12 Yards Out

by Javi Reddy

  “Good. You’re just in time to watch me complete my hat-trick. It’s never been done in a Staffords Cup Final before. It’ll be good to make history and even better to make you, history.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  Jay turned his back on his tormentor to face Glen, but Thishen continued.

  “I’m sure I’ll get something nice from Amritha after the game. I doubt she’ll want to be with a runner-up. Mmmmm, those lips. How could I forget those lovely lips? How does that make you feel? Knowing that I was there first? You like being second, hey?”

  Jay tilted his head around slowly to face Thishen once more.

  “My girlfriend doesn’t eat pork. So, I doubt that she’d enjoy kissing you, piglet. Now focus, I’m going to make you squeal. Watch that scoreboard.”

  The second half was underway and Rosebank started to move the ball around a little more confidently. With Jay on the field, they searched for their lost spark, slowly getting into gear again. They were still not at their peak, but the movement was far more fluent. Keith and Jay immediately began to link up. It was joyous to watch, but at the same time, it was not decisive. Their football was pretty on the eye, but most of it was being played outside the Inkanyambas box, which meant no real danger to the opposition.

  They needed a goal. Jay was moving relatively fine, but he could not inject those bursts of pace that he usually executed just in front of goal. His ankle wouldn’t let him. Keith played a few balls in to try and unlock the defence, but Jay could not get on the end of them. With 12 minutes gone in the second-half, they were still trailing. The optimism from Jay’s introduction had diminished and the mood had shifted back to anxiety. Such was the typical journey a football fan went through in any game, a journey which is all the more highlighted in a final.

  The Inkanyambas defenders were slowly starting to read Jay’s game. When he tried to trick his way past one of them, another was waiting in the wings to block off his progress, and they were all quicker than he was. He had been slide-tackled half a dozen times already, and they were also winning every single aerial battle against him.

  The problem with being the chosen one to lead his team’s fightback was that every attack was going through him. The Rosebank players were too desperate and every time they went forward, they did everything in their power to find Jay. Even if it meant sacrificing a better pass to another player in a better position.

  17 minutes had elapsed and the Inkanyambas still led. They were making sure that the final ball was always to Thishen, who unlike Jay, was thriving off that role. He was coming closer and closer to that hat-trick. The stand-in keeper made a few saves, albeit out of panic more than assertion. Thabo and his defenders made some last-ditch tackles to deny the Inkanyambas striker. Tenacious defending was taking its toll on their bodies. They began to move around gingerly on the pitch. The team was capitulating.

  Thishen had a glorious chance with nine minutes left to seal it. He got goal-side of his marker and curled his shot past the keeper. He hit it perfectly with a superb craft that not many had thought he possessed. It was a fluke, James felt, for he could not see the boy executing such skill on a consistent basis. Fortunately for Rosebank, there was not enough curl on it to stop it from hitting the outside of the post. A grateful Rosebank defender gathered the ball from the left and hoisted it out for a throw-in.

  Jay looked around and took in the scene of his final game in the blue and white shirt. The last time for anything, when replied in the mind, is often romanticised. Everything one does in that final bow is untouchable or perfect. Jay knew how challenging a game like this would be, so that sort of perfection was nearly impossible to achieve—even in his head. But when he looked around, he could no longer stand for this. They were being overrun, but the followers still chanted. They still waved their flags and banners. They had shown their loyalty to the boys on the field.

  No one was leaving the ground early. Not this time. Jay smiled as they sung. He would miss these people. Those he did not know personally, yet whom he had publicly shared his talent with. Then, he glanced over to Amritha, who smiled back. It was a tired, yet stunning smile. It was her acceptance of him. He had done everything he could to bring his team here. Sometimes, outside of the mind and in real life, that is enough. But was it enough for an artist?

  The throw-in was about to be taken and he knew what he needed to do. The ball eventually came to him after a few Rosebank passes and instead of directly running in on goal when he had a great opportunity to, he ran on the outside before cutting inside. The Inkanyambas defence had not expected it, for Jay had been fairly predictable all afternoon.

  One of them panicked and brought Jay down when he cut in, just outside the large D of the box. It was a free-kick in a good position for Rosebank. This was as good a chance as they were going to get. The Inkanyambas players lined up a wall of their players to stop any threat. Jay placed the ball carefully on the turf and took the required and measured steps backwards for his run-up. He was lining it up, blocking out the noise. His eyes were glued to the ball, but he focused his mind on the goal. He had to leave his mark on this final. Keith stood to the side of him and the crowd started to stamp and clap. The Rosebank Rumble made its tremor felt for the first time that day. “Keith. I’m thinking, Old Grayston Park, September 2011.”

  “You serious, bru? That was some fine work. You sure though?” Jay nodded back.

  “Okay. Do it.”

  The ref blew the whistle. Jay took his run up and as he neared the ball, the wall jumped to try and block out the shot. Instead, he rolled the ball to his right and into the path of Keith. Keith quickly spotted an unmarked Glen in the box and slotted the ball through to him. By the time the Inkanyambas reacted, Glen had slid the ball under an advancing keeper. They were back. Rosebank, the whole team and its clever movement were back.

  Glen raced away and did a rugby dive in front of the fans, who were jumping around hysterically. His teammates piled up on him. Jay jumped on and lifted his fist towards the crowd in triumph. James roared out his celebrations and hugged his fat friend. The Inkanyambas started the game again and they were deflated. Even with the arrogance that had been planted in them by Vinny, they were shaken. Vinny furiously belched out from the sideline:

  “How can you be so stupid to fall for that? You better get that winner!”

