Off-season was always fun for Sunrise van de Schubbekutteveen, for he was able to visit his hometown every time. While living in Calgary wasn't incredibly busy, there was something special about going back to the farming village he was born at. Naturally, things changed from year to year, it was never the same village he found every time he came for a visit. One year, he'd find the former class prom queen busy with work at the capital and his father talking proudly about a new horse he bought. The year after, he'd find her being tended to by a husband he had never met and his father complaining that the horse had yet to feel truly acquainted with his current surroundings. He'd often take note of everything, just to see how things evolved while he wasn't around and it made for some light entertainment. The world was moving on while he focused on that game on ice but seeing it didn't seem to affect him as much as he thought it would. Maybe he just didn't see himself as a farmer like his father, nobility and all.

There was something a bit different as he arrived in his home village, however. Schubbekutteveen was bigger than he remembered, something he noticed once he arrived from the airport in the state capital, only to find they were sending buses in and out of his old village. Back in the day, he'd be driven there via kombi, an old and battered vehicle his father bought for his workers to use when in a pinch. But now he found himself sitting at a comfortable bus, his bag over him, holding some memorabilia from Calgary that his friends and family asked him to bring. It certainly made him wonder how much of the village had changed for such a thing to happen. He was surprised to find that Schubbekutteveen had become bigger indeed, with more houses and apartments although the downtown of the village remained somewhat rustic and he still could see that his father's farm was as big as he remembered. Upon being greeted, his father stated that this was actually by design. Schubbekutteveen had been one of the few villages in the country, if not the entire continent, to offer itself as a host to many a refugee. His old man, the Count of Schubbekutteveen, said so with a large grin that their presence made the village more profitable and worthier in terms of political capital. "We're not gonna beat Terneuzen but I'm sure that these boys and girls will make our village big enough to be a force in Zeeland. 'sides, Schubbekutteveen is like a mother's heart, there's always room for more, yes?"

One way anyone could tell that the village had improved was by seeing the local soccer club, the blue-white outfit known as Schubbekutteveen Voetball Vereniging. Once upon a time, they played in the amateur leagues and while putting up a fight, were usually not ones to be considered good enough to go shoulder-to-shoulder with bigger teams. His father held a heavy interest in the team but never blew much of his pocket on the endeavour, essentially keeping the team amateur and not particularly interesting although with a lack of things to do in the village, it was natural for people to gather and watch them. Thankfully to his own mind and sense of morale, his father never charged for tickets. Around the time he left, however, Schubbekutteveen VV had been slowly but surely tracing a path through the lower leagues into the more competitive echelons. They had already passed their historical rival, once-more established, now-more plucky Zeelandia Middelburg and were essentially the best team of Zeeland. Naturally, Sunrise found himself following his father down the road to the stadium. What was once just a pair of stands standing near the farm was now a 15k seater painted in the village's aquamarine.

"We get fans from out of town now, yes? We play Jong Ajax and they fill the stadium!" His father was very adamant about pointing it out, Schubbekutteveen was filling their stadium regularly. His father even managed to produce a jersey of the team for him to wear while in the stands, making sure they didn't stand out much even though everyone there was well aware of the Count and there wasn't much way they wouldn't just stand out. The stands were very multi-cultural by this point though Sunrise knew that wasn't exactly the best of things - it still meant plenty of people had to run away from home for reasons probably against their will. Still, they all seemed happy. Banners, flags, cheers.

His father quickly pointed out that the team also carried that global aspect that he could see from the crowd. SVV's roster used to be very local, he remembered seeing the fathers of some of his classmates playing for the team back in the day, every match ending with them covered in mud. Now? Well, the team still had plenty of Dutch players but there were some unusual faces there as well. One of the guys playing side-back was a Burmese man who had fled with his family after a coup. The attacking midfielder? A Turk whose family had run afoul of the government. The backup goalie, a guy who was all smiles, was a Palestinian who had fled a year ago inside a shoe truck after being falsely accused of a crime he didn't commit. His father also was keen to point out the players that he helped the manager sign. The club was no longer entirely backed by him as a board of directors was established and they also had input from a couple of farming equipment companies, the ones that featured in stadium advertisements and, for a couple of them, on the club's uniform.

Sunrise made sure to do some research on his phone while the game started. The club's main striker was an Argentinian he had never heard of who also happened to be rather old (39 years by that point), the goalie was a former Herenveen player that his father convinced to join and, of course, there were some kids that they managed to sign from other team's academies. And the Brazilians, three of them to be precise. All of them were brought along by their manager, a young Brazilian who had never coached at home but was keen to entertain the idea. The most notorious player of the bunch? Ramiro, a former Brazilian national team player who had last been seen playing in his native country but had been convinced to come back to Europe for one final job. And that job was getting into the Eredivisie, the country's top soccer league. His father noted that getting there was a certainty, that Schubbekutteveen would indeed be Zeeland's representative in the national top tier, they just had to make sure the other teams knew of it... by beating them. That night's game was one in the list of many the team would play to get there, a duel against Helmond Sport, a team out of North Brabant that had been regulars in the second division for quite a while, "part of the furniture" as his father said. Needless to say, they didn't look very intimidating. He would probably say the same about his village's team but they were apparently riding on a seven-game unbeaten streak and looking forward to adding an eighth one. Fans were excited, his father was blabbing non-stop and this game had to be in their pocket. That was a certainty, right?

The last time he had seen a rowdy crowd was back in Calgary, especially during the more difficult games. They were a kind crowd but not one to take anything lying down, which made their job as a restructuring team a bit harder. Needless to say, watching the crowd of a team currently rampaging through their league was a different sort of feeling even if certain things were always going to be the same anywhere in the world. Every missed shot was reacted to like teeth being pulled out, every save elicited a gasp, every tackle gave way to complaints and every offside saw fury from fans. And naturally, when he saw a free kick take place near the goal, he was made well aware of what would follow. The Argentinian, old as he was, had been lethal at these sorts of plays. So naturally, he stood behind the ball, observing the line of players forming a wall to block whatever shot he threw at them. He chuckled, signalling for the Turk to come towards him. "He gotta be kidding!" His father yelled in frustration, seems like the Turkish youth there wasn't quite the guy to take that sort of shot. The older player feigned a shot, the younger one took said shot and the ball curved just enough to catch the goalkeeper by surprise and bang. Schubbekutteveen was leading by one to nothing. Just like in hockey, they cheered. Just like in hockey, they chanted. Just like in hockey, they celebrated.

One thing he would get out of that six-nil trashing he watched was that maybe they should consider employing something like it back in Calgary. An offensive game that simply could not be stopped whichever way the opponents went at them. SVV didn’t look like much but when they got into a rhythm, it was very hard to stop. Maybe there was some credit to this?

His trip back to Canada would certainly give him time for thought. Maybe it would work in another sport if he tried hard enough. After all, crazier things had happened. Some even in front of him.

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