"Sometimes," she would say, "you have to take one or two of these humans down a peg or two, purely for their own good."
'Well,' he thought, striding purposefully back onto the pitch, 'this one needs taking down, and it'll be more than a couple of pegs by the time I've finished with him.'
* * *
Back on the Astroturf, Peter's team were struggling to overcome a 1-0 deficit, with the attack that had led to the goal being almost a carbon copy of the one where Peter had come to the rescue at the last minute, buoyed by Janice's presence on the sideline. Once again, the young, inexperienced, cocksure attacker had been robbed of the ball instead of passing to any number of his teammates, trying to show off with a fancy dribbling move that had ended in embarrassment. Two things made it worse than the first time. One, was the youngster's lack of movement after losing the ball, not even attempting to run back to try and make amends for his stupidity. Two, was the fact that because so many of his team had been up in support, it had allowed their opponents to counter with speed and relative ease, something even Peter had been unable to prevent, and had ended with the conceded goal. This time even the unflappable, and normally full of praise captain, Andy, had seen enough, immediately substituting the talented youngster with a less gifted but much harder working player, vowing not to bring the moody and selfish player back on under any circumstances, for the rest of the match.
Currently feeling more than a little starved of oxygen because of the amount of running he was doing, Peter's brain felt very much like his body, as though it were wading through treacle. Along with the rest of the team however, he was determined to get the goal back. It wasn't so much that he minded losing; for him it was more about the manner you lost or won. Also, their opponents, while pretty good, were very dirty, with lots of things going on off the balclass="underline" stepping on toes during set pieces; following through unnecessarily at times with their sticks; the odd elbow or stick in the ribs, particularly against the younger players. All of this made him angry, and determined to address the situation in the only way he knew how... by winning!
* * *
Over on the lacrosse pitch, it was a totally different matter. As a spectacle, the game had long since been over even though the allotted time was not. Salisbridge ladies were now 9-0 up, with their leader and talisman determined to reach double figures. Despite a small part of her still pondering her emotional outburst, she was on fire (ironic really) playing like a demon, her skills sublime and there for all to see. If Peter, Tank or Flash had been watching, they'd all have had serious reservations as to whether or not she'd been dipping into her dragon abilities... but not so! That's how well she was performing. Not only that, but she would never cheat; her sport meant too much to her. What she was doing on the pitch was pure, unassailable, raw talent, combined with natural ability and just a love of her pastime. It was almost as if she were having a perfect match, if such a thing were possible. Most sportsmen or women have perfect moments... instances they remember forever: scoring a superb goal, making a wonderful save, performing an amazing tackle, block, nutmeg, or just some kind of mazy, dribbling run, but today was Richie's day in just about everything she did. All that she did came off with spectacular results. It was a joy to watch or be a part of, unless of course you were one of the opposition.
* * *
Tank was done, his normally cool, calm, disposition having evaporated entirely, and was just out there now to teach the giant, ignorant, dope of a man mountain a lesson. Up until a few seconds ago, he hadn't been sure of how to do such a thing, not without being sent off in disgrace or worse. But as he'd stood in the line-out, it had hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew just what to do, and it would be nothing short of just desserts for his opponent.
Minutes later, the referee sounded his whistle for an infringement, and Tank had intentionally found himself standing next to the grumpy brick wall of a player who he intended to teach a lesson. Up until now, neither of them had said a word, they'd only locked eyes, particularly in the scrum. All that was about to change. Casually sidling up to the player, Tank, pretending to look in a totally different direction, trod down on the player's left boot with all his might, continuing walking as the player let out an undignified yelp of pain. Striding after Tank, the hulk of a player spun him around and barked in a low, threatening voice at him, asking him what he thought he was doing. Holding out his arms wide in surprise, Tank feigned complete ignorance of what he'd done. Electing to put his face an inch or so away from Tank's, the man mountain growled an insult at the young dragon through his cloying breath, hoping to intimidate him. But to the player's surprise, Tank produced his biggest and best smile, before whispering under his breath,
"If that's the best you can do in the scrum sonny, they should replace you with a young child. I've known toddlers that can throw punches harder than that!"
Turning the most fabulous shade of scarlet, with steam rising from his head and ears, Tank's opponent had a face that made him look like the angriest man on the planet. For the merest instant, a flicker of dread raced through the young dragon, but that was all. Knowing full well his rough and ready dragon body would protect him from almost anything, he had nothing to fear... not from this human anyway. Grabbing the collars of Tank's shirt, the huge angry player lifted him physically off the ground... one of the most impressive feats on any of the pitches at the club during the whole day. By now, almost everybody on or around the pitch was aware of what was happening between the two players, with men from both sides piling in, pushing, shoving, shouting... swearing. It took all of three or four minutes for the referee to separate the teams and calm things down. All the time, the man mountain glared across at Tank, murder in his eyes.
It didn't take long for the next scrum to come along. Like a pair of star crossed lovers, Tank and his opponent only had eyes for each other as the players came together. Tank had been waiting for exactly this moment. Part of him was sorry for what he was about to do, feeling as though it were cheating. But he'd already made up his mind. This thug deserved everything he got, and besides, HE wouldn't actually be doing anything.
With the scrum locked, all of the players' heads were down, darkness engulfing them. Tank refused to look, instead concentrating on holding the pack together and inspiring the rest of his side. From above the panting and heaving of the pack, he could just make out the referee speaking, and then suddenly the ball was THERE! Bracing himself, he knew exactly what was coming. And come it did. There was only one difference this time: Tank had tapped into his well of dragon power, reinforcing his human shape, not shielding it, just reinforcing it. For a few moments his outer body was immovable, invincible, unbeatable. Abruptly, the punch hit with a staggering amount of force, so much so that he wouldn't have believed it had come from a human, had he not seen it himself. If it had made contact with another human, it would most certainly have shattered their cheekbone and left them with a very long stay in hospital. Tank's dragon abilities had shifted the balance and this time he wasn't the one suffering, it was the big fella, who, having just broken every bone in his hand, had stood up in the middle of the scrum, screaming and wailing like a new born baby.