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Previously...

‘No one is perfect, dear. I have good news. That Eclipse website has been shut down and the fan site has bounced that jerk off it. Your father has the security people on to the IP address and it looks like the idiot actually used a static one that can be traced, so things are looking up. Sheila has been busy too, and you have two TV interviews this afternoon followed by three radio ones and a couple of the papers want to speak to you. So, you have a busy afternoon ahead.

‘Oh great, so I have to dress up again?’

‘Oh, don’t get all huffy with me, young lady, you love dressing up, you are more girlie than the girliest girl I know.’

I looked at her and she looked at me and I just couldn’t hold a straight face and just started giggling.

After a moment I was back together again.

‘Right,’ said Mummy. ‘I’m coming with you this afternoon and Sheila will be there to make sure no one takes advantage of you. So we’ll have a quick lunch and then we’ll be off.’

‘Okay,’ I said getting up and smoothing down my cool skirt.

‘Oh and, Susan?’

‘Yes, Mummy?’

‘Don’t you think that skirt is a little erm, brief?’

‘Oh, Mummy––!’

And now the story continues…

Sitting on the coach to Whitehaven, we had a match the next day–one of those mid-table clashes where no quarter was given or taken–I reflected on the past week.

Actually I was lying across the back seat of the luxury coach with my eyes closed. The others were either reading, playing cards or listening to their mp3 players.

I had my iPhone plugged into my ears listening to music. This is where I have a confession to make. I have a Deep Dark Secret. As this is only going into my journal, no one else will know, but for the sake of accuracy and truthfulness, I will put it on paper and hope that my children (if ever I have any) will not condemn me for such a terrible secret, if they ever read this…

I love classical music. There, I’ve said it, or rather written it. It was something that crept up on me when I was younger. My mum loved classical music and it was always on the radio at home–usually BBC Radio 3. I suppose it got into me via osmosis or something but the truth is that some classical music moves me to tears, goose bumps, lumps in the throat and other emotional responses.

But I wasn’t thinking much of the Mozart, softly playing in my ears at the moment, but the events of the last week.

~~ §~~

We’d had a meeting with Sandy McPherson and the club chairman, Alf Battersby the day after everything went somewhat skew-whiff.

Mummy, Daddy, John Prentiss, Sheila and little old me were welcomed into the boardroom and sat around the huge table that dominated the scene. The amount of wood in the wall panelling and the table, made me wonder how many rainforests had been felled in its construction!

‘Well then,’ said Mr Battersby, ‘shall be get started? Thanks for coming at such short notice: I had a meeting earlier with the board and they have agreed that I should handle the situation and knock heads together as and when they need knocking. Firstly, Susan, I would like to apologise on behalf of the club for the drugs test disaster.’

‘Aye,’ growled Sandy.

‘Aye, well, we’re carrying out an internal enquiry and have also called in the same private investigators that you have been using, Sheila, to get to the bottom of it.’

‘Yes, it’s about time something was done,’ Sheila remarked.

‘Aye, anyway the feeling is that we have a mole in our midst and as such we do not want anyone at the club or those associated with it to know that there’s an investigation in progress.’

‘Do you think it might be one of the players, sir?’ I asked.

‘It had bloody better not be, I’ll have his balls fer breakfast–sorry lass, I sometimes let my mouth run away––’

‘–No wonder Susan keeps swearing,’ Mummy whispered loudly to Daddy: I think you could have heard that comment in the next room!

‘Aye, anyway, if I could continue, the head of the investigation team will report to me and me alone. If there is someone here that is passing on information or causing the club–and you in particular, Susan–any harm, they will wish that they had never been born. Sheila, you look like you wish to say something?’

‘Yes; can you ensure that Susan will be afforded as much protection as possible when she is with the team or on the club’s business?’

