1.45 - The Hospital Pass

45.

Football glossary: Hospital Pass. When a teammate passes the ball to you in such a way that you are likely to be clobbered by someone on the other team.

***

On Thursday I went to pick Raffi up. He had a surprise for me.

"This is Shona," he said, as I fist bumped his wife. "And you know Serina." His little girl, all wrapped up like a Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in the crook of his arm. Shona wasn't what I would have expected. She was plus-size, had a big, round face, and her hair tied back into a serious little bun. At first glance, she seemed like the brains of the couple. A smart cookie; weighing me up. I'd have to be careful with her.

It was clear Raffi wanted them to come along. I didn't mind, but had practical considerations. "I don't have a baby seat."

"I know the way to Stockport. We'll take our car and meet you there."

"We're not going to Stockport. I mean, we are. But we're stopping off somewhere first."

Raffi and his wife exchanged a glance. They'd expected some shenanigans. I didn't speak. They had to decide to trust me or not. Raffi had rearranged his shift; there was no point backing out over something so trivial. "Fine. I'll drive. You can leave your car here. Good?"

"Good," I said. I grabbed my sports bag and sports briefcase, and gave Raffi directions to the care home.

***

I popped in to see mum. Just for a minute. Raffi was uncomfortable - he told me he didn't like hospitals. Shona was fantastic. She offered to keep my mum company while I did whatever I was doing. I grinned and said she should come, too, since she was part of this.

She wanted to ask what 'this' was, but by now she was more curious than suspicious. We went in next door and I introduced everybody to everybody.

Anna was looking much better. She was up and moving, leaning on a walking stick with oversized ferrules. "Max!" she barked. Her voice didn't have the power it had when I met her, but she was clearly on the mend. "Solly misses his walks."

"Max has been grinding," I said.

"I'm sure I don't want to know what that means," she sniffed.

Shona stepped in. "It means he's been working hard. Scouting football players." She gave Raffi a sideways hug.

"Oh. Is that what he does? We were wondering." Anna looked from Raffi to me. "Oh, I see. You want an assessment?"

"Yes, please."

Raffi shrank back. "Whoa whoa whoa."

I grinned at him. "We can discuss your phobias later. Come and stand here."

He didn't want to, but Shona pushed him.

"Solly," I said. "Should I take this guy on as a client?"

Solly had been waiting to get this moment over with so he could return to his nap. He pottered over and sniffed Raffi. He looked up and started panting, a big dopey look on his face.

"Strong pass," said Anna.

"Pass like skip this one?" said Shona.

"Pass like he passed the test."

"Oh, good." Shona beamed. A sort of amused, joking pride. She didn't mind taking part in my charade.

"Shona. You're up."

"Me?" She was astonished.

"I told you. You're part of this."

She gave me an odd look, then stepped forward and bent down towards the dog. She put her hand out and he sniffed it and rubbed his cheek against her. I waited for him to give the signal, but apparently that was the signal.

Anna said, "Top marks!"

"What about the baby?" I asked.

"No point," said Anna. "Solomon loves all babies. They're his weak spot."

Raffi looked quite bemused by the whole situation, but his relief that there was no medical stuff about to happen was obvious. I tapped him on the arm. "Let's roll. Anna, I'll be round to walk Solly one day soon. Promise. Nothing could stop me."

***

Since we were about to meet a football insider, we had a quick discussion about signing a contract. I wanted it done before they met Jackie. They wanted to do it after.

"It makes no sense to introduce you to a guy who you can run off with and live happily ever after," I said.

"We're not signing anything until there's proof you know what you're doing," countered Shona.

"I'm about to burn a lot of networking capital if this goes wrong," I said. "This is a big risk for me."

"You'll survive," she said. "If there's something in this, we'll sign your contract, Max. Until then, put your seatbelt on."

I had to trust them. I had no choice.

***

We drove to Stockport. I got more and more stressed that Jackie wouldn't be there, but I had a strong suspicion that he would be. Surely the thought of seeing me play would be absolute catnip to him? Still, I practically sagged with relief when I saw him, Ziggy, and Lula hanging around the entrance.

I did some quick introductions, and while Ziggy and Raffi went ahead into the changing rooms, Jackie held me back. "Ey up, Maxy Boy. If this Raffi lad plays for this team, why does Ziggy need to be introduced to him? Why do I get the feeling you're going to play for 2 minutes and make me watch this guy the rest of the match?"

