Support Play

by Ella Jackson

  "That sucks." She made a face, and sipped her champagne. "Okay, okay, I'm not talking about propositioning one of these guys right off the bat. All I'm saying is if they turn out to be okay, then you should let nature take its course. No one I mean?" Again the suggestive eyebrow waggle. She was beginning to look like Groucho Marx at this point, but she meant well.

  "Point taken. Anyway, I need to look over these profiles, and come up with some questions for them. Problem is, how do you write something that isn't just the usual sports journalism crap? I mean, it's not like these guys really have much of an inner life, is it?" I picked up one of the profile sheets Jessie sent me. "I mean look at this guy. Ricardo Cortez."

  Nicole glanced t it and whistled "Oh yes, baby. I must say if he were to come into my practice, I'd find it pretty hard to stick to my rules. No doubt about that. As far as an interesting subject for an article is concerned? Yeah, I agree with you. Pretty, but probably a total dead loss."

  I pushed them in her direction, and filled up my champagne glass again. "I mean, I'm sure they're all good guys, but… I'm struggling to find an angle here, you know?"

  She waved another one at me. "What about this guy, Will Dempsey? He's the captain, he's hot, he's British. What's not to like? Exotic foreign guy? Surely that is a story about how he came to the USA to start a new life, or or something like that."

  I looked doubtful. "Too obvious. He's the captain, and he's had a lot written about him already. Besides, I'm not sure if Britain counts as exotic and foreign."

  Nicole is undaunted. "Okay, this guy then. Man, he looks like a linebacker. He should be playing pro ball, not soccer." She pushes another one at me. "Dale Williams."

  I glanced over it. "Thing is, there's nothing there. I mean, he played college soccer, served in the Army briefly, got out, carried on playing. Got a contract. That's it. It doesn't say anything about his life. Not much to go on. What makes him interesting?"

  "What if…" She bit her bottom lip, staring out the window with her nose wrinkled. "What if that's the angle? That is maybe the question is, what makes an all-American guy like this devote his life to sport?" She shifted her attention back to me and pointed at the paper. "I know it's not much to go on, but maybe the real story about some of these guys is why they decided to become soccer players in the first place, instead of accountants, or truck drivers, or plumbers, or TV repairmen, or…" She tailed off.

  Just seeing the intent look in her eyes as she talked was enough to make me smile. "Okay, maybe there is something there. I mean, I could run through the list of them and see which ones wanted to talk, and which ones had something worth writing about, I guess."

  "Right." She sat up, and I grabbed hold of her glass again, thinking that she was going to start gesturing wildly one more time. "You could make it really different from normal sports pieces, right? Go behind their play and talk about everything in their lives. Except for sport." She sips her champagne again reflectively. "I mean, this is way out of my area, but I'd read something like that. Wouldn't you?"

  "Well, my editor always used to say it's not what you and I would read, it's what the audience would read. And I don't know who the audience of this is. Still, it's better than writing top 10 lists, that's for sure." I share out what remains of the champagne into two glasses. "Okay, I'll give it a try. Maybe trying to change the focus away from just the sport, and get people in Cheyenne interested in these guys as people. At least that means I won't have to learn much about soccer."

  "That's true," Nicole chuckled. "The idea of you devoting yourself to sport is kind of ridiculous."

  I shook my head, making a face. "Yeah, it's the last thing I'd want to do. If I get really stuck, I might need you to cause a scandal by flirting with one of these guys. At least then there'd be something to write about."

  "You mean, taking one for the team?" Nicole waved her glass at me. "That's quite something to ask, but I won't rule it out. For you, anything."

  Nicole was always the unattainable hot girl, the one that all the guys wanted a piece of. Half the time, I felt dowdy around her, but the other half, I was secretly glad I didn't have her lifestyle. Every time I saw her coming home at 5 a.m., heels in hand, or going out that same day, I wondered how she managed to do it. I needed to keep my head clear, if I wanted to be a reporter, and if I wanted to get a real job at a real paper. One day, I was going to move out of Cheyenne and hit the big time. I knew it didn't make a lot of sense for me to stay here any longer than I had to. But, for the moment I liked it and Nicole was a great housemate, so I didn't want to leave.

