"I have never played like that," he said. His voice was a whisper.
"I know," I said.
"That is why it is going to work. Because nobody will expect it. They will see Bojan Krkic on the team sheet, and they will think they know what they are facing. A small, technical, creative player who can be bullied. A player who does not like the physical side of the game. A player who can be pressed and harassed and knocked off his stride. And they will be wrong. They will be so wrong that by the time they figure it out, the game will be over."
I leaned back in the driver's seat. I looked out at the perfect green pitches. "I am giving you a chance to reinvent yourself, Bojan," I said. "Not to be the new Messi. To be the first Bojan. The real Bojan. The player you were always supposed to be. A player who is not just beautiful to watch, but hard to play against. A player who wins."
He was quiet for a long time. I let him be quiet. I had thrown a lot at him. He needed to process it.