‘We will do what we can, of course. The problem is, like all professional sportspeople, there is always an unknown element, like the crowd at games, for instance, but yes, we will do all we can to protect the lass.’ He beamed at me in a grandfatherly way–he was a nice man. I just looked down at my skirt and fiddled with the hem. All right it was a bit short, but Mummy always says what nice legs I have, so why not show them off a bit; I’m not a nun after all–heaven forbid!

The others began talking about the problems we had been having on the fan site and the Eclipse Website and I sort of zoned out...

‘Susan!’

I looked up and discovered everyone was staring at me. ‘Sorry, did someone say something?’

‘We’re here for your benefit,’ Daddy said–rather sternly, I thought. ‘John asked how you felt about the interviews you did yesterday?’

‘Oh, sorry, yeah, it was cool. I didn’t get any questions that made me uncomfortable. I was kind of expecting that creep, Ferris to pop up, but luckily, he didn’t.’

‘According to the investigators,’ said Daddy, ‘he was in Italy–Rome, to be precise. It turns out that he left his hotel in a bit of a hurry yesterday and hasn’t been seen since. As a matter of interest, he didn’t pay his bill and the hotel’s a bit annoyed as he owes them several hundred Euros.’

‘So, Le furet has gone to ground,’ said Sheila, ‘although I might be doing ferrets a disservice.’

‘You probably are,’ said Daddy smiling, ‘anyway, The Globe are running scared after our tame lawyers threatened to have the directors made jointly and severally liable for any transgressions of the court orders in force. It appears that The Globe wishes to stay in business, so they will not be publishing any rubbish about that so-called drugs test.’

‘Do they know who that bogus doctor was?’ I asked.

‘Investigations haven’t uncovered who he really is, but what we do know for certain is that he’s not registered as a medical doctor under the name he gave us–Dr Amos. Whether or not he’s a doctor of something else–like chemistry, for example–we don’t know.’

‘Oh my God, he went into the ladies’ with me!’ I shuddered at that and Mummy came around and gave me a reassuring hug.

‘Nothing happened love,’ she said looking at me, ‘but Danni has said that if you, Claire and Andrea would like it, she’ll teach you some self-defence.’

‘Good idea,’ said Sheila, ‘I have a black belt in eye gouging and dismemberment that has come in useful occasionally.’

I think that she was exaggerating.

‘Can we do that?’ I asked Mummy.

‘Okay, if you want; we’ll talk about it later.’

The meeting carried on for another half an hour with the olds sorting out the details and other stuff, like when I could go to the loo and eat my rusks, things like that and then after handshakes all round we were able to go. Mr McPherson, as usual, had the final word.

‘Don’t forget tae go tae the trainin’ groond to get treatment on thon leg, young Susan. I want ye fit fer Whitehaven.’

‘Yes, boss.’ I sighed and then got out before he asked me to clean his boots, or something.

~~ §~~

The next few days were fairly boring, with me confined to barracks unless doing more interviews, having treatment or smiling into cameras while I endorsed fizzy drinks that tasted like dish water. The consensus, backed up by Danni and the uber squad of security experts–and I thought that she was my friend–was that while Ferris and possibly other members of his Eclipse group were abroad, I should be on at least DEFCON 2 Status.

This left me with a lot of time on my hands and I was not a happy little bunny rabbit about it, more a lioness with the screaming abdabs.

Now my hormones were coursing around my body with gay abandon, my mood swings went from the sublime to the ridiculous. I know that I was approaching my next happy monthly visitation (not) but how could I get so upset over my hardboiled egg not being hard?

Mummy sat me down and we had one of those mother-daughter type conversations where she explained why I was like that, and I just sulked. I did get over it and give her a big hug though–two days later.

