‘Woah! That one only has one hand!’ another gasped. ‘I hope he does the throw-ins.’
‘Settle down, boys.’ The referee, an eighteen-year-old girl who’d only recently qualified, glared.
Those boys were not going to settle down.
By half-time, I’d lost count of how many goals had smashed into the back of the Harriers’ goal. Jan, starting to wilt after number nine, had been swapped with Dyson and then Wilf, to no avail. Almost all the team had retreated into defence, but it made no difference. The other side gleefully knocked our less steady boys over, tackled them mercilessly on the rare occasions we managed to get close to the ball, and – worst of all – celebrated every goal with a spiteful superiority that started to wear on even Wodger.
‘Come on, now.’ Elliot gathered them into a half-time huddle. ‘It’s not all bad. You’ve done some great passing – Olly, Jan, you held them at bay for a good couple of minutes. Dyson, I think that’s the most shots at goal you’ve ever saved.’
‘Yeah,’ a boy called Timmo droned in reply. ‘Because it’s about a hundred times as many as usual.’
‘Can’t we just end the game now?’ Jan asked.
‘Yeah,’ another boy added. ‘They keep laughing at us.’
‘One of them called me a stupid dumbhead,’ Fabian said, causing Elliot’s face to set like concrete.
‘He said what?’
‘They all keep saying things.’ Wilf folded his arms. ‘Every time they get close to us, they whisper something horrible.’
‘They’re nasty bullies, and we don’t want to play with bullies!’ Jan said.
‘I don’t mind losing, but I don’t like being called names.’ Fabian sounded close to tears.
‘You’re right.’ I’d never seen Elliot look so grim. ‘Wait here with Jessie, please.’
And before I could stop him, he’d marched over to the other team, lounging about drinking out of matching, branded water bottles.
‘Are you aware of this?’ Elliot ground out, coming to a stop about a foot away from the Rangers manager’s nose.
‘Do you want to take a few steps back?’ he replied, folding his arms.
‘Not really. I want you to talk to your team about showing respect for the boys they’re playing against. You know, sportsmanship?’
‘Respect, against that lot?’ The coach grinned, turning away in dismissal.
Oh boy. I quickly told the Harriers to stay where they were, and hurried over. Elliot looked like a volcano ready to blow. Just as I reached him he grabbed the manager’s arm and spun him back around.
‘Pretty clear where your team gets their code of conduct from,’ he snapped.
‘Yeah? It’s just as clear where yours get their complete lack of ability.’ He turned away again, only this time he muttered a word under his breath that I prayed none of his team had used on the pitch earlier.
‘What?’
I tried to move in front of Elliot, but the Rangers manager side-stepped me.
‘I said, you’re a bunch of—’
‘Shut up.’ Elliot gave him a rough shove in the chest, causing him to stagger back several paces before righting himself, lowering one shoulder as he prepared to charge.
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Olly’s dad smacked into the side of the manager, knocking him to the ground with a yell.
Then all hell broke loose.
Some of the Rangers team clustered around the two men, now rolling about on the ground with their arms around each other’s necks. A couple of them burst into noisy tears. A few more hurtled over to the Harriers, uttering a war cry that made my hair stand on end. Various parents from both sides started yelling as they ran towards their children. In the chaos I spotted several more shoves and at least three punches being thrown. One mum threw her coffee over the pair still wrestling on the grass. The referee sprinted up, but the poor girl had no idea how to handle the pandemonium.
I tried to elbow my way through to Elliot, to help him move to somewhere quieter, where he could calm down, but it was impossible to reach past the adults either shouting in his face or attempting to drag him away. As they shepherded him towards the club house in a big clump, I caught one glimpse of his face.
