I was screaming and jumping up and down, waving my scarf like a seasoned Chester fan.
Then it was halftime and Phil went to get some bottles of water. I fanned myself with the program, knowing I probably looked like a sweaty mess.
Frank the Falcon was back, running up and down the field. Then he stopped in front of me, hopped over the barrier and pulled me to my feet.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as the man in the giant bird suit lead me towards the steps.
Obviously he wasn’t going to answer me. He led me out onto the field, pointed to a spot on the grass with a giant X made in spray paint. I was apparently supposed to stay put. The bird went and grabbed three more people, an older woman, a teenage boy, and young girl no older than twelve.
The announcer came on saying that we were going to kick the ball into the goal. If we made it past Freddie, then we’d get a chance to meet the team after the match.
I felt the weight of thousands of eyes on me, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. But I couldn’t embarrass myself by running off the pitch.
The young girl went first. I thought Frankie might let her win. After all she was young and obviously a big Chester fan. She was wearing a shirt and her hair was done up in red and black ribbons. But when she kicked the ball, the falcon mascot easily blocked it. She looked upset when she walked off the pitch.
Next up was the teenage boy. He dribbled the ball deftly, obviously a player himself. Everyone cheered, enjoying his skill. “The next Lucas Bradley, ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer told the crowd.
But once again, Freddie the falcon blocked the attempt. It was the same for the older woman.
I had never dribbled a soccer ball in my life, so I knew I was seconds away from humiliating myself in front of twenty-six thousand people. Just great.
Someone passed the ball to me and I lamely tried to dribble it, which was difficult in my ridiculous heels. I knew I looked like a complete moron. I clumsily maneuvered the ball until I was standing in front of the goal. Freddie hopped around, waving his feathered arms.
I kicked the ball as hard as I could, my heel flying off in the process. Freddie made a show of diving for it but missed. The ball actually went into the net. The stadium erupted into a roar and I felt a strange sort of pride.
I had actually made the shot. What were the chances of that? I jumped up and down, pumping my fists above my head like some sort of prizefighter. Freddie did a cartwheel and grabbed my shoe, running it back to me, making a show of kneeling down and putting it on my foot. The crowd loved it.
Then we were ushered off the pitch by staff. One of them stopped me before I went back to my seat. “You need to come to the members’ box after the game and we will arrange for you to meet the team.”
“Where’s the members’ box?” I asked and the man pointed to an area at the far right of the field.
Phil handed me my water when I got back. “That was amazing, Morgan!” he enthused, giving me a long hug.
“Dumb luck is more like it,” I chuckled.
“You get to meet the team too. Though I guess you’ve already met two of them, so maybe it’s not that big of a deal to you,” Phil remarked. Was he being snarky? I couldn’t really tell.
I gave him a halfhearted smile, not bothering to comment.
Then the game was starting up again. By the time the whistle was blown Chester had scored two more goals, one of them by Lucas the other by a guy called Nolan Dubois. Bolton hadn’t been able to break past Chester’s defense to get near their net.
When the final whistle blew the stands erupted in cheers. The Chester players started hugging and clapping. Lucas and a few other players approached the stands everyone around me went crazy, including Phil. Fans rushed towards the pitch taking pictures of their local heroes. Lucas took off his shirt and handed it to a young boy who looked as though he were going to pass out.
I wanted him to look at me. When he was high on his victory. As he was being worshipped by the crowd. I wanted him to notice me.
But he didn’t. His eyes never glanced my way. And I felt strangely disappointed by that.
“Don’t you have to go and meet the team?” Phil asked.
I was still watching Lucas, who was completely engrossed in his fans. In his team. In his triumph.
He was completely different than the man I had met only a few days before. Here he was king. To these people he was everything.
The crowd started to change “Lucas” over and over again until the floors rattled with the noise.
Two of Lucas’ teammates lifted his hands in the air like he was a boxer. He was laughing but also soaking up the adoration.
Then they were heading back towards the locker room, the cheers still ringing in the air.