One day I was sitting in my room reading The Iliad–well Teen Angst Magazine really and I was experiencing more than my usual thoroughly fed-upness. My leg hurt after being pounded to paste by a thirty stone weightlifter who is supposed to be my physiotherapist; well that might be a tad over the top, but he was big and he had muscles everywhere. Anyway, I tigress–get it? tigress, digress–play on words? Anyway, I was reading about this girl who had a boyfriend with an enormous––

–the door opened and Andrea came in. The school was on half term so she was free to dress as she wanted and that meant denim skirt, spangly yellow top and her hair in a high ponytail. I nearly reached for my sunglasses because of the glare, but I was a polite girl and didn’t want to put down her burgeoning–or is that bludgeoning?–dress sense. Meow!

‘Hi, honey,’ I said putting my mag down and sitting up on the bed. ‘Wasup?’

‘Get dressed, I have a surprise?’

I was wearing some jimjams because I ached a bit and I wanted to be comfy, but at the magic word “surprise” I got up, forgetting, for a moment, my aches and pains and started jumping up and down like a kid.

‘Oooh, I love surprises. What is it?’

‘Come down off the ceiling, you just need to get dressed and into something less like you are ready for bed.’

‘You aren’t an evil clone of Mummy are you?’

Her face went blank and then she twitched slightly.

‘Yes,’ she replied in a monotone,’ I have had a brain transplant and they left bits out.’

We both started giggling as I went over to the dressing room to find something to wear.

‘If I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing, how can I decide? Is it posh frock, clubbing wear or doing a bit of a dig in the garden…what?’

She looked at me and just said, rather mysteriously, ‘smart cas, will do.’

I just shrugged and dived in. I was going to try my tiny, miniscule, teeny-weeny, itsy-bitsy, diminutive, infinitesimal, insignificant, little, microscopic, mini, but that might not be considered casual and I had to watch Mummy’s blood pressure so I just pulled out an above the knee black skirt and a white shirt style blouse, clean knicks and bra and went into the bathroom to change while Andrea read my teen mag with a slightly puzzled look on her face.

Ten minutes later I was ready, I had put on a soupcon of makeup as I felt I looked a bit too much corpse-like in my pallor due to my enforced incarceration. It was true what they say about prison pallor!

‘You look nice,’ smiled Andrea.

‘So do you, honey.’

We stopped for a moment to exchange lippy and then she held my hand and told me to shut my eyes.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it, please.’

‘Hmmph,’ I said as I did as I was told–for once.

We turned left out of my room and we seemed walk for ages, going up some stairs and down some others, through some doors and then stopping. I didn’t open my eyes, ’cos it was a surprise and I would have spoilt it if I knew what was going on.

‘Okay, open your eyes.’

My eyes snapped open and I was taken back a bit by the sight of a pair of plain white doors.

‘Okaaay,’ I said.

‘Knock three times on the door.’

‘What?’

‘Please, Sue, do it, for me.’

I sighed and, feeling a proper nana, I knocked three times on the door.

Both doors opened inwards and my jaw hit the floor.

There was Claire, wearing some sort of fifties’ style usherette’s uniform, complete with a natty little hat, black stockings and bubble gum. She had this enormous torch in her hand.

‘Tickets please,’ she said in a pseudo Bronx accent and then blew some bubblegum.

Andrea grinned as she handed two bits of paper to Claire who scrutinised them better than any immigration officer, tore them in half and handed them back to her.

‘Walk this way, please. No talking and smoking in the auditorium and like, switch your mobile phones off when the film is being shown.’

I was somewhat speechless–unusual for me–as Andrea held my hand firmly and followed Claire into the room. And what a room; it had several chairs and sofas all facing forward. The lights were dim and the whole place looked like it had been done out as some sort of up-market, very posh and comfortable cinema. We were shown our seats, at the back, by Claire–naturally–who was waving the torch around like Luke Skywalker and his light-sabre.

There was another sofa along the back wall and John–Claire’s other half–was there with a huge tub of popcorn between his knees and a cola compete with plastic straw in his hand. He was grinning from ear to ear.

