Read Online Connected by Simon Denman - Free Book Online

very last reserves of energy, he charged. From the corner of his
eye, he could see the police winger closing from the outside. Adrenaline surged
through his body, forcing aside the exhaustion he had felt only seconds before.
He pumped his legs harder, feeling powerful, invincible. Unlike the rest of the
squad, the police winger, whose boots could be heard slapping in the mud behind
him, was match-fit and closing fast. Doug glanced over his shoulder. The
policeman was gaining. He looked around for support, but there was no easy
pass. Ahead, the police back was now converging on the gap for which Doug was
aiming. It was going to be tight, but he reckoned he could still squeeze
between him and the goalpost. With one last grunt, he lunged for the line.
 As his feet left the ground, the winger’s shoulder slammed into his
thighs, setting his body into a mid-air spin. He thumped the ball down over the
line, but kept spinning. He saw the post looming rapidly and then everything
went black.
    Out of the darkness came a voice, “Doug!” It
sounded like Kal’s voice. “Be very careful! - Leave it be! – Don’t use it!”
    “Careful now! Leave him be! Don’t move him! Doug!
…Doug! … Doug!”
A ring of blurred faces peered down at him.
“Kal?”
“What? …He’s coming round!”
He began to sit up trying to make out where Kal’s voice had come from.
“Just lie still.” said another voice, this time from a man kneeling at his
side. The man was feeling around Doug’s neck. Gradually his vision started to
clear. It was Dean the coach, a slim, powerful man of about thirty five with a
shaved head and Essex accent. He peered into each of Doug’s eyes then held up
three fingers. “How many fingers can you see?”
“Three!”
Dean curled the third finger and presented a “V”-sign. “Good, and now?
“Same to you, ya bastard!”
“Good! Do you know where you are?”
“Barbados?”
“Very funny. Do you know what just happened?”
“I think I scored a try didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Dean smiled. “You finally chalked one up for us, you big ape.” His face
turned serious again. “Your head hit the post though, and you blacked out for a
bit. Can you move your head?”
Doug raised his head off the mud and rolled it from side to side. “Feels okay”
There was a throbbing coming from his left temple. He touched it with his
fingers and then inspected them for traces of blood. There were none.
“You’re going to need to go down the hospital and get checked out,” said Dean,
“better safe than sorry.”
Dean held out his hand. “Come on, get up! Let’s get you off the pitch so we can
convert it and put these bastards out of their misery.”
As he got dizzily to his feet, some of the players started to clap.
Standing on the touch line, Doug could see Taff holding a wet sponge to his
nose. “How’s the hooter?” Doug asked, “Broken?”
“Not sure!” said Taff, his lyrical Welsh accent booming across the pitch. He
removed the sponge and ran his thumb and forefinger up and down the bridge.
“Think it might be all right actually.”
“Don’t worry, you’re still ugly as sin.” Dean shouted.
    The conversion was taken, but the wind gusted,
sending the ball just wide of the posts. It no longer mattered. The referee
blew full-time and a cheer erupted from the students. As the teams lined up to
shake each others’ hands, a large hairy-faced man started towards them from the
touch line. Doug recognised him as the plain-clothed policeman from two days
before.
“Well played lads!” said the man. “Nice try, Mr. Richards.”
Several of Doug’s team-mates turned and eyed him suspiciously.
“You know, you should really get that head and neck looked at. I’ll give you a
lift over to the hospital, if you like?”
Before Doug had a chance to say no, Dean had answered for him. “If you could
mate, that’d be great. I’ll drop by later and take him back to campus.”
“That’s settled then,” said the policeman.