Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ The Moon, Mercury, and Manchester ❯ Standing United and Enter Juventus ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I should have put this at the top of Chapter 1, but I do not own any trademarks related to Sailor Moon or any of the clubs mentioned here.

 

That night had been nothing but one sweet wild ride. The next day, though, a dreadful realization hit me.

Oh, man, what have I got myself into?

As I realized that what we had done the previous night had put us, me included, on the Negaverse's most-wanted list, I began to get increasingly uneasy and uncomfortable as I though I had gotten seriously sick overnight.

The same seemed to be happening at the others as we practiced at Old Trafford the afternoon after the quarterfinal and that first battle. None of us seemed exactly in sync, and we kept starting when loud clanging noises reached our ears (we would later learn that that was the groundskeeper having a rough day himself.)

Some of us were making especially uncharacteristic mistakes. Ryan got into a one-on-one against our backup keeper, Roy Carroll, during a short scrimmage, only to push his shot wide right when he almost certainly would have spun it in on any other given day.

"What's going on, Ryan?" I asked. "Are you okay?" Realizing with a small frightening shock that he might also be starting to feel the heat, I asked him, "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes and no." He said slowly. "I had a great dream, but for some reason I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat."

"Don't let it get you down, okay?" I said, putting on a brave face. Ryan made what looked like a forced grin.

Another time, I was driving hard on Nicky, but he stripped me for the first time in my United stint when I had often burned him during practice. This time, though, I left the ball uncovered for way too long, and he stole it and managed to clear.

"You all right, Carlo?" David asked me after practice once we had begun dressing back into our street clothes.

For a split second, I thought about admitting I wasn't, but then a firm voice rose up inside me, saying, Don't, buddy. You're in this for the long haul, so be tough. "Yeah." I said, trying to sound sincere.

David still looked concerned as I finished dressing back into my street clothes and left.

 

Later in my hotel room, I paced my room tryingto summon resolve and steel myself, but every time I tried to break loose, doubts pushed me back hard. It was like an impregnable defense that was giving me no room at all to run.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Who is it?” I asked, bracing myself for trouble.

“It's Amy.”

 

The voice sounded like her, all right, but I checked the peephole just to make sure. Once I saw her outside, I allowed myself to breathe again as I unlocked the door so that she could come in. She was in a khaki knee-length skirt, oxfords (no socks), and a yellow French turtleneck sweater with its sleeves coming out of a brown jacket.

 

“Are you all right?” Amy asked, looking worried as she closed the door. “I just talked to Becks-he says you looked a little less energetic than usual at practice.”

“I was.” I said, sitting down on the bed and finding Amy sitting down beside me.

“It's learning to cope with the Negaverse, isn't it?” She asked, as she took off her jacket and hung it on a nearby chair.

“Yeah.” I said. “It's just been the stress…” I went silent for a minute, trying to find the words.

“Go on.” Amy said, looking right at me.

“Well, first it seemed like I was having a great time in Europe, getting chances to learn and test myself…”

“And win a Champions League title?” Amy asked.

“Yeah.” I said, chuckling slightly and grinning slightly as well. It was true that part of what attracted me to my fast-forward deal was the fact that I liked the idea of playing for Manchester United against Europe's best. I finished, my grin fading as I felt drained, “…then, all of a sudden, I'm walking the streets of Manchester knowing my life's on the line with every passing second.”

“I had to deal with it at first, too.” She said. “It may look cool to be a Sailor Scout or a friend of one, but it's not always like that. It's part of how I learned that responsibility comes with power. Have you seen Spider-Man?”

“Yeah.” I said.

“Remember what Uncle Ben said to Peter? With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Too true.” I said.

“Are you scared of death?”

“Oh, yes.” I replied. “That's one of my biggest fears, but I actually haven't considered it that much. When I do think of it, though, it bugs me quite a bit. I've prided myself quietly on being the youngest among my peers, but this is a situation where I believe my youth is against me.”

“Are you thinking of not playing against Queen Beryl if it comes to that?” she asked. “Be honest, I'm not forcing you to do this.”

“Oh, Lord no, I'm not sitting out.” I said. “I'm in until the end. I already made the choice to play against the Negaverse until the end-that was right after we beat Real. Now, Amy…” I paused for a moment, then said earnestly, “…I know you wouldn't ask me to do something I couldn't do, but the pressure's just been huge.” I let out a sigh of fatigue once I'd finished.