In between the two soft and very comfortable sofas, was a projector on a table and on the facing wall was a huge screen. I was handed a tub of popcorn, still warm and obviously freshly made and a Coke too. I glanced at Andrea and Claire and they grinned at me like Cheshire cats. John was too busy stuffing his face with popcorn to pay much attention. I was just about to say something when Claire flicked a switch; the lights dimmed and she went to sit with John, who handed her a cola. The screen lit up and the film started.

It was Scary Movie, one of my favourites; a bit rude, but full of laughs. I settled down with Andrea and we snuggled up close. I have to say that it was one of the best cinema type experiences that I ever had with full surround sound and by the time the credits rolled, I needed an urgent repair of makeup–I wasn’t the only one!

The lights came up and we all started talking at once. After everyone else hushed up, I was able to say my piece. ‘That is unbelievable, whose idea was it?’

Andrea and Claire looked at each other and both put their hands up. I gave them both a big hug and after getting more drinks I found out what had happened.

‘It was like, my idea, being the brains of the family–’

Several cushions were thrown at her and it was a real feat of gymnastics on her part that stopped Claire from spilling her drink.

‘Claire did think of the idea, but as I am a bit more techie than her, I got the equipment with your mum’s permission. We thought that as you can’t go to the cinema until all the fuss dies down, we would bring the cinema to you.’

‘Great idea,’ said John enthusiastically. ‘If I ask your mum, would she adopt me and then I can stay in this cool place, like you lot?’

‘Your mum would be like, so annoyed at you if she heard you like, say that,’ said Claire.

‘But I’m misunderstood,’ whined John.

‘Every teenager is,’ I replied, ‘which is why we have to stick together and rebel when necessary.’

The others laughed for some reason and Claire looked at me dismissively.

‘You, like, a rebel? You are like, so much a Goodie-Two-Shoes. The idea of you rebelling is more probable than John wearing a dress.’

‘I don’t know,’ John said, somewhat wistfully, ‘I’ve seen this little black number that just shows off my curves––’

‘Don’t you like, dare start wearing dresses. I need my men to be men.’

John stood up and pounded his chest like King Kong, making us all roll up with laughter!

~~ §~~

My thoughts returned to the present when somebody touched my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw it was Dave Hastings, our perpetual sub. He was too good for the reserves and not quite good enough to be a regular first team player, but he was often used off the subs’ bench because he could play almost anywhere.

‘Hi, Dave,’ I smiled.

‘Nearly there, Susan,’ he replied.

He was about nineteen and quite good looking really. It was pity that he hadn’t made the big time yet and there were rumours that he was going to be loaned out once our appalling injury crisis was over.

‘Thanks, Dave,’ I said sitting up and stretching.

Like the others, I was wearing a Melchester tracksuit, hoping that I didn’t stand out, but looking at the lumps on my chest, I think my hopes were somewhat misplaced. I still had a slight tummy ache and I wondered if my period was about to start. I had brought the necessary precautions in my sports bag. Mummy had told me that when girls started having periods it a takes a bit of time to start getting regular–oh joy! When we stopped, I would find a toilet and do the necessary.

As we went through the suburbs of Whitehaven, I caught a glimpse of the sea in the far distance. Whitehaven, being a port and a minor resort, was a nice place; I had been there a few times when I was younger. However, now was the wintertime and the place had a depressing feel to it.

The coach drove down to the promenade and drew up outside the Imperial Hotel, where we were to stay tonight. It was a Victorian hotel, very posh, and one that was always used by the club when in town.

I was lucky in as much as I had my own room, whereas the others usually shared. ‘No snoring or wind making companions for me tonight!’ I thought.

There was nothing scheduled for the evening and we could do what we liked, within reason. Reason being no drinking, clubbing or getting up to anything that might embarrass the club.

As soon as I got to my room, I immediately went to the en suite and pulled off my trackie bums. There was a tiny spot of blood in my panties and I grimaced as yet another round of yuckyness was going to descend on me for the next several days.

