First Up

by Ella Jackson

  As I watched, the screen turned to a review of the Thunderbirds team. One by one, their names and faces flashed up on the screen, with their statistics.

  "And now," the announcer boomed, "the captain himself, Will Dempsey. Two-time winner of the FA Cup, and one of the English Premier League's sbest players last season. He's come here to start a dynasty, and we're glad to have him!"

  Will's face flashed on the screen and a cheer went up from the crowd.

  I looked around and realised that this was all thanks to him, at least in part. I couldn't wait to tell him what I'd seen, couldn't wait to see him after the game, and tell him about the crowd.

  I caught myself. I was getting way ahead of myself, and I didn't even know if he would want to see me again.

  I felt a hand cover mine, and looked over to see Jessie looking at me.

  "He'll be there. Don't you worry." She looked away quickly and went back to tapping on her laptop brow furrowed in concentration."

  I took a deep breath. Eight minutes to go.

  This was a definite first for me, that I wasn't about to miss out. All the other teams would be gunning for the Thunderbirds this season, trying to establish an early lead over them, dominate them. Will's job was to make sure that didn't happen.

  For the first time, I started to hear voices in the crowd. People were talking cheering laughing. I began to understand why sport was such a big part of people's lives, and way someone like Will would dedicate themselves to it.

  Suddenly a cheer went up from the crowd and the doors from the changing rooms sprang open. The music swelled, and the announcer came back on the mike.

  "And now… Your team, let's give it up for the Thunderbirds!"

  The crowd roared, and I saw Will, with Ricky and Joe behind him, lead the team out, jogging slowly, his breath visible in the cold evening air.

  And I was right there with him.

  I got to my feet as the opposing team started to jog out onto the field, watching the fans boo and scream as if this was the most important thing in their lives.

  This was it. Three minutes to go. Jessie was in the zone, hardly looking up watching the stream of data coming in on her laptop and tapping away. She would be sending messages to people down on the field relaying instructions, and making sure that the players had all the information they could.

  I tried to cheer, tried to focus on the game, but all I could look at was Will. He and the others were jogging slowly around the field, keeping themselves warm, so their muscles didn't stiffen with the cold.

  In the centre of the field, the referee checked his whistle and held onto the ball. As I watched, he beckoned Will and the opposing captain over to where he was. Their heads went together, and they talked in low tones.

  I felt like I was like watching a movie, like being part of an audience sitting in front of a cinema screen.

  All the hopes and dreams of these guys were being played out in front of me, and suddenly I saw this as being more than just stupid testosterone fuelled men chasing a ball.

  They had to win.

  The referee released the two captains, and they turned and jogged back to their teams, now on the field in their starting formations. The strikers came forward for the start of the game.

  30 seconds to go before kickoff.

  The referee checked his watch, brought the whistle up to his lips, and blew.

  The crowd roared, and Will took the ball and passed it smartly sideways. His wing launched an immediate attack, into the opposition territory.

  Next to me. Jessie cackled under her breath. "Just like we planned…"

  The Thunderbirds were hot on attack, and even I was impressed by their slickness and fluidity. Passes went from one player to the next player to the next, and they had three shots on goal in the first 20 minutes. Even the commentator admitted that they looked dangerous.

  The crowd were going wild, loving it, and the players were feeding off the energy. You could see it in their body language.

  Ricky was his usual arrogant self, and from this distance I could tell that he was shouting obscenities. Joe was quieter hovering near the back, always ready to snuff out in opposition attack, or to deliver a long ball up to the front. And Will…

  Will showed where all that money been spent on him. Every time the ball came near him, he seemed to be in the right place at the right time, he looked like he had more time than anyone else on the field, moving swiftly and effortlessly where other people were stumbling, and hacking, and rushing.

  I hadn't expected any different, but still. I guess I was learning things about soccer. After all.

  I looked from my-my friend beside me, to the players on the field, to the fans, all of them, smiling and cheering, and I finally got it.

  "You having a good time?" Jessie looks up from her furious tapping on her laptop and fixes me with one eye.

  I bit my lip. "Yeah. It's more exciting than I had expected." All that time I had spent watching practices was paying off, and I found I could see gaps in the field, and understand what was going to happen next.

  I'd have to tell Jessie what happened with Will, but I can't even imagine what's going to happen next. I'd be a fool to think he would want to see me again, but some part of me still hoped.

  "I'm glad to hear it. Maybe we'll make a soccer fan out of you yet, babe."

  I smiled as I leaned forward, and the Thunderbirds delivered another long ball. Will shot for the opposition goal, and the opposition goalie only just deflected it by his fingertips away from the net. The crowd roared.

  10 minutes to half time. The opposition had the ball and they were pushing forward. I looked for Will, and could see from his face, even at this distance that something was badly wrong.

  The Thunderbirds were caught out of position. There was a big gap on the right side of the field – I don't know who had made a mistake, but somebody had. The opposition winger kicked the ball ahead, evaded two Thunderbirds players and circled around towards the goal, his teammates coming up in support.

