by Paul Cude
Currently feeling more than a little starved of oxygen because of the amount of running he was doing, Peter's brain felt very much like his body, as though it were wading through treacle. Along with the rest of the team however, he was determined to get the goal back. It wasn't so much that he minded losing; for him it was more about the manner you lost or won. Also, their opponents, while pretty good, were very dirty, with lots of things going on off the ball: stepping on toes during set pieces; following through unnecessarily at times with their sticks; the odd elbow or stick in the ribs, particularly against the younger players. All of this made him angry, and determined to address the situation in the only way he knew how... by winning!
* * *
Over on the lacrosse pitch, it was a totally different matter. As a spectacle, the game had long since been over even though the allotted time was not. Salisbridge ladies were now 9-0 up, with their leader and talisman determined to reach double figures. Despite a small part of her still pondering her emotional outburst, she was on fire (ironic really) playing like a demon, her skills sublime and there for all to see. If Peter, Tank or Flash had been watching, they'd all have had serious reservations as to whether or not she'd been dipping into her dragon abilities... but not so! That's how well she was performing. Not only that, but she would never cheat; her sport meant too much to her. What she was doing on the pitch was pure, unassailable, raw talent, combined with natural ability and just a love of her pastime. It was almost as if she were having a perfect match, if such a thing were possible. Most sportsmen or women have perfect moments... instances they remember forever: scoring a superb goal, making a wonderful save, performing an amazing tackle, block, nutmeg, or just some kind of mazy, dribbling run, but today was Richie's day in just about everything she did. All that she did came off with spectacular results. It was a joy to watch or be a part of, unless of course you were one of the opposition.
* * *
Tank was done, his normally cool, calm, disposition having evaporated entirely, and was just out there now to teach the giant, ignorant, dope of a man mountain a lesson. Up until a few seconds ago, he hadn't been sure of how to do such a thing, not without being sent off in disgrace or worse. But as he'd stood in the line-out, it had hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew just what to do, and it would be nothing short of just desserts for his opponent.
Minutes later, the referee sounded his whistle for an infringement, and Tank had intentionally found himself standing next to the grumpy brick wall of a player who he intended to teach a lesson. Up until now, neither of them had said a word, they'd only locked eyes, particularly in the scrum. All that was about to change. Casually sidling up to the player, Tank, pretending to look in a totally different direction, trod down on the player's left boot with all his might, continuing walking as the player let out an undignified yelp of pain. Striding after Tank, the hulk of a player spun him around and barked in a low, threatening voice at him, asking him what he thought he was doing. Holding out his arms wide in surprise, Tank feigned complete ignorance of what he'd done. Electing to put his face an inch or so away from Tank's, the man mountain growled an insult at the young dragon through his cloying breath, hoping to intimidate him. But to the player's surprise, Tank produced his biggest and best smile, before whispering under his breath,
"If that's the best you can do in the scrum sonny, they should replace you with a young child. I've known toddlers that can throw punches harder than that!"
Turning the most fabulous shade of scarlet, with steam rising from his head and ears, Tank's opponent had a face that made him look like the angriest man on the planet. For the merest instant, a flicker of dread raced through the young dragon, but that was all. Knowing full well his rough and ready dragon body would protect him from almost anything, he had nothing to fear... not from this human anyway. Grabbing the collars of Tank's shirt, the huge angry player lifted him physically off the ground... one of the most impressive feats on any of the pitches at the club during the whole day. By now, almost everybody on or around the pitch was aware of what was happening between the two players, with men from both sides piling in, pushing, shoving, shouting... swearing. It took all of three or four minutes for the referee to separate the teams and calm things down. All the time, the man mountain glared across at Tank, murder in his eyes.
It didn't take long for the next scrum to come along. Like a pair of star crossed lovers, Tank and his opponent only had eyes for each other as the players came together. Tank had been waiting for exactly this moment. Part of him was sorry for what he was about to do, feeling as though it were cheating. But he'd already made up his mind. This thug deserved everything he got, and besides, HE wouldn't actually be doing anything.
