Gaël Shaw, Jr. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
memorylost) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wickerpark2018-06-24 09:53 pm
memorylost) wrote in wickerpark2018-06-24 09:53 pm
Hello Mate, Nice to meet you...
Gael wasn't sure this had been his best idea since the moment he'd boarded the plane in London. His manager had tried to keep him from reading the news, but it was just a matter of time before someone said something. His blissful ignorance had lasted until he stood up to board and someone screamed out 'wanker!' at him. When he'd turned to look back, the man was wearing a Chelsea jersey and pointing at him aggressively before straight out flipping him the bird.
Things hadn't gotten any better by the time he'd landed. British Airways had Sky News on as their default entertainment, and forty minutes into the flight Gael had the chance to relive the worst game of his career at Chelsea followed by a break down of the 'American' being called up for the USMNT. That was followed by what seemed endless speculation about just why he wasn't playing for England. 'Sure, he was born there. But lets be honest, The Americans have offered him something to get him to play for them,' the man had said. Followed by endless talk about the World Cup qualifiers that detailed how he'd probably made the worst choice in going to play for the US. England was on a bloody tear.
The US...not so much.
Still, with the plane headed straight on to California there was no turning back. He'd agreed to play for the US, and even if he could go back to London and sign up for the Lions- they wouldn't take him.
Getting off the plane, he immediately felt out of place. Sure he'd been back to the US across the years, but the sun was high and bright in the California sky. It was almost alien to him, as he couldn't even recall Chicago being that bright and sunny. Or maybe it was that he spent most of his time indoors, or surrounded by buildings as tall as mountains.
Pushing it back, he grabbed his bags and headed out into the heat of the west coast summer. It only took him a moment to find the car waiting on him, and 2 hours later- he was walking into the newest USMNT training facility.
"Alright, your gear is stored in there, we'll have shuttles pick you up from the hotel and take you back every night. But you're the last one here, so get changed and get out to the field. They've been waiting for you." The trainer said, before leaving him alone and looking more than a little out of place.
"Great, not a problem." He muttered to himself.
Getting changed, he made his way to the field, and looked about. It only took him a few moments to make his introductions, get his marching orders, and again wonder if he'd just made the worst decision ever. So far, no one seemed overly pleased to see him. And to make things better, his first task was apparently to help the keepers warm up.
"'Ello," he said as he came up to the group, "was told to head over here. Shaw, Gael Shaw." He held out his hand as he looked at the other men- all looking at him oddly. Right.
Things hadn't gotten any better by the time he'd landed. British Airways had Sky News on as their default entertainment, and forty minutes into the flight Gael had the chance to relive the worst game of his career at Chelsea followed by a break down of the 'American' being called up for the USMNT. That was followed by what seemed endless speculation about just why he wasn't playing for England. 'Sure, he was born there. But lets be honest, The Americans have offered him something to get him to play for them,' the man had said. Followed by endless talk about the World Cup qualifiers that detailed how he'd probably made the worst choice in going to play for the US. England was on a bloody tear.
The US...not so much.
Still, with the plane headed straight on to California there was no turning back. He'd agreed to play for the US, and even if he could go back to London and sign up for the Lions- they wouldn't take him.
Getting off the plane, he immediately felt out of place. Sure he'd been back to the US across the years, but the sun was high and bright in the California sky. It was almost alien to him, as he couldn't even recall Chicago being that bright and sunny. Or maybe it was that he spent most of his time indoors, or surrounded by buildings as tall as mountains.
Pushing it back, he grabbed his bags and headed out into the heat of the west coast summer. It only took him a moment to find the car waiting on him, and 2 hours later- he was walking into the newest USMNT training facility.
"Alright, your gear is stored in there, we'll have shuttles pick you up from the hotel and take you back every night. But you're the last one here, so get changed and get out to the field. They've been waiting for you." The trainer said, before leaving him alone and looking more than a little out of place.
"Great, not a problem." He muttered to himself.
Getting changed, he made his way to the field, and looked about. It only took him a few moments to make his introductions, get his marching orders, and again wonder if he'd just made the worst decision ever. So far, no one seemed overly pleased to see him. And to make things better, his first task was apparently to help the keepers warm up.
"'Ello," he said as he came up to the group, "was told to head over here. Shaw, Gael Shaw." He held out his hand as he looked at the other men- all looking at him oddly. Right.