  I could see Joe sprinting back as fast as possible, one arm flung out, pointing to the other side, warning his team to be wary of the cross-ball.

  Beside me I could hear a steady stream of curses coming from Jessie, but the rhythm of her fingers on the keyboard didn't stop at all.

  I was completely out of my element. Despite myself, emotion surged inside me. How could I care so much about a stupid ballgame?

  The opposition winger was ready to shoot, but hesitated for a moment, and that fraction of a second was too long. Joe was on top of him, and in the ensuing scramble he delayed the shot long enough for the Thunderbirds' defence to scramble back. Someone – kicked the ball out of the field, and the referee's whistle blew.

  It was only then that I realised I'd been holding my breath for the last 30 seconds.

  Five minutes to play before halftime, and the opposition had a throw-in, far down in Thunderbirds' territory. Most of the Thunderbirds team were pulled back ready to defend against the throw-in but Will and one other player was still at the far end of the field, lonely specks on the green in the darkness.

  Jessie looked up briefly, frowning. "What's he doing?"

  The referee's whistle blew, and the ball arced into the sky, descending towards the players, jostling and shoving.

  Somehow, I don't know how, Ricky got his head to it and it went forward down the field. Another Thunderbirds player was on and then the ball was soaring toward Will far down the other end of the field. In a flash, the game had changed, and it was the opposition who had men out of position.

  Will was almost alone, dribbling the ball down the field with two defenders to beat. He looked as if he was slowing, then, as the first one came in he stopped dead put his foot on the ball, and the player went straight past. With a little kick, he carried on, the defeated player standing helpless hands on hips behind him.

  One more player to beat, and the goalie.

  The next player was smarter; he didn't try and
come straight in, wary of Will's speed. Instead, he jogged steadily backwards, keeping pace with Will, trying to force him towards the sideline.

  Will played along, acting like he was being pushed out of bounds, then suddenly feinted one direction and kicked in the other – and the defender took the bait. He lunged, and lunge the wrong way, and this was all Will needed. He was clear and bearing down on the goalie, who was bouncing on his toes and readying himself for the inevitable shot.

  The noise, even inside the coaches box was deafening. Most of the crowd were on their feet, cheering, screaming, waving their hands. Will paused, and the moment seem to hang in the air, then, without breaking stride, shot.

  The ball smacked into the back of the net a fraction of an inch from the goalie's despairing fingers.

  30 seconds to play.

  The opposition were desperate to carry on. They sprinted back to the halfway line, and kicked off hurriedly, that everything seemed to be going wrong for them. The Thunderbirds defence became an impenetrable wall. Passes went straight to their feet, and every time something went through, there was another player behind to back up. The clock ticked down slowly, second after agonising second, and I found myself gripping the chair hard.

  "Just keep it up, just keep it up, that's it…" Jessie's muttering beside me was oddly comforting. She had stopped tapping on the computer, and was looking up at the game with me, eyes fever-bright.

  The opposition tried one last despairing charge, and the ball went straight to Joe, who grinned and kicked it a long way down the field, almost out of bounds.

  Will retrieved it, and passed across the sidelines.

  The hooter went, and the Thunderbirds had won their inaugural game.

  Twenty-Five

  I played a lot of opening games, but this was different. For a start, we won, which was always the best outcome.

  For another thing, I was a captain, so I got to answer lots of questions from reporters at a time when I'd mostly rather be in the changing room with my feet up drinking a beer.

  But that comes with the territory, and in a way you got used to it. You answered all the questions with a mixture of polite appreciation for the opposition, and support for your teammates, and you probably talked about how it could have gone either way, and then said something non-specific about how you were looking forward to next week. Simple.

  But this time, the atmosphere felt different.

  Maybe it was the USA, maybe it was the fact it was a new team, maybe it was just the support we were getting from the crowd. Either way, people were celebrating the first game like we won the league. I didn't want us to get ahead of ourselves; we had a long road still in front of us for the season. But now, of all things, this was a time to celebrate we put in some hard work, over the last six weeks.

  We'd gone from being a team of hotdoggers, of individuals vying for glory, to being a team with a single purpose.

  And that was worth celebrating.

  On the soccer pitch, I could put all of my concerns behind me. My past, the years I'd trained, the hard work I'd done, my future, what was gonna happen at the end of my career – all of those things melted away and all I had to think about was the present moment. There was a freedom in that, a sense of bliss, that I couldn't get any other way.

  When I was out there, I felt like for the first and only time, I knew what I was supposed to be doing. When the final whistle blows, though, the rest of the world kinda comes back in and intrudes.

  I nodded towards Joe, and went back down to the changing room pushing my way through the crowd of reporters. There was a scheduled slot to speak to them a little way on, but for the moment I wanted to talk to our team on my own. As I walked towards the changing room, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. We started strong, and I knew that the role that I'd played was the right one.

