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meretriculaa conversation with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dreamofthem (I think? mysticaltramping is you, right?) and aramley on tumblr went a bit haywire, and thus... here, have some tennis players as football players. now playyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy with meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Rafa heard the news on deadline day, the same as all the fans; he was at lunch with Andy and David and they all looked up from their phones at the same instant. "Djokovic, huh," Ferru said. "Hope he's worth the money."
"I meet him, long time," Andy offered. "Good player, good touch. Is good buy, yeah?" he added, lapsing into English on the last word. It was one of many habitual tics with Andy's incredibly shit Spanish; Rafa barely even noticed anymore.
"How is your Spanish still this bad," David asked, eyes rolling. "I met him a long time ago. You've been in Spain for almost ten years, you national embarrassment."
"Shut up, I am better than your English," Andy said easily. Rafa accordingly held off from kicking David under the table. Nothing was worse than Andy in a sulk, but he'd loosened up a lot since he'd turned up at Mallorca a few years ago, skinny and bitter and talented enough to make it anywhere but Barcelona.
"True," Ferru said, just as easily, and the argument was over as quickly as started. "Marat knows him, you know? Djokovic. He mentioned it to me when the sports papers started talking it up. I think he made the first team when Marat was still at Monaco, something like that."
"I don't know if that's a good thing," Rafa said. His nose wrinkled. He was fond of Marat, he supposed, and it went against the grain to criticize him in front of David, but the last thing he wanted was another partier in his team.
"Is good," Andy insisted. "You see. You see."
"You will see," David sighed. This time Rafa did kick him.
"We don't exactly have a choice," he said, ignoring Ferru's yelp. A new email notification had popped up on his phone, and scanning the subject line gave him all the information he needed. "Since he'll be at practice tomorrow morning."
David shrugged, phlegmatic as always, and Andy took his silence as vindication. The conversation turned to Juan Carlos and his latest setback in rehab--he was going to miss most of preseason at this rate--and Rafa made no attempt to redirect it. He would make up his mind about Djokovic when he met him, and not before. If he turned out to be trouble, well. Rafa wasn't captain for nothing. He would deal with it.
dreamofthem (I think? mysticaltramping is you, right?) and aramley on tumblr went a bit haywire, and thus... here, have some tennis players as football players. now playyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy with meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Rafa heard the news on deadline day, the same as all the fans; he was at lunch with Andy and David and they all looked up from their phones at the same instant. "Djokovic, huh," Ferru said. "Hope he's worth the money."
"I meet him, long time," Andy offered. "Good player, good touch. Is good buy, yeah?" he added, lapsing into English on the last word. It was one of many habitual tics with Andy's incredibly shit Spanish; Rafa barely even noticed anymore.
"How is your Spanish still this bad," David asked, eyes rolling. "I met him a long time ago. You've been in Spain for almost ten years, you national embarrassment."
"Shut up, I am better than your English," Andy said easily. Rafa accordingly held off from kicking David under the table. Nothing was worse than Andy in a sulk, but he'd loosened up a lot since he'd turned up at Mallorca a few years ago, skinny and bitter and talented enough to make it anywhere but Barcelona.
"True," Ferru said, just as easily, and the argument was over as quickly as started. "Marat knows him, you know? Djokovic. He mentioned it to me when the sports papers started talking it up. I think he made the first team when Marat was still at Monaco, something like that."
"I don't know if that's a good thing," Rafa said. His nose wrinkled. He was fond of Marat, he supposed, and it went against the grain to criticize him in front of David, but the last thing he wanted was another partier in his team.
"Is good," Andy insisted. "You see. You see."
"You will see," David sighed. This time Rafa did kick him.
"We don't exactly have a choice," he said, ignoring Ferru's yelp. A new email notification had popped up on his phone, and scanning the subject line gave him all the information he needed. "Since he'll be at practice tomorrow morning."
David shrugged, phlegmatic as always, and Andy took his silence as vindication. The conversation turned to Juan Carlos and his latest setback in rehab--he was going to miss most of preseason at this rate--and Rafa made no attempt to redirect it. He would make up his mind about Djokovic when he met him, and not before. If he turned out to be trouble, well. Rafa wasn't captain for nothing. He would deal with it.
