captain armband

We return to Premier League action after our weekday clash against Anderlecht.

Rooney is back in the starting lineup and wearing the captain’s armband after having been absent for the past few matches due to injury. United are without Rojo, Smalling, Jones, Mata, and Ibrahimovic due to injury. U-21 players Tuanzebe and Fosu-Mensah have been called upon to deal with all the absences.


Part of the prestige and tradition of the beautiful game; it’s a tradition that other sports have copied. The sport of soccer worldwide has only one captain. Vice captains will take over the band when the captain is subbed out, injured, or card suspended. But there is only one captain on the field at a time.

A captain is the coach on the field. She represents the team as a whole to answer or dispute any officiating within the game. A captain has earned the respect of her teammates. A captain will lead by example and doesn’t use a band as an attempt to stroke her ego. A captain will lead her team and pick them up when they are down. A captain wears the armband on her left sleeve. a symbol of wearing your heart on your sleeve.   

sergirobreto  asked:


Writing prompt 86. “You’re important too.”

I don’t know what the following mess is anymore, but I hope you didn’t think I forgot your request! 💙
It was a bad game, a really bad game. Sergio scores an own goal. Opponents run past him easily. The same shoulder he perpetually injures, strikes the pitch heavily and awkwardly. He didn’t even get a chance at a resurrection, almost getting carded before the pain forces him off. Minutes after wrapping Marcelo’s bicep in the captain armband, he falls to the ground grasping his ankle. Zidane’s beloved BBC is utterly worthless. And the final result? The team loses, 4-2.

After being examined and cleared to leave, he just wants to rush home and forget the entire night ever happened. Because frankly, he can’t let it affect him, but the drive home can’t be fast enough. Every rotation of the wheels against asphalt, brings another doubtful thought in his mind. Every red light festers the guilt he’s trying not to let occupy him. Every stop, stressing him more. By the time he arrives home and gets inside his house, he’s irritable and exhausted and his body feels tight like a wound up coil.

He decides a shower might help him unwind, ease he tension, but underneath the spray of the water, the stress only pools at his feet. His muscles don’t feel anymore relaxed, and the guilt is biting at his skin.

After finishing his shower and getting dressed for a night in, he checks his phone. It’s been going off since the game ended. Tweets, posts, teammates, texts, media, articles, Marco. He shuts his phone off and leaves it on his bedside table.

Back downstairs he fixes himself something to eat. He sits at his kitchen island trying to let his quiet home calm him, but instead, stares at his plate pushing the food around with his fork. The silence, too similar to the locker room he sat in waiting for the game to finish without him.

There’s a knock on his door. He wasn’t going to get anything down anyways, but he feels interrupted. He sighs loudly, dropping his fork irritated.

“What do you want Marco?” Sergio runs his hand over his face as he answers the door.

“I know you like your space after an unfortunate game, but I just wanted to make sure your were alright, you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I’m fine, Marco,” Sergio sighs. He slides his hand up the side of the door, blocking the entrance with his body. “My shoulder is fine, it was just a bad knock, nothing’s broken or anything.”

Marco isn’t smiling, but his expression doesn’t waver at the attitude he’s given. “The team is going over to Isco’s for drinks, you know, get the edge off,” he motions with his hand. “If you’re up to it, they wanted you to come.”

“I really don’t feel like doing that,” Sergio breaths, leaning on the doorframe.

Marco shifts his weight and uncrosses his arms, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I thought you said your shoulder was fine?” He challenges.

Sergio keeps a flat tone as he speaks, looking off to the side, past Marco, “It is fine, I just don’t feel like going out. I need bed rest, doctors orders.”

“Want some company?” Marco buries his hands deeper in his pockets.

“No, go have some fun.”

“I don’t mind staying in with you, Serg.”

“I don’t want company.”

“Well you need it,” Marco says looking at Sergio. “Can I please come in?”

Sergio huffs, moving out of his doorframe and into his house. Marco locks the door and follows him into his kitchen, noticing his untouched food.

“You should eat something.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Sergio says dropping onto the couch, closing his eyes.

Marco follows and sits on the edge on the cushions, his hands crossing, elbows on his knees. “Why didn’t you pick up my calls, you could’ve at least texted me back?”

Sergio sits up, lost in his own thoughts, ignoring his question, “Can we take this upstairs?”

Marco nods, apprehensive. He watches Sergio stand and walk around the couch.

“Aren’t you coming?” Sergio says at the bottom of the stairs.

He catches Sergio smirk when he nods and stands from the couch, “Mhmm.”

When Marco reaches him, Sergio takes his hand and leads the way to his bedroom.

Marco glances at Sergio’s phone turned off on the night table as he’s pushed up hard against a wall, his question downstairs now answered. He can feel his skin burn as Sergio drags his teeth down the length of his neck and across his shoulder. Sergio wraps Marco’s legs around his waist, carrying him to the bed, and dropping him harshly. His hands wrap around Marco’s biceps shoving him across the bed forcefully, “Is this what the doctor meant when he said you needed bed rest?”