I had a quick shower then got dressed again. I didn’t like tampons much but knew that when I was playing that I needed to use one; but when I wasn’t playing, I preferred sanitary pads, ones with wings that attached to my panties. I was getting quite good at this and I took the pad out of its wrapper, attached it to my panties and I was soon finishing dressing. I just put on a strappy top and cotton skirt because the room was rather warm–a lot warmer than outside.

Gazing out of my first floor window, I had fine views of the sea and pier. It was a bit rough, the sea that is and it had started to rain; so much for a walk along the prom. My phone chirped and I picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Susan, I’ve arrived.’

‘Hello Danni, where are you?’

‘Next door to you.’

‘Cool, want to go down for a bite?’

‘No, it’s best if we are not seen together. I can protect you better that way.’

‘Okay, I suppose that makes sense. You know about where I am and what I’m doing while I’m here?’

‘Yes, you’ve got an interview with the local radio tomorrow morning, then the game and back home on the coach tomorrow night. If you decide to go out–and looking out you would be mad if you did–let me know, okay?’

‘Yes, Auntie Danni.’

‘Flaming cheek; for that I’ll take great pleasure in throwing you about on the mat.’

‘That’s something to look forward to.’ I replied, laughing. Danni had agreed to give us all lessons in self-defence. Claire had already experienced one lesson and she thought that it was cool. I was having my first on Monday, just after Andrea’s.

Andrea–I was already missing her and sighed. Being in love sucks sometimes, especially when you are apart.

Smiling but with a tinge of sadness, I thought about my relatively new extended family and only wished that my mum could have been a part of it. I only hoped that my stepdad was roasting somewhere down in the depths of hell for the things that he did to us. But holding on to old bitterness did me no good and I had to try to move on, didn’t I?

Mummy did suggest seeing a trick cyclist, but all they would do would be to dredge up memories I would rather forget, ask me loads of questions and give me no answers; so I just said no.

I had a bit of a tummy ache, so took a couple of paracetamol with some water and lay down on the bed. I wondered what the others were doing and felt a bit apart really. There was no denying that I wasn’t the same as them and I hoped that that would not mean that there was some sort of barrier developing between us. I suppose that men and women are different and don’t always like the same things. Sure, we have football as common ground, but I can’t see many men getting excited over what dress to wear or what make of tampon to use.

Sighing, I wondered if I was getting into stereotype country here. I shouldn’t bracket all men in the masculine sense just as much as I shouldn’t think that all girls are uber girlie.

I went down to dinner that night and sat with three other players, Petre Ogsood, Mike Turner and Dave Hastings, our supersub.

We talked mainly about football but I wasn’t sure that it was because I was there. Maybe they would have talked about their latest female conquest or the size of their penises if I hadn’t been there, I had no idea, but we had a bit of a laugh as we dished the dirt on some of the other teams.

After dinner, I returned to my room, got ready for bed and then, when I was all tucked up, I fired up the trusty laptop and contacted Andrea.

‘missing you lots. S.’

‘me too u. A’

‘r u in bed yet?’

‘yes, you?’

‘yes, wish you were here.’

‘me too, we could do naughty things.’

‘Ooh Andrea, u r naughty.’

‘I wish.’

We carried on in a similar vein for a while and then looking at the time, I decided I really needed my beauty sleep.

‘time for bye byes’ I typed.

‘Me too, going shopping tomorrow with mum and Claire’

‘I wish I was coming 2’

‘Wait til things die down a bit. See you Sunday, luv u.’

‘Luv u 2, honey, night-night.’

I switched off the computer and then the light. Despite my tummy cramps getting a bit worse, I managed to get some sleep.

The alarm went off on my iPhone the next morning at eight o’clock. I had to be at breakfast not later than nine, so with a groan, I got up out of my warm bed and went to the bathroom. I was quite heavy now so I was not well pleased that I had to play a match in these circs, but girls all over the world managed somehow and I didn’t think that Sandy McPherson would have much sympathy so I just got on with it. I had a shower, put in a tampon using the plastic applicator thingy, then got dressed in my unisex Melchester tracksuit.

