We’re all so used to Dan’s pre- and mid-game pep talks that none of us even bother to contradict him any longer. Every single one of his speeches begins with those same famous few words—“I’ll keep this brief.”Not once in my two years of playing for the Cents has he ever followed his own directive and kept it brief. A few of the other lads side-eye each other. This has also become a custom.
“As many of you probably already know,” Dan begins. “This is my last season as captain. Don’t get too excited, I’m not going anywhere—”
“Boooo!” someone calls out.
Dan flips them off. “I’m just handing over captaincy duties to some other poor unsuspecting fucker. I’ve been captain for three years now, and it’s about time I just didn’t do that any more. I carry this team—” Everyone laughs. “I’ve always said that. You lazy bastards have been relying on my excellence for far too long. It’s time you pulled your clumsy fucking fingers out of yourassholes and started pulling your weight.” More laughter. “Eksteen and I will be choosing the new captain together, so it really could be any—”
“You might as well just hand the C band to Gadget now and save us all time,” Eggo—a.k.a. Finn—yells, play-slapping Mathias Jones on the back.
Mathias, who bears the nickname Gadget, smiles, all shy and coy and like butter wouldn’t melt. It’s infuriating. Without looking over, Pi nudges his trainer against mine.
“Okay, but in all fairness, guys, it could be anyone.” And then Dan makes eye contact with me, and my heart jumps into my mouth.
It’s over in less than a second as he glances off at someone else, but seriously, did he just look straight at me after saying the new captain could be anyone? Did he mean to? Had there been any weight behind that look?
Or am I overthinking once again?
Dan goes on, unaware my mind is spinning up thrilling and terrifying new fantasies. “The new captain needs to be someone with unparalleled communication skills. Someone with an unflappable temperament, someone who’ll inspire great things from their teammates, both individually and as a unit, and someone with a fucking incredible brain for tactics.” He glances at me again, and I swear I feel my breakfast surge back up my oesophagus.
“That counts you out then, Snatch,” Eggo shouts.
Everyone chimes in with laughter, or “Aay!”
“Yes, it’s a tremendous honour to be chosen as captain, but don’t for one second think that we’ll be making the obvious choices here.” At this, Dan’s gaze sweeps over Mathias, and holy shit, I’m not overthinking this. “We’re gonna be operating on an opt-out policy. So unless you tell me you don’t want to be considered for the position by the end of play today, your name’ll be in the running.”
Eggo straightens his back, sitting up taller than he was a moment ago. “When will we officially know Gadget’s the new captain?”
Everyone laughs again. Everyone except Mathias and me.
“It might not be Jones,” Dan says, still grinning but not outright dismissing it.
Coach Eksteen steps away from the wall he’d been leaning on. “We would like to make an unofficial decision by the beginning of next month. That will give us a few weeks for the new captain to . . . try out the role, as it were. Then, provided everything goes well, we’ll make a public announcement at the end of this season, ready for the next one.”
Snatch speaks. “What if you choose me and I say yes, but halfway through I decide I hate it?”
“Well, that’s what the trial is for,” Eksteen says.
Dan waves Snatch away. “We ain’t choosing you anyway, so don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he jokes.
“Besides, it’s not a permanent thing,” Eksteen adds. “Chelford’s been captain for three years, but that’s not to say the next captain has to be. Could be three months. If you really hate it, we’ll appoint someone else. Simple as. How does that sound?”
A low murmur buzzes through the classroom as people either agree with Eksteen or turn to their neighbour to start gossiping.
“Right, we’ve wasted enough time this morning,” Eksteen says, cutting through the noise and silencing everyone. “Let’s get kitted up and on the pitch, and get ready for the game on Sunday.”
There’s scraping of chair legs against the screed flooring as we all rise from our seats.
“You going in for it?” I ask Pi.
He shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not sure I can be fucked. It’s a lot, being captain. I don’t know if I have the . . . bandwidth for it all.”
“I suppose,” I say, though I don’t agree with him. Yes, it is a lot, but Pi’s more than capable of handling anything the captaincy could throw at him.
“Like . . .” He lowers his voice. “Do I have the patience to deal with Eggo’s insanity? Or what if Gadget does that thing where he goes all quiet for a bit? You know? Plus, I’m too young?” It’s a question. “Snatch is about three hundred years older than us. I’d kinda feel wrong telling him what to do. Like . . . I dunno.” He shrugs again.
Personally, I think Pi would be great at it. He has that self-deprecating humour that’s instantly likable. He’s never had a falling out with anyone, never had a rude word to say about others, and his Australian accent always has attentions rapt. People listen to him. They respect him. Moreover, they actually like him.
“I think you should go for it,” I say, mirroring his whisper.
