A penetrating, high-pitched whistle carried across the pitch, indicating the match was about to start. Quickly the practice balls were put away, as the women lined up ready for their next skirmish.
* * *
As the hockey, lacrosse and rugby players outside weaved and darted, dummied and dribbled, Janice found herself crisscrossing the tables filled with customers, picking up empty glasses and plates that were finished with, all the while gazing longingly out of the window and across to the Astroturf pitch. Suddenly she spotted exactly what she'd been looking for. With half a dozen dirty pint glasses piled high in one hand and a stack of dirty plates in the other, she extracted herself from the forest of tables and chairs, scooting quickly back to the kitchen. Once there, and having deposited her load, she swiftly arranged to take her well earned break, and headed outside to see the love of her life doing what he did best.
* * *
'It's looking like a great counter attack,' Peter thought as he spurred his body on, determined to catch up with play and offer his teammates another option. Already he could tell things were pretty evenly matched between the two teams, even though the game had only started a few minutes ago. However, at this early stage his team, Salisbridge, had already squandered two half decent attempts at goal and so he figured if he could help them score it would calm the nerves of some of the younger players, settle things down and be a good base to build on for the rest of the half. Just as that thought zigzagged across his mind, the youngster on the ball, instead of passing to one of his teammates who'd busted a gut to catch up with him, tried very stupidly to take on a wily old defender who looked full of experience, if not fitness and pace. Time and time again he'd tried to drill into the younger players that the best way to beat an opponent was to PASS the ball... But would they listen? Would they CARK! The youngster, thinking rather highly of his dribbling abilities, had just been dispossessed and now, thanks to his selfishness, the entire team were out of position, Peter included. Immediately he turned round and pounded the Astroturf in an attempt to get back into his own half, always keeping an eye on the ball over his shoulder. His breathing was ragged and sweat oozed down his back, as he purposefully blocked out access to his dragon abilities, well... the physical ones anyway.
One of the opposition midfielders had played a defence splitting pass through to their centre forward, who was currently trying to take it wide on the open side of the Salisbridge centre back. Gaining ground rapidly, he didn't like the look of what he was seeing as he sprinted back. One of the youngest players in the team, the centre back looked as though he was about to pay for his inexperience. Sure he could make it back to cover his teammate, just then Peter's concentration wavered a little as a flicker of recognition and the scent of perfume brushed a tiny part of his mind. Puffing, putting all his effort into getting back into position, the faintest of smiles crossed his face, knowing that she was somewhere nearby, having sneaked out to watch him. That fact alone was enough to spur him on to greater things, make him more powerful, more dangerous and, for a while, keep him at the top of his game.
Performing THE most outrageous dummy he'd ever seen, the attacker left the young centre back for dead. Peter knew that he'd never have fallen for it in a million years, unlike his out of the equation teammate. Thinking about a shot at goal after having written the centre back totally off, Peter's sprinting form had now entered the frame. If his opponent took his stick off the ball, Peter would win it outright. So the very brazen and cheeky, to say the least, attacker, performed the second most outrageous dummy Peter had ever seen. Or at least, tried to. Peter's experience and instinct told him exactly what was about to happen, and while looking for an instant as though he was going to fall for it, a split second later he laid down his stick strongly on the floor, at a slight angle, with his left hand... and waited. Sure enough, he took the ball cleanly away from his opponent, whose momentum had taken him off to Peter's left somewhere. Inside, a small part of him chuckled at what had just happened, but he knew better than to get cocky. Pulling the ball back onto his open side, he got his head up and looked for the best pass, all the time the end of his stick caressing the ball. The Salisbridge right back had done much the same as Peter and come bombing back from the counter attack that had broken down, so seeing him out wide with no player nearby and with an opposing midfield player threatening to close him down, Peter bent his knees a little more, turned his shoulders, shifted his weight and momentum, and with a flick of his wrist sent the ball hurtling towards his teammate, who picked it up cleanly on the end of his stick, the incoming midfielder sliding to a halt just in front of him, disappointed that he'd been thwarted by a pass. Meanwhile, the right back had played it forward to Andy the captain on the right side of midfield, and the match continued, all the time Peter immersed but also aware of the beautiful bar worker trying incredibly hard to hide her existence on the sideline. 'Thrilling' couldn't begin to describe the feeling running through his bogus body.
* * *
Barely two hundred yards away, Tank had just taken a right uppercut to his chin in the front row of the scrum and he wasn't happy. It was the second time it had happened, on both occasions from a mean and moody looking giant of a human being... even compared with him, and he was by no means a slouch on the build front. But this guy really was built like the proverbial brick outhouse, with not an ounce of fat on him and being over six and a half feet tall. Judging from the punches he'd been throwing, he'd taken an instant dislike to Tank, for what reason the caring and sensitive mountain of a dragon had no idea whatsoever.
Suddenly the mud-ridden ball bumbled its way erratically into view, just out of touching distance. Tank fired up all his muscles, not even flirting with the idea of using any of his hidden dragon power. Pushing with all his might, unyielding grunts and groans intermingled with sounds of overwhelming physical exertion and the whispered commands of the referee. The excitement was off the scale, a bit like the attitude of Mr Moody, the overly physical opponent. Again Tank heaved, the studs on his boots digging in for dear life; his back, neck and legs were the rope in a tug of war. Inch by inch, Salisbridge edged forward, each player in the scrum winning his own battle. Breathless panting formed the backdrop to all the other scary noises, so great was the effort put in by both sides. Tank's shoulders felt as though they'd been dipped in lava, they burned so much. For the merest instant he thought of Steel and his heroics beneath the boiling magma at the laminium ball stadium. Screwing his eyes up tight, he pushed with all his might, the thought of one of his dragon idols inspiring him to greater deeds. As the scrum moved forward faster than previously, one of his teammates grabbed the oddly yet beautifully shaped ball and tossed it with great power, back through his legs. Tank's body automatically eased off, knowing that the scrum was about to break up. It was a shame, because if it hadn't, he might have seen the rather flagrant abuse of the game's law, in the form of another mighty punch, head his way. He didn't, and he hit the muddy ground with such force that some time later, just after the match had finished, the groundsman's son would remark to his daddy while strolling across the pitch that he'd found a hole that was, "exactly the same shape as a nose." Dismissing it as the ramblings of an over excited young child, it was a shame the groundsman never checked, because his son was right. And if he'd known what to look for, he might have seen the rest of Tank's face imprinted in the mud as well.