I was downstairs at two minutes past nine and felt a bit smug, seeing that I wasn’t the last one to arrive in the dining room.
Just before coming down I had received a message that the radio interview had been cancelled as there was yet another financial crisis that was marginally more important than me. I didn’t mind as I was not in the right mental state to do a coherent interview this morning.

I wasn’t very hungry and because I felt less than a hundred percent, I wasn’t my usual bubbly self. No one seemed to notice however, so I was pleased about that.

After breakfast we filed into a conference room where Sandy and the newly appointed Assistant Manager, Mike Thomas was waiting for us. Mike used to be the reserve team coach but had been given his new job just two weeks ago. I was pleased, I liked Mike.

‘Right you lot, settle down,’ he said while The Boss sat on a chair in the corner. It was Sandy’s practice to let the A.M. do most of the talking in these meetings and then he would finish off at the end.

Most of the things talked about were final rundowns on the opposition, their strengths and weakness and what tactics and formation we should be using–boring unless you are involved. When Mike had finished the boss got up.

‘Okay, thanks, Mike. Whitehaven are, as ye know a canny team, with plenty of power up front but no real outstanding players. They’ve done well though, especially at home, where they have beaten all the top teams. A win here today will make us fourth in the table if the results of the other games go as expected. I want you te go oot there and beat the s**t–I mean stuffing oot o’ ’em. Now, ye have a couple of hours and then be doon at the coach by twelve.’

I spent the time in my room writing my journal and having a look at the fan site. I was kind of afraid that Eclipse Man might be on, but of him there was no sign. The main topic of conversation wasn’t whether we would beat Whitehaven today, but more if the dress I was wearing the other day on TV suited me. I wondered what proportion of the fans here were girls and if so, what age range they were. I hoped that I didn’t only relate to young girls. I played football and I was kind of proud of the fact that I had done rather well, so I hoped that at least a few of my fans were boys, or would that be uncool?

All too soon it was time to leave, so picking up my sports bag, I took a final peek in the mirror. Looking back was definitely a girl, even though she was wearing a rather shapeless tracksuit. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she had no makeup on. I didn’t want to plant a post-goal kiss on my teammates and leave big lippy stains–I’m classy like that!

We piled in the coach and, just ten minutes later, we arrived at the players’ entrance (visitors).

The team went into the rather plain changing room to get ready and I was shown the ladies’ loo. Not ideal, but the best the club could do at short notice, evidently. Luckily, the door was lockable so I did just that and got changed and was soon ready. My flow as they say in polite society was rather heavy now and I was cramping a bit so I put in a fresh ‘one,’ had a couple of paracetamol and smiled at myself bravely in the mirror. If this had happened to a man, they wouldn’t have got out of bed today, but we women were made of sterner stuff!

There I was doing it again! Typecasting men and lumping them all together. I must stop doing that.

After giving the men enough time to get their very manly shiny polyester shorts and shirts on, I knocked on the door and entered. I don’t know why I was so shy; up until a little while ago, I wouldn’t have swooned at the sight of a willie!

The boss was in there and smiled as I walked in. I was aware somehow that my breasts were getting the usual attention and I wasn’t pleased, but ignored it. I nearly started staring at peoples bums, but I didn’t want to lower myself to their level. I just smiled sweetly and sat down, pulling up my football socks in a non-provocative manner.

‘Right, pay attention. I won’t add much tae whit I said in the hotel, but remember, this is an important match fer both teams and I expect ye tae get oot there and mash ’em. Now off ye go and try to make me proud o’ ye.’

Walking out onto the pitch, I was very aware how close the fans were to the pitch side. Whitehaven had risen swiftly up the leagues and just six years ago they were in the second division. Their facilities and ground reflected this, and in fact, a brand new stadium was being built on the edge of town. For now, it was a bit intimidating out there. Luckily we had plenty of fans who had made the two hundred mile trip so we weren’t short of support. Also, maybe it was me, but there seemed to be an awful lot of girls, even more than usual amongst our fans–that was nice.

