"Well, I've never seen him at training," said one.
"There's a surprise," added another, cynically.
"You should know by now that not all first teamers are required to attend training," piped up another.
Finally, the cheekiest of the lot quipped,
"Perhaps he's the captain's new boyfriend."
With this the rest of the group shook their heads and wandered away a little.
"Whaaaaat?" said the cheeky one, practically standing on his own now. "You were all thinking it."
Having not been paying much attention, instead concentrating on his warm up, Peter decided to take a look at the newcomer. Glancing over to the very far 'D', he could barely believe what he was seeing. There, rushing about in full first team kit, was Major Manson. His heart sank. What the hell was he doing here? A sudden tap on the shoulder made him turn around with a start.
"Are you okay Peter?" asked Andy, the captain of the second team. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Ahh... I'm fine. Must have been that dodgy kebab last night," he lied, still reeling from seeing Manson on the pitch.
"Okay," replied Andy, giving Peter a sneaky wink.
Taking a large swig from his water bottle, trying to compose himself, the full time whistle from the first team's game rang in Peter's ears. Joining his teammates to head out onto the pitch proper, he hung about the entrance, pretending to fiddle with his shin pads. Eventually the first team players trudged off the pitch, nearly all carrying grazes or burns on their knees, legs and arms. Watching as Manson picked up his kit and walked around the pitch towards him, Peter made sure he stood in the way of the narrow gated entrance as his nemesis reached it. Chatting to one of his new teammates, Manson approached the entrance to the pitch, only to find Peter in his way, making himself as big as possible. With no choice but to wait, Manson stared directly at Peter, a scowl of epic proportions stamped on his face. For his part, Peter looked straight ahead, noticing that Manson made no effort to acknowledge him, as he headed to the halfway line to join the rest of his team. Sneaking a quick peek over his shoulder, he noticed that Manson didn't even look back at him, and had gone straight off to the changing rooms. That was when it hit him. There was no sign of a limp, or even his walking stick. How odd!
"Come on Peter, let's go. It's time to start," called Andy, the captain. Slipping his fingers into his hand guard, he jogged off into his position, thoroughly fed up and distracted.
The match did not go well. Not only were the opposition very good, but Peter found himself distracted by everything he'd seen before the game. Distracted didn't begin to cover it. So after the worst possible preparation for a game ever, Peter played like a drain. Within ten minutes they'd found themselves 3-0 down, and by half time it was 4-1. Andy the captain made the decision to substitute Peter at halftime, and although staying in his kit, ready to return to the action (rolling substitutes are used in hockey, meaning a player can come off and go back on as many times as he or she likes), he knew full well that because of the way he'd played, he would not get called back on.
Fighting hard in the second half without him, the team gave a good account of themselves in eventually losing 5-4. Those early goals that Peter had played a part in had gone on to cost them dearly, something he, and everyone else in the team realised. Normally full of laughter and high jinks, the changing room was as flat and subdued as it had ever been.
Once showered and changed, Peter thought about driving straight home, that's how bad his mood was, but even through the dark mist enveloping his mind, he knew that it would be perceived as unsportsmanlike if he disappeared now, without even talking to their opponents for ten minutes. Batting his worry about running into Manson to one side, he strolled into the bar, bought himself a drink and started chatting to the opposing team. Minutes drifted away, as he unintentionally started to have a good time, the fact that Manson was nowhere to be seen contributing greatly to this. After an hour or so, the opposing team left to return home. It was only then that Peter realised that he'd forgotten about all his worries. Thinking about going home for something to eat, abruptly he received a well timed pat on the back.
"Nice job Peter," announced Andy, noticing the puzzled expression on Peter's face.
Peter stood perplexed.
"Socialising with our opponents."
"Ahhh," muttered Peter.
"Now about the game today," continued Andy, putting his arm around Peter's shoulder and slurring his words slightly. "You came in afterwards and behaved really well, which as far as I'm concerned, was the best thing you could have done. Everyone has a bad game from time to time. The secret's forgetting all about it, moving on and playing your best in the next match. I'll tell you a little secret," uttered Andy, getting right in Peter's face, and touching his nose for emphasis. "Some of the team thought you were going to drive off after the game in a huff. I told them you wouldn't."
Peter smirked a little at that, knowing full well that he nearly had.
"But you didn't," continued Andy. "It's good to have you in the team Peter. I'll see you at training on Tuesday. Now you'll have to excuse me, but there's a rather attractive lacrosse player that needs me to entertain her," he said winking, before staggering off into what had now become a rather crowded bar.
Finding himself smiling, Peter was glad he'd stayed, and stood for a moment just taking in the atmosphere of the packed clubhouse.
Filled with people, practically all the chairs in the place were taken, with most watching the sports news on the massive flat screen telly at the far end, waiting not so patiently for the football results. Arcade machines boomed every now and then, while the 'ching, ching, ching' of money crashing out of the fruit machines provided occasional interruption. Add the thud of pool balls crashing together with the sound of friendly rivalry, it all made for a very eclectic and very intoxicating mix.
He found the whole thing very special and felt privileged to be a part of it. There was nothing quite like this in the dragon world he'd been brought up in. As he took in the rowdy atmosphere, he found himself thinking of the one thing he really didn't miss. Going back a couple of years, the atmosphere probably would have been about the same, only a huge blanket of cigarette smoke would have hung in the air throughout the room, infecting everyone's clothes, hair and skin with its disgusting aroma. Not to mention the unseen damage it was doing to people’s lungs and other internal organs. Thankfully the government had chosen to implement a ban in public places, with the sports club only reluctantly complying right at the very last minute, unlike many of the other establishments in the area who had gone smoke-free long before the deadline had come into force. Credit to them though, they had swapped out all the soft furnishings, including the carpet, making the place a much brighter and fresher place to hang out. Of course there was always the spilt alcohol, something he had no doubt was going on around him right now, given how busy it was, and how drunk many of the patrons were. In places, the carpets were stickier than a gecko's tongue, however, he didn't mind that too much. What did bother him was having to walk through the constant cloud of smoke from all of the barred smokers who lurked outside the main doors, come rain, sunshine or snow, with little regard for anyone but themselves. Sometimes he thought that smokers were the most selfish people on the entire planet.