Ian
We’re at the beginning of the second half, and we’re up by ten, which is still not enough to consider this game a victory yet. We’ve got fourty-two minutes of play left, and Connacht isn’t showing any signs of giving up; we’re first place in the league right now, which means we can’t afford to lose this one.
“Let’s kick their arses,” our team captain, Jamie, says, slapping me on the back before taking his position.
I take a deep breath and follow him with my eyes, ready to run down the side as soon as these two dickheads stop trying to rip my pants off, as we wait for Jamie to work some of his magic. Alongside being our captain, he’s also the smartest player I know, despite the fact that he’s not particularly big.
As soon as I see Jamie run off with the ball, I break away from the opposition, who are breathing down my neck; but before I can receive his pass, he’s tackled by three players who bring him down hard.
I throw myself into the scrum with the others, trying to wrangle the ball free, but the screaming from the bottom and the referee’s whistle forces us all to stop.
The players get up, one by one, and I wait to see my captain emerge from the heap, but when the last giant is on his feet, Jamie is still laid out in the grass, with his face contracting in painful spasms, holding his right leg.
As I get closer to him, I gesture to the bench to send someone onto the field as I try to grasp what’s happened.
“My knee, Ian.”
“Take it easy, the paramedics are on their way.”
“It’s over.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” I say, trying to joke around. “It’s probably just bruised.”
Jamie spreads himself out on the grass as the other team members circle around us.
“I’m screwed.”
“You’re crying like a little girl.”
He covers his face with his hands while the paramedics lift him onto a stretcher and load him into the electric ambulance. I follow them, making sure Jamie gives the spectators a sign that he’s okay.
“For the crowd, Jamie.”
He shakes his head no.
“Come on, mate, you know the deal. Just a little thumbs-up, okay?”
“Fuck you and your thumbs-up.”
I sigh and let my guard down.
“Forher. Just do it forher.”
Jamie moves his arm away from his face, and it’s only then that I see his torment is the mirror image of my own.
He lifts his thumb into the air and fakes a smile that is broadcast onto the big screens, sending the fans into delirium.
I smile and accompany them to the changing room, but when they stop me from going in any further, Jamie grabs my arm. With his other hand, he takes off his captain’s badge and hands it to me.
I squeeze it in my hand, and he lets go of it, laying back again, leaving me with an oppressive weight, too heavy for me to bear.
* * *
Two hoursafter the end of the game, I’m on my motorbike, racing towards the hospital where Jamie has been taken as a precaution. No one was able to say anything specific about his condition, although it’s clear it has something to do with his knee. No one knows if it’s a tear, a pull, or something worse. They wouldn’t speculate without running some basic tests first.
After I park the motorbike, taking off my helmet, I go inside and ask the receptionist where I can find my teammate. After a few smiles and an autograph, the woman tells me where Jamie is, so I take the lift to the third floor. I find his room and walk right in.
“Well, have you found your balls or did you leave them on the field?” I ask, attempting to bring the drama down a few levels, but when she turns around on hearing my voice, my heart slides down my ribcage and slams onto the ground, right next to hers.
