"Yes, Jeff"

(.... About .... Report)

In a cubicle, which makes one wonder if it is a downgrade compared to an open desk, a fatigued man is seen conversing on his desk phone.

"It'll be done by the end of next week, as I've previously mentioned"

(..... Need... Urgently)

The man, who appears to be of Indian descent barring his emerald green eyes, looks to be in great shape with a lithe but strong frame, alluding to his otherwise healthy and active lifestyle.

"The report is nowhere finished, Jeff. The weekend is a very tight deadline"

(... Know... Plans... Important)

"That's impossible. I need time to verify my findings"

Frowning at what appears to be his superior, the man starts rhythmically tapping his desk while closing his eyes and leaning back on his chair with an audible squeak.

(... When ..... Wrong... Skip)

"I'm very flattered, but I can't submit that report without any cross-verification"

(.... Special..... Urgently)

"Day after tomorrow. That's my Maginot line, Jeff"

Observing the bare walls surrounding a desk populated exclusively with work-related documents, it can be inferred that the man prefers to not decorate his office, although the utter lack of space may have contributed to that outcome.

The jarringly out-of-place football, provides a hint to this man's interests, although, peculiarly, the football appears to not be signed, pointing to its sentimental value instead of a material one.

(I knew I could depend on you, Nick!)

"Yeah. Now if you don't mind I'm going to get back to the report"

(Sure!)

I slammed the telephone down before the last bastion holding back my numerous verbal obscenities broke down. Humans tend to do that when they are asked to finish a report that takes 2 weeks of full-time workload in 2 days.

"M****rfu***r!", I exclaimed as I slammed my desk. Pausing at the pitiful noise it made, I stared blankly at the laughably small table fighting for its life against the mountain of documents that sat atop it, every one of which needed to be summarised for the fu***g quarterly analysis report.

Opening the desk’s drawer, I fished out my trusty lighter and a Marlboro cig before heading towards the window and sliding the window open.

*Drrrrdrrrrdrrrrr*

*Chic-chic*

Drawing a huge puff, I enjoyed the familiar burn for a few seconds before exhaling. Watching the smoke drift away, I tried to recall the plans I had to cancel because of my extended vacation at my office before chuckling bitterly.

"What plans?", I muttered in a self-deprecating tone. Looking at the cloudy London skies, I felt that the overcast weather perfectly complemented my mood today.

"Become an analyst, they said. It'll be fun, they said"

******************

'Jealousy, turning saints into the sea....'

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

'Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on....'

Nodding my head along to the certified banger of a ringtone, I attended to the call, "Hello?"

(Hey Nick! Mike here! How're you doing?)

"Hi, Mike! I'm doing fine. How are you faring? Heard you switched jobs?"

(I'm all good, man. The work environment here is humane. Not the best, but I'll take it over the hellhole that was my previous job. How about you? Are you still working at the same company?)

"Yeah. They bury me in so much work that I am more familiar with my office than my home. Speaking of it, I have an extremely tight deadline, so I am very busy at the moment. Did you have anything specific you wanted to talk about?"

(Oh, that’s unfortunate. I had a couple of things I wanted to let you know. A position for an analyst happened to open up here, and my boss is taking recommendations. The pay is quite decent, should I recommend you?)

“Haha, thanks for the offer, buddy. I really appreciate it, but as you know I really want to stick to analyzing football matches, so unless your company is planning to enter this sector, I am gonna have to decline. Thanks for thinking of me though”

(Oh c'mon Nick. Even though you love football, you can't seriously tell me that you enjoy your current job. Changing fields might be helpful for your career. And nobody's preventing you from looking for other jobs in the meantime.)

"You know my answer, Mike. The only reason I got a statistics degree was to be able to put food on the table while appreciating football"

(*Sighs* You have a brilliant mind in addition to being a hard worker, anyone will love to have you on their team. No worries though. When are you going to restart playing in the weekend league? Matt has been pestering me to drag you down to the field)

"I can't say for sure. Work pressure has been immense over the past few months. I've been in my office more nights than not. Most of my weekends are spent recharging for the upcoming week "

(Jesus. Are you sure you don't wanna try switching jobs? This is just forced labor at this point.)

"I'm considering it, but it's easier said than done. There aren’t enough openings since it's a niche sector. I'll let you know about the league. Let Matt and the rest of the team know that I apologized and you’re welcome to find a replacement"

(Don't kid, Nick. It's next to impossible to find someone as good as you in the amateur leagues. Every other former pro player is either playing semi-professionally or is not playing at all. We'll always have a spot for you)

"Thanks, mate. Tell you what, my current project is going to be over by the day after tomorrow, wanna grab a few beers?"

(You bet I do. I'll also let Matt know, that'll get him off my back)

"Sure. He is always welcome"

(Perfect. I'll leave you to your work then. Cya!)

"Cya Mike"

*Click*

Hanging up, I looked up at one of my few cherished possessions - a match ball from the only time I scored a hat trick during my short pro football career at a League 2 club.

'One of the happiest moments of my life. I'll never forget the proud look on Pa’s face when I brought it home', I reminisced with a smile.

I was barely a pro player, frequently earning me a scoff whenever I introduced myself as such. I quickly learned that the world of professional athletes is akin to that of an iceberg, with only the top players in the spotlight. A 4th division player like myself would forever remain away from the public eye, save for a few passionate fans, not to mention the thousands of semi-professional players yearning to take my spot.

The realization that the field of sports support was as competitive as the sports itself couldn’t have come sooner as it led me to get a relevant degree instead of resting on my experience. The fact that the people I was competing with had already gained experience or were studying to further educate themselves only served to solidify my choice.

The only people who benefited from their playing experience were those who competed at the very highest level. A team in the 4th division does not have the resources to hire a full-time analyst anyway and to the top sides, my professional experience was worth less than a year of education.

Breaking away from my reverie, I resumed working on the report, my brain beginning to jog again after the much-needed break while I pondered lightly, 'Maybe I should've considered Mike’s offer more seriously'

//// Author's Notes

Welcome to my first-ever fiction! Thanks for showing interest!

Football here is soccer for anyone who is confused. For those who had difficulty understanding the terminology used here, I will add some additional information at the end which you'll hopefully find helpful.

Weekend league: Amateur league for people who like competing but are not professional players. Matches on weekends as the name suggests. These leagues tend to be set up by a group of amateur teams coming together to agree to form a league.

Semi-pro: Aspiring professional football players playing in a non-nationwide league. Generally, they barely make enough to sustain themselves with only football.

League 2: 4th division football league, below the top Premier League, followed by EFL Championship, EFL League 1 and League 2. Each EFL league consists of 24 teams.

Hope you enjoyed reading:)