Several of the Whitehaven players had shaken my hand before we went out on the pitch and that was nice and it took away a bit of the sour taste that I’d had following my previous match.

The match got underway on time. For once the sky was blue and there weren’t any signs of bad weather on the way. It was quite cold, but I knew that I would soon warm up.

We set off at a furious pace and I was soon in the thick of it, but not in a good way. I was adjudged to have fouled Samuelsson, their full back. That was a laugh because I never even touched him! I was given a yellow card to my disbelief–my first one ever.

Of course, to add insult to injury, Tranter, one of their forwards managed to bend the ball around our wall and scored in off the post.

GOAL!

The crowd went wild and we went back to the centre circle feeling well aggrieved at the injustice of it all.

The game restarted and I was determined to try to make up for the referee’s poor decision. I was soon given the ball out on the wing and passed it to Ogsood, then I ran into space and received the ball back. I don’t know where my team-mates were, probably on a tea break, because there wasn’t anyone for me to pass to. Afterwards they said I was haring down the pitch at such a rate that no one could catch me; my feeling is that they were a lazy shower. Anyway, I had two Whitehaven players in front of me and coming towards me. I thought I was going to be the middle bit of a Susan sandwich, so I just stopped dead. They blundered on and collided with each other and I just flicked the ball over the pair who seemed to be having a cuddle and went for goal. The goalie, a big German from Berlin called Klaus came towards me and started waving his arms about. Now if he had come forward quicker he might have had a chance, but he didn’t, he stopped and I just put all my pent up fury at the ref’s decision into kicking the ball and it just shot into the net.

GOAL!

I was mobbed by the lads and the crowd went a bit silent, except up at the other end of the pitch where our loyal supporters made up for it by screaming their heads off.

To the sounds of ‘Suzie, Suzie’ coming from our end, we went back to the centre circle to restart in a better frame of mind than the last time.

The rest of the half was tense where neither side got a clear attempt at goal and we went in at half time with no addition to the score. I had to find the ladies’ loo to do some necessary things and just caught the last bit of the boss’s half time talk.

‘Use the bluiddy wings, ye cretins, that’s what they’re there fer. Ye need to try to get past the fu’ backs and get the ba’ in the box. Ye’re no’ gonna score unless the damn ball is in the box. Ye’re the greatest team on the planet but ye’re playin like Muppets; noo get oot there and show me that ye can play!’

With those encouraging words ringing in our ears, we went back on the pitch. The other team was already out and we quickly got into position to start play. I rubbed my tummy as I was still feeling a bit rough, but I couldn’t stop playing every month because of that.

The game restarted and it was soon end-to-end stuff. Whitehaven nearly scored twice and it was only a smart save from our keeper and a goal line clearance by Desmond Etoo that kept us in the game. For our part, we peppered their goal with shots only for us to rattle the woodwork or bring out athletic saves from their goalie. I even did an overhead scissor kick that looked a bit flash as the ball clipped the crossbar, but it didn’t result in a goal–just more tummy cramps.

After sixty minutes we brought on a couple of subs, Walter Indongo and supersub Dave Hastings. The changes gave us more impetus and Walter scored a cracking goal from a free kick just outside the area that had the giant German all a-floppin.’

GOAL!

We mobbed Walter and he was kissed and hugged by more than one player; who said boys don’t have a tender side?

After that, we battened down the hatches and weathered the storm. It was a close run thing because they scored in the ninety-third minute but–to the groans of the crowd–it was offside by what the Boss called a ba’-hair.

We had won!

On the coach home, I smiled to myself as I listened to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, lying down on the back seat with my hand on my tummy. The music was a bit sombre, but I certainly wasn’t!

To Be Continued...

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, making suggestions that I hadn't even thought of and pulling the story into shape.