With the scrum locked, all of the players' heads were down, darkness engulfing them. Tank refused to look, instead concentrating on holding the pack together and inspiring the rest of his side. From above the panting and heaving of the pack, he could just make out the referee speaking, and then suddenly the ball was THERE! Bracing himself, he knew exactly what was coming. And come it did. There was only one difference this time: Tank had tapped into his well of dragon power, reinforcing his human shape, not shielding it, just reinforcing it. For a few moments his outer body was immovable, invincible, unbeatable. Abruptly, the punch hit with a staggering amount of force, so much so that he wouldn't have believed it had come from a human, had he not seen it himself. If it had made contact with another human, it would most certainly have shattered their cheekbone and left them with a very long stay in hospital. Tank's dragon abilities had shifted the balance and this time he wasn't the one suffering, it was the big fella, who, having just broken every bone in his hand, had stood up in the middle of the scrum, screaming and wailing like a new born baby.
Blowing his whistle because the scrum had broken up, the referee tried to find out what the problem was, but the man mountain was too far gone to be anything close to coherent. Players from both sides were mystified as to what had happened. Nobody had seen anything untoward; Tank had made sure of that with a sneaky, little known, distraction mantra from a small town in Southern Africa.
Looking on with satisfaction as the opponents' physio sprinted on to check out his injured player, Tank wasn't at all surprised to see the man take one look at the damaged hand, before leading him back off towards the changing rooms, mouthing the word "hospital" to the manager in the process. As the referee looked to restart the match, Tank could just make out the physio in the distance ask his player what on earth he'd done. Wrapping his arms around his teammate's shoulders, Tank sincerely hoped that the player in question had once and for all learnt his lesson.
* * *
Half an hour later it was all wrapped up. Richie's lacrosse team had handed out a crushing defeat, winning 14-0 in the end, the women delighted with their performance, their singing echoing throughout the changing rooms and across the pitches.
For Peter, the hockey hadn't been quite the success he'd hoped for, but the team had managed to fight their way back into the game and for a short time at the end, had looked better placed to go on and win it. But they finally had to settle for a share of the spoils at 1-1.
Despite Tank's run in with their opponents' best player and the confusion that ensued afterwards, Salisbridge were beaten 16-12, only the second time they'd lost all season, the players looking exhausted and demoralised as they trudged off towards the changing rooms and a well earned hot shower.
* * *
Being a Saturday afternoon in the league season for all the major winter sports, the bar area of the clubhouse was packed. Janice and three others were working non-stop to serve all the customers, standing two deep. As the lacrosse, hockey, rugby players and spectators all started to drift in, the bar became even busier along its entire fifty foot length. Drink after drink slid their way across the shiny wooden surface, most landing on mats, others being whisked away by a thirsty hand before making it that far. In proportion to the number of new arrivals, the
noise rose, with all of the tables taken, a queue for food orders and even the smallest of spaces all but filled by either individuals or teams; in all it was noisy, rowdy, crowded, slightly claustrophobic... but WONDERFUL!. There was banter, chit chat, Mickey taking, tactical discussion, game dissections, as well as the usual life, work, and relationship talk. It was BRILLIANT, and something the three friends found magically intoxicating, and an integral part of their deep love for all three of their respective sports.
Currently Peter, his hockey team and their opponents all sat around a group of tables near the main entrance, sharing some well deserved food, a jug of beer and lively conversation.
In comparison, Tank and the rugby teams all stood around the furthest part of the bar, just outside the double doors to the stairwell that led to the first floor. They too were sharing a laugh, some food, and significantly more than one jug of beer.
