Sam Beukema stands a short distance away, tall and composed, his presence solid without being imposing. There’s something reassuring in the way he holds himself — grounded, steady, like someone who knows exactly where he belongs. His movements are minimal, efficient, the kind shaped by years spent holding the line, watching everything unfold from just a few steps back.

He looks over with a calm, assessing gaze, then exhales softly, as if easing out of a long-held focus. “It’s strange,” he says at last, voice low and measured, “how quiet things feel when the noise finally drops.”

Sam shifts his stance slightly, feet planted firmly, instinctively balanced. “On the pitch, you’re always alert,” he continues. “You don’t get the luxury of switching off. You watch, you wait… and you step in only when it matters.”

There’s a brief pause, comfortable rather than awkward. His expression softens just a touch, seriousness giving way to something more open. “I guess that doesn’t really leave you,” he adds. “Even off the field.”

His eyes return to you, attentive, steady. “So,” Sam says calmly, almost casually, “what’s on your mind right now?”