His doubts brought out a big smile. For once, I'd be able to keep everybody happy. "Jackie, I'll show you my best weaksauce moves, don't worry about that. But when you see this guy play, you're going to be begging me to get off the pitch and out of his way. Begging me."

He gave me one of his flat looks, those ones that are so out of character they practically hum with meaning.

I went into the changing room, whistling all the way.

***

Ziggy's team was called Cheshire Jokes, a pun on the local shopping centre, Cheshire Oaks. The Jokers played in white. The team was: Deck in goal, and outfield they had Graham, the frustrated plasterer, Hugh, who had told Ziggy to give me a chance, plus Musa, who had some Malian background. I was replacing Ziggy, and Raffi would be our sub. It was annoying that Jackie wouldn't get to see the star attraction for the whole game, but we weren't there to do a hostile takeover of the team. Anyway, even ten minutes would be enough. Raffi's talent had to be evident to the curse-free eye. It had to be.

And now there I was, on the pitch, under the floodlights, kicking a ball around. It was very, very strange. Almost an out-of-body experience. I'd see the ball move away from my foot and feel the impact a second later. Huh?

I'd kicked a ball during the FC United training session. I'd joined in a Beth Head masterclass to check my False Midfield tactic 'from the inside'. But this was completely different. This was a real game against a real team. Viaduct Vikings, wearing blue. They seemed overly tall and fit for a game at this level. Like someone had stretched them out, or fed them wagyu beef every meal since they were toddlers.

I hadn't given this match much thought - I would turn up and run around. No big deal. The goal was noble - to protect Ziggy from himself. But now that I was there, everything was twisted and rotten. The artificial grass seemed unusually fake, a lurid green. When I moved, my feet were far too heavy, sort of like I was running in those Acme weights from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I felt like I was wading through treacle underwater, like every blade of plastic was covered in thousands of little velcro hooks and so was I.

I tried doing a couple of sprints and had to slow down because I genuinely feared I'd topple forward and slam, head-first, into the wooden sidings. And worse, I felt my chest was zipped up. My lungs weren't there - I was sucking in air, trying to breathe, but there was nothing. The light was so harsh I was having trouble making my passes. I took a couple of shots and they blooped feebly to the right. I had no sense of depth perception. Everything was too close and too far.

My body just wasn't working.

I started to panic. My team was so small and feeble. The opponents were enormous. The referee was pressed against the side, a sinister, recessed, ghostly presence. Behind him, the faces of my friends and acquaintances. Ziggy, hoping I'd hold up my end of the bargain. Lula, interested. Shona and Raffi, carefully neutral. And Jackie. Blank-faced.

If Jackie didn't think I was trying, he'd get pissed and leave. If I tried to sub off before the game had even started, he'd think I'd lured him here under false pretences. And leave.

I felt my brow. I was sweating profusely. What the fuck was happening?

The referee blew his whistle to start the game and I drifted towards the defence, but I remembered I was replacing Ziggy and he had been playing striker. As per my request. The ball bounced around a bit. I made some little runs - away from the ball. Making space for other players? No, just cowardice. I didn't want to be involved. The way I was feeling, I'd probably try to play a pass and shatter into a thousand pieces.

This made no sense.

This made no sense.

While my brain was melting down into a kind of soupy mush, something happened. Musa got the ball and passed it forwards to a scampering Graham. I knew he'd try to do some trick way beyond his skill level. I had a premonition of where the ball would go - suddenly I was moving. It felt like watching a point-of-view video with the sound off as I sprinted, gathered Graham's mis-kick, dashed towards goal, and slid the ball into the bottom left-hand corner. No-one on the blue team got anywhere near me.

One-nil.

The game restarted. I still couldn't breathe. Just one big, satisfying breath. Please!

I watched as the blues knocked the ball around. Spotted an overload about to happen on the right. I ran back and intercepted the ball. Passed it back to Deck. Jogged back up the pitch, away from the action. I felt close to tears. Maybe I'd finally caught Covid. Maybe I was having hundreds of tiny heart attacks, like you read about sometimes. I had to get off the pitch. I had to go and beg someone to take me to the hospital.

I was just standing there, trying to be anonymous, when the defender I was using as cover ran forward to join an attack. I remained rooted to the spot, horrified. Now everyone could see me. There was no-one near me. I was goalhanging.

