Donnie stopped to wait. You’re chittering!
Aye well it’s fucking freezing.
No that much man it’s nerves.
Is it fuck nerves.
Aye it is! Donnie grinned. Dont worry but — it’s supposed to be a good sign!
Fuck off.
Keep moving, get the blood going.
Tammas glared at him but he started trotting, keeping his arms folded, his shoulders still hunched up. When he reached the field they were due to play on he slowed to a walk, and he halted near the 18 yard line. The ball came towards him and he attempted a first time shot at goal but miskicked and it went bouncing off onto the neighbouring pitch. While it was being collected he turned his back to the others; he began jumping on the spot, fists clenched on the cuffs of each sleeve again; his teeth resumed chattering and he was making loud shivering sounds.
In the centre circle the referee now stood with a ball tucked beneath one elbow. The captains were with him, one calling the toss when the coin was flipped into the air. The other team won it and their captain chose ends, selecting the one opposite where the teams were now positioned; this meant each set of players having to walk down to the other half of the field. Tammas passed their number 11, he looked to be well over 6 feet tall and was very skinny, his socks seemed scarcely to reach above his ankles.
Soon the whistle was blown and the ball kicked off. One of the opposition lunged at it, booted it high into the air. The ball travelled right down and over the touchline for a goal kick. When it had been positioned the keeper turned his back to measure the run then he turned sharply and signalled to Tammas and kicked the ball to him. He raced in to trap it but was a yard short in meeting it, it canoned off his knee. He chased after it, just failing to stop it crossing the line for a throw in.
While one of the other team’s players gathered the ball Tammas looked for the number 11 and marked him. When the throw was taken the ball was shied to the tall fellow and he tried to flick it on as he turned but Tammas was right behind him and his studs caught in the guy’s sock, taking the foot from under him and he went crashing down, the ball returning out for another throw in. Tammas reached to help him up but he shook off his hand and muttered: That was fucking ridiculous.
I didnt mean it, replied Tammas.
The winger ignored him; he was rubbing the side of his back and shaking his head.
Tammas walked to his side, almost behind him completely, his hands on his hips and breathing quite harshly. The ball was shied in almost the same way as the last time but just as the winger trapped it Tammas stuck his boot between his feet and managed to deflect it out for a further throw in. The winger grunted unintelligibly; he strode down the park some 20 or so yards, keeping nearby the touchline. Tammas went after him. The winger stared away from him, keeping his gaze to the player shying the ball, then he signalled to him in some way Tammas was not able to see. And the ball arrived about 3 yards short. As the winger moved forwards to get it Tammas slid in from behind, upending him. The guy landed back the way, right on top of Tammas; he rolled off at once. Fucking hell, he cried, I wish you’d keep out the fucking road.
What you talking about!
You’re fucking. .! The winger shook his head and trotted off down the touchline.
Tammas trotted after him. But this time the player taking the throw in shied the ball towards the middle of the park. From the touchline Donnie called: No bother Tammas!
Tammas made no response. His breath was coming in short gulps. He coughed to clear his throat and spat while breathing out. He put his hand to his chest and coughed again. The ball was with the forwards in his team and he set off trotting as far as the halfway line where he stopped and looked on. The ball had gone for a goal kick. The opposing left back booted it out and down the middle, where it was booted straight into the path of the big left winger who raced onto it at once, arms flailing and head downwards. Tammas was across to meet him immediately. Some yards from him the winger looked up but he kept on running as though to go right over the top of him but at the last moment he flicked the ball inside and made to carry round Tammas on the outside but Tammas went in the same direction and took the full force of the winger crashing into him. They both fell heavily and Tammas lay winded for quite some time.
The referee had blown for a foul against him. The man in charge came on with Donnie and soaked Tammas’s neck and forehead with a wet sponge. Unlucky there son, he was saying.
Tammas nodded, easing his breathing as Donnie placed his hands on his chest and counted slowly. When the man had returned to the touchline Tammas gasped: I’m fucked.
Donnie shook his head. You’ll be alright man, just get your second wind.
Tammas looked at him; then he moved his head to see the big winger hobbling into position for the free kick. Donnie helped him to his feet before returning to the touchline. Tammas walked after the winger, studying his right thigh as he went; it was bruised quite noticeably and some gravel seemed to be stuck in it.
The winger had his hands on his hips, he did not look in Tammas’s direction, keeping his attention on the player taking the throw in.
The ball was shied to the rear and one of the opposition struck it high into the air, away to the far wing.
At half time he lay at the touchline with his hands clasped behind his head, a few yards away from the rest of the team. Donnie handed him the cigarette but he had no matches and Donnie had none either. He got up, he walked down to the other team; one of their supporters was smoking; Tammas received a light from him.
When he returned the guy called Paul passed him a piece of orange and asked, How’s it going?
Ah okay.
Quite a hard game.
Aye.
Paul grinned at the cigarette: Give us a drag eh?
Tammas handed him it then he lowered down to sit on his heels, he ate the orange.
Donnie came over. How you doing?
Tammas shrugged.
That winger’s no going near you now!
Naw.
See if we can keep it nothing each. .! Donnie laughed briefly. They’ll be asking you to turn professional!
Hh. Tammas turned his head, glanced at the other player who had a last puff on the fag before giving him it back.
•••
He was limping slightly when he arrived in the lounge bar that evening. Rab and Rena and Betty were sitting waiting on him. Betty smiled and pointed at Rab: That’s the two of you — he hurt his knee!
Aye, said Rab.
Tammas grinned. He remained standing, his hands on the edge of the table. I saw your result in the paper — hard lines.
You no sitting down? asked Betty.
Eh. . he frowned. We dont have that much time.
Rena laughed: I’m really excited!
So she is! chuckled Rab. Then he glanced at his wristwatch: Sure you cant have a pint?
Eh. .
Go on, said Rena. I feel like another martini. So does Betty.
Aye okay then.
Tammas had sat down on the spare seat beside Betty but when Rab rose to get the drinks he went to the bar with him. Thanks for coming, he said.
Aye, it’s a real chore.
Naw man, serious.
Dont be fucking daft.
Tammas sniffed. I’ll just have a half pint. .
Rab looked at him. The barmaid was serving someone else and he had yet to give the order. We dont have to have one at all, he said.
Ah well. .
Rab turned, strolled to the table: Okay girls, let’s go.
We no having another drink?
Tammas shrugged. We’ll get one at the track.
O! I didnt know they had a bar, said Betty.
Aye, Christ, all the mod cons!
At the large carpark outside the stand the taxi stopped and a wee boy pulled open the door. Ta son, said Tammas and tipped him 10 pence. When he had paid the driver he guided the others across to the entrance, buying two Advisers on the way, one of which he gave to Rab. He bought two pencils from the old woman at the turnstiles. She’s a millionaire, he said, but never mind!