More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Eight

Friday was a nervy day all round at Cobham. We knew Liverpool would be a tough match – it always was – and with Kyle injuring himself in training and Rodrigo ill, it was looking to be slightly tougher than normal. Because Rodri played such a big role in our midfield, Frank had been spending a lot of time with Jody talking tactics since the Spaniard had been absent at training all week. He'd eventually decided to change the formation to four in the midfield and two up front, meaning we'd focused on doing tactical drills rather than conditioning drills most of the week. 

Due to the nature of the game, I had been expecting another repeat of the Norwich game. We were currently sitting third on the table, which was great, except Liverpool were ahead of us on goal difference. Beat them, and we'd go top. Lose, and we'd surely be replaced by City or Leicester or Spurs or one of the other teams hot on our heels. At least we were playing at the Bridge and not at Anfield just yet. 

Frank named the squad on Friday after training, as per usual, and once again a spark of excitement hit me when I heard my name, but less so than I'd felt before the Norwich game. Still, I headed home and got a good night's rest on the odd chance that Frank decided to place too much trust in me. 

Frank had named Rodri in the squad despite his only returning to training on Friday. When I arrived at the team hotel on Saturday for our lunch, I spotted him instantly sitting with Elena and Valentina. He looked pale still and the plate of food in front of him was barely touched. Fran came up next to me as I was checking him out. 

"He looks bad," she commented with a tut. "Can't believe he's here." 

"We struggle without him." I shrugged and slid out a chair, taking a seat opposite David and Olly. "I don't really think he had a choice." 

Fran rolled her eyes. "He can barely stand up! We have to learn without him sooner or later; he's not going to be around for every game." 

I could feel Fran's frustration coming off her. She was normally pretty vocal about how she felt, but she seemed to hardly get upset about things. Now, though, she looked like she was fuming about something. 

"He's just on the bench," I pointed out gently. "It's not like the gaffer will start him." 

"Yes, and we have three perfectly healthy midfielders who could have been in his place." 

"Geez, Fran, why are you so concerned about this?" Olly chimed in with a chuckle.
Fran rolled her eyes and took a spoonful of soup. "Everyone treats him like the only one that matters. It's just irritating." 

Mason arrived and, clearly sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject. I kept an eye on Fran throughout lunch, though, and decided I'd try chat to her once Frank had announced the team. He called for our attention a while later, when it seemed that everyone was finished eating. 

"Right, guys, big one today." He stood to the side of the buffet table; he wasn't an exceptionally tall guy, but had the ability to captivate a room as soon as he opened his mouth. "I don't want to say too much – I think we covered most of what we needed to in training – but a couple of things to think about." 

He went on to mention some key strategies he'd focused on, namely making sure we kept possession in the midfield and were willing to push forwards in attack while not leaving ourselves vulnerable to their fast counter attacks. He told us to keep our cool and not think about the magnitude of the game: there was a certain type of pressure that we wanted to put on ourselves, but too much would force us to make mistakes. 

"Okay, so, starting eleven," he said finally, glancing at a small, crinkled piece of paper in his hands. "David, Tommy, Annika, Emil, Elena at the back. Our four in the middle are Spence at the back, Fran at the front, and then Mase and Val holding the middle. Abs and Olly up front." I swallowed back disappointment again, keeping my eyes on the gaffer as he looked around the room. "Come on, team, I know we have this in us. Bus leaves in a half hour."