cats?"
Marsch shrugged, piling another armful of snowballs into his stockpile of snowballs. "We'll give them to Edin and Jose, then we'll just warm up by the fire. They won't mind."
Vieira rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You're talking about the grouchiest man in the history of Portugal and his friend who won't give up looking for the best in him. They can barely get along on their own. They're not ready to be cat dads."
"Cat dads?" Marsch chuckled, tossing more snowballs at his friend. "Is that what we are now? Two middle-aged best friends living with their cats and occasionally a twenty-something-year-old man?"
"If we are, how is that so bad?" Vieira stopped throwing snowballs, leaning against the tree. "JK loves his players like they're his sons, Pep collects rare wines in his cellar that he only lets Mikel into, and Jose reads about natural selection as a side hobby. All of us have our quirks, and that's why we're the Weird Managers Club."
"I guess you're right." Marsch finished stacking his snowballs and pointed to the cats on the bench, yowling to be let out of their warm, cozy cages. "Come on, Patrick, I think the cats want to go home."