More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Ten

The next Tuesday hosted out first Champions League game of the season. To say I was thrilled would be a crazy underestimation. Watching the team play in the Europa League the season I was out had made me feel slightly better: if I'd missed out on a season of Champions League as well as the normal league, I would have been devastated. Granted, they got to lift a trophy at the end of it that I had nothing to do with, it still wasn't the Champions League. 

We met on Sunday afternoon for a session, which was rare but necessary. After we were left with so little time to prepare for one of our biggest games last week, we hadn't paid much attention to the game against Valencia at all so extra training was required. I didn't mind coming to Cobham on Sunday. I was still riding a high from my recent return to top-flight football: I would have spent all day there if Frank had asked at that point. 

The session was pretty chilled, mostly just a run around to get rid off stiffness and have a ball at our feet so we could get our minds around the next game. I stayed behind afterwards to do some free kicks with Mason, Daniel and Abby. Frank stayed behind with us, too, and getting advice from the legendary free kick taker was always beneficial. 

The sun was starting to get low in the sky as we wandered off the pitch later that afternoon. Daniel and Abby were engrossed with something Frank was telling them, so Mason and I pulled ahead of the trio. 

"Think I'm going to get into the pool for a bit," Mason commented, kicking out his left leg as he walked. "My muscles are so tired." 

"Enjoy," I laughed. 

I hated the cold pool downstairs; during my rehab I'd spent time in it just about every day. I never got used to the aching in my feet as I climbed in and, to this day, the thought of getting in made me feel sick. 

"Come with," Mason begged. I turned to look at him incredulously to see him pouting at me. 

"I hate that place. Sorry, Mitchell." 

"Come keep me company at least?" His wide eyes made me want to say yes, but I was also keen to head home. "Come on, we can make tea and then head down." 

Because it was Mason, I let out a groan. "Fine. But you're making the tea." 

We de-booted and headed to the changing rooms to put our slides on. Stragglers from the normal session were sitting around; Emil and Victor seemed to be in the middle of a tense Uno match and Annika was busy straightening her hair in the mirror. In the dining area, Sam the fitness coach and Nicki, one of the physios, were sitting with cups of coffee, and they greeted us as we passed through to make some tea. 

Cobham in the late afternoons was always a strange place. With players and staff lingering around and the late sun streaming in through the big glass windows, it reminded me of being back at St George's Park when training was finished and the squad could just relax. Annika and I always joked that we could live at Cobham if we wanted, and this time of day always made me think that, if I wanted to, I really could. 

Tea in hand, Mason and I headed down to the pool. I still had flashbacks to when I was limping down the stairs, barely able to bend my knee enough to step down, and they returned as we descended the final steps to the poolroom. It was empty inside, which wasn't all that surprising. 

"I thought others would have done the same," Mason muttered as he took a rolled up towel from the pile next to the door. "Or is it just my legs that are beat?" 

"I don't need one of these," I retorted as Mason threw me a towel, causing him to chuckle. "I mean, mine are okay, but I only played thirty minutes yesterday." 

"And you were still probably our best player on the pitch." 

I didn't respond to Mason's compliment, but my heart swelled at his words. "If I play on Tuesday I'll probably be aching on Wednesday though."