 

Amy said, “Come here.” With that, she spread her arms slightly. I was so worried about possibly dying that I readily let myself fall into her, letting my head rest over her heart and gripping her around the middle as well. As she embraced me, I was immediately comforted, as though I had just sunk into a warm spa.

She told me, “You've got a lot of guts, Carlo. I just want you to know that to be soft is not to admit defeat.”

“Thanks, Amy.” I said, straightening up and smiling sincerely. “I really needed that. I guess I wasn't coughing it up because I hate to lose or be seen as soft.”

“Oh, I understand that too well.” She replied, smiling back. “I know a whole lot of people who hate that, too. Just don't forget that together we'll be okay.” She was looking me in the eye again with a very caring yet very determined look, and I found myself suddenly vigorous and unafraid.

“Yes, ma'am!” I said emphatically, nodding.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” Amy added.

“What?” I asked, slightly startled.

“Thanks again for saving my life yesterday, Carlo.” With that, she hugged me again, making me smile again. “Do you want to take a walk? It might relieve your mind to have a conversation.”

“Sure.” I said, continuing to grin. Just then, however, my cell phone rang, and I answered. “Hello?”

“It's David.” I heard David's voice saying in a serious tone. “Keano and I are calling a team meeting in the dressing room-it's urgent. Where's Amy? We need her there.”

“She just had a talk with me to calm my nerves, David. I'll be there.” I said.

“She's a marvel at loosening a lad up, isn't she?” David replied, sounding pleased. “See you in the dressing room.”

 

We immediately put on our jackets. Amy said, “Do you go anywhere without that jacket?”

“I do go places without it.” I said, referring to my Manhattan-red corduroy jacket as I put on my cap. “But I hardly leave it behind while I'm on soccer business.” I added, grinning.

We were outside now, and Amy yelled, “Taxi!” while waving.

One cab halted, and we piled in. “Old Trafford!” I said.

We arrived quickly and tipped the driver, and then we went into the dressing room.

 

Everyone was sitting in there in street clothes, and Roy and David were on their feet, looking businesslike but tense. Everybody still smiled and some waved as Amy and I entered, though.

"What's going on?" I asked.

“UEFA's moved our match location for the semifinal 1st leg.” Roy said. “We're playing at Wembley.”

(Author's note: I know the real Wembley is under construction, but for all intents and purposes, the new stadium has been completed somehow before this story.)

The whole room erupted in what were mostly gasps.

“Wembley?” I said. “Oh, man.”

“What's Wembley?” Amy asked, puzzled.

“Have you ever been to the International Stadium in Yokohama or the National Stadium in Tokyo, Amy?” Ryan replied.

“I've been to the International Stadium once or twice.” Amy said, looking interested. “But why?”

“Well, to what the International is to Japan, Wembley is to England. It's the citadel of English football. Nobody-and I ruddy well mean nobody, Amy-wants to lose at Wembley. I know fans out there who would die for tickets to a game there.”

“Wow, sounds huge!” Amy replied. “Where is it?”

Paul said, “London, Amy. We're leaving at four o'clock tomorrow.”

“How?” I asked. “Train, plane, what?”

“By plane.” Coach Ferguson replied.

“Why'd they choose Wembley?” I asked.

“Evidently, they wanted to get Manchester out of danger while showing they weren't going to be intimidated by Queen Beryl.” Gary chipped in.

“Could I have everyone's attention?” Amy asked. We all nodded, and then she started to speak, looking grave.

 

“Some of our intelligence has revealed that Queen Beryl may attempt a strike on Wembley. Chances are, she'll do it after the game, when you're all tired out from a full 90 minutes, with the exception of the substitutes. And chances also are that she's armed herself with the same shield magic we saw yesterday. Serena and I need help, and no mistake-and if we both fall, so may London and perhaps more. Even though you've proven yourselves to be formidable enemies of the Negaverse, neither of us will force you to do it. But if anyone wants to join the fight, let me know starting now.”