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"Reculez, connard." He snapped as his jersey was tugged back, and barely held back from through an elbow back at Sanchez before thinking better of it. Looking back, he could see Keegan sitting up, a little dazed and a little red in the face. He should have felt bad about it, but he just...couldn't be bothered.
"We don't haze each other, that's what fans are for." Gael said in a tight tone as he tugged his jersey free and looked up at Carlos. "And he asshole had it coming. And I swear to God, the next person who brings up that fucking game- I'm going to put more than a ball through their head." It was, really, a particularly sore point. His love for Chelsea was dying painfully. They all seemed to expect so much from him- even comparing him to Messi or CR7 with such regularity that any one mistake he made was thrown at him full blast. He wasn't the only player on the pitch for Chelsea, why was it his fault that no one else had put the ball in the net either?
"Why would you ever play in Ligue 1?" He asked, taking a slightly calmer breath before he glanced back at the other two. "The Premier is more balanced. Bundesliga is competitive on a good year, and La Liga has two teams that play minor league teams for fun." Sort of. Real Madrid and Barca just had more money was all. "PSG is the only team worth it."
Probably not the point of bringing all this up, though. "Whatever. Not like everyone gets on in a club. But, for the most part- everyone tends to have your back." Chelsea had super stars on the books, all of whom had told him it was alright after they'd lost. His captain had even made a point of saying they'd all missed opportunities that night. Still, fans were dicks. A month ago they'd been in love with him, now they'd be happy if he was benched for the rest of his life.
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"Real Madrid's a good team," he added, though, tilting his head to one side. "Tight squad, sharp offense and defense like a wall. The fact that it got down to penalties means that neither one of your teams let anything through." He shrugged. "That's a good game, in my opinion, even if the drunk arses in London might think it differently."
It was probably best to talk about either his career prospects or team dynamics than touch on the emotional mess that is Keegan, so he crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "I haven't decided where I'll go after graduation," he said. "Could throw myself into the MLS draft too, and stay closer to home. But we both know Europe's where to go if you really want to get your game up. And Monaco's interested, and they beat PSG last year. Still, their keeper's getting tired." His eyes gleam a little with amusement. "But then, Arsenal's talked to my agent too. You think I should go there instead, Shaw?"
He nodded a bit, though. "There are very few benefits of soccer not being the top sport here, that's one of them. The asshole fans are usually into American football. Except, of course, the Latinamerican immigrant base." He tilted his head to one side. "I've been cursed out in Spanish a few times when I've gone back home."
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“Come on, let’s just get this practice over with.” He said, moving back toward Keegan and Micheal with a slightly calmer attitude about him. He even made his apologies, and Keegan seemed to accept them, albeit begrudgingly. By the end of the day, though, the other boy was peppering him with questions about how he even got to play with Chelsea at such a young age.
“Seriously?” Keegan asked as they finished changing and grabbed their bags. “My mom wouldn’t let me join a club across town let alone another country at 14.”
“Well,” Geal started, shrugging just a little. “Doubt they would have if my grandparents hadn’t lived in London. My parents had a bit of a row over it. Sort of why...this happened.” He waved his hand a little, as if to indicate the whole situation was the result of parental bickering. “World War Three might have broken out in my parents’ home if I’d gone with England. Or France. Definitely if I’d gone with France.”
“Wait... you could have played for France?”
Gael wasn’t sure if Keegan was annoyed or awed by his tone, and opted to just sort of shrug. “Technically, but it wasn’t likely. They’ve got better strikers than me already, and besides...never really wanted to play for them. Grew up watching Chelsea, England and the US though.”
“Man, some people just got all the fucking luck.” Keegan said with a slight grumble as he moved ahead of Gael then, leaving the striker to just sort of stare ahead. Yeah, he supposed, he had some of that.
“Don’t think it has occurred to him, yet, that when he retires he’ll at least have a degree already.” Gael said after a moment, causing Micheal to snort a little in agreement.
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"And by the way, my favorite team's Club Monterrey. It's where mi abuelo came from before he and Abuela emigrated." He kicked a stray ball over to where one of the ball boys was rebagging them. "Don't tell Keegan, but he still hasn't forgiven me for not picking Mexico. Papa was born there before I left, so as far as Abuelo is concerned, I'm more Mexican than not. Either way, probably not going to Mexico to play."
