by Alex Shearer
Visible on the island nearest to us was a huge gleaming structure, glistening in the sun.
‘What is it, Peggy? What’s it for?’
‘It’s a stadium,’ she said. ‘That’s what it is.’
‘But what’s it for? What do they do there?’
‘They play games.’
‘What kind of games?’
‘Games that people like to go and see.’
‘People go and see games? I thought you played games.’
‘You do. But some players get really good at games so people like to watch them playing.’
‘But what do they play? In a big place like that? What do they do? Alain, what do they play there?’
‘I don’t know, Martin. Football, probably, I would guess.’
‘Football? What’s football, Peggy?’
Alain straightened up from peering over the hull. He turned and looked at Martin with an expression of total disbelief on his face.
‘Are you serious?’ he said. ‘You cannot be serious.’
‘What?’ Martin said. ‘What’s the matter? Have I done something wrong?’
I met Peggy’s eyes. She just sighed and turned the wheel and we changed course for the island.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll go and look at it. But just look. And not for long. I suppose it’s all part of broadening the mind.’
‘And I do need a new toothbrush,’ Martin said.
So we headed in to Football Island (which is what I had christened it, whether that was its name or not – though it turned out to be right.) And it looked as if we had picked the right time too, for the jetty was busy, and the streets were teeming with people, and there was music and singing, and half of the population seemed to be dressed in red and the other half in blue.
And every single one of them appeared to be heading for that big stadium in the centre of the island.
‘Does that mean there’s a game on?’ Martin said, as we sailed into harbour.
‘Looks that way.’
‘Then we might be able to see it!’
We tied up and got off the boat and hurried to join the throng. But no sooner were we mingling with the excited crowds than I realised that everyone we saw was staring at us. We were walking among them like five sore thumbs. Everyone else was in red or in blue. We were the only ones without affiliation or visible loyalty, the only ones without a team.
17
game on
MARTIN BACK SPEAKING HERE:
Gemma said she just wanted to turn around and get out of the place as it was making her feel uncomfortable with all the crowds and everything, but I didn’t see why we always had to do what she wanted. I wanted to stay and look around, because it was amazing.
All the people. I’d never seen so many.
‘Where do they all come from, Peggy? All these people here?’
‘You’ll cover biology and reproduction at City Island.’
‘Is City Island as big as this?’
‘Bigger.’
‘With more people?’
She laughed.
‘Martin, this is just a drop in the sky.’
‘Well, I don’t like crowds,’ Gemma said.
‘Me neither,’ Alain agreed. ‘I like individuals. Not masses.’
‘I might go back to the boat.’
‘Oh don’t, Gemma – I mean, you can if you want …’ Peggy said. ‘But let’s look around. Just for a while. It’s an experience.’
Well, the crowds were everywhere, and all heading for the huge stadium, and it was impossible not to get swept along, like a piece of flotsam on the solar tide. The currents of rippling red and blue took us with them.
‘Hey, where’s your shirt, kid? Where’s your colours?’ someone called to us.
‘You’ve got to be visitors, right?’ someone else said. ‘Where you from?’
‘You come to see the game, have you?’ the first man asked. ‘Well, why wouldn’t you? Football Island’s famous across the whole system! People come from all over, huh?’
And they were all so proud of their island and so pleased with what went on there that I daren’t open my mouth to tell them that up until a short while ago I had never even heard of football, never mind Football Island. I didn’t want to sound like an ignoramus.
‘Pies, pies, get your pies!’
‘Hot drinks! Get your hot drinks here. Chilled ones in the freezer.’
‘Souvenir programmes!’
The swelling crowd swept us along past street traders and stalls. The traders were all dressed in team colours too, and the blue-shirted traders got blue-shirted customers, but not a single red one.
‘Armbands! Shirts! Coasters! Key rings! Pennants! Flags!’
‘Team pictures! All your team pictures!’
‘Signed photos of Genaldo! Guaranteed genuine!’
‘Who’s Genaldo, Peggy?’ I asked as we walked by. A man in a blue shirt overheard me and started to laugh.
‘Hey, you hear that? Did you hear that? The kid don’t know who Genaldo is! The kid ain’t heard of Genaldo!’
And everyone around him within earshot – people in red shirts as well as blue – all began to laugh along with the man, and they looked at me until I was as red as the red shirts, and some of them even pointed me out to their own kids, and said, ‘How’s that for ignorant? The boy doesn’t know Genaldo!’
Then somebody turned to Peggy and said, ‘Hey, granny – you in charge of these kids here? Well, you’re not doing right by them. You want to see they get clued up. Fancy not knowing who Genaldo is. Shameful.’
‘Yeah, fancy not knowing that,’ someone in a red shirt agreed. ‘That’d be like asking who Stellingham is. That’d be unbelievable.’
‘Who is Stellingham?’ I said. ‘I don’t know him either.’
Whereupon the man let out a long, low whistle.
‘My, oh my. Have we got some ignorance here? Are these kids growing up stupid or what?’
‘The world’s bigger than your little island and what goes on in it, my friend,’ Peggy told him. ‘Maybe you ought to teach your own kids something along those lines.’
