“Milk, no sugar. Many thanks.” George barely gave him a look. He gave his attention to me, his eyes a little wide. “I had to fight for this interview. They wanted to give it to one of my co-workers, but I had to all but promise my boss a blowie,” he laughed.
I had to chuckle. “Wow, so I’m worth getting on your knees. I feel special.”
“You’re one of the top ten players to watch this season. There’s a lot of buzz about you and Chester that will make for an interesting year. Chester came out of nowhere. There wasn’t a single pundit that expected you to get promoted but Millwood has completely changed the team.”
Yeah, yeah, Jack was a super star. I wanted to roll my eyes.
“However, everything we are today is because of Gaz Newsome,” I couldn’t help but point out.
“But it’s Jack that changed Lucas’ position. The team is stronger than ever because of the current management,” Mo piped in, putting a cup of tea in front of George.
George nodded. “Absolutely. Jack is known for turning mediocre teams into champions. And that’s obviously what he’s doing at Chester.”
“Yes, that’s his reputation,” I agreed, trying not to clench my teeth. I hated how everyone so quickly dismissed everything that Gaz did for the team. What I said was the truth; Gaz had laid the groundwork. Jack simply fine tuned it.
George peered at me curiously. “There have been a lot of rumors about your relationship with the manager. We all know it was Newsome that signed you to Chester and that you were incredibly loyal to him. There’s been talk of arguments between you and Jack. Care to comment on that?”
“Jumping right into it, are we?” I mused, raising an eyebrow. George shrugged.
“Lucas has a great relationship with the Jack Millwood,” Mo said from his perch on the couch. George, once again, ignored him.
“There’s no denying the transition from Gaz to Jack took some getting used to. Gaz had a way of managing the team that was very different from how Jack manages the team,” I began, carefully considering my words before speaking. I knew how journalists could twist things around. But my head was pounding and I still felt nauseated. My hangover was making hard to concentrate on anything but the need to vomit.
“So what you’re saying is you preferred the way Gary Newsome managed the Athletics?” George asked, taking a sip of his tea. He held his fucking pinkie out. What was he, the queen? I glanced at Mo who gave me a pointed look. I knew he was shitting a brick. I wasn’t the most diplomatic person at the best of times. My mouth got me into more trouble than I cared to think about.
“I didn’t say that. I said their managing styles are different.”
George made a note on his huge yellow pad. I tried to read what it said but his handwriting was worse than a first year.
“Well Lucas, it’s no secret you’re the newest big name in the Premier League. You set your club’s all time scoring record last season, surpassing local legend Sam Fry’s 1976 record. There was talk that some of the biggest clubs in the League were looking to sign you, yet you just reupped your contract with Chester. Can you talk a little about what why you decided to stay?”
I let out a sigh, more comfortable with this line of questions. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs in front of me.
“I love Chester. We have a great team. I think it would do me a disservice to leave when things are just now getting good.” I grinned. “The guys need me. I need them. So no, I’m not going anywhere for the time being.”
George cocked his head opt the side. His eyes bugged out from his face, it was a bit off-putting. “But you do think you’ll leave one day? Just not right now?”
I cracked my knuckles, hating the feeling that I was being prodded. “One day probably. You never know what the future will bring.”
“Makes sense. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, right?” George smiled and I nodded in agreement. He made more notes.
“Well let’s move onto the juicy stuff.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of newspapers. He laid them out side by side and my blood began to boil.
“What is this shit?” I seethed, looking at the articles that depicted some of my less than savory behavior. Including one from this morning showing Alan and Morgan carrying me from the Thorny Rose.
“The story of Lucas Bradley isn’t just about football is it? It’s all this as well.” George pointed to each article. “You’ve become a fixture in the national papers for some rather scandalous behavior. Just last night it was reported that you went home with a one of your teammates and an unnamed woman for a night of debauchery.” George seemed to be enjoying himself. He glanced around the room. “Are they still here?”
“Look, I thought this interview would be about football, not tabloid fodder,” Mo snapped.
“I won’t be commenting on these stories. I didn’t think Match of the Day would be interested in this kind of bollocks,” I snarled, getting to my feet.
George laughed, obviously amused, which made me want to hit him. Hard.
“You’re right. That was in bad taste. I apologize.” George held up his hands trying to placate me. “I won’t bring up these again.” He gathered up the magazines and shoved them back into his bag. “Let’s talk about the game.”
“YOU HANDLED THATwell, Lucas,” Mo complimented after George the journalist had left.
“Yeah, well once he stopped acting like a prat, we were fine.” I took three headache tablets and drank a large glass of water.