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Leon was, perhaps, a bit more optimistic about Gael's educational future. "Besides," he went on after a moment. "I'm not an English national, and there are rules about working and studying. It'd just be mad."
As for the rest, he almost laughed. It was probably a better thing to play for the US than Mexicon, but Gael was bias. "Monterrey? Heh, well...could be worse. You could be from Canada, just imagine how sad that Training camp must be." He smiled a little more freely as they turned toward the locker rooms and started across the field. "I get the feeling you don't have to work as hard to convince people you're really American at least. I've been labeled a traitor to my nation in England, and I still haven't understood how."
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He shrugged, though, because that was something of a fact of life.
"USNWT's in Cleveland," he said. "So just be happy: at least we're where it's warm and there's a few things to do." He tilted his head to one side. "Where do your dads live?" He asked. "I guess they're thrilled for you to be back, and ultimately that's probably at least as important as some assholes in the crowd, right?"
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And while he didn't look as foreign as Carlos, he sounded it. Which was accompanied with all sorts of annoying 'oh can you say...' statements.
"Learned to kick a ball in Wicker Park, actually. When I was like two. My sister played too, until she got tired of me asking her to kick balls with me." He said, looking over at Carlos. "So, honestly- I would be fine with anywhere that had less sun. Why'd you pick the US? I mean, other than they qualify more often than Mexico."
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But really, he didn't feel like getting into a discussion about it. Abuelo aside, he'd never even considered the Mexican team. They hadn't asked him before he'd been called up by the U.S. "One of our mids is from Chicago too," he said instead. "Tyler Kagan. He went to Stanford too. Oh, and there's Greg Matthews, who's back here on defense. He and the women's team's star center are Chicagoans too, but both of them went to USC."
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Yawning, though, he scrubbed his face as they neared the lockers. "I'm sensing a theme- that theme is am I the only one who hasn't gone to uni." He said, shaking his head a little. In the grand scheme, he was getting a fair trade off. He wasn't the highest paid player, but he was young and just starting to grow. "Man, I don't know if I want to eat or sleep more right now." Though, going to sleep right away was likely to end with sore muscles in the morning.
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"Well, getting recruited straight into the pros doesn't really happen over here. Just in basketball. Keegan thinks of college as a way to get the attention of the Chicago Fire." He inclined his head a little, though. "You should probably stretch some if you're going to crash. If you can make it a little longer, the hotel restaurant's not bad."
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"Well, it isn't really the same process, though. You have to get into the Academies, you play for the junior leagues as you are coming up- it's a fucking lot of work." Gael said, nodding a little. "US Leagues probably would never allow for it, I mean- isn't there age restrictions or something?" He honestly didn't remember, but he also had never asked Daniel deep, probing questions about how one became a basketball star. Not even reaching six foot seemed to prove that he was better off having never fancied the other sport.
"You strike me as a motherly sort," he said after a moment, given Carlos' advice about stretching. It wasn't wrong, but it was a little funny. "I can make it back to the hotel, I doubt I'd get to sleep with my stomach growling at me."
Still, he did at least stop to stretch his muscles out. Something that felt amazing after a long flight and a long day working out. "You really thinking of playing for Arsenal?" He asked after a moment, looking up at Carlos as he stretched out his legs.
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He rolled his eyes, though, at the mothering comment. "Excuse me, have you met Keegan?" He said. "That wasn't just you, you know, that's everyone. Someone's got to keep him from getting a concussion before we even get to do a friendly versus Iceland."
Anyway, when it came to Arsenal...he was thinking about it. He was thinking about Monaco, too, and Barca, and really - his dream would down in Mexico, some place like Guadalajara. Even though the money and the fame wasn't there, it was, in the end, the football Carlos had grown up with. "Yeah," he said. "Nothing's for sure, of course." He raised his brows. "Chelsea isn't knocking on my door, so you can't really judge me for it."
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Conte had prepped him for it before the Champions League final, actually. Mentioning Madrid, Bayern, and even Liverpool were interested. None of that made for him being overly excited about things- and he'd needed to play well for him to have any power in trying to stay. Not that someone he just met needed to here him whining about how his life was over, or whatever nonsense he was bemoaning.