 

I felt like I was rooted to my seat by the desire to get out of the whole mess and look after myself. But I remembered what Amy had told me in my hotel room, how I had responded, and how firmly she'd gotten me to believe in myself then. So at that moment, all doubt and reserve left me, and I stood up. Everyone else, all seated except for Amy, looked at me, and I cleared my throat and set my face and heart.

 

“I'm in, Amy.” I said. “You know why already, but in case I don't make it, I want you to tell my mom that I died with my face to the enemy.”

 

Cheers resonated around the room.

“Brilliant!” Ryan yelled. “We'd like to come as well, but we're all just…”

“I know, we're all a little scared.” I said before going on. I liked to be a vocal leader like Roy, but I wasn't yet totally eloquent as a pep talker, and so I found myself saying (though I meant it), “But that's when you've got to forget your fear and think about everyone who's putting their lives in our hands. Gosh, I don't know where to start.” Then I pulled it together, pacing around the center of the room, meeting everybody's eyes as I went.

 

“Guys, I know the events of the last 24 hours have been extremely tense. The media attention, the fan attention, and God knows what else have all been pressing down on us like the weight of the world. But let's not worry about that now. Let's think about what could happen next Wednesday.

 

“I know we don't profess to be men of war, soldiers, or even good men with guns or swords. But I do know we profess to be men who can almost work magic with soccer balls-and who are also warriors on the field.”

 

Amy spoke again. “Ever heard of the media calling you the `Red Devils'? Well, forget it. Last Wednesday night, you became the Red Angels. If we decide to volunteer ourselves for another possible fight, the good part is that we're going to have the chance to give a hand in saving countless lives. The downside to that is that we'll be marked for death. We can count on the Negaverse to throw everything but the kitchen sink at us. We'll have to play our hearts out to win-and then some, probably-and then again, that might not be enough for us to live.”

 

The others were silent. Amy said,

“If you don't want to do it, I'm fine with that. Like I said, you've done all that's been expected of you and then some. But remember, Serena and I can't do this alone-”

“And I'll admit I'm not enough to help them, either.” I said seriously.

Amy grinned slightly at me and then told the team at large, “I'd like to borrow from Winston Churchill. `Never has so much been owed to so few.'”

 

David stepped forward. “That does it. Count me in. And lads…” He paused, looking around. “Soon, we're going to be in a hotel that's in the same neighborhood as Trafalgar Square, and I was thinking about a famous saying from a special chap who has his statue there until Britain should fall. `England expects every man to do his duty.'”

 

David may prefer to lead by example, but he can say the big words when he needs to and when his teammates need to hear them—and we needed someone to break the ice emphatically like that even after I had volunteered again.

 

The locker room burst forth with renewedcheers when David cited Lord Horatio Nelson. Paul, Rio Ferdinand, the Nevilles, and Nicky clapped the loudest for their Team England captain, and then stood up. Paul said, “You said it truly, Becks—England expects every man to do his duty. And after all, this is at Wembley, so I actually think we're morally obliged to fight as English internationals. We're coming, too.”

Rio then spoke up. “I'd like to borrow from someone at the London Club back when Churchill was PM. Forget the Champions League final or even the World Cup final-this is one of the biggest finals one can ask to play in, and it's to be played on the Home Ground, at Wembley. Becks and Paul've said it already-I'm in.”

Gary added, “No one has successfully invaded Britain since William the Conqueror-not Napoleon, not Hitler, and if I have any say in it, not Queen Beryl.” He walked up to Amy, took a knee, and lowered his head. “At your service, Amy.”

Amy grinned at him. “I may be a princess, Gary, and I appreciate that, but now is not the time for that.”

Gary's brother Philip was the next to speak. “You mean if we have any say in it, Gary.” Gary looked up and smiled.

Roy was the next to stand. “One international-caliber captain is in, and you lads aren't going with Amy without the other one. And lads, even if we die in the process of winning, at least we'll die as truly one of the best teams in Europe. We're not Manchester United for nothing.”

"No, madam, we're ruddy well not." Ryan said, standing up and grinning at Amy.

“Count me in, too.” Another voice said.

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer had now stood up and was smiling at Amy. She smiled back, and I couldn't help smiling too. Ole—long known as a baby-faced assassin to United players and fans—had already made himself an immortal in Manchester United annals for scoring the game-winner against Bayern Munich in the 1999 Champions League final in Barcelona with a matter of seconds remaining.

