Finally, he snapped! There and then in the middle of the packed bar he just lost it completely, screaming, yelling, waving his hands around like a mime artist having an epileptic fit, and worst of all were the expletives. There were of course young children with their families nearby, all of whom heard his words, despite desperate attempts by their parents to cover their ears or distract them from what had been said. Each and every person in the bar watched the chairman, who was completely and utterly the centre of attention.
Janice stood, flabbergasted, halfway through pouring a pint of lager for a customer. In all her life, she'd never seen anyone melt down like that. She felt sorry for him, that was until the rude words spewed out of his mouth like sewage from a drainpipe. After that, all she felt was anger and disgust.
Just as some of the more burly adults in the bar were about to step in, the chairman, by now completely out of his mind, shimmied around the surrounding people and stropped (for that was the only word to describe it) off across the bar and out of the main door, leaving the whole building in total and utter silence. Even the tiniest whistle of a trump would have been heard.
Outside in the car park, in his marked bay, the chairman glanced at his watch, got into his car and reversed out, taking one long last look at the building that had been such an important part of his life for so long, before speeding out of the car park, leaving a trail of dust in his wake, glad to finally be free and on his way to safety.
Deep beneath the bonnet of the chairman's black BMW, lodged in a tiny recess below the car's battery, a fist sized lump of what looked like coloured play dough wrapped in a series of wires, connected to a timer, sat counting down. It had been there for a very long time.
Back at the clubhouse, things had gotten back to normal, with the buzz being all about the chairman's apparent meltdown, from the staff to the officers, to the players. The day was turning out to be anything but normal. Little did they know that this was just the start.
* * *
Charging out of the changing rooms in perfect unison, the home rugby side's choreography was almost up there with the Bolshoi ballet. Three back from the front, Tank looked a sight, his mighty chest puffed out like a proud peacock, his thighs taut, looking like tree trunks, his biceps rippling gently beneath his tight top. Followed by the coach, the team took to one half of the pitch, all going through the same warm up. An expression of utter concentration and a will to win was ingrained in the face of every player. They looked awesome, magnificent, full of unlimited determination, and to the opposition who'd just trotted past them on the way to the other end of the pitch, they looked like all their nightmares rolled into one.
* * *
Entering the Astroturf in dribs and drabs, some having come from the changing rooms, others straight from their cars, having arrived fully changed, the men's hockey second XI looked rather messy, especially when compared with the rugby players. Arriving smack bang in the middle of it all, Peter stationed his thick, black stick bag against the dark green wire mesh of the fence, and then began his normal muscle stretching routine. In theory, he didn't have to do any stretching at all; the magic coating, if you like, surrounding his dragon DNA currently maintaining his human form, could withstand a barrage of abuse, and quite literally nothing he could do on a hockey pitch would damage it. But he both wanted and needed to blend in, and that also included making a point of setting a good example to the youngsters in the side whenever he played or trained, showing them how to warm up properly, passing on a very valuable lesson.
Currently the ladies' second XI were playing a humdinger of a league match. While warming up, he took note of the crunching tackles, one or two off the ball incidents that the umpires either missed or chose to ignore, and one rather crafty follow through with a stick that nearly took one of the Salisbridge ladies' heads off. In his lowly opinion, the umpires didn't have nearly the kind of control of the match that they should have had. In just the short time he'd been watching, he was sure at least two yellow cards should have been issued, to send off the instrumental player for a minimum of five minutes.
Warm up complete, a smile crept onto his face from noticing two of the younger players mimicking him, one who was playing his first game and whose name he couldn't remember, and one who went by the name of Taibul, the son of the owner of the Indian restaurant the sports club members regularly frequented. Over the last few matches, he'd been impressed with the way young Taibul had performed on and off the pitch. Dedicated and brave in almost every tackle he made on it, the youngster had also started to learn to take in his stride all the friendly banter that came his way off it. A potential star, he was certainly one to watch out for in the future. Just as Peter's smile was about to pack its bags and tuck itself away for the upcoming match, out of the corner of his eye he just caught sight of Janice's gorgeous face pressed firmly against the inside of the clubhouse window, gazing out in his direction. Fervently he hoped she would sneak out again, as she had done on a few other occasions. Of course, she had no idea that he knew, and it would be difficult for him to explain how he did, as she always kept her distance and hid behind others to minimise the risk of being seen. But his highly tuned dragon senses always knew when she was nearby, almost able to perceive her soul vibrating on a frequency only he could hear. Knowing that she was there, he always had to try very hard not to look in her direction and give the game away, that and avoid tapping into his dragon powers to show off in some spectacular fashion, although he did always give more when she was watching, but that more was one hundred percent human, with not an ounce of magic anywhere to be seen. There was simply no way he'd ever give anything from the dragon side of himself when playing hockey; he respected the game, his teammates and everything about it, too much to taint it by doing that. To him, that would just be cheating, and even though he knew he was a long way off being the best hockey player in the club, he considered it his moral responsibility to be the fairest, and most sporting. Looking forward to sensing her presence in the crowd, he craved that tingling sensation that racked his entire body when she was there watching him.
One of the two beleaguered umpires blew their whistle to signal the end of the ladies' game in front of them. Grabbing balls from the plastic white bucket marked 'Second Team', all the players scooted out onto the pitch to continue warming up, weaving around opposing ladies arguing after the previous match. For Peter, now it was game time. He'd been thinking about it all morning, and not even a single thought of Janice or his friends interrupted his train of thought. It was all about holding the stick, feeling the power and a very different kind of magic to the one he was used to, as well as the potential, the ebb and flow of another great chance to line up alongside his teammates. Essentially he was caught up in a small fantasy world, one with sticks and a ball, two umpires, a D, penalty corners, no offside, two goals, and a billion possibilities. Game on!
* * *
Strolling calmly out onto the pitch as a group, the ladies' lacrosse team were focused, determined and unified. It was to some degree quite a scary sight, especially for their opposition, who had been doing all sorts of hakka-like nonsense at the time. In a very precise and controlled manner, the Salisbridge players all started their warm up, ignoring the opposition, throwing the ball with their sticks at what looked like the speed of a bullet, with not one being missed, their accuracy was so great. As the young women ran through all of this, blissfully unaware of their opponents, a persistent confidence grew across all of the players' faces. They were well and truly in the zone, if such a thing existed. To them, there was nothing else. No clubhouse, no showers, no cars, no money... no nothing!