The projector screen switched to a different scene later in the game. The score was still 6-2 (Utrecht clearly cruising). It showed Amani again, this time near the halfway line, dribbling forward with the ball at his feet. A VVV player was closing him down fast.
Amani bit his lip. He remembered this – he'd gotten a bit overconfident and tried to beat one more man instead of passing. Sure enough, the video played and showed Amani attempting a little feint. The opposing midfielder stuck a foot in and poked the ball away from him cleanly. In a flash, VVV transitioned the other way, their midfielder springing a pass forward.
Pronk halted the video. "See that? He loses possession here." The coach's voice was firm but not unkind. Onscreen, the frozen image showed Amani caught mid-turn, the ball already gone from his feet. "Amani, what were your options in this moment?"
Amani felt his cheeks burn. He swallowed. "I… I could have laid it off to the right-back," he answered quietly. Indeed, watching it now from a distance, he saw that a simple pass to the side was open, but he hadn't taken it.
Pronk nodded. "Correct. The safe pass was available. But you tried to take on one more man." He swept a hard gaze over the rest of the team. "At the academy level, maybe you get away with that. Against professional players, you won't. They will take the ball and punish you if you're careless."
Mark advanced the video a few seconds further. It showed the VVV midfielder driving toward Utrecht's half after stealing the ball. "Watch what this turnover led to," Mark said. The opposing player slid a pass out wide, where VVV's winger took it and sprinted toward Utrecht's penalty area.
A new clip began of that same play – the VVV winger whipping a cross in and a VVV forward getting a header on it, the ball sailing just over the bar. It was a warning shot. Even though Utrecht was comfortably ahead, that sequence caused a collective oof in the meeting room as the boys realized it could have been a goal.
Pronk clicked his tongue. "We were lucky that didn't cut our lead. One sloppy moment is all it takes." He turned his eyes back to Amani. "You understand what I'm saying, son?"
Amani sat up straight and met his coach's eyes. This part stung, but he knew it was necessary. "Yes, Coach. I should've passed instead of dribbling there. I will next time."
Pronk's stern expression softened slightly. "Good. You have fantastic ability on the ball, Amani – but at 15, you're not going to dance past every grown man you meet on the pitch. Sometimes the simple play is the best option. Keep the ball moving."
Amani nodded firmly. "I will." He meant it. Seeing it on video – how easily a pro took the ball from him – drove the lesson home deeper than any scolding could.
Mark wasn't done. He switched to one final clip. This one showed the dying moments of the match. The team was up by four goals, and legs were tired. Amani saw himself on the left flank, tracking back toward the defense as VVV mounted one last attack.
Suddenly, the VVV right-winger darted inside, and Amani, a step behind, didn't follow. The opponent slipped into a pocket of space at the edge of the box. Though nothing came of it in the clip – Utrecht's center-back intercepted the eventual pass – the lapse was evident.
"Positioning," Pronk said pointedly. The frame froze with Amani a couple of yards behind the man he was supposed to mark. "You see here, you let their winger drift off you." Pronk drew an imaginary circle around the gap on the projection. "At 6-2, maybe you lose a bit of focus – can't afford that. A closer game, and leaving your man free like this could hurt the team."
Amani's insides squirmed. He remembered that his lungs were burning by then, and he'd been slow to react. No excuse though – he should have stayed tight. "I understand, Coach. I have to track my runner," he said quietly.
"Exactly. Even in the last minutes, even when you're exhausted or the game looks done, you never stop doing your job defensively." Pronk addressed the entire room on this, widening the lesson beyond Amani. "This goes for all of you. Accountability. Helping your team see out a win. No lapses."
There were solemn nods all around. Everyone respected Coach Pronk; when he laid down the law, it stuck.
Mark flicked the lights back on, and the projector blinked off, leaving a faint ghost of the last image (Amani lagging behind the winger) in Amani's mind. Coach Pronk stepped to the center of the room, hands on hips. In the brighter light, the lines on his weathered face were visible – lines earned from years of training youngsters and seeing some rise while others fell away.
He looked around at the gathered U17 squad, then settled his gaze on Amani, front and center. His eyes were not unkind, but they were serious. "Amani, that was an excellent debut," Pronk began steadily. "Truly. We're all thrilled for you. But I want to make sure you – and everyone here – understands what it means and what it doesn't mean."
Amani straightened his back. "Yes, Coach," he said, voice respectful and attentive.
Pronk's tone wasn't scolding; it was the measured tone of a teacher making an important point. "It was one game. A memorable one, but still just one game. It's a step – a big step – up a very long ladder."