  Four minutes remained. Jay began to limp slightly. His tendons were becoming frail. Zondi had one substitute left to make. He gave Jay a long and hard look. Jay just raised his hand to signal that he’d manage. He trotted over to Keith.

  “Holmes. Let’s win this. I don’t have much left in me. I won’t be able to make extra-time. And if I go off now, you’ll start crying in front of all these people. You know how emotional you are.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. My heart will never be the same if you leave. But boy, listen here. One more goal and you’ll have your highest total in a season ever. A personal best.”

  “I didn’t know that. Okay, when you get the ball, don’t play it down the centre. Play it to me on the flank, even if my back is towards the goal.”

  “You sure?”

  “Keith.”

  “Ja, bru?”

  “Let’s win this cup.”

  Keith got the ball and assessed his options. Ndumiso was cantering down the right and Keith could’ve easily played him in, but he needed to play the right ball. So, he took it forward and used Ndumiso’s run to draw defenders out and open up space for himself. He carried the ball right into the heart of the Inkanyambas half and spotted Jay out wide to the left. He rolled the ball perfectly into Jay’s path.

  Jay now knew why Thabo had chosen the side which he had chosen in the first half rather than opt for the kick-off. The bulk of the Rosebank fans would be in the stands closer to the goalmouth they’d be attacking in the second half. And more importantly, they would be on the left, the side Jay loved attacking the most. Jay gathered the ball and ran it on the outside like he did last time. Thi
s time, however, instead of cutting inside, he kicked the ball at one of the defenders, who was trying to stop his progress. The defender did not expect it as the ball ricocheted off his leg and came back into Jay’s path.

  The space opened up and he ran towards goal. At the last minute, he drifted a little wide. He crossed the ball from the left. The cross wasn’t the best, but it had enough swerve on it to take it away from the defenders and slot right into the danger zone. The ball was there to be attacked and that’s just what Keith did. He was charging in from midfield and had enough energy for one last burst.

  He stuck his toe out—the perfect toe. As true and triumphant a toe as any could be. He stubbed the ball home and everything after that was a sweet, seamless hysteria. The crowd erupted and James thought that the stands were going to collapse. Never had a goal been more monumental. In that single move, two best friends had gifted their town immortality. Keith peeled away and took his shirt off and swung it around in the air boisterously and even that childish act seemed so poetic.

  There was only a minute left. Rosebank had to hold on. Surely, this was it. The Inkanyambas came forward, but no longer did they attack with either skill or determination. Their movement had become desperate and ragged, and that was enough to ensure that the Rosebank defence were on top again. Rosebank quelled all the attacks until the ref blew the final whistle.

  The wave of celebration was as engulfing as it was euphoric. Everywhere on the field were masses of blue and white bodies, flags, banners and streamers. A symphony of glory brought to life by the composers of this magic performance. Both on the field and in the stands. They had done it and in some manner too. The crowd lifted Zondi onto their shoulders and some of the players too. A good player wins, a great player uses a difficult situation to win, and the best player? He wins and makes the joy of his victory, a victory for all.

  James knew that Jay did not know his own greatness, which on its own made him heroic. Amidst the flock of frenzied fans, Jay belonged in one place and one place only, during this finest of hours. He ran over to Amritha and embraced her like never before. He kissed the lips that belonged on his lips and his lips only. He rubbed a nose that should only be rubbed by his nose. And he locked into hands that fitted perfectly into his hands.

  As they roared around him and took in the greatness of a day they would take to their graves and relive even when their grandchildren were old, Layla did not need to take a picture. This glorious landscape would stick. And then, Jay fell once more. This time into a state of unrivalled and utter bliss. The world seemed alive with opportunity and promise. He gave off his boyish grin and savoured the difficulty of this victory; the way in which it had broken him down and made him rise up. He had ascended to heights he had never really explored, and it had brought him here. To where he didn’t think he could go, but where he had landed up. He realised, finally, that he was falling up.

  * * *

  Vuvuzelas – plastic horns used at South African football games that makes a loud, bellowing sound↩

  Chapter 31

  9 September 2013. Monday

  It would be a Monday like no other Monday. An optimism and delight would hang in the air that had never been present at the start of a school week. That Monday, they would enter through those green gates, grateful for the school day ahead. Some would even dare to leave home early, to have as much time at school as possible. A Staffords Cup.

  No Rosebank team had achieved that for a decade. Jay still felt the sense of triumph climbing through him when the crowd had roared as Thabo lifted the glorious silver trophy. The white and blue ribbons attached to its handles fluttered as each boy hoisted it to the heavens. The greatness that came with winning it had humbled them. They appreciated those Rosebank players who had tried and failed before. They understood everyone’s desperation to lay their hands on it.

  How often, they were only inches away from losing it; a goal that could have knocked them out, or a slip that could have given the opposition victory. The delicate nature of the competition had truly tested them. Yet, in adversity, this team pulled through and savoured victory—a memory treasured forever. The players were told to wear their football jackets instead of their blazers that morning.

  When one of them would walk through the front gate, the class corridors or the school quad, a wail of raucous cries would break out. Groups of pupils would ululate in celebration and, on a few occasions, teachers would join in as well. It was teen-celebrity life.

  The bell rang early for lunch that day and Jay never got to eat the lamb and lettuce sandwiches that Layla had packed for him. Hordes of treats were being whisked their way. Donuts, Danishes, Chelsea Buns, Custