can’t hurt me.’
‘Okay, thanks Marcus, let’s see how it goes.’ Mr Davies blew his whistle and gathered everyone around to explain the exercise. The pitch was going to be narrowed, the goalposts were cones. And it was midfield versus midfield.
‘We’re coming for you!’ warned Horse. He linked arms conspiratorially with Leonard.
‘Got to catch me first,’ replied Marcus. Horse wouldn’t get anywhere near him, he was sure.
Everyone took their places. The coach blew. The reds played the ball from the back and made the pass to Marcus. Horse steamed in. Marcus vaulted over Horse’s first scything tackle. Leonard followed in, both feet flying, and caught Marcus’s thigh with studs. Marcus fell to the turf.
For a moment, Leonard stood above him, grinning. Then he stepped away to high-five with Horse.
A thin line of blood oozed out of Marcus’s thigh. It was just a scrape.
‘Again!’ the coach called.
The ball came to Marcus again. He dropped a shoulder, sending Horse the wrong way. Leonard came steaming in. Marcus trapped the ball between his heels and hoiked it into the air, carrying the ball and himself over Leonard’s high tackle. He dropped down and flighted the ball perfectly to Jamil, who smashed it between the green’s cones.
‘Only you, Marcus!’ shouted Mr Davies, ‘Nobody else could pull that trick! Alright, again!’
This time Marcus lost Horse easily. He slipped Leonard with a trick called a flip-flap, then zoomed the ball to Jamil again. He’d bamboozled Leonard so badly this time that Leonard had fallen over. It was Marcus’s turn to grin.
‘Alright, forget zonal,’ called Mr Davies. ‘Horse, swap with Leonard, Leonard, man to man on Marcus, stick to him like chewing gum … soon as he gets the ball … the tackle in, annihilate him. Like you’re his anti-matter. Wallop! Let’s go!’
Before the ball had even come to Marcus, Leonard grabbed Marcus’s shirt. Just as Marcus was about to cry foul, Leonard let go of the shirt. Suddenly released, Marcus over-ran the ball. Leonard got it and walloped it away.
‘He had my shirt!’ Marcus protested.
‘Get over it,’ Mr Davies shouted to him. ‘Football’s not a game for fairies, that’s badminton!’ Mr Davies imitated a badminton player wafting the air. Everyone laughed. ‘Good work, Leonard,’ the coach continued, ‘let’s go again.’
This time, as Leonard tried to grab his shoulder, Marcus shoved Leonard off him, broke clear and collected the ball. He turned to pass only for Leonard to slide through him, slicing off his shin guard and dumping Marcus on his backside. Marcus looked at his leg. Blood oozed from his left shin again, the old injury. He’d seen the look as Leonard had slid in. Leonard had deliberately reopened the wound he’d picked up in the semi-final.
‘Idiot!’ Marcus muttered at Leonard.
‘Way to go, Leonard!’ called out Mr Davies.
Leonard was right on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Bleed easy, don’t you?’ Leonard said to him.
Marcus ignored him. He turned away, looking for the ball. Concentration.
‘You’re a wuss,’ Leonard continued. ‘Crying in Miss Podborsky’s …? A big girl. Waaa!’
Marcus felt his face heat up. He turned. ‘What?’
‘What? Can’t hear can you either? Eh? Eh? Eh?’
That was it. Marcus swung a fist at Leonard’s face.
He missed but Leonard still fell to the grass and rolled. Marcus fell on him.
Then Mr Davies was between them, shouting. ‘Hey, Marcus, Marcus, don’t take it personal, it’s an exercise.’ Mr Davies held them apart.
‘He’s opened my shin up again. He’s hit it three times tonight,’ Marcus said.
‘Coincidence,’ Leonard smirked from the ground where he’d stopped rolling to reveal his perfectly unmarked face.
‘C’mon, boys, no need for handbags at dawn. Marcus, keep cool. Leonard, well done, good job. You got him riled, as I asked. Do that in the match with Anthony and it’ll wreck his rhythm. Okay. Again!’