As for Keegan, Gael just sort of kept quiet. Every team had someone like him, someone who had problems off the pitch and somehow managed to drag them onto the pitch without really knowing they were doing so. It was tiresome.
"Is there Mexican near this hotel?" He asked suddenly, looking over at Carlos. "Because, fuck me...I miss having a fucking taco that isn't, that isn't whatever it is they make in London. Actually, I just miss food that doesn't make me think a dog barfed it back up."
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He listened, because if this was going to be his career, he needed to play that game as well as soccer.
"It's SoCal, there's Mexican everywhere," he said, and then laughed. "Dude, you're supposed to convince us all that the continental lifestyle and cuisine is beyond anything America has," he said. "It's really that bad? I assumed it was a myth." Not that the tacos were bad - that was a given, there were so, so many ways to fuck up a taco - but that all the food looked a little like his mama's cat's post breakfast hork.
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Gael grabbed his bag off the ground before offering Carlos a hand up off the grass too. It was an easy sort of feeling, chatting up the big stopped. He was a lot easier to get on with than some of the guys back home, but that might have been a cultural thing. It was more or less all business at home.
"And you're right- you won't cost a lot of money. Won't even probably make much until you get a good season under you. Keeper's got it brutal, man. Hard to shine." He said, shrugging a little. "My goal is just to convince everyone that I benefit Chelsea with staying. I'm just starting to get my groove, and honestly- the man who is costing them the most is always fucking injured. Better deal to keep me around, eh?"
Maybe. It was a strategy, at least. "Besides, I don't speak Spanish or German, and I would be devastated to move to Liverpool." So clearly, he needed to stay in London. At least one more season.
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"When your job is preventing flashy strikers from making cool-looking shots, you aren't the most popular player on the pitch." For the fans, at least, although it was a bit different on the national team. Then, there was no one more beloved than a keeper that keeps, oh, a Brazilian from scoring on penalties. For example. "I don't expect I'll make much. But I should do okay."
He stretched his arms over his head and the led the way out of the training center and around a few maze like corners. "So tell me why Liverpool is the end of the earth," he said.
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"And it isn't that you aren't the favorite, man. You stoppers are just ridiculous in how long you can keep going. I'll be lucky if I can run like I do now at 33, you? You'll be hitting your peak then. God, it is enviable. Though, Arsenal's keeper looks like he might be on his way out." That was player hear-say though. It was a small world, and people talked- a lot.
"As for Liverpool? You've clearly never been to Liverpool. I don't even...it isn't the club, it's just the city. I don't think they speak English there. They speak something else entirely." He teased, but it still wasn't where he wanted to end up. "Honestly, it probably has more to do with me, than them. I do like the color blue. It matches my eyes, and red just...clashes with everything."
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"Stanford did a tournament in Edinburgh last year," he said instead. "And I've done a few USMNT matches, once in London, once in Manchester." And several across Europe - though he'd liked Seoul best. "But no, can't say Liverpool and I have had the pleasure." He waved Gael into a tiny storefront. "Hola, Paulina," he says. "Te traje un hambriento."
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"Uh, hi." He said, "Um..." He looked over the menu with glazed eyes for a moment, quickly trying to adjust to the Spanish before settling on a particular sort of taco. Al Pastor. And a soda. God, when was the last time he had a big soda? And chips....and queso. Carlos only seemed to find it amusing before he ordered.
He was going to get fat at this camp.
They sat as they waited, Gael listening to Carlos as he spoke to Paulina in Spanish, memorized. It was only after the tacos arrived, and he thanked her that he looked up at Carlos again.
"So- you are graduating Stanford soon, looking to sign in Europe. What's the girl....friend think?" He asked, curious as to what the answer was going to be. Gay footballers were not common, no more so than Bi ones. And they all tended to get the piss taken out of them for it.
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"I don't have a girlfriend," he said. "Or a boyfriend, which is a bit more likely. Either way, makes it pretty easy to just pick up and go."
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After a while, though, he was finished, and staring at the wall as Carlos spoke with Paulina more, very nearly falling asleep in his chair, head against the wall. He didn't even move really until she asked him if he was alright.
"No, no I'm fine." He said, smiling as he sat up in the chair and looked at Carlos. "Do think my day has caught up to me."