  I saw a light bulb go off on her head. "What if you go and watch one of their games?"

  I arched an eyebrow at her. "You mean with them all running around getting sweaty?"

  "Yeah. That's kind of what I was thinking."

  "I bet you were. You know in that situation, it's really hard to interview people, right? You seen post game interviews before, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "So, have you ever heard a post game interview where anyone has ever said anything even remotely interesting or meaningful?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Maybe you've got a point." She watches me for another minute, then pushes her hands through her hair. "I think maybe you just have to immerse yourself in their world, you know? Just go along and watch, and try to see what makes them tick. That's my advice. Anyway."

  I blow out a puff of air. "Yeah, you're right, and that is good advice. Thanks, babe. At least maybe they can explain to me the offside rule, or the offside trap or whatever it is. I dated a guy who played soccer in college, and he must have explained to me 20 times in a row. I mean, he was probably trying to help, but it never did much for me.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "So what are you going to wear? I mean, you need to be taken seriously by these guys, right? You can't turn up looking like a groupie."

  "Yeah, as if I was actually going to do that." I snarked at her. "Do I even have any groupie clothes?"

  "You can borrow some from me if you ever need them," she said, laughing. We'd shared so many stories of her misadventures when she came home after a night out, that we were more like sisters by now, and she was the closest thing I had to family here in Cheyenne. I don't think her clothes would fit me, but it was nice of her to offer. I doubt I would ever dare take her up on it, because even if they did, there was no way I could carry them off the way she did. I spent most of my time in jeans and comfortable sweatshirts when I wasn't in the office, while Nicole, when she wasn't wearing activewear or yoga pants, was always in a fitted dress and stilettos.

  "Besides," she leaned forward and looked at me, "you don't need to dress up to stand out, babe. You're really pretty and I'm sure you don't need to to be wrapped up in a tight dress all the time to look like it."

  I shook my head, smiling. "It's nice of you to say so, but it's not like I get to wear a tight dress hardly any time anyway. Did you know the last time I went out on a proper date?"

  "Yeah, wasn't that last week?"

  "I wouldn't have called that a proper date. He spent his whole time checking his phone – and when he wasn't checking his phone. He was talking about the stock investments. By the end of dinner I wanted to stab myself with my fork."

  "I mean, he was probably trying to impress you. You looked great, let's face it. But he still a douche." Her tone was apologetic. "Look, I don't think these soccer guys are going to be any different, don't get me wrong. But, hey, at least they're pretty." She indicated the photos. "You must admit that."

  "Nope," I replied obstinately. "Okay, maybe some of them aren't so bad. But I have to be professional to a fault on this, trust me. I don't want any of these guys getting the wrong idea and thinking I'm some kind of soccer groupie."

  "Technically you're a wannabe soccer groupie. You're just trying to forget about that."

  I resisted the urge to kick her, and settled for sticking my tongue out. "You wish."

  I'd never been to a soccer game before, but I assume t
he highlight of the whole event for most girls was when the guys took their shirts off while celebrating a point, or a goal, or whatever it was. To say I was disinterested doesn't even begin to cover what I was feeling. "Why don't you come along with me?"

  Nicole shook her head, flopping back onto the couch and crossing her feet underneath. "Sorry, babe, I've got clients all day tomorrow. Otherwise, I'd love to come, I really would. It'd be fun. Besides, you can come back and tell me all about it, okay?"

  "Okay, it's a deal. Just don't be surprised if I come back regretting saying yes to this in the first place." From what I'd seen so far, it was going to be no easy task to make this into an article anybody would want to read. The Thunderbirds had an impressive PR machine for a local team, but that was the problem. Everyone knew it was PR, and although Jessie and I were friends, I knew that she watched her players like a hawk. I didn't want to do anything to upset her, but I also wanted to get a real story, not a played piece of advertising. D

  on't get me wrong, I wasn't looking to dig up dirt, but my job was to write things that people wanted to read, not what the subject wanted me to say. That was the only way I was going to get to write for a big newspaper in New York or Boston or Los Angeles, or anywhere else.