Worse was to come. The defence held firm and recovered the ball. Hugh played a long pass out to me. I was one-on-one with the goalie and I had all the time in the world.

I dribbled towards him, quite slowly, then turned to the right and ran along the curve of the goalkeeper's area, 'the D'. In this league, he wasn't allowed to leave it, so all he could do was shuffle sideways, inside the white line, like a crab, itty-bitty sideways steps, his arms as low as he could get them, waiting for me to shoot. The rest of the blues were thundering back towards me. With an insouciant look over my right shoulder, I booped a soft, backheeled shot through the goalkeeper's legs.

I didn't even check to see if it had gone in.

2-0.

There was a lot of noise, but it all landed strangely on my ears. It was like listening to someone wiggling a large, flexible piece of plastic - strangely opposite waveforms. A soft cacophony.

On autopilot, I trudged back to our half. I should have taken that chance to leave the pitch.

Instead, the Jokers had decided I was George Best reincarnated and began passing to me at every chance. The last thing I wanted. I tried to play simple one-touch passes back to them. I really did. But a couple of minutes later there developed a particular pattern to how everyone was moving that triggered something in me. I zipped past one player and tapped the ball to Musa. All he had to do was knock it forward - anywhere really, and I'd latch onto it and be through on goal.

Musa did. He put it on a plate for me.

But I wasn't there.

As I played the pass with my left foot, one of the blues lunged at me, putting the full force of his 15 stones (95kg) onto my vulnerable right ankle. Nowhere near the ball. I tumbled and howled with agony. I grabbed my foot like a baby grabs a nipple. It was still there, thank fuck! I tried to lift it and another huge grunt of pain escaped me. I slapped the astroturf in a torrent of pain-fuelled rage and frustration. The guy had tried to cripple me!

***

Jackie and Ziggy came to lift me off the pitch. Raffi turned the baby away, protecting her from the horror. Shona had her hands covering her cheeks. Lula was torn - I thought - between worry and suspicion. "That one was real," I told her.

"I know," she said, in little more than a whisper.

Raffi asked if I was all right.

"It hurts like fuck," I said, looking up at them from my new home, the floor, where I was stuck on my back like an upturned beetle.

Raffi looked at Jackie. The guy who could help him become a pro footballer. It was conceivable Raffi might never get a chance like this again. With me off the pitch, Raffi would go on. Go on and show what he was made of. The first step in his new destiny. I saw the exact moment he made a decision. He handed his daughter to his wife, knelt, and tapped me on the chest. "Where's your locker key? I'll get your stuff then take you to the hospital."

Something clicked inside me then. All thoughts of the guy being half-thug just slipped away. Vanished into some other dimension. Gone. The pain in my ankle eased a little. "Hospital?" He wanted me to leave? There was a thug in the area. The twat who'd attacked me. He was still ready to play. Satisfied with himself. Job done. Oh, job done, was it? I gritted my teeth. I had a vague memory of having felt weird. But now I simply felt cold. "Raffi?"

"Yeah?"

"Sub on."

"Be serious."

I grabbed him. "Get on the fff..." I grinned. I'm guessing the least attractive grin of my life. "Get on the pitch, please." He didn't want to. He had, like, perspective or whatever. "Shona. Tell him."

She nodded at her husband, but Jackie reached out and held him back. "Raffi, yeah? I'm supposed to be taking a look at you, I guess?"

Raffi didn't know how to take this. "Yeah? I guess?"

Jackie gave him a friendly slap on the arm. "You just relax and play your natural game. But if that involves no-look backheel nutmegs... maybe keep 'em saved up fer a rainy day." Raffi vanished from my line of sight. Jackie looked down at me and shook his head. "Fucking hell, Max." He laughed. "You're such a prick."

"Is he on the pitch?" I said. "Is he playing?"

"Yes," said Shona, bouncing her daughter up and down. "There's daddy! Impressing the scout!"

"Has anyone got any cash?"

"I do," said Lula.

"Will you buy me a drink?"

"Of course. What do you want? Powerade?"

I tried to wiggle my foot around. It hurt. "Needs to be a bit stronger," I said, "Get me a brandy."

...

Thanks for your support! Currently writing a big, important section. Ooooooh.

I've added T3 to the posts that are currently exclusive to Club Legends, T2 for First Team Regulars, T1 for Talented Youngsters. It's to help me manage the posts so I can focus on the writing and not the admin!