Floodlit Dreams publisher and author Seth Burkett is currently playing professional football in Sri Lanka. Throughout his time he’ll be blogging on the Floodlit Dreams website and writing a weekly column in the Non-League Paper. Below is an extract from his diary of the first training session with Trinco Titans.

 

Back at Kalutara there’s the bulk of last season’s squad that performed so underwhelmingly. There are a few new additions, but mainly everyone is staring at me and Dean.

That’s because the bulk of this season’s squad hasn’t shown up to their first official training session. Instead there are eight of us taking part in a light session with assistant coach Kapuli.

We start off with a simple exercise in threes, one player working in the middle and volleying back to each player. It progresses to a thigh control and volley, then chest and volley, then head.

It’s low intensity but I’m fading fast.

Dean’s over to the left of me with his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

This is only the warm up.

Kapuli puts us into a 4v4 game with small goals. I join three Trinco veterans with Dean and Jai on the other team. The surface is deceptively tricky. It’s rock solid with an unpredictable bounce. I miscontrol the first pass I receive and give the ball away for a goal.

A few touches later I’m starting to read the pitch. My confidence is high. I’m knackered, but I’ve seen from the warm-up that my technique is better than the Sri Lankans’.

My teammates look for me to pass the ball to. I nutmeg Bandi, Trinco’s striker. My teammates whoop and holler. I’m making things happen. So is Dean. He smashes Sakthi and tells him it isn’t a foul. It isn’t, to be fair, but Sakthi doesn’t take it well. He insists it’s an illegal challenge and is backed up by his teammates.

Sakthi has quickly emerged as the biggest character in the team. He takes to screaming ‘yes’ every time he touches the ball, mimicking Dean. Occasionally he throws in a ‘nice’ too. He’s small, thin, wiry and a bag full of energy. ‘Sala! Sala!’ he calls to me when he wants a pass. Which seems to be all the time. In defence he chases the ball as it moves around the area, showing little regard for holding his position. With the heat, I’m quite happy for Sakhti to do my defending for me.

My team is adept at keeping the ball but struggles to penetrate. At least it means we rarely need to defend. Our opponents perhaps typify Sri Lankan football more. They play off our mistakes. Their command of the ball is ok but they give a fair effort. They love a back heel. If in doubt, they back heel. Especially when they only have three touches to play with.

We go to only three touches allowed and the frequency of back heels increases. Then, just as the session is winding down, coach Kapuli calls two touches only for the final five minutes. I need water. I can’t last five minutes. I have to.

The relief I feel when I remove my boots at the end of the session is immense. My new teammates laugh as me and Dean gasp for air. It doesn’t matter. We survived.

*

Walking through the town it feels like everyone is staring at me. I’m the only white face. I keep my eyes toward the ground and avoid contact. I know they’re all going to be friendly to me. I just don’t yet feel confident enough.

*

Maybe it was the travel fatigue when I dismissed this house before. Ok, there’s an open drain giving off a terrible stench at the front gate, but there is a swimming pool. The leak wasn’t a leak. The floor had actually been washed in preparation for our arrival. The communal area is comfortable and has satellite TV. Football is on 24/7. Unfortunately, there’s no subscription for the Cricket World Cup. My bed still has stains but they look cleaner. The bedroom is at least functional.

There’s also a caretaker, Joseph. You see his smile before you see his face. After the session we plan to dive in the swimming pool to cool off. First Jai asks if there’s chlorine in the pool. Joseph bends down and scoops up a handful of water. He lifts it toward his mouth and takes a gulp.
‘See? Safe,’ he insists.

*

We return to the ground for dinner. Before we can enter we’re stopped by our teammates. ‘Photo, photo,’ they insist. Me and Dean are instructed to pose for a picture with each one of them in turn, then a group photo with everyone.

I guess that means we’ve been accepted.

We arrive early and it’s no surprise when we are told dinner is going to be late. That’s not a problem for the Sri Lankans. It gives them more time to find out everything about us.

‘Are you married?’ they ask. ‘No? A girlfriend? How many do you have?’

They smile approvingly when Dean jokes he has two. They’re impressed when I tell them I’ve had the same girlfriend for seven years, though also disappointed when I tell them there is no second. ‘Well, while you’re in Sri Lanka…’ they suggest. Sakhti tells us he specialises in aunties. Apparently that’s the Sri Lankan version of MILFs. Bandi shows us an eclectic mix of various European ex-girlfriends in various states of undress.

It’s sobering to discover I’m the second oldest of the eight. The captain is 32. Most are 23. I’m asked to tell them more about England, football, who I support, about my opinion of Sri Lanka, cricket.

By the time the food arrives in blue plastic buckets we’ve been quizzed for 45 minutes and a bond has been built. We share Instagram handles.

There’s no cutlery. For the first time I eat with my hands, just like all of my teammates.