 

Within two minutes of Ole getting up, everyone in the room was on his or her feet, from Coach Ferguson to Phillip and Darren Fletcher to David and Paul.

Amy looked around the room and smiled at all of us, and we grinned back. “It's going to be an honor sharing the field of battle with you. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“Thanks, but you chose to come to Manchester and help us and our fans before we decided to help you. Thank you.” David said.

 

“Hang on, the Juventus-Barcelona match should be over now!” Rio yelled. “What's going on over there?”

“It's not over yet, lads! It's in extra time!” Phillip yelled from the doorway to the tunnel. Apparently, he had stepped out without us noticing to check on the match, and was just coming back to tell us the latest news and score.

“Well, let's go see!” Ryan said to shouts of assent.

 

Hurriedly, a TV was carried into the dressing room, plugged in, and tuned to the match.

“I wonder who's going to help Sailor Moon.” Ruud remarked as we sat down.

“Probably the team that wins.” Amy answered. “What's the score?”

“1-all when I last checked, and that was at full time.” Phillip said. "So it's 2-2 on aggregate."

The captains were meeting at center field. Barcelona was playing in their home kit featuring the maroon-and-blue striped shirt while Juventus was also playing in its home uniform, which featured their famous black-and-white striped shirt.

“Barca's got Luis Enrique, a Spanish international midfield player, and Juventus has…” David said.

“That's not their normal captain.” I said.

“That's not?” Amy asked.

“No, Amy.” David said, and he explained, “The one they have out there is Ciro Ferrara, an Italian defender who I hear was Juventus skipper before the current one arrived at the club.”

“Who is the current Juventus captain?” Amy asked.

“Alessandro Del Piero.” I said. “Heard of him?”

“A little bit.” Amy answered. “I hear he's this midfielder and forward who plays for Italy, so it sounds like he's really good.”

“He is.” Ole piped up. “We played Juventus one time in '97 and he scored after only 22 or so seconds. It was the fastest goal in Champions League history until this year.”

“Where is he, though?” I asked. “I didn't hear anything about him being out tonight because of injury.”

Amy quickly pulled out the mini supercomputer again and accessed the UEFA website, which provides up-to-the-minute coverage.

“He's been subbed out.” She answered. “I'll tell you what, though, this overtime is going to hinder whoever wants to help Serena if it comes to that.”

“You're right.” Ryan said, nodding gravely. “Well, let's just hope that this only takes 15 more minutes instead of 30.”

“I hear Europe's using a new `silver goal' overtime system.” Amy told him. “What's that about?”

 

While Ryan filled Amy in, David, Gary, and I chatted about who might be the better companions between Juventus and Barcelona for the battle after the semifinal 1st leg. As we watched, it appeared that Juventus was hanging in there with a little more tenacity than that of Barcelona, which was surprising.

“Barcelona hasn't lost all year in the Champions League.” I said. “Do you think they'd make better teammates if they decided to help?” I asked the others.

“Maybe, but also perhaps not.” Coach Ferguson remarked. “Don't forget that they have a new manager and they can't count much on their record in La Liga to boost their morale.”

“Good point!” I told him. Over my stay at United, I had been slightly ambivalent towards Coach Ferguson, as I disliked his probably being involved in that feud he might have had with David (and as David was and is my favorite player, anyone who tried taking him down had me to answer to) but admired his dedication to United and his penchant for turning out good results. Even if I disagreed with him on certain issues, I was still on his side numerous times, he had been a good coach to me and the team, and I would have wanted nobody else in the world to be our head coach ahead of the upcoming battle at Wembley. After all, he was the man who had a knighthood under his belt after helping United win the legendary 1999 treble consisting of the English Premier League title, the FA Cup (the English national championship knockout tourney, the oldest single-elimination soccer tournament in the world), and the Champions League title, United's first since the Matt Busby era way back in the day. By the way, that time around the block, he was telling the truth because under Louis Van Gaal, Barcelona had rocketed out of the gate in the Champions League but had sputtered in domestic play, prompting Van Gaal to step down midway through the season.

 

If Coach Ferguson was a professor of soccer and Ryan and Rio were teaching assistants, though, Amy was a star student. During the overtime (extra time), she was constantly chatting with them to get information on the various Juventus and Barcelona players.