But the man was already gone, hurrying to join his friends, who had started up singing a chant of some kind as they moved on towards the stadium.
‘Reds! Reds! Alive or dead! Reds are winners! Reds! Reds!’
No sooner had their voices died on the air than the blue-shirted supporters around them picked up a chant of their own.
‘Blues are best! Blues are best! Blues are better than all the rest!’
And on they all went, and on we followed. They were all chanting at once now, each group of supporters trying to drown out the others, but unable to. It was as if exactly one half of the island supported the reds and the other half didn’t.
‘Peggy, what makes you a red supporter rather than a blue one?’
Before she could answer me, another passer-by butted in.
‘Hey, don’t you people know nothing? Don’t everyone know that the port side of Football Island is red jerseys and starboard side’s blue? Don’t the whole world know that? Cheeses! Where you been keeping the kid all these years?’
Peggy just kept her temper, shook her head and I heard her mutter, ‘No point in arguing with the ignorant. Especially the ones who think they know something.’
The passer-by was a woman this time. She had on a blue shirt, which looked a couple of sizes too small.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘So does that mean if you move from one part of the island to another you have to change your team?’
She looked shocked.
‘Whoever would do a thing like that, boy?’ she said. ‘Why, that would be turncoat treachery of the worst kind. You’d be shunned by your own family to do a thing like that. I never heard of such a suggestion. Who’s been putting notions like that in your mind? They should wash their mouths out. And why aren’t you wearing your shirt?’
‘Don’t have one. We’re just visiting.’
&nbs
p; ‘Visiting or not, you should still be dressed properly. Or it’s disrespectful.’
At that she strode off, kind of haughtily, like she’d somehow snatched the moral high ground away from right under our feet and was now marching away with it, leaving us without anything solid to stand on.
‘Why are they all so … fired up, Peggy?’ Gemma said.
‘You’d have to live here to know.’
‘But I mean – if all it depends on is which side of the island you’re born – that’s just so random, an accident of birth, right? I mean, if you’d been born a kilometre away, you’d support the reds instead of the blues. Or vice versa. Why are you supposed to care so much, all over a little bit of geography?’
‘Maybe not everyone does. Perhaps they just put their shirts on and go along with it for an easy ride.’
‘Get your hats! Get your scarves! Get your banners now! All your badges! Get your rosettes!’
The current of people was still bearing us along and the high walls of the stadium were getting nearer.
‘Peggy, I want to go back,’ Angelica said. ‘I don’t like all the people.’
‘Just take my hand. I don’t think we can turn back now, darlin’.’
And she was right. There was no way we could have turned back to the boat. There were thousands of people pressing us on. Soon the turnstiles were visible ahead. People were forming into two lines to go in – Reds to the left, Blues to the right.
‘Hey, you there. You people. You strangers!’
A man in uniform called us over.
‘Here! Step out of the crowd!’
He beckoned us aside to where he stood, sheltered by a pillar.
‘Where you going, friends?’ he said.
‘We wanted to see the game,’ I said. ‘We’ve never seen one. We want to go inside.’
‘Not dressed like that you’re not,’ the official said. ‘It’s Blues one end, Reds the other. Where do you think you’re going to sit?’
‘Can’t we sit in the middle?’ Peggy asked.
‘Middle? There is no middle. There’s no halfway or sitting on the fence here. It’s Reds or it’s Blues. You’ve got to choose a side. You can’t go in there with no colours. There’d be outrage – could start a riot.’
‘Then … Blues –’
‘Reds, Peggy!’
‘Does it matter, Martin?’
‘Just thought red looked nicer.’
‘Red, blue, I don’t mind.’
‘Then you need to get your shirts on.’
‘We don’t have shirts.’
‘Follow me.’
He led us towards some lockers at the back of the pillars.
‘Keep them here for visitors,’ he said. ‘Courtesy of the city. There you go. Bring them back, would you, when the game’s over?’
He handed us five musty-smelling red football shirts.
‘You get many visitors?’ Peggy said.
‘A few. Not so many. But then, we’re a long way from the next football-playing islands. It’s a two-week journey at the very least. We don’t get many other teams coming.’
‘So who do you play?’ Peggy said.
The official looked puzzled.
‘Who do you think? Reds play Blues. Blues play Reds.’
‘What, every week?’
‘Twice a week. Wednesday nights. Saturday afternoons.’
‘They play each other? Over and over?’
‘Hey, it’s Football Island, lady. It’s how we do things. If you don’t like it here –’
‘No,’ Peggy said, ‘we love the place. Just trying to find out a little more about it. How much are the tickets?’
The official looked perplexed once more.
‘How much? It’s free. You just go in. It’s all paid in the taxes. Why, it’s a citizen’s civic duty to attend all matches.’
Peggy pulled her football shirt on over her head. She looked kind of funny, an old lady in a football shirt. But then I must have looked funny too, as my shirt was so big it was down to my knees.
‘Tell me,’ she said to the official. ‘Do you have any religions on this island?’
The man narrowed his eyes.