The buttons of Marco’s shirt are lost in the tangled blankets, his jeans have more rips in them than when he arrived, he’s not sure where his jacket was thrown, or his underwear for that matter. His scalp tingles from his hair being pulled, the long scratches on his back match the red prints in his ass, and the bite marks on the inside of his thighs match the bruises around his hips. His skin is hot and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat.

He can hear Sergio breath and out of the corner of his eye, he can see his chest rise and fall.

“Are you really okay, Sergio?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“The sex was rough.” Marco swallows.

“Bad rough or good rough?”

Marco peels his eyes from the ceiling and rolls on his side to face Sergio, ignoring a pain around his ribs, “More-than-just-your-shoulder-is-bothering-you, rough.”

“I thought you liked it rough?” Sergio says still staring at the ceiling.

“Not when you’re trying to hide something with it, that’s not healthy Sergio, just talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you want me say, I’m not hiding anything, I’m fine, Marco.” Sergio says to the ceiling.

“Would you look at me dammit,” Marco says angrily. “You didn’t even let me touch you. Just talk to me.”

Sergio turns nose to nose with Marco, glancing between his eyes and his lips. “I’m fine, really,” he smiles, kissing Marco slowly, softly, gently for the first time of the night.

Marco watches as he rolls onto his back again. His features no longer intimidating or dominant, instead clouded over with oblivious concern and bunched up distress.

“You know, that bullshit you pull on field when you pretend nothing bothers you and you just walk away grinning or shout it out a bit? I see right through it and there’s no need for it! You can talk about it with me! I can help! I want to help! That’s why I’m your boyfriend! Stop shutting me out! I want to be there for you!”

Sergio eyes flutter closed, his voice dragging out, “Marco…”

Marco springs up, “Dammit Sergio, why don’t you ever talk to me!? Every time there’s a bad game you do this! Let me in for fuck sakes! You can always talk to me, you always listen to me! I want to listen to you too! You’re important too!”

“You want me to talk? Why?! It’s nothing you can fix, it’s nothing I can fix!” Sergio shouts, sitting up as well.

Marco raises his brows, urging Sergio to continue.

“Modric and Kroos ran in circles all game!
Cristiano’s shots were so off target I think they landed in Camp Nou! Marcelo got injured as soon as I gave him the captain armband! You never get any playing time! The bbc is so useless, it’s embarrassing! Our defence is a piece of shit no matter how hard I try! I scored a fucking own goal! And I didn’t even get a chance to make up for it because I had to come off! I wasn’t even on the pitch to support the team as we lost! I’m stressed and I feel guilty that I can’t do more! I’m just really tired of this!”

Marco eyes Sergio as he finishes his screaming match. He looks down at his hands, “We lost a game? So what. There’s teams that rarely win and we’ve broken a bunch of other records already. Marcelo will be fine, when is there not someone injured on this team anyways. We still pull through.”

Marco takes a breath, recalling what Sergio said, “And the BBC, they’ll score when they score, you score lots and you’re a defender for crying out loud. As for me, I’m young, I’ll get playing time eventually. And every player goes through a rough patch every so often, Cristiano will come around.”

Marco turns to face Sergio, “Our defence isn’t shit, you’re all talented, it’s just our style of play, our tactics.”

Sergio shakes his head as he listens to Marco speak, “You scored an own goal? Big deal. So have others on the team and in more important matches! You’ve also got sent off for dumber reasons, you’ve even tactically gotten red cards and you feel bad now that you had to come off because you were hurt! I know you’re good at hiding your emotions but I saw the pain rush over your face and I saw the fall and anyone could see it was bad. You could have got seriously injured if you continued, you’d rather miss weeks or even mouths versus one game?”

“No but,” Sergio says in a small voice.

Marco shuffles, moving on his knees between Sergio’s legs and grabbing his face, “Listen, I’m not saying you can’t complain or you can’t feel stressed, okay. I don’t get to decide that and I’m never going to tell you how to feel. It’s not my place, but I will remind you that it really isn’t that bad and that you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.”

Marco runs his thumbs under Sergio’s eyes, “You’re right, you can’t fix any of this and neither can I, but you can let this it out to me. It helps. You’re so amazing Sergio, and you work so much for the team. It’s okay! Today was hard, but being hard on yourself about it isn’t going to change it. It could change tomorrow or the next game though if you let it mess with you and keep it to yourself to fester.”

Marco watches over Sergio’s face, looking for a change in expression. He sees Sergio close his eyes and feels him letting his hands support the weight of his head.

Sergio wraps his arms tenderly around Marco, pulling him carefully into his chest. He rests his head on Marco’s shoulder, breathing him in and leaving light kisses over the bruises he never soothed. Marco can feel his hands spread over his back, rubbing delicately over the simmering scratches.

“I’m sorry,” Marco hears between kisses into his hair and around his ear.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispers. “Just let me in more often. I want to be there for you, I want to help and listen to you when you’re upset, that’s what I’m here for.”

Sergio tucks his head in the crook of Marco’s neck and pulls the blankets up around them, laying the both of them back onto the bed, “Marco I…thank you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Marco says kissing his temple. He can feel the both of them relax, “I’m always going to be here for you, Sergio.”