He let that image hang in the air. "As of this morning, Amani, you are still an academy player. Officially and in reality. You will train with us, play with us, and keep developing with us. The first team door has opened a crack for you – you got a glimpse – but it doesn't mean you've arrived for good."
Amani absorbed every word. He felt simultaneously humbled and motivated. "I understand." The initial rush of celebration had long faded; now he felt the weight of what Pronk was saying. The coach was right – he'd had a taste, not a tenure.
Around the room, some of the other boys looked at Amani sympathetically – it was probably hard for them to imagine being brought back down to earth so soon after touching the sky. But Amani welcomed it. He needed to hear this. In fact, a part of him had yearned for someone to ground him so he didn't float away on last night's high.
Coach Mark de Vries stepped forward, arms loosely crossed. He smiled at Amani, a mentor's smile. "You did everything we could've asked for, Amani. And we'll keep pushing you to do even more." He gestured to the group.
"We'll push all of you. This is proof our methods work – but also a reminder of why they must continue. Talent got Amani an opportunity; hard work will determine what he makes of it going forward."
Pronk nodded at his assistant's words. The head coach then clasped his hands together, addressing the team as a whole. "One thing I want all of you to know: nothing changes in how we operate. We have a league match against PSV U17s this weekend.
We have training every day. Amani will be doing laps, drills, and scrimmages with the rest of you like always. He'll still carry equipment when it's his turn, still abide by curfews and schoolwork, still get an earful from me when he messes up a pass in practice." A ripple of chuckles went through the room. Amani found himself smiling he wouldn't want it any other way.
Pronk continued, "If the senior team calls on him again, great. If not, we'll make sure he's even better prepared for when they do. The same goes for any of you who show you're ready for that chance."
He let his gaze drift to Malik, Tijmen, Amrabat, and the others, who were all listening raptly. "Use this as motivation. The bar has been set. See what's possible? Now chase it. Push each other in training, improve every aspect of your game, and maybe you'll be next to get a call-up. And if not, you'll still have become better players for it."
A few of the boys straightened with resolve at that challenge. Malik clenched his fist subtly, eyes shining with determination. Tijmen bobbed his head, already fired up for the next match.
Pronk finally allowed himself a full smile, one of pride. "It's a good day for the academy. Savor it. But remember, there's a long road ahead for all of you – especially you, Amani."
Amani met his coach's eyes. He felt that statement in his bones. A long road ahead. He thought of last night, lying in bed with his mind racing, telling himself this was just the beginning. Now his coach was echoing that very sentiment. It made it all the more real.
"Yes, Coach. I'll keep working… harder than ever," Amani said, voice quiet but firm.
Pronk gave a satisfied nod. "Good answer." He then clapped his hands briskly, breaking the poignant moment. "Alright, that's enough talk. Time to train, gentlemen. Let's get out there and run off last night's excitement, shall we?"
Chairs scraped as the boys stood. There was an energy in the air – a mixture of lingering excitement from the analysis and a renewed focus for the work to come. Mark shut off the projector and began packing up the laptop, while Pronk opened the door, letting in a flood of daylight from outside.
As they started filing out of the meeting room, Malik threw an arm around Amani and pulled him close while walking. He whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "Back to the grind, eh, kaka?" using a Swahili endearment – my brother – that he and Amani shared from their days in Mombasa.
Amani leaned into his best friend's side for a second and whispered back with a grin, "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Behind them, Tijmen gave Amani a friendly slap on the rear. "Come on, superstar, lead the way. Since you're the big man who scored in the Eredivisie, you get to set up the cones today!"
Amani laughed. "Deal, but only if you do my cooldown stretches for me later," he shot back. The group burst out in laughter and good-natured ribbing as they spilled out onto the practice pitch.
While his teammates jogged ahead, Amani paused a moment at the threshold of the door. He glanced back at the now-empty meeting room – the projector screen still rolled down, blank and white. He could almost overlay in his mind the scenes that had played there: his goal, his assist, his mistakes. All of it is part of him now. Continuous development – that's what Coach had emphasized. And Amani was more than willing.
He felt a gentle nudge. It was Coach Pronk, who was the last to leave and nearly bumped into him. "Everything okay?" Pronk asked, arching an eyebrow.
Amani nodded quickly and stepped aside. "Yes, Coach. Just… thinking."
Pronk considered the young boy in front of him for a moment, then gave a rare, encouraging smile. In a lower voice meant just for Amani, he said, "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Keep it there." With that, he patted Amani on the back and sent him out to join the others.