“I know a bit about Edgar Davids and Lilian Thuram.” She said. “They're strong and fast, from what I've seen about them.”

“They are indeed.” Paul answered. “Edgar's got a little more power, but he's got a lot of finesse too. I hear he got that from his days growing up playing on the streets of Amsterdam. Lilian's got a little more speed, and he can really make big defensive stops. Also, he's a good attacker in his own right with either a cross or a shot.”

“What about David Trezeguet and Pavel Nedved?”

“Well, David became a big name all over Europe when he scored the game-winner—ironically, for France against Italy—in the final of Euro 2000. He's a terrific shooter and finisher, while Nedved—who captains the Czech Republic—also has a terrific shot and plays hard to the last. Quite a few are talking about him being European Footballer of the Year.” Paul answered.

“I can understand that.” Amy said. “Look at him—still running hard even after 110 minutes! Hey, look at that pass!”

Pavel had hit it from his left-wing position to the right wing, where a Juventus substitute named Alessandro Birindelli took it and whipped a cross into the area, where a Juventus striker whom I hadn't seen before touched it home with a tricky volley in triple coverage.

“Oy, look!” David said. “Juventus just scored! Who is that lad? He looks like he's about Carlo's age!”

"Filippo Dibari?" Coach Ferguson asked. "He's their new ace substitute striker, he is about Carlo's age, and he had a big performance against Basel like Carlo did."

My head suddenly spun wildly. Filippo?

“Hang on, I think I know him!" I exclaimed.

“What? How?” Paul asked.

“We were once classmates back home." I said. We had been classmates in 9th grade at Reynolds before Filippo moved back to Italy. It had been that year that we played keep-away against each other a lot (which he was a lot better at than I was back then), and it had also been that year that we had found out about each other's favorite teams, as I found out he idolized Juventus and I was a big Manchester United fan. Seeing him again was quite a shock, and the realization that we were on a collision course in the Champions League semis with our favorite clubs was even more startling.

 

Before I could tell my friends more about Filippo, however, the full-time whistle blew just before a familiar-looking ominous figure took the field.

Everyone seemed frozen for a minute at the second monster's appearance before Filippo began shouting at his teammates and motioning with his hands for them to stay on the pitch. Meanwhile, Alessandro Del Piero had also come back onto the field, donning the captain's armband again and chatting quickly with Luis Enrique.

"Looks like Juventus wants to do this fight themselves!" Amy said. "Who do they have?"

"Let's see..." David peered. "Del Piero, Trezeguet, Dibari, Davids, Nedved, Ferrara, and Thuram."

"Looks good..." Amy said. "Come on, Serena, where are you?"

Juventus began to hold the monster off as Barcelona cleared the pitch. Many of the fans, however, remained rooted to their seats just as like the ones at Old Trafford the night before.

This monster in particular was creating defenders at a very fast pace, and even though Juventus was getting in its licks thanks to some terrific team and individual moves, especially from Alessandro, Filippo, and Edgar, they looked as if they would be swamped any minute.

Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, they parted ranks.

"What's going on? Why are they clearing the center?" Paul asked.

"It's Serena!" Amy answered, suddenly smiling again.

Before we could say anything else, a blinding flash of pink light illuminated the screen. The shapes of several hearts fluttered here and there, and when the flash vanished, the monster was left unprotected.

"Was that Sailor Moon?" Ryan asked, bewildered.

"It was!" Rio exclaimed. "Look!"

For the second time in 24 hours, gasps resonated around that dressing room.

 

The camera had moved to the left to reveal the figure we had seen in Amy's photograph the previous night, only she was in that unmistakable red, white, and blue sailor suit. Even over the tube, I could sense an aura of power and determination even stronger than Amy's as we beheld Sailor Moon's radiant but determined face.

 

"My God." Rio said. "It's her! It's really her!" His voice was growing increasingly high-pitched.

"Oh, man, look at that face!" I said, referring not only to her beauty but also her expression while still marveling at the sheer power of that latest Rainbow Spiral Moon Heartache.

"Typical Serena." Amy said fondly. "She always likes to make an entrance."

The Juventus players were flocking around Sailor Moon now with excited looks on their faces. I suddenly realized that they probably knew something like this might be coming, even though they might not have known who she was beforehand. The chatter didn't last long, though, as the fight began to pick up again as eight fresh defenders engaged them.