  When I got into the room, team were already celebrating as if it was the final match of the season. Cans of beer were open and the number of empties on the floor was frankly alarming. Considering we'd only been off the field for five minutes.

  I made a mental note to talk to the team as a whole about post game celebrations in future; there is nothing wrong with a beer in the changing rooms after the game, but if we had cameras in here, it wasn't gonna look great for the sponsors if we were all trashed five minutes after the game.

  I chatted quietly with each of the guys, going from one to the other to the other, making sure each of them knew that I'd appreciated the effort they put it. There was time for a speech later; right now it was time to contact each person personally.

  They laughed and joked, and I could see in their easy body language with each other, and with me, that we were heading in the right direction.

  The door opened, and Jessie walked in, this time without knocking.

  "Hey!" Ricky stood in the centre of the room, beer can to his lips, barechested. "Do you mind?"

  Jessie's face was as clear as an un-muddied lake. "No, I don't mind. You?"

  Grumbling, Ricky retired one of the benches, closest to the supply of beer. I lifted my aching body off the bench and walked over to Jessie, throwing my arms around her and giving her a hug.

  "This is as much your victory is ours," I said in her area. "You deserve this just as much as we do."

  "Thanks, but you smell like… Well, you smell like a guy who's just been running his ass off for 90 minutes. Would it be okay if we save the hugs until after you'd had a shower?"

  I could tell from the tone in her voice she wasn't really serious, so I took my good time releasing her.

  One by one, the other guys came up and insisted on hugging her. She protested bitterly, but from the smile on her face. I could see how delighted she was to be accepted. She was a crucial part of the team now, and they all knew it.

  "You know, the someone else you might want to talk to." Her words made me stop and think.

  Did I?

  Before I had time to think too much about it, Jessie interrupted. "She's waiting outside, Will. She said she didn't want to take up your time, but… Well, I'll leave you to figure out the rest."

  I took a deep breath. Behind me, I heard a noise of joy, and the sound of opening beer cans. Pretty soon somebody was going to start singing. So maybe it was a good idea to go outside after all.

  In the corridor, people came and went a few clapped me on the back, and said there, congratulations, but for the most part the euphoria would fade as quickly as it had arrived. Tomorrow morning the training cycle would start again, and we'd be building to the next game.

  She stood at the end of the corridor, stick in hand. She looked smaller than I remember, but still just as beautiful. As I approached, she glanced up and gave me a smile.

  "You came."

  I nodded. "Thanks. Thanks for supporting me."

  She smiled again. "Hey, it was fun. I might even come to the next game. You never know."

  "No, I mean – thanks for supporting me all along the line. Even though I know you thought this was all BS, you saw what it meant to me, and so you supported it unconditionally. That was quite something, considering you hardly even knew me. Most people in your position wouldn't have done that, you know?"

  She was about to say something else, but I put my finger to her lips. "I'm glad you're here."

  "I'm really happy for you. You are incredible out there – you moved like…like you're one step ahead of everyone else."

  I raised an eyebrow. "That I? I guess maybe I had a good game. It didn't feel like it, but then sometimes it doesn't. Still, we got the right result, and that's all that really matters."

  She scrunched her nose. "That day we first met…"

  "The day you arrested me, you mean?"

  "Okay, okay, that one. Yes. That day we first met, I told myself. There was no way I was ever gonna fall for a guy who did nothing more than playing professional sport."

  I made a face. "Fair enough, I guess we have short careers, and most of us don't amount to much."<
br />
  "But over the last six weeks, I've learned that you're much more than that, Will. I've learned that you're a leader, and a mentor, and a caregiver. I've learned that you're kind, and generous, and funny, and thoughtful. I've learned that you want what's best for others, even at the expense of your own glory or your own legacy. I'd learned that even though you have a talent that other people would envy, you don't have any envy in you. And that to me, means that you're a lot more than a professional athlete." While she was talking, she kept her eyes fixed on my face, her voice low and intent, her shoulders almost shaking.

  "I really missed you, Tanya."

  She tilted her head up and looked at me. "I miss you too."

  I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too."

  One moment. One moment to seize the dream. One moment to see what I wanted and reach out and take it.

  I leaned forward, and kissed her again, but this time I put one finger under her chin and tilted it up until she looked at me, and then leaned down and kissed her gently, very gently on the lips. It was a promise. She made no move to pull away, so I didn't loosen my hold on her.

  "Do you-do you mean it, and you say you might come to some more games?"

  There was a silence, despite the hustle and bustle in the corridor. She nodded, slowly.

  "Yeah. This soccer thing is kind of beginning to grow on me."

  She was everything I had never known that I wanted, but now I had her, I didn't want to let go of her. She looked up at me and smiled. This time, the smile was absent, wasn't tinged with regret, wasn't wishing she was somewhere else. It was just a genuine smile. Like I made her happy.

  "Well, then. Maybe you'll agree to be my guest for the season. You can sit next to Jessie, in the coach's box, and you can follow the games from there."

  "I think," she said carefully and deliberately, "I would like that."

  * * *

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