I was standing in front of a steel gate. The gate had two doors, going up in an arc. Its insides made of steel bars. The weather or something else had, at most places, scraped off the azure blue paint that used to be on. Other places were just light grey steel colored. Some unlucky places, like its hinges, showed the telltale orange and green of rust. It was a piece of shit gate. They bolted the piece of shit gate onto two light brown colored brick walls on either side. Grey concrete lined the light brown wall with a two-one-two pattern. Cracks interrupting the perfect pattern on more occasions than I considered safe.

The unsteady walls, at their top, made way to plastic corrugated plates. Dark green. At least that was what it had been a long time ago. Now ninety percent had faded towards its lighter cousins. The plated roof had steel beams supporting the structure, but these were sticking out from underneath at places. A large gap somewhere in the middle, a three-branch sticking out of the hole. Now I might have thought, a storm blew it in. No. It was growing out of the structure. Its canopy perfectly aligning with the rooftop.

I sighed. We had arrived at the front gates of T.E.A.M. five minutes ago. After Little human had assured me we were in the correct location, I had considered my options. It looked like an old amateur stadium. Calling it a stadium was a sin of the highest order. Neglect had made it a heap of crap.

The left wall had the four letters of the game screwed onto the wall. Two meters high each. Its red plastic covered in algae and mud. The colors fading on the tops of the letters. It was the classic dystopian scene of what happened to a football stand if not well maintained. The grey clouds that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in this particular location within the digital world, did nothing to lift the depressing mood.

I had been close to just going to sleep and looking at it tomorrow. I had Imagined something spectacular. A stadium. A coliseum. Not some run-down piece of garbage. Then Little human had opened the doors of my elevator and smells wafted in. I almost cried. It smelled like grass after a day of spring rains. When the groundskeeper had just finished giving the field a haircut. When the loose blades still stuck to your boots, afraid you would leave them behind. It was a smell I had thought I would never smell again. A tear might have left my eyes in the real world.

The spot I looked down upon just seconds ago, became the place of my dreams. Not only the game, this whole digital world. I stood in front of the gate. I could see the grass from here. My best friend. It was in a horrible condition. Long. Buttercup flowers and other weeds plaguing my anguished looking love. I felt the urge to rush the fence and climb over it. To hug it and comfort it, tell it sweet words. That it would be ok. Smell its fragrance from up close again. To feel its touch on my skin. What a wonderful thing that would be. But this was the digital world. They probably expected me to walk up to the fence and at that moment a menu would appear. Or at least that was what Little human was saying. My personal AI had been right up till this point so I did not bother storming the gates. For a moment I enjoyed the view from afar.

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Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. My breathing had found a calm rhythm. The void that had nestled itself inside my heart filling up once more. The void had stretched the limits. Slight pain only noticeable now I became full again. A boulder leaving my shoulders. I breathed in. I wished I could smoke in here. It must have been an hour since my last cigarette. I had more important stuff to do.

I walked toward the gate and as I was about to bump into it, a barrier stopped me and a piece of paper popped onto the gate. It looked like a poster. Like in the old days when they used to announce what matches, for whatever reason, got canceled. Or in what dressing room you would need to change with your team. What field you played on. Just a normal, orange tinted, piece of paper with three simple sentences.

"Welcome Old Bastard, we are happy that you have come to T.E.A.M. and are considering playing our game. Would you like to start right this second? Are you ready to be the excellent athlete or manager that our players and fans have been longing for?"

"Yes." My voice raspy with emotions. With little thought, I made the only logical decision after being persuaded by that piece of marketing garbage. The piece of paper crumbled, then fell to the floor and disappeared. Handy. I thought as a new, pink tinted, piece of paper appeared on the piece of shit fence.

"That is great to hear Old bastard! Now for starters, your club will need a 49-dollar investment to buy its grounds. Whatever you do on it after is all up to you. Don't get discouraged with what lays beyond this piece of paper. We have one hundred percent fate in you that your own club won't go to ruin. However, it is possible to buy this club for just 499 dollars. It is a special occasion, and we need to celebrate having another member joining our ranks. Because of that, we are even willing to fix it all up, for just 1500 dollars in total. But it is up to you. Legend speaks of many precious things that one can accomplish by doing the hard work yourself. But only the truly gifted can create something legendary and reach the Celestial ranks of those that went before you. Choose with care as it will be impossible to go back once you have chosen Old bastard."

I smiled at that. Just like in the real world. The rich have time to get a head start on us gutter trash.

Let's hope it balances out a little in here. The game wouldn't be this popular if only the rich could reach the top, right? That the rich could get there faster was just as inevitable as the sun coming up, or death. Less accepted. Inevitable all the same. I wasn't rich and even if I was, I would not spend that much on something I knew how to build myself. It would take a while longer, a long while by all standards, but at least It would be my own.

I selected the first of the three options and the piece of pink paper crumbled. This time replaced by a piece of paper with a light baby blue color. This one bigger than the rest and pinned underneath the steel grip of a clipboard. A cheap pen dangling about on the side, its cheap string attaching it to the clipboard. I smiled once more. These kinds of old-school clipboards had gone lost to the overabundance of tablets. I took the clipboard in my hands and filled out the form printed on the light baby blue paper. The whole process giving me a great feeling of nostalgia. Like I was signing up for my first year of playing football at a club that didn't look a lot better than the one I was standing in front of. It felt good.