 

While us United players fought with Sailor Mercury in a free-flowing and offensively based style resembling the lightning-fast English style, Juventus pulled some pages out of the Italian book on calcio (Italian for soccer) and placed a little more emphasis on defense. While Pavel, Filippo, Alessandro, and David assaulted the monster, at least one of the others-Ciro, Lillian, and Edgar-was parked at the back at all times, ready to scythe down anyone who tried taking a shot at Sailor Moon, who, like Sailor Mercury, was hitting the monsters with attacks to whittle their numbers down.

 

As the battle wore on and the goals piled up again, the enemy began to think that if they beat up the Juventus players, then Sailor Moon would have trouble beating them herself. As a result, they started getting extremely physical with them. Pavel was having a particularly rough time as he was hit twice with body checks and looked to be down and out as two more defenders steamed in on him, but then suddenly out of nowhere, Sailor Moon did her best impression of Roy or Rio and took out one of them hard with a terrific challenge before whirling around right into a Moon Tiara Magic to blast the other one out and leave the remaining defenders stymied.

Back in the dressing room at Old Trafford, Amy and the rest of us, like the fans at the Camp Nou, had gone absolutely wild over Sailor Moon's world-class double challenge.

"Yeah, nice, Serena!" Amy yelled. "Great play! You show them!"

“What a scintillating stop!” Gary shouted, clapping energetically.

"I tell you, I wouldn't fancy being the scumbags who were on the wrong end of that tackle and that blast." Roy said earnestly.

While Pavel was helped to his feet (he would continue playing), Juventus seemed to be inspired by that double takeout as Sailor Moon gave a shout that appeared to be half encouragement for Juventus and half taunting of the monster and his cohorts. As the Juve players became increasingly combative (Edgar and Filippo both had started to volley into the chests and heads of the defenders before shooting) and Sailor Moon continually hammered anyone who succeded in landing a blow on any of the Juventus contingent, the enemy began to be disheartened as they dared not try to lay out anyone for fear of getting nailed by Sailor Moon or another player. Adding to the Negaverse force's woes, Sailor Moon was now getting more adventurous with her attacking, as she now often made runs forward and finished with increasingly confident headers and developing volleys, and because she and Juventus had turned the jets up, they were slow to take her on.

 

After five more minutes, Filippo ran up the center and did an amazing Johan Cruyff dummy turn (a move named after the legendary Dutch international, where a player fakes a shot or pass, traps the ball, and does an about face in one fluid movement) and stopped the ball eight yards or so right in front of the monster. Sailor Moon started a run-up to the ball just as a defender parked himself in front of the shield. As we held our breath, she hit the "penalty" low and hard right down the middle as the "keeper" dived to one side, shattering the shield.

 

"Well-taken penalty!" David said fervently as the rest of us cheered. "Okay, now finish that bloke off!"

He-or we, for that matter-didn't have to wait long. Juventus quickly pulled back, and after Sailor Moon took a parting verbal shot at the enemy, she began charging up another Rainbow Spiral Moon Heartache. Once the screen flashed pink and then returned to normal, we saw the column of light vanish along with the rest of the Negaverse team.

 

The Juventus fans who made the trip went absolutely berserk, and even the Barcelona fans couldn't help cheering as Sailor Moon was surrounded on all sides in a Juventus group hug. The actualItalians-Alessandro, Ciro, and Filippo-were particularly jubilant, as I could have sworn they each kissed Sailor Moon on both cheeks. Over in Manchester, cheering and applause reigned in the locker room.

 

"What do you think?" I asked once the room had quieted down. "Did we get the right 'teammates'..." I said, using my fingers to mime quote marks, "...in Juventus?"

"I absolutely think we got the best teammates we could ask for." Amy said. "Juventus is terrific by itself on any given day, but they're finding their zone and now they've got Serena to help them, so that's even better news."

 

In the next chapter: "The Run-Up":

A Sailor Scout who once called London home comes into the picture, while the teams prepare for the semifinal and what may come after. Also, Amy takes that walk with Carlo on the streets of London. How alike are the two, and if they are alike, what advice does Amy offer to her United counterpart (for that matter, what can people in general learn from Amy?)