Okay, that’s it, I’m changing his name.He can be such a tosser at times, I’d almost forgotten.But yet, I’m smiling at my phone, and there’s a lightness in my chest.
AJ
You wish.Anyway, looking forward to seeing you after the game!It’s been far too long.
Kyle (The tosser)
It has!And I'm looking forward to it too.
We exchange a few more messages before calling it a night.I’m once again relieved to be back in contact with him.I really hope we can get back to being friends.
Chapter 5
Kyle
Game day.My favorite day of the week.And now, I’m meeting AJ after the match.I was a little wary at first, seeing as it’s been so long and because he turned his back on our childhood club, but I’m trying to get over that.It goes without saying that I haven’t told my parents—well, more so my dad—that I’m meeting AJ.Not that I want or need their approval; I just don’t want an extra layer of hassle on top of an already deep layer of nervous energy I’ve got going.I’m a level-headed guy.People see that as stubborn.I don’t agree.
While in the dressing room, I begin my pre-match ritual, which I haven’t altered since my very first game: I slip my shorts on, put my shin guards in place, and pull up my socks.Then I put my boots on—left one first, then the right.I tie up my right boot and then my left.Lastly, I pull on my jersey and rub the club crest for luck.
I used to kiss the badge when I played for my school side, and whenever I used to play in the park wearing my Union colors, that crest would get a kiss too.It feels disingenuous to kiss the badge of a club you don’t truly love…let alone grab it in front of a camera beaming it into millions of people’s homes, but I digress.Letting my feelings go about him being a traitor and turning his back on our childhood club is going to be quite a bit harder than I first thought.I try to remind myself that I shouldn’t hold grudges.
The coach finishes up his team talk, and I’m a ball of excited energy.If you'd asked twelve-year-old me if he thought he’d be here—in a semifinal of a cup game and in the starting eleven—he’d have said, well, duh.Not to sound conceited, but I’ve worked my arse off to get here.Sleepless nights, in the gym till 3:00 am, missing out on family and friends’ weddings and birthdays—hell, missing my own birthdays.
I’d do it again and again.Football is my life.My friends have also said I need someone to keep me grounded, but when Football is your true passion in life, it’s hard for anyone else to compete.In all honesty, it would just be as unfair to them as it would be for me.So yeah, I’ll stay a bachelor.Maybe not forever, but at least until my playing days are over, then I can come out and be who I truly am.
“Thurston!Big game.Go out there and be a fuckin’ nuisance.Make those runs behind the defenders.Fuckin’ play with your heart.If we win this game lads, we make history.Now let’s fuckin’ do this!”The coach bangs his hand on the wall, and we all stamp our feet and cheer.
The adrenaline is now molten hot in my veins.We walk out from the tunnel, and I can hear the roar of our fans on our right-hand side.They’ve filled their allocation in the away end, and are already serenading us with songs.
“Listen to them, Thurston.Let that sound be your guide,” Rabiot, our resident philosopher, says as he puts a hand on my shoulder before sprinting away to his center back position.I make my own way to my position on the field.The wait for the ref to blow his whistle to signify the start of the game sends an added rush of adrenaline through me.
The game begins, and I sprint past two opposing players in the hope to receive the ball, but I’m barged out of the way before it gets to me.The home crowd cheers at this and that spurs me on.I attempt to latch onto another ball, but this time I’m shoved to the floor, just outside the box.The ref grants us a free kick, much to the chagrin of the home fans.
Our captain steps up to take it and tells me to be ready at the back post.There’s lots of jostling for position in the box, my shirt is being pulled covertly but I manage to get away from him just as the ball comes in.I leap above the defender and get my head on the ball and guide it to the back of the net just as the goalkeeper clatters into my face with his fist.
Blood gushes onto my jersey, and I’m marshaled off the field by the team doctors while the ref and VAR deliberate on whether it’s a goal or not.I’m checked over for a possible concussion and pass the test.Lights go into my eyes.“Can you see Kyle?Follow my light,” says the physio.I think his name is Eric.
“Yes.Fine,” I say, trying to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Is he okay to carry on?”Coach asks Eric, I’m certain that’s his name.
“Looks good to me,” he says.
“Thanks, Nige.Kyle, get back out there and keep playing with your heart.”
Nige?Well, damn, that’s his name.I was never good with names.
I’m waiting to be waved back onto the pitch by the ref, who’s taking his time.I just want to get back out there.With a fresh jersey and two bungs of cotton wool up my nose, I’m allowed back on the pitch after what seems like an eternity.
“You all right?”Rabiot asks me.
“Yeah, fine, it’s only a bit of blood, nothing to worry about.”
Rabiot nods and trots off back to his position.
I see the ref looking at the VAR monitor, and my coach is shouting instructions to us.The home fans and ours are doing duel chants.The atmosphere is electric, and it reaches a crescendo when the ref makes his way to the center circle and points to it.Goal.
Our fans go wild, and the home fans ring out a chorus of boos.
