I try and have a relaxed attitude and stay quite switched off

Host: The stadium slept in shadows — its empty seats stretched like a waiting congregation beneath the pale hush of the floodlights. The air carried the faint scent of grass, rain, and electricity — the kind that hums before a storm of human noise. In the locker room beneath it all, time felt slower, quieter, almost sacred.

Jack sat on a wooden bench, his laces undone, head bowed, a stillness in him that felt deliberate — a man trained to hide chaos behind composure. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the tiled wall, arms folded, her dark hair damp from the drizzle outside. She watched him, curious, her presence soft but anchored.

The clock above the door ticked — one small sound in a room built for explosions.

Jeeny: “Roy Keane once said, ‘I try and have a relaxed attitude and stay quite switched off until about an hour before kick-off.’”

Jack: half-smiles “Relaxed attitude. Funny words coming from Roy Keane.”

Jeeny: grins “Even warriors need a quiet hour before battle.”

Jack: nods slowly “Yeah. The calm before the chaos. Or maybe the calm that makes the chaos possible.”

Jeeny: “You mean control.”

Jack: “No — ritual. Every fighter, artist, or athlete has one. It’s not about nerves. It’s about balance — about holding the storm still long enough to aim it.”

Jeeny: softly “So switching off isn’t detachment. It’s preparation.”

Jack: looks up, eyes sharp now “Exactly. You can’t explode without silence first.”

Host: The sound of distant movement echoed — footsteps, the faint thud of balls being tested against the walls, laughter too brittle to be real. The locker room light buzzed quietly, flickering once as if to remind them that the moment was temporary.

Jeeny walked over, sat beside Jack, her reflection shimmering faintly in the small metal locker door.

Jeeny: “You think people understand that balance? The need to unplug before performance?”

Jack: shrugs “Most don’t. They think intensity means constant fire. But real intensity — the kind that wins — comes from restraint. From knowing when not to burn.”

Jeeny: “So you store the fire.”

Jack: grinning faintly “Yeah. Like a secret you don’t trust the world with yet.”

Jeeny: pauses, thoughtful “You know, I’ve always found that paradox fascinating — how the fiercest people are often the calmest before they strike.”

Jack: nods “Because chaos without discipline is just noise. But discipline without chaos… that’s death.”

Host: The air thickened slightly, the way it does when philosophy drifts too close to truth. The smell of liniment and turf rose stronger. Somewhere above, a door slammed, echoing down the corridor like a starting gun from another life.

Jeeny: “You ever get scared before your own ‘kick-offs’?”

Jack: chuckles softly “All the time.”

Jeeny: “But you don’t look like it.”

Jack: leans back, voice low “That’s the trick, isn’t it? You don’t get rid of fear — you repurpose it. Turn it into rhythm, focus, motion. Fear’s not the enemy. It’s the warm-up.”

Jeeny: smiles “You sound like a monk before a fight.”

Jack: shrugs “Maybe monks and midfielders aren’t so different. Both spend half their life in silence and the other half in collision.”

Host: The sound of rain intensified outside — a thin, metallic whisper against the roof. The locker room seemed to breathe now, filled with invisible tension — that ancient, human rhythm before battle, where mind and muscle try to make peace before war.

Jeeny: “Keane was right, though. ‘Switched off’ doesn’t mean empty. It means ready.”

Jack: “Yeah. He knew it. Most people mistake peace for passivity. But real peace is when you’ve sharpened everything so perfectly that stillness becomes power.”

Jeeny: “Stillness as weapon.”

Jack: nods “Exactly. Stillness is the blade before the swing.”

Host: The clock ticked again — louder now, marking the narrowing distance between calm and chaos. The silence between them was no longer comfortable; it was electric, vibrating with anticipation neither could name.

Jeeny stood and walked slowly toward the lockers, brushing her hand over the cold metal.

Jeeny: “You know, there’s something poetic about the waiting. The quiet before something huge. It’s like the world holds its breath — and for a moment, you exist outside time.”

Jack: watching her “Yeah. And then time catches up — and you’d better be ready.”

Jeeny: turns, smiling “And that’s the hour before kick-off.”

Jack: nodding “The hour where men pretend they’re calm, women pretend they’re fearless, and everyone’s pretending they don’t care.”

Jeeny: “But they do.”

Jack: “More than anything.”

Host: A single whistle blew faintly in the distance — not for them, not yet, but close enough to echo in the bones. The lights above flickered again, humming in tune with hearts starting to beat faster.

Jack: “You ever think maybe we need more of that in life? More pre-kick-off quiet?”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe that’s what reflection is — the mental locker room before we face the world again.”

Jack: “And the world’s one hell of a match.”

Jeeny: laughs lightly “Then maybe that’s why we never stop training.”

Jack: half-smiling “No — we just get better at switching off.”

Host: The room fell into silence once more. The rain outside slowed, almost as if listening. Somewhere in the distance, the stadium lights roared to full brightness — the sudden flare of purpose calling from above.

Jack stood, tightening his laces. Jeeny watched him, her expression a mix of calm and pride, like someone watching a soldier return to himself.

Jack: quietly “You know what I love most about what Keane said?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: looks up toward the door “That he understood preparation isn’t about pressure. It’s about patience. You don’t meet chaos with chaos. You meet it with quiet.”

Jeeny: softly “Stillness before storm.”

Jack: smiles “Exactly.”

Host: The door opened. The sound of the stadium rolled in — distant roars, chants, the rising heartbeat of thousands waiting.

Jack stepped out into the tunnel, the light spilling across his face, cutting through the shadows that once held him still.

Jeeny remained behind, her voice almost a whisper as he vanished into the sound.

Jeeny: “To switch off isn’t to drift away. It’s to return to yourself before the world calls your name.”

Host: The crowd roared. The sky cracked open in light. The world — noisy, brutal, magnificent — began again.

And Roy Keane’s words lingered like a mantra carried on the wind:

Greatness doesn’t come from constant fire.
It comes from those who know
when to quiet the mind
before letting it burn.

The silence before the storm
isn’t weakness —
it’s focus preparing to roar.