Amani jogged to catch up, the chilly midday air filling his lungs. Up ahead, Tijmen and Amrabat were already playfully arguing over who scored the better goal in last week's youth game, while Malik was doing an exaggerated impersonation of Coach Wouters yelling "Amani!" that had a few guys doubled over in laughter. Amani soaked in the scene – the camaraderie, the familiarity, the normalcy of it all.
He realized something as he reached his friends: he felt relieved. As astonishing as the last 24 hours had been, he was glad to be back in his element, back with the boys who were like his brothers, under coaches who cared enough to critique him. This was the soil that had grown him, and would continue to grow him until he was truly ready to bloom at the highest level.
Malik draped an arm around him as they headed to grab cones and balls for the next drill. "So, how does it feel getting a standing ovation in the meeting room too?" he quipped.
Amani chuckled, "Honestly? I was more nervous with all of you watching that replay than I was on the field."
His friends laughed, and Tijmen shook his head. "You're something else, man." He extended a fist, and Amani bumped it. "We've got your back, though. Always."
"I know," Amani replied, eyes shining with gratitude. "And I've got yours."
Out on the training pitch, as the U17s began their usual drills under Coach Pronk's whistle, Amani slipped naturally into the rhythm. Pass and move. Dribble and turn. Give and go. The fundamentals, the grind – they felt comforting.
He executed the exercises with renewed vigor, the coaches' feedback fresh in his mind. Occasionally, one of his teammates would grin or whisper "First team player, huh" in jest, and Amani would just laugh and roll his eyes, returning focus to the ball at his feet.
Yet inside, he carried a quiet determination that hadn't been there before. The validation of succeeding at the senior level, coupled with the reminders of how much further he had to go, formed a potent mix of confidence and humility.
As the team gathered in a circle for the final stretching, Amani glanced around at his friends – sweaty, joking, pushing each other – and then beyond them to the distant outline of Stadion Galgenwaard visible over the trees.
Just yesterday, he'd heard the roar of that stadium celebrating him. Today, he heard the chatter and laughter of his teammates celebrating with him. Both sounds made him happy; both sounds urged him onward.
He closed his eyes for a second, taking a long breath of the cool spring air. In his mind, he replayed Coach Pronk's words: "It's a long ladder… you're still at the bottom rungs." And Mr. Stein's words from not so long ago drifted back too: "They're paying you for the player they believe you can become."
A faint smile curled Amani's lips as he exhaled and opened his eyes, full of resolve. This is just the beginning, he thought, echoing the mantra that had lulled him to sleep last night. He felt the solid ground of the training pitch under him and the supportive pats of teammates on his back. One game, one goal, one assist – it was the start of something, not the end.
"Hamadi! You dreaming, or stretching?" Coach Mark's voice jolted him gently back to the present. Amani realized he'd paused mid-stretch. A few of the guys snickered.
"Sorry, Coach!" he replied quickly, and bent into his hamstring stretch with extra enthusiasm. A ripple of laughter went through the circle.
Tijmen leaned in and muttered, "Already imagining your next goal at Galgenwaard, huh?"
Amani looked at Tijmen and simply grinned. "Maybe. But I'll score the next one for us first."
"Deal," Tijmen laughed.
Under the pale sky, the U17s finished their cooldown, unified and spirited. Amani felt truly at peace. He had one foot in a dream and one foot firmly on the ground – and that was exactly where he wanted to be. Surrounded by teammates who were brothers, guided by coaches who demanded his best, he would continue the climb step by step.
As the boys grabbed their gear and started off the pitch, Amani jogged a few steps behind, savoring the moment. Malik fell in beside him, bumping shoulders. "Let's go, future Ballon d'Or," he joked, waggling his eyebrows.
Amani just laughed. "Only if you're runner-up."
"In your dreams!" Malik shot back, and they both cracked up.
Ahead, Coach Pronk watched the two with a small smile before ushering everyone inside. Another day, another training done, but something was different in the best way.
Amani took one last look toward the main stadium in the distance. The sun was breaking through the clouds now, a ray of light illuminating the crest on the distant stands. I'll be back out there soon, he vowed silently.
But until then, he turned and followed his team into the locker room, ready to work, ready to learn – the cheers of last night now just an echo behind the steady drumbeat of his ambition and the warmth of those around him.
He was still one of the academy boys, and he wouldn't have traded that for anything. Not yet. Not until the day he climbed that ladder completely. And with every hearty laugh of his friends at his side and every stern directive from his coaches, Amani knew he was on the right rung, on the right path.
His journey continued – grounded, determined, and surrounded by those who would ensure that the only way he went from here was up.
***
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