Marcus?’
Marcus was about to open his mouth, but Mr Davies’s wiggling eyebrows jumped in before he could say anything.
‘You know what they’re like at this age, the hormones. They kick off over anything. Marcus slammed a door too loud, something like that, and he’s very sorry. Right, Marcus?’
Marcus nodded.
The scout kissed his teeth. ‘Pull this guy from your team on the eve of a league decider? By my standards he’d had to have murdered someone.’
‘Like I said, a sandwich short, the head of year is,’ Mr Davies agreed. ‘The new kid’s good though. Watch him. Leonard. It’s a more defensive line-up. We only need one point. We’ve got tactics. It’s the Christmas tree formation, but without the baubles. Leonard’s slotted right in. We’ve been through it in training, we can do this. Right, Marcus?’
Marcus duly nodded.
The scout checked his watch and Mr Davies became even more eager. ‘Got my full set of coaching badges this summer … appointments arise, I’m your man. I left Bowker for Ducie, you know. I wasn’t sacked for poor results, despite what they say. Left for the toughest council estate school in the borough. Tougher challenge. And it’s come good now, just watch. When it comes to coaching I’m up there, though I say so myself. Ready for the next challenge. If Man United want me, even in a part-time or voluntary capacity for their youth teams …’
‘Well, good luck, Mr Davies,’ said the scout, cutting him short. He shook Mr Davies’s hand then offered his hand to Marcus, to Marcus’s surprise. Marcus turned away, flipped his ATC onto his head and balanced it there.
‘Please yourself,’ the scout said. ‘Tell you what, Mr Davies,’ the scout shouted, ‘that boy can sulk!’
Mr Davies mouthed ‘stupid boy’ silently at him. Marcus ignored Mr Davies and watched the scout make his way across the pitch to where the Bowker Vale camp were gathered. Only the stray dog remained with Marcus and Mr Davies on the Ducie touchline.
Marcus’s phone vibrated. He checked it. From Adele:
Hiya
☺
It pulled Marcus’s mood up a bit. The whistle went. Bowker kicked off. The game started tentatively, both teams finding their feet. Leonard slammed a tackle in, collected the ball, fed it to Horse. Horse skidded in the mud, steadied himself, turned and flighted it high up in the air towards the Bowker Vale goalmouth. Jamil jumped and, if he’d reached it with his head, it might have gone in.
‘Nice try, Jamil, keep it up!’ yelled Mr Davies, by Marcus’ side. ‘Horse, more like that! We’ve got them on the run!’
Slowly, Bowker began to assert themselves. Marcus watched as, in the way that Marcus had predicted, the Bowker captain, Anthony dropped further back in midfield to lose his zone marker and collect the ball. Then, although he never went past anybody, Anthony did the simple pass well and made himself available for the return, moving Bowker up the pitch as he did so. His team responded to his prompts. They were brilliantly organised. Bowker started to look formidable. They held onto the ball. Ducie chased around uselessly.
‘Leonard, what did I say? What’s the plan? Shift it!’ Mr Davies called out, exasperated.
Leonard galloped up the field and began man-marking Anthony, slamming into him whenever he received the ball and before he could choose his pass. Horse went with him, ready to follow up. The tactics suffocated the style out of Bowker and the game started turning in Ducie’s favour again.
‘They’re not up for it, get in there!’ Mr Davies called out.
Despite himself, Marcus had to admire the way Leonard and Horse worked. They were like hunting dogs. Their tackles were early and committed, just as they’d trained. Anthony was strangled totally out of the game.
On the other side of the pitch, Mr Vialli started yelling and waving his clipboard. Bowker stepped up their own tackling. Feet began flying everywhere. The new turf in the middle of the
Marcus was about to open his mouth, but Mr Davies’s wiggling eyebrows jumped in before he could say anything.
‘You know what they’re like at this age, the hormones. They kick off over anything. Marcus slammed a door too loud, something like that, and he’s very sorry. Right, Marcus?’
Marcus nodded.
The scout kissed his teeth. ‘Pull this guy from your team on the eve of a league decider? By my standards he’d had to have murdered someone.’
‘Like I said, a sandwich short, the head of year is,’ Mr Davies agreed. ‘The new kid’s good though. Watch him. Leonard. It’s a more defensive line-up. We only need one point. We’ve got tactics. It’s the Christmas tree formation, but without the baubles. Leonard’s slotted right in. We’ve been through it in training, we can do this. Right, Marcus?’
Marcus duly nodded.
The scout checked his watch and Mr Davies became even more eager. ‘Got my full set of coaching badges this summer … appointments arise, I’m your man. I left Bowker for Ducie, you know. I wasn’t sacked for poor results, despite what they say. Left for the toughest council estate school in the borough. Tougher challenge. And it’s come good now, just watch. When it comes to coaching I’m up there, though I say so myself. Ready for the next challenge. If Man United want me, even in a part-time or voluntary capacity for their youth teams …’
‘Well, good luck, Mr Davies,’ said the scout, cutting him short. He shook Mr Davies’s hand then offered his hand to Marcus, to Marcus’s surprise. Marcus turned away, flipped his ATC onto his head and balanced it there.
‘Please yourself,’ the scout said. ‘Tell you what, Mr Davies,’ the scout shouted, ‘that boy can sulk!’
Mr Davies mouthed ‘stupid boy’ silently at him. Marcus ignored Mr Davies and watched the scout make his way across the pitch to where the Bowker Vale camp were gathered. Only the stray dog remained with Marcus and Mr Davies on the Ducie touchline.
Marcus’s phone vibrated. He checked it. From Adele:
Hiya
☺
It pulled Marcus’s mood up a bit. The whistle went. Bowker kicked off. The game started tentatively, both teams finding their feet. Leonard slammed a tackle in, collected the ball, fed it to Horse. Horse skidded in the mud, steadied himself, turned and flighted it high up in the air towards the Bowker Vale goalmouth. Jamil jumped and, if he’d reached it with his head, it might have gone in.
‘Nice try, Jamil, keep it up!’ yelled Mr Davies, by Marcus’ side. ‘Horse, more like that! We’ve got them on the run!’
Slowly, Bowker began to assert themselves. Marcus watched as, in the way that Marcus had predicted, the Bowker captain, Anthony dropped further back in midfield to lose his zone marker and collect the ball. Then, although he never went past anybody, Anthony did the simple pass well and made himself available for the return, moving Bowker up the pitch as he did so. His team responded to his prompts. They were brilliantly organised. Bowker started to look formidable. They held onto the ball. Ducie chased around uselessly.
‘Leonard, what did I say? What’s the plan? Shift it!’ Mr Davies called out, exasperated.
Leonard galloped up the field and began man-marking Anthony, slamming into him whenever he received the ball and before he could choose his pass. Horse went with him, ready to follow up. The tactics suffocated the style out of Bowker and the game started turning in Ducie’s favour again.
‘They’re not up for it, get in there!’ Mr Davies called out.
Despite himself, Marcus had to admire the way Leonard and Horse worked. They were like hunting dogs. Their tackles were early and committed, just as they’d trained. Anthony was strangled totally out of the game.
On the other side of the pitch, Mr Vialli started yelling and waving his clipboard. Bowker stepped up their own tackling. Feet began flying everywhere. The new turf in the middle of the
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