Penny stood up, pressing her nose into his midriff. I resisted the temptation to join her.
‘Hopefully Olly and Jackson being on their team will stop it becoming nasty,’ I said. ‘Boys listen to them. And aren’t there others, who left earlier in the season?’
Elliot rolled his shoulders back. ‘Some of those lads weren’t exactly friendly. And even for those who were, pit competitive boys hungry for a win against each other and past friendships are meaningless.’
‘Surely after what happened with the Rangers, the adults will behave themselves? In which case, what’s the worst that can happen to our brave boys?’
He looked at me, one of those looks that made me want to reach out and somehow wipe away everything that had ever hurt him. Even as I still ached with the knowledge that most of those things were, however tenuously, linked to me.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I had the answer to my question. Watching a bedraggled bunch of boys limping off the pitch, doing their best to shrug off a seven-nil loss, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach at the thought of the second match.
After a drink and a breakfast butty, Elliot regathered the boys for their second pre-match talk.
‘Come on, now, where’s that fighting spirit gone?’
‘Maybe it quit like Olly and Jackson and went to join Brooksby,’ Turner said, his shoulders slumping.
‘It’s hopeless without them,’ Fabian groaned. ‘I don’t want to play Brooksby. Can’t we play at the funfair instead?’
Elliot’s jaw set firm. ‘No. We can’t. A week ago, I felt just like you. Worse, because I’d already given up. Decided that us doing something amazing together, showing all those haters what a true team is made of, wasn’t worth the disappointment if we lost.’
‘Turns out you were right, Coach,’ Wodger said, dejectedly.
‘No, I wasn’t right! I was completely wrong. Everything worth doing takes effort. You boys know that more than anyone. It takes guts, and grit, and sometimes risking every damn thing you’ve got.’
‘My mum says damn is a bad word,’ Jan said.
‘She’s right, I apologise,’ Elliot carried on without pausing for breath. ‘But you lot, every one of you, showed me that this team is worth fighting for. What you boys have achieved in these past few months is more than those other teams can even imagine. This is something we’ll remember forever. Not whether we win, draw or lose a hundred-nil. But that we gave it our all and most importantly, we did not quit. We are going to walk onto that pitch, heads held high, look Brooksby in the eye and dare them to beat that.’ He shook his head, a tear flying off and landing on Penny’s nose. ‘Whatever happens out there, you boys are champions. Heroes. It’s time to act like it.’
There was a stunned silence, until Wilf hissed a muted, ‘Yessssss!’, instantly followed by Wodger letting out a war cry so loud that people all across the sports ground looked around to see who was being murdered.
‘Yeeeeeeaaaaaaah!’ One by one, the other boys starting yelling, jumping up and down and waving their arms about. After a second or two I figured I’d better join them. Even Penny howled along.
‘Right.’ Elliot beckoned them into a huddle so he could finish the speech. ‘You all know what to do. Block Olly as often as you can, he’ll be their fastest player. Keep pushing down the left side – that’s the side of your shirt the badge is on – and, most importantly, play your great, big, giant hearts out.’
The Houghton Harriers did not block Olly, or remember to push down the left side. However, none of the spectators could deny that they played their giant hearts out.
Olly and Ibrahim met for the coin toss. Ibrahim standing tall, chin up, shoulders back. Olly, looking as though he was facing the best friend he’d betrayed two weeks earlier.
Elliot and I braced ourselves for disaster.
We’d not taken into account the power of a united, positive team up against a stressed-out shambles where half the team were trying to steal the glory, the other half too nervous not to let them.
‘They’re a mess,’ Elliot murmured to me in astonishment, when three minutes in a Brooksby striker tackled the ball off Jackson, his teammate, causing enough confusion to allow Wilf to steal it away.
‘It’s pretty obvious why,’ I replied, over the sound of Simonson and various Brooksby parents screaming different instructions as their team scrambled to reclaim possession.
Every time a Brooksby player touched the ball they were instantly bombarded with aggressive hollers, mostly parents demanding that it was passed to their son. Every time they lost the ball, the shouting turned to ‘not again!’ and ‘how could you fluff an easy shot like that?’
In contrast, the Harriers’ supporters provided nothing but cheers of encouragement. Our boys started to make increasingly confident passes, runs and tackles. As the minutes ticked by, the Brooksby team began to crumble.
Nevertheless, we were a bunch of inexperienced boys with numerous challenges, keenly feeling the loss of our two best players, competing against a team of natural athletes. At half-time, Elliot and I kept our game faces on as we handed out drinks and orange wedges, heaping nothing but praise on the team for their spirit and skill, but at three-nil down, our dream of not losing felt like a fading fantasy.
That is, until precisely two minutes and twenty-four seconds into the second half. I know, because I was watching the clock like the lives of those boys depended on it.
After one boy on the other team slipped over while trying to dodge past Wodger, who’d been doing a great job of getting in everyone’s way, there was an outcry of disgust from the Brooksby side-line.
