Friday, September 6th, 2022
Bortolotti Training Complex9:48 AM
Gasperini stood at the front of the tactical room with the projector displaying Cremonese’s 3-5-2 formation, his arms crossed and his expression focused as the squad settled into their seats around him.
"Cremonese away tomorrow," he began, his voice carrying authority without volu. "They’re newly promoted, sitting bottom of the table, but that makes them dangerous. They have nothing to lose, they’ll fight for every ball, and they’ll pack ten n behind the ball the mont we have possession."
The screen changed to show Cremonese’s defensive structure, tight and compact across the eighteen-yard box.
"We break them down through width and patience," Gasperini continued, his finger tracing the spaces on either flank. "Hateboer and Maehle push high, stretch their wing-backs, create space centrally for Walter to operate. Lookman and Malinovskyi stay wide initially, then cut inside when the channels open."
Demien sat in the second row beside Koopiners, his notebook open on his lap with tactical notes scribbled across the page, and he nodded slightly as Gasperini’s eyes swept across the room and landed briefly on him.
"Højlund, you hold the ball up top, bring others in, don’t try to beat three defenders alone," Gasperini said, and the Danish striker nodded once from the back row. "De Roon and Koopiners control the tempo. Walter, you find the pockets between their lines and make them choose—press you or cover the runners."
The briefing continued for twenty minutes covering set pieces and defensive transitions and what to do when Cremonese tried to counter, and by the ti Gasperini dismissed them the squad understood exactly what was expected.
Training followed imdiately—a light session focused on sharpness rather than intensity because tomorrow was match day and nobody needed heavy legs—and the drills moved quickly through passing patterns and positional play before finishing with a short-sided ga that ended when Gasperini’s whistle cut through the morning air.
As players walked off toward the locker room, one of Atalanta’s dia team staff mbers—a woman in her thirties with a clipboard and a cara crew behind her—called out toward the pitch.
"Demien! Tolói! Højlund! We need you three for a quick shoot!"
Demien exchanged glances with the other two, and Tolói shrugged with a grin while Højlund was already walking toward the cara setup near the sideline.
"What’s this for?" Demien asked as they approached.
"YouTube content," the dia staff mber explained, gesturing to three chairs positioned in a row facing the cara. "Guess the teammate ga. We read descriptions, you three guess who we’re talking about. Easy, fun, takes ten minutes."
"Do we get paid extra for this?" Tolói asked, and his deadpan delivery made the staff mber laugh before she realized he was serious.
"No. But you get to embarrass each other on cara."
"Good enough," Højlund said, dropping into the middle chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
Demien took the left seat and Tolói settled on the right, and the cara operator counted down from three before the dia staff mber held up the first card and read it aloud with a smile.
"Okay, first one: This player once showed up to training wearing two different boots—one black, one white—and didn’t notice until halfti of the practice match."
All three of them looked at each other.
Højlund spoke first. "That’s got to be Lookman. He’s always rushing."
Tolói shook his head. "No way. Lookman is too careful with his appearance. I say Hateboer."
Demien thought for a mont, then grinned. "Zapata. Definitely Zapata."
The dia staff mber flipped the card around to show the answer.
DAVIDE ZAPPACOSTA
"Close!" she said, laughing. "Zappacosta, not Zapata."
"I said Hateboer!" Tolói protested, throwing his hands up. "That’s basically the sa person!"
"They’re not even slightly similar," Højlund said, and Tolói shot him a look that made the cara crew laugh.
"Next question," the staff mber said, holding up a new card. "This player is known for singing opera in the showers after wins—badly—and refuses to stop even when teammates beg him to."
Demien didn’t even hesitate. "Muriel."
"Muriel," Højlund agreed imdiately.
"Has to be Muriel," Tolói added, nodding with certainty.
The card flipped.
LUIS MURIEL
All three of them cheered and high-fived like they’d just scored a goal, and the dia team was grinning behind the cara because the energy was exactly what they wanted.
"Next one," the staff mber said, barely containing her own laughter. "This player once ate an entire family-size pizza by himself thirty minutes before a match and still played the full ninety."
Højlund’s eyes widened. "That’s disgusting."
"That’s dedication," Tolói corrected.
Demien leaned forward, thinking. "That sounds like sothing stupid enough to be real, so... Pasalic?"
Tolói shook his head. "No, Pasalic is too professional. I’m saying... De Roon."
"De Roon is the captain!" Højlund said, laughing. "He would never. I’m going with... Scalvini. He’s young and dumb enough."
The card flipped.
MARTEN DE ROON
"WHAT?!" Højlund shouted, and Tolói was already doubled over laughing while Demien sat there trying to process the ntal image of the captain eating an entire pizza before kickoff.
"When was this?" Demien asked, looking at the dia staff mber.
"Three years ago, apparently," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "He claims it was an accident."
"How do you accidentally eat a family pizza?" Tolói managed between laughs.
"Next question," the staff mber said, recovering. "This player has a lucky pair of underwear he’s worn to every single match for the past two seasons and refuses to wash them."
Silence.
All three of them stared at the card with identical expressions of horror.
"That’s foul," Højlund said quietly.
"That’s a health violation," Tolói added.
Demien shook his head slowly. "I don’t even want to know who that is."
"Guess anyway," the staff mber said, grinning.
"Koopiners," Højlund said without confidence.
"Definitely not Koopiners," Demien said. "He’s too clean. I’m saying... Djimsiti."
Tolói thought for a mont. "Maehle. Final answer."
The card flipped.
TEUN KOOPINERS
"NO!" Demien shouted, and Højlund was already standing up from his chair in disbelief while Tolói just shook his head with his hands over his face.
"I sit next to him in the dressing room!" Demien said, genuinely disturbed. "Every match! That’s disgusting!"
The cara crew was laughing so hard they had to stop filming for thirty seconds to recover, and by the ti they composed themselves all three players were still processing the information they’d just learned.
"Last question," the staff mber said, holding up the final card. "This player secretly practices dance moves in the gym when he thinks nobody’s watching and has a full TikTok choreography morized."
Demien pointed at Højlund imdiately. "You."
"What? No!" Højlund protested, but his face was already going red.
"It’s definitely you," Tolói said, grinning. "I’ve seen you doing weird movents in the weight room."
"That’s stretching!"
"Stretching doesn’t involve hip thrusts to a beat," Demien said, and the cara operator nearly dropped the equipnt laughing.
The card flipped.
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