‘Fuck yeah, they do. And not just the US, college teams all overthe world. And do you know why? Because we don’t settle. When the shit hits the fan, this team excels, wethrive.’
More muttering. They’re not entirely with me, not yet but I’m close to the goal and the keeper is off his line.
‘I don’t know about y’all but there is nothing I love more than defying the odds. What do you think Mossington’s captain is saying to them in their locker room right now? I think they’re laughing at us. I think they’re already planning their victory party, driving back home on their shitty little bus, sharing a drink and reliving their victory. Well, fuck that. They think they have us beat, they think they have us on the run? No fucking way. On the other side of this wall, they’re talking about us like we’re a joke and I’m not okay with that. Are you?’
‘No way!’ Assad shouts, punching a fist into his palm.
‘No fucking way!’ I’m yelling now, my breath coming hard, the blood pounding in my ears. ‘These jokers should be asking permission before they breathe our air. They’re not fit to stand on the same turf as you!’
One by one, my players rise to their feet, Michael dragging himself up last of all but with the kind of a smile on his face that tells me he’s reluctantly impressed.
‘Three-nil down is nothing but a chance for us to show everyone how fucking good we are,’ I say, the goal in sight. ‘I don’t want to beat them, I want todestroythem. They’re going home embarrassed. So humiliated they would rather forfeit their next game than come back here and risk this kind of slaughter again. And we can do it. Wegetto do it, we have the privilege of tearing these clowns apart and sending them home in pieces. If that sounds fun to you then you’re in the right place. If it doesn’t, you can see yourselves out, we don’t want you here. This team is winners only.’
The roar that goes up from the team almost blows the roof off the locker room and out of the corner of my eye, I see Clive standing in the doorway. He nods then steps inside, clearing his throat while the guys continue to cheer and yell. If I ever score a winning goal in the World Cup, I wonder if it would feel this good.
‘If you’ve finished acting like you’ve already fucking won, I’d like to discuss some second-half strategy,’ Clive says and the boys bring it down to a manageable level, but the excitement and enthusiasm are still tangible. I’m itching to get back out onto the field, physically craving the feel of turf under my feet.
I’m not the same person I was two months ago but I didn’t forget how to lead a team. Adrenaline rages through my veins, rising up to meet the thrill of a challenge. We have forty-five minutes to overcome insurmountable odds and I can’t fucking wait. I know I’ve messed up, messed upbad, but there’s still one thing I’m good at and it’s playing this game.
No one can take that away from me.
‘Four-bloody-three!’ Jenna yells as we roll into Members. The whole bar erupts in a cheer. ‘Have that, you Mossington bastards!’
The moment I step inside, someone presses a beer into my hand and there are so many faces and bodies surrounding me, I can’t make out any one person. What I do know is they’re all celebrating, they’re all happy and they’re all pleased to see me, which is a hell of a good feeling.
‘Well played, Taylor.’
Michael slaps me on the back, a rough-looking bruise coming up on his left cheek from where one of the Mossington forwards drilled the ball directly into his face from ten feet away. It’s worththe shiner that’s already swollen his eye shut. At least, I think so. The two goals I scored, one in the third minute of the second half and another two minutes into injury time to secure the win, didn’t come with a visible badge of honour but everyone here knows. I don’t need to advertise my achievements.
‘You too,’ I say, raising my beer to the one thrust into his hand without asking. ‘That last save was insane. How did your arms even stretch that far?’
‘They don’t call me Mr Fantastic for nothing,’ he grins, and I hear a hoot of laughter from behind the bar.
‘They don’t call you Mr Fantastic at all,’ Alice drawls. ‘But well done. It was, according to Jenna, a very good game.’
‘But not according to you?’ I ask, leaning against the old wooden counter.
‘All I know is that you won, which means we’ll be busy tonight. People celebrate harder than they drown their sorrows. Looks like you won one new fan though, isn’t that right, Mia?’
She sticks her head out from the back room, a case of hard seltzer in her arms.
‘Isn’t what right?’
When our eyes meet she colours slightly and looks away. High on the win, I hold steady, take a sip of beer and wait for her to look back. She does, cheeks burning even more brightly.
‘I was just telling the glorious champions that you’re their biggest fan.’ Alice pours several shots of whiskey, splashing liquor all over the bar as she goes. ‘She was well into it, screaming at Mossington, calling the ref a wanker.’
‘I was not!’ She looks outraged as she drops the case on the floor at the other end of the bar. ‘I might’ve suggested he was giving the other team preferential treatment, that’s all.’
‘Exactly,’ Michael drawls, holding his hand out to Alice for a high five. ‘The refereewasa wanker.’
‘We still won so who cares?’ I pinch my shoulders together in a shrug and aim a smile Mia’s way. She looks back, suspicious, before returning it in a half-hearted way.
Michael yanks me in for a hug, arm wrapped around my neck.
‘Don’t be so American. It’s all right, you know, you’re in England now. You’re allowed to wish death on your enemies when it comes to sports. Everything is fair game – their upbringing, sexual preferences, whether they may or may not eat rodents. It’s impossible to sink too low, trust me.’
‘There were some pretty interesting chants,’ Mia says as she unloads the seltzers into a low fridge. ‘And why were they telling us to shove our red bricks up our ass?’