Leonard
‘Okay, thanks Marcus, let’s see how it goes.’ Mr Davies blew his whistle and gathered everyone around to explain the exercise. The pitch was going to be narrowed, the goalposts were cones. And it was midfield versus midfield.
‘We’re coming for you!’ warned Horse. He linked arms conspiratorially with Leonard.
‘Got to catch me first,’ replied Marcus. Horse wouldn’t get anywhere near him, he was sure.
Everyone took their places. The coach blew. The reds played the ball from the back and made the pass to Marcus. Horse steamed in. Marcus vaulted over Horse’s first scything tackle. Leonard followed in, both feet flying, and caught Marcus’s thigh with studs. Marcus fell to the turf.
For a moment, Leonard stood above him, grinning. Then he stepped away to high-five with Horse.
A thin line of blood oozed out of Marcus’s thigh. It was just a scrape.
‘Again!’ the coach called.
The ball came to Marcus again. He dropped a shoulder, sending Horse the wrong way. Leonard came steaming in. Marcus trapped the ball between his heels and hoiked it into the air, carrying the ball and himself over Leonard’s high tackle. He dropped down and flighted the ball perfectly to Jamil, who smashed it between the green’s cones.
‘Only you, Marcus!’ shouted Mr Davies, ‘Nobody else could pull that trick! Alright, again!’
This time Marcus lost Horse easily. He slipped Leonard with a trick called a flip-flap, then zoomed the ball to Jamil again. He’d bamboozled Leonard so badly this time that Leonard had fallen over. It was Marcus’s turn to grin.
‘Alright, forget zonal,’ called Mr Davies. ‘Horse, swap with Leonard, Leonard, man to man on Marcus, stick to him like chewing gum … soon as he gets the ball … the tackle in, annihilate him. Like you’re his anti-matter. Wallop! Let’s go!’
Before the ball had even come to Marcus, Leonard grabbed Marcus’s shirt. Just as Marcus was about to cry foul, Leonard let go of the shirt. Suddenly released, Marcus over-ran the ball. Leonard got it and walloped it away.
‘He had my shirt!’ Marcus protested.
‘Get over it,’ Mr Davies shouted to him. ‘Football’s not a game for fairies, that’s badminton!’ Mr Davies imitated a badminton player wafting the air. Everyone laughed. ‘Good work, Leonard,’ the coach continued, ‘let’s go again.’
This time, as Leonard tried to grab his shoulder, Marcus shoved Leonard off him, broke clear and collected the ball. He turned to pass only for Leonard to slide through him, slicing off his shin guard and dumping Marcus on his backside. Marcus looked at his leg. Blood oozed from his left shin again, the old injury. He’d seen the look as Leonard had slid in. Leonard had deliberately reopened the wound he’d picked up in the semi-final.
‘Idiot!’ Marcus muttered at Leonard.
‘Way to go, Leonard!’ called out Mr Davies.
Leonard was right on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Bleed easy, don’t you?’ Leonard said to him.
Marcus ignored him. He turned away, looking for the ball. Concentration.
‘You’re a wuss,’ Leonard continued. ‘Crying in Miss Podborsky’s …? A big girl. Waaa!’
Marcus felt his face heat up. He turned. ‘What?’
‘What? Can’t hear can you either? Eh? Eh? Eh?’
That was it. Marcus swung a fist at Leonard’s face.
He missed but Leonard still fell to the grass and rolled. Marcus fell on him.
Then Mr Davies was between them, shouting. ‘Hey, Marcus, Marcus, don’t take it personal, it’s an exercise.’ Mr Davies held them apart.
‘He’s opened my shin up again. He’s hit it three times tonight,’ Marcus said.
‘Coincidence,’ Leonard smirked from the ground where he’d stopped rolling to reveal his perfectly unmarked face.
‘C’mon, boys, no need for handbags at dawn. Marcus, keep cool. Leonard, well done, good job. You got him riled, as I asked. Do that in the match with Anthony and it’ll wreck his rhythm. Okay. Again!’
Leonard
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