‘We have football, lady,’ he said. ‘That’s what we have. We have football and we have the finest stadium this side of the Main Drift and the whole Southern Sky Line.’
‘It’s certainly something,’ Peggy agreed, looking up at the high walls and the statues of, no doubt, famous players, and a great sculpture of a football perched on a plinth. ‘It reminds me of a cathedral –’
‘It’s famous throughout the whole sky world,’ the official said proudly. Though up to a short while ago, I’d never heard of the place.
‘OK. Just follow the other folk in the red jerseys there,’ the official directed us. ‘You’ll find a seat. Plenty of room for everyone. And enjoy the game.’
‘Thanks. We will,’ Peggy said. ‘Or we’ll try, anyway,’ she added, when the man could no longer hear her.
So in we went, following the stream of red shirts to the left and then up into the banked stands of the stadium. It was immense, a great theatre of a place, with a band on the pitch playing music and cheerleaders twirling pom-poms and throwing batons into the air, while vendors prowled around selling drinks and snacks and programmes and souvenirs. We found seats and sat down. None of them were reserved. You just took any ones that were free. No matter where you sat the view would have been terrific.
Up on a huge scoreboard were some facts and figures.
THIS SEASON’S RESULTS TO DATE:
BLUES: 6 WINS REDS: 6 WINS
DRAWS: 6 DRAWS
I nudged Alain, who was next to me.
‘Alain – you see that? All the results are exactly the same. They’re neck and neck for everything. I bet that doesn’t happen often, huh?’
But he just looked at me like I was pathetic.
But how was I to know?
The stadium filled and the partisan chanting and singing and flag-waving began. Before I knew it, I was up on my feet too, and waving a flag someone had given me, and I was chanting along with all the other Reds supporters.
It was great. I mean, I didn’t know what it was all about exactly, but just standing up shouting and waving your flag was tremendous. Angelica was on her feet too. But Peggy and Gemma and Alain just sat there, and they even looked a bit glum. I mean, I felt that they were letting the side down a bit, to be honest, and they could at least have tried harder and demonstrated where their loyalties lay.
Then the Blues started singing, across on the other side of the stadium. So we started chanting again and we drowned them out. And our cheerleaders, down at the front, were going wild.
And then the teams came on, running out from different entrances but at exactly the same time. And other chants went up. The Blues began it.
‘Genaldo! Genaldo! One in the net. One in the net.’
While the people in red around us sang: ‘Stellingham! Stellingham! Does what no other striker can!’
And then the game seemed about to start.
Before it did, a singer appeared down on the pitch, and the band struck up a kind of anthem, and the players bowed their heads, and everyone in the stadium stood up, both Reds and Blues, and they all sang a song about what a great place their island was, and how lucky they were to live there.
And then the band and the singer left the pitch, and the teams took their positions, and the referee tossed a coin, and then the captain of the Reds took a short run up and kicked the ball, and the game was under way.
18
two halves
MARTIN STILL RECOLLECTING THE FACTS:
Well, the noise was unbelievable. The shouting, the cheering, the klaxon horns, the rattles, the chants, the stomping, the stamping, the jeers, the cat-calls. It was totally awesome. Tides of red and blue rippled in waves. Up on their feet and back down again. Some of the crowd even spelled out the word BLUES with their blue caps. Then on our side the crowd spelle
d out REDS with their flags.
And down on the pitch the game went on like wildfire, with the players tackling and running, or falling down in apparent agony and with terrible injuries, only to be tended to by men running onto the pitch with sponges and buckets, to help the hurt players back to their feet, and soon they were running about as good as ever.
There were outrageous fouls and tackles and the crowd shouted their disapproval until the referee awarded a penalty. (The Blues were far dirtier players than our team.) And then there was all the tension and excitement of the penalty shot. And before you knew it, we’d scored one, us, the Reds. And everything just erupted then, and had there been a top to the stadium it would have blown right off and gone sailing away.
The Blues were pretty quiet when that happened and they looked sick as sky-dogs at the fact that we were one up and they were one down. And then the referee blew his whistle and it was half-time before you knew it, and I couldn’t believe the game was half-over already, the match had just gone so fast. Gemma was sitting there yawning. She must have been tired.
‘It’s great,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it? Aren’t you enjoying it? I think we’re going to win today, you know. Shall we get some snacks?’
But before I could persuade Peggy to buy some, a man sitting behind us, who must have overheard what I said, snorted with derision and said, ‘Don’t be stupid, kid. We’re not going to win today. Where are you from, boy? Planet Stupid? We won the last game. So it’s the Blues’ turn to win today, then it’s a draw the next time, so we aren’t due to win until the game after next. Don’t you know the basics? I mean, have some sense, kid, will you? Try and keep up.’
I went a bit cold. If what he was saying was right, that meant it was all a fix, a show. It wasn’t a real game at all, just people pretending. I mean, if the outcome was a foregone conclusion …
‘But that’s not fair,’ I said to the man. ‘That means it’s all … fixed.’
The man looked at the five of us in our ill-fitting shirts.
‘Who are you? You all out-of-towners or something?’
‘Something like that,’ Peggy said. ‘Out of somewhere.’