  "Keisha, you're a reporter, and a damn good one. That's part of who you are. You can't be anything else, and I know you'll come up with something good.

  "Thanks, babe. I love you too," I stood up and stretched. "Now, what about helping me pick out an outfit? I want to look professional, businesslike – but still sexy."

  Nicole clapped her hands together with glee, and bounced up next to me. "You're on. These boys are not gonna know what hit them."

  Four

  Dale

  It had been exactly one week since we won our opening game, and I'd been taking it easy this week, only doing light training, and doing a lot of walking and swimming in the park. I knew it was important to take down time in between matches, and team management were pretty strict on making sure that we didn't over-train. Although our training hours were steady, every now and then we'd have to work pretty damn hard. Getting psyched up for each game, game after game week after week was exhausting in itself, and after 10 years of pro soccer I knew how important it was to wind down.

  Whenever it looked like we were gonna work too hard, though, Jessie was always there to pop up and remind us that the season was a marathon, not a sprint, and show us a hard data about how we needed to keep playing, and training, and posting numbers all season long. We were damn lucky to have her, and we made sure that she knew it.

  With a smile on my face, I parked my car outside our training facility, switched off the engine and opened the door. It was a sunny afternoon, and I was looking forward to getting back into training. Today, we had a meeting to plan for the next match. The whole team would be there, and it was time for us to discuss our strategy and map out the next seven days before the game.

  I was looking forward to getting back to work in the gym, and on the field, still a little sore from the last match, but grateful for the chance to play again. The life of a pro soccer player was never guaranteed; you never knew when you were going to get an injury that would end your career. From now on, I knew I was just going to take each game as it came, and be thankful for the fact I could play the sport. I loved.

  I slammed my door, and headed for the front of the training facility. Passing underneath the big Thunderbirds banner, I saw Ricky and Will standing chatting.

  "Hey, bro!" Ricky's face creased in a smile, and he reached out a hand. We classed hands, and he winked at me. "Great night the other night, right?"

  Next to him, Will, our captain, rolled his eyes. "What happened this time?"

  I waved my hands defensively. "Nothing. Nothing happened, unless you count Ricky going off with yet another soccer groupie. I wouldn't count that if I were you."

  Will spun to face Ricky, who had the grace to look sheepish. "Okay, Cortez, confess. Is there anything that is going to be on social media tomorrow that I have to explain? The correct answer at this point is..."

  Ricky looked as innocent as he could, which wasn't saying much. "No, captain." He put both hands up for extra emphasis. "I swear it. I mean, we just went off that night and…" He tailed off.

  "Consenting adults, right?"

  Ricky nodded vigourously. "Yeah, that's it. Consenting adults."

  Will sighed, and looked doubtful. "At least you didn't get into any more fights with teammates." He turned back to me. "And what about you?."

  "I went straight home, man. Two beers, and that was it. Some photos with fans, you know the usual stuff. But otherwise pretty quiet."

  "Okay, okay. It sounds like we are getting better at this weekend thing."

  Since he'd taken over as captain, Will had impressed upon us the importance of being on good behaviour while we were out socialising. Gradually, the guys had come around to his way of thinking.

  Sure, there had been some complaining in the beginning, and he'd had to separate a few guys from over-ambitious girls, who wanted a little more than just a fling for the night, but through perseverance and strength of will, he'd gotten the whole team behind him.

  Now, we looked out for each other off the pitch as much as on.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned around to see Jessie, our analyst standing behind me, hands on hips.

  "Hey, Dale. Got a moment?" Jessie's blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and as always, she had a clipboard in one hand and her laptop tucked under her other arm. Wherever we were, she was no more than a step behind, taking notes.

  Actually, scratch that – I hope she wasn't taking notes on Saturday night. I smiled, happy to see her.

