The Celebrations in Stockholm are short and sweet. We’ve got a league match against 10th placed Utsiktens BK in 3 days so taking our time basking in our big win is a luxury we just can’t afford. To be honest I don’t even celebrate much in the dressing room. Not long after I take a seat on the bench reality hits me: Yes, we held on to knock out a Swedish Premier League team, but at what cost? Grannum and Vilas Nilsson have gone straight into a side room with a physio to be assessed, the rest of the team’s dead on their feet. These aren’t top athletes, these are part-timers. 3 matches in a week in our position isn’t fair.
I try to keep hold of the positives though: It is a big win, it’s great for morale, and if we can keep a clean sheet against Hammarby we can keep one against anyone in our division.
The entire team’s staying in a B&B on the outskirts of Stockholm, which strikes me as odd as there are 20-odd of us all told, but we pile into the team bus after a while even so. I sit alone at the front, thinking about Saturday and Utsiktens.
When we arrive at the B&B we’re greeted by a sweet looking old woman with long grey/blond hair, who’s wearing the thickest pair of glasses I’ve ever seen, as well as a knitted Red and Black FC Höllviken jumper. This is starting to make more sense. She’s waving from one of the doorways. Fair enough, this is an extremely big house and should cater to all of us comfortably by the look of it. The old woman introduces herself as Ms Alexandersson and greets every one of us with an enthusiastic hug and a wide smile as we walk in. We each go straight to bed and despite thoughts of Utsiktens still swirling around in my head, it isn’t long until I feel my eyes close.
And then I’m stood in the living room of the B&B, talking to Ms Alexandersson. I can’t really tell if it’s a dream or not, and frankly it’s not a priority that I find out, as I’m starting to cry. Slowly at first, and then uncontrollably. “I don’t think I can do this” I sob, as Ms Alexandersson hands me a handkerchief, which is also emblazoned with the FC Höllviken crest.
“Why?” She asks calmly.
“I just… don’t know… what to do…for the match… on Saturday” I manage, between deep breaths. “They’re tired… injured…”
She looks at me quizzically: “What did you think was the right thing to do with this lot when you first arrived in Vellinge?” She smiles.
“4-1-4-1…defence first…focus down the left” I splutter.
“And did it work?”
“Ah but did it work?”
I take a moment, and then reply “I suppose so. We were OK. Worth a point.” I’m not crying anymore. Ms Alexandersson gives me a wide smile.
“Don’t overthink it” she winks.
And I’m awake. After a quick breakfast we all pile back into the team bus and Ms Alexandersson waves at us from one of the doorways as the bus begins to pull away. I catch her eye and she mimics pulling something out of her left trouser pocket. I reach into my own left pocket and pull out the FC Höllviken handkerchief. I look up, aware that I’ve turned bright red. Ms Alexandersson smiles widely and winks before the bus accelerates away, leaving her still waving in the distance. Well that’s embarrassing.
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