USWNT: A New Era

Chapter 14: Under Scrutiny

It's 8 a.m., and I arrive at the training camp in Chicago. The air is sharp and brisk, perfect for the intensity I'm expecting from today's session. The players are starting to assemble, and I can feel the energy in the air. They know this week is pivotal; every decision made now influences who will step on the plane to Paris.

We have a tough session ahead. Our last match before the Olympics is against Canada, and I've made it clear that there will be no room for errors. As I walk onto the pitch, I think about what the media has been saying. They're calling my methods toxic, damaging to players, questioning whether I'm pushing them too hard. I don't care. If they can't handle the pressure now, how will they survive Canada? Or the Olympics?

At 8:30, we begin. The drills are relentless. High-pressure passing sequences, 1v1s, tackling exercises, and conditioning drills that seem to stretch for hours. Every play, every step, has to be perfect. The players are being pushed to their limits, and I make sure they know what's at stake. There's no mercy.

"Faster!" I shout as they run a press drill. "Canada's not going to wait for you to get in position. Move like you mean it!"

By 9:30, some players are visibly tiring. But I push them harder. The competition between teammates is fierce, and I can tell the intensity is building, just like I want it to. At one point, a hard tackle leaves two players shoving each other. I don't step in. Let them feel that fire now, rather than on the field next week.

During a break, I see some of the players glancing at me curiously. I've been texting Sakina between sessions, and they must have noticed. They don't say anything, but the way their eyes flick toward me, I can tell they're intrigued. I send her a quick message: "Tough session today. Wish you were here."

She replies almost instantly: "I bet you're pushing them hard. Good luck, love." A small smirk pulls at my lips as I pocket my phone and prepare for the next round of drills.

We finish the morning session at 11 a.m., and I release the players for a break. Some are exhausted, others frustrated, but I know that pushing them is the only way we'll get through the Olympics. As the players disperse, the coaching staff and I start prepping for the evening session. Training resumes at 4 p.m., and by the time the floodlights switch on at 7, the team is on edge, fuelled by aggression, adrenaline, and the will to crush Canada next week.

The media, of course, has a field day. More articles surface, painting me as a tyrant, someone who's ruining the team. They criticise my methods, calling them outdated and harmful, saying I'm more concerned with winning than my players' well-being. The tweets are just as bad. Insults, accusations—they call me a monster, a bully, someone unfit to lead. But again, I don't care. Let them say what they want. The only thing that matters is the result on the pitch.

The players can sense the tension surrounding me, but they also know I have their backs. Despite the criticism, this team is coming together. We're stronger. We're hungry.

And as I head back to my office, wiping sweat from my brow, I glance at my phone. Another message from Sakina. She's checking in, and even though she's thousands of miles away, her words bring me a brief moment of calm amidst the chaos. The players see me smiling at my phone, and I know they're wondering what's going on. Let them wonder. I text her back quickly before getting ready for the next day: "Still pushing. Can't wait to see you."

This is just the beginning. Canada doesn't know what's coming.