Slap bang in the middle of the clubhouse, making as much noise as both the rugby and the hockey men put together, gathered the lacrosse ladies, who by now were well onto the drinking games, with plenty of clapping, singing, shouting, and of course... drinking. All except for Richie, who despite being their leader and chief cohort, stood well back from the circle of players, nursing an entire pint of lime and soda, the alea just visible through the delicate red top she was wearing. For her not to be joining in was very unusual indeed.
Through a crowd of sweaty, heaving bodies, Peter caught Janice's eye (not literally... no ball games in the clubhouse) just as she was filling up a large glass with ice and a light coloured soft drink. On noticing her man, the bubbly blonde winked, instantly melting the hockey playing dragon's heart, causing his knees to go weak and that giddy, excited feeling to start kicking about in his stomach. Holding up five fingers on her left hand, she mouthed the words, "Five minutes," halfway across the bar. He nodded in reply, smitten. With that, a large hand came down firmly in the middle part of his back, forcing him to spill a small part of his drink on the already stained and sticky carpet.
"Alright Pete?" asked the team captain, Andy.
"Ahhh... fine thanks," he replied.
"It's a hot one you've got there my friend," slurred the second team captain, motioning in Janice's direction, with his half finished pint of lager.
Feeling his temperature rapidly rising, Peter started to blush.
"It's alright me old mate," slurred Andy once again, this time wrapping his free arm around the young hockey playing dragon's shoulders. "I've known for a while there was something going on between the two of you, but don't worry," announced Andy, really loudly, raising his finger to his lips in an attempt to indicate quiet, following it with a long 'shuuuush,' sound, "I'm almost certainly the most discreet person I know and promise not to tell another soul." With that, he staggered off in the direction of another teammate, Peter relieved to see him go. But before he'd got two paces, he turned back towards the young dragon, a puzzled look etched across his face.
"Terrible thing about the sports club chairman, what with him losing it and all that."
Looking on quizzically, not at all sure what his captain was talking about, before he could ask for some details, Andy turned and continued on his drunken journey, leaving Peter shaking his head, once again wondering what the attraction of alcohol really was.
Mind focused on Janice and the last part of that very weird conversation with Andy, Peter scanned the busy bar, almost instantly finding Richie with his gaze. Watching her for a few seconds in awe of her sheer beauty and the radiance that she exuded, it struck him as odd that she was standing so far back from the rest of her team. Perhaps they'd lost, was his first thought. But that certainly didn't fit in with how the rest of the team were acting. Concern for his friend and an inquisitive nature got the better of him, so he snaked his way through the myriad of bodies, tables and chairs, through the ear splitting laughter and the noise of the football results on the giant television screens. Stalking up behind her, he gently put a soft hand on her exposed shoulder. Surprisingly, she nearly dropped her drink, something of a turnaround particularly given the normal course of events.
"Oh Pete, you startled me," she exclaimed, turning round.
"Sorry Rich. Not my intention."
"That's alright," she replied. "I was caught up in my own mind... daydreaming I suppose. So it serves me right."
Feeling a little awkward, he'd never heard his friend talk like this before. Deciding to change the subject, he turned to one he knew she'd be much happier talking about.
"How was your match today? Did you win?" he asked, having to raise his voice over the din the rest of the lacrosse team were making.
Without raising even a hint of a smile, something Peter found odd, Richie replied,
"It was okay. We won 14-0."
"Wow... 14-0! That's some score Rich. How many did you get? One, two?" he joked, trying to get a smile out of his friend.
"I think it was nine in the end," she ventured, glancing over his shoulder towards the main entrance.
"Nice!" he stated, impressed. Just about to ask, as a joke, if she'd been using her SPECIAL abilities, he followed her gaze across the crowded room to... Tim, her so called ex-boyfriend, who'd just walked through the main doors with the rest of his hockey team, having no doubt just returned from an away game.
"You two have split up... haven't you?" he asked, his voice taking a more serious tone.
Richie stepped right up to him, a near snarl carved into her freckly face.
"Yes, we have, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! And don't let that fact bother you at all when you're with your cute little barmaid over there," she uttered sarcastically.
