c34: They Don't Like You Anyway
"Are you sure you're actually here to train with me and not just using me to fetch your stray passes?" a breathless Vardy complained to Gravesen, visibly annoyed after yet another mistimed move.
The five teammates were staying after regular training for extra tactical drills at Finch Farm. But early on, Vardy found himself completely out of sync with the others both in timing and understanding.
Gravesen, Carsley, and Osman were seasoned Everton veterans who had developed chemistry over several seasons. Cahill, a summer signing from Millwall, was still integrating, but even he seemed more in tune with the others than Vardy. Vardy, freshly loaned in from Manchester United, was still very much the outsider in terms of rhythm and cohesion.
If the tempo stayed slow, everything seemed manageable. But the moment the pace quickened into match-like transitions, the system broke down. Movements were misread, timing mismatched, and balls constantly went astray.
On one play, Vardy sprinted into the channel ahead of the defensive line, expecting a through pass. Instead, Gravesen dropped the ball behind him.
"You're overcooking your runs, mate. It's a positional buildup, not a 100-meter sprint. What're you trying to do, get flagged offside for fun?" Gravesen barked back, pointing toward his neck like he needed oxygen.
After more than an hour of high-intensity drills, the group was exhausted mentally and physically. Not just from the running and movement patterns, but from constantly yelling instructions and corrections at each other.
"Training with you guys is honestly harder than playing ninety minutes at Old Trafford," Carsley said as he flopped to the ground, arms spread out like he'd been tackled by a truck.
Cahill and Gravesen sat on the grass, both breathing heavily, shirts soaked through. Despite the strain, the session had been valuable. They were starting to gel. At least now, they were no longer hitting the ball to Vardy's heels or sending aerials five seconds late.
"The improvement's obvious. Keep this up, and I reckon our attacking unit's going to shock a few top-six sides," Cahill said, his eyes gleaming with belief.
As Everton's attacking midfielder and an Australian international with a knack for late runs into the box, Cahill had every reason to want the team's attack to click. Though Everton weren't on the level of Arsenal or Chelsea, they had the makings of a cohesive unit.
Gravesen provided midfield steel and transition coverage; Carsley and Osman could shuttle and support from deeper areas with both defensive grit and attacking bursts. Cahill himself thrived in half-spaces, and now with Vardy's blistering pace and fearless directness up front, the group had a real threat.
"I must've lost my mind," Osman groaned as he downed a full bottle of Lucozade in one gulp. "I could've been chatting up girls at Tiger Tiger right now, but instead I'm sweating with you lot."
That earned him a pointed glare from Vardy, who'd been mocked all week about missing out on nightclub culture due to being underage.
Osman, though brash, was good-natured at heart but his mouth often moved faster than his brain.
"Oi, don't worry," Carsley chimed in, ever the mischief-maker. "Rumor is we're finally getting a club babe. Word is she looks like Liz McClarnon from Atomic Kitten. They're sending her over for a photoshoot next week. If you play your cards right, you might even get lucky."
In the Premier League, especially among big-six clubs, having an official "club babe" for promotions and media buzz was almost tradition. For a club like Everton, not exactly swimming in silverware or glamour, it was rare. So the news was... surprising.
Atomic Kitten? Vardy furrowed his brows. He'd heard of them early 2000s UK pop stars with footballer-wives energy but the idea still felt weird.
"I dunno, I'm not into that," Osman said with a frown. "Liz is alright, but she's not my type. That whole manufactured pop vibe just puts me off."
Gravesen, clearly offended, thumped Osman on the chest hard enough to make him wince. "Oi! I love Liz McClarnon. She's my number one! Don't you dare insult her just because your taste's off."
Carsley raised an eyebrow and blinked innocently. "Wait, I thought your favorite was Kelly Brook? Didn't you say last month she was the love of your life?"
Gravesen looked a little embarrassed and replied with a sly grin, "Can't a man like both of them?"
The rest of the group laughed and shrugged indifferently.
"That's totally fine. You can like two hundred of them if you want," Vardy chuckled, "but let's be honest they don't like you anyway!"
A round of laughter followed before the players suddenly burst into motion, turning the training ground into a scene from a schoolyard chase. Gravesen lunged for Vardy, who bolted with surprising agility, weaving between cones while the others joined the mock pursuit.
---
In the past, clubs often complained bitterly about the English Football Association's brainless fixture scheduling. It used to sound like an overreaction. But now, being caught up in the madness himself, Vardy could finally relate.
In the previous round, Everton had gone toe-to-toe with Manchester United at Old Trafford, grinding out a 1–0 win thanks to Vardy's brilliant late strike. Now, just days later, they were set to host Manchester City, another title contender.
Vardy groaned internally. Why doesn't the FA just schedule both fixtures away? At least that way, we wouldn't have to bounce back and forth across the country like ping-pong balls.
Of course, he knew those decisions came from men in suits who probably couldn't even name Everton's starting midfield, let alone understand player fatigue.
At the pre-match press conference, a reporter tossed the inevitable question to David Moyes: would Vardy, the new fan-favorite and match-winner at Old Trafford, be rewarded with a starting spot?
Moyes, ever the straight shooter, responded honestly. "Jamie will be on the bench for this one. He's a great option if we need a spark in the second half."
But in typical Premier League fashion, the press didn't buy it. They speculated that Moyes was using classic misdirection throwing a "smoke bomb," as it's known in football circles, to force Kevin Keegan and Manchester City to second-guess their preparations.
Even Keegan himself raised an eyebrow, thinking Moyes was playing mind games to lull them into a false sense of security.
The poor man was just being honest! Vardy laughed to himself. Who knew being truthful could look so suspicious?
When the team sheets came out an hour before kickoff, the media and fans were stunned Vardy was, in fact, on the bench. The so-called "secret weapon" was being kept in reserve again. Even though the fans at Goodison Park were hoping to see him start after his dramatic winner, Moyes stuck to his plan.
Behind the scenes, Moyes could only shake his head. Why does no one believe I'm a straight-talker anymore?
During the warm-up, Vardy spotted Sun Jihai, Manchester City's reliable Chinese fullback. Back home, Sun Jihai was a trailblazer, one of the most successful Chinese exports in European football, often mentioned in the same breath as Li Gang, the former national team hopeful.
But while Li Gang was still nursing an injury and struggling to get back on the pitch, Sun Jihai had cemented a regular starting spot under Keegan.
Vardy considered jogging over to say hello he'd always admired Sun's tenacity and adaptability. But then he paused. What if I greet him in full Northeastern Chinese dialect? He'd probably think I was insane.
Still, considering he typically operated on the wings and Sun Jihai was playing at fullback, it was very likely they'd clash later in the game. If he got subbed on, he'd greet him properly with a run past and a cut inside.
Assuming I get on the pitch, Vardy reminded himself, adjusting his shin guards.
Despite being dwarfed in size by Old Trafford, Goodison Park had a magic of its own. The 40,000-seat stadium might be half the size, but the atmosphere could rival any ground in England. The Everton faithful blue flags waving, scarves held high transformed the compact stadium into a cauldron of noise.
Vardy soaked it all in from the bench. Just a few weeks ago, he was an anonymous loanee with no guarantees. But now, after that goal at United, the crowd knew his name. He wasn't yet on the level of Gravesen or Cahill, but he felt their support, heard the cheers when he appeared for warm-ups, and saw the signs with his name scrawled on them.
He couldn't help but smile.
He may not have been starting but he was no longer invisible.
---