  "For you, anytime. What's up?" We all owed Jessie a lot, and we all knew she could and should be somewhere working for a high-powered pro team, maybe a football team, or in a finance job in New York. But for some reason, she decided to be here in Cheyenne, doing analysis work for the Thunderbirds.

  She flipped open her laptop, balancing it on one hand, and tapped on it for a minute. "I've got a journalist coming, wanting to write a piece about the team. She's suggested that she meets a few of the players and interviews them. And I thought you – she fixed me significantly with her blue eyes – would be ideal."

  "Me?" I shook my head. "You know I'm not the most talkative guy, right? What about Cortez here?" I pointed one finger at Ricky, who was fiddling with his phone.

  "What?" He was evidently not paying attention, and thought that he was in trouble again. "I didn't do it, I swear."

  I smacked him on the shoulder with one hand. "Quiet, foo'."

  Jessie shook her head. "Too obvious. The whole point of this kind of peace is about getting inside the Thunderbirds. It's about showing people that pro athletes are more than just a pretty face. Sure, she could write something about the glamorous life of a pro athlete, but that's been done a thousand times before, and it doesn't help with our family friendly marketing. We want something a little more subtle. A little more nuanced."

  Ricky looked hurt. "I'm…nuanced. I think."

  Nobody replied to that, but I'm still not happy with the idea of having a reporter following me around. "Why me? I mean, it's not like I have anything to talk about, right? I train, I play, I go home to my house. At pretty much it, Jess. I don't exactly trade on being an exciting guy."

  Jessie frowned, and indicated Will. "Thing is, we need something that's going to sell the team to moms and dads. Ricky and his antics can't do that."

  "Antics?" Again the hurt look. I tried not to smile.

  "I get that, but surely sending them to sleep isn't going to help much either?" Maybe I was exaggerating a bit about my life, but I couldn't think of anything worse than having a reporter poking their nose into my business, asking me questions, following me around.

  "I bet you're a lot more interesting than you give yourself credit, Dale. I bet you've got… Hidden depths." Will was smiling broadly when he said this,
but that didn't help very much. "Think of this as being part of your contribution to teambuilding for the week."

  Teambuilding. Yeah. Great. I wasn't happy about the idea, but from the look on Jessie's face, objecting wasn't going to get me out of it. I sighed, and shrugged my shoulders. "Okay, whatever you say. Just don't blame me if it turns out to be the most boring news story ever written."

  "I believe in you, buddy." Will's broad smile somehow managed to annoy me for once.

  "You owe me for this," I grumbled. "Oh, great, captain."

  Jessie patted me on the arm. "Great! I think you might even enjoy this – who knows?"

  My expression suggested that I found it unlikely I would enjoy it, but I tried to see the bright side.

  "In fact," Jessie continued, "there she is now. Hey, Keisha!"

  I turned and spotted a tall, chocolate-haired beauty standing not far behind us. Her hands were on her hips, and she was taking in our conversation with a measured expression on her face.

  Damn, she was hot. I tried to stop my eyes glazing over, and forced my features into what I thought was a reasonably professional expression. To the right of me. I felt Ricky stiffen, and resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

  Jessie tapped something on her laptop, and closed it, walking towards the girl. "Guys, this is Keisha, Keisha, these are Dale Williams and Ricky Cortez of the Thunderbirds. Will I think you've met."

  "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Keisha's voice was low, and sexy, reminding me of…I pushed the thought to the back of my head and reached out my hand. "Good to meet you, Keisha. Dale Williams."

  "And I, sweetheart," Ricky practically smarmed, "am Ricky Cortez. Maybe you've heard of me."

  She looked him up and down, and shook her head definitively. "I'm sorry, Mr Cortez. I can't say I have." Before he could respond, she turned to me, and leaned forward. I tried very hard not to look down her top, and almost succeeded.

  "Mr Williams?"

  "Please, call me Dale." It was the least I can do, I said to myself, although the way she said Mr Williams at me thinking whole lot of very unsportsmanlike thoughts.