People close by had all started to look in their direction. Once again, he started to blush.
"Do as I say, not as I do," she commented, purposefully bumping into him as she stormed past, heading straight for the exit.
With a great many people staring at him, he stuck out like a sore thumb, that is until his knight in shining armour turned up and saved him... JANICE! Tucking one of her slender arms around his waist, she guided him off into a quiet corner. He was so relieved.
Once there, and with nobody paying them any attention at all, she leant up and gave him a lasting kiss, right on the mouth. Most of his worries vanished instantly. Deep down though, he was still troubled by Richie's actions. It was all so unlike her. Splitting up with Tim, if indeed that's what had happened, seemed to have had a profound effect on her, more so than he would ever have thought. Vowing to speak to Tank about it later on in the evening, Janice breaking off the kiss brought him sharply back to the present, and the beaming face that currently smiled up at him. Sitting down, she asked him about the hockey, pretending of course not to have seen any of it. Playing along, he tried to convey some of the match to her, in the most interesting way possible. It was then that he asked how her day had gone. Starting off with some of the mundane stuff, she then recounted the episode with the chairman, which caught his attention, as Andy had mentioned it earlier, albeit in a drunken ramble. Janice explained about the chairman's meltdown in front of everybody, going on to tell Peter about getting the key to the Astroturf from his office earlier that day. For his part, he listened intently, something inside him screaming out that it was important. Nodding in all the right places, wondering what on earth had got into the chairman, all of a sudden Janice mentioned the dark black box and all of the chairman's fuss around it. But what really got his attention was when she described the metal that she'd glimpsed momentarily inside the box. Her short description of how the metal appeared to shimmer and phase, with just a hint of rainbow colours, started alarm bells ringing deep inside Peter's head. Straight away he closed his eyes, reaching out to the floor above him, searching for anything untoward. Nothing. But he was unconvinced.
"When the chairman had his little... 'moment' in front of everybody," he asked, calmly, "was he carrying anything? Did he have that black box with him?"
Janice thought back, before replying.
A helpless feeling like he'd never felt before spread out from his gut, threatening to engulf him, given the chairman's known association with the evil dragon Manson's human persona. Janice could see the look of worry running across his usually cheerful face.
"What is it?" she whispered.
Thinking carefully about his response, he wondered what he should tell her. That he thought something odd might be going on because the chairman had something to do with a wanted criminal, who was in fact a dragon? And that the metal she'd caught a glimpse of is practically priceless in the underground world inhabited by millions of dragons, as well as potentially being lethal in the wrong hands?
Staring out of the window for what seemed like a small ice age, he tried to come up with a course of action, as the panic and tension inside him threatened to overwhelm him. Through the window, he looked directly out at the Astroturf he'd played on earlier, but instead of happy thoughts about hockey, all that came to him were the memories of the bonfire night when Manson had come within a whisker of killing him... the pain, the humiliation, the feelings of helplessness, knowing his friends were nearby but that he couldn't help them, and they couldn't help him.
Although he'd turned away from her, she could see something was desperately wrong. Perspiration trickled down the side of his neck, his breathing had become heavier and his face had taken on a pale and drawn appearance. The mere mention of the black box and the strange metal inside it had set the change in motion, so she decided to give him space and let him tell her in his own time, if indeed he wanted to. Wrapping her right arm around him, she snuggled up, joining him in gazing out of the window.
Her arm snaking around his waist and her head tucked neatly into his chest, slowed his heart considerably. Up until then, it had been racing full pelt at the thought of all the bad things that could be going on. But still that nagging sensation inside him hadn't gone away. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. But what to do? That was the question. And then his eye caught the slightest movement in the reflection of the glass. It was a strapping rugby player, halfway across the bar, blazer off, shirt and tie on, being cheered on to drink a pint of some horrible concoction down in one. A smile warmed his face, as part of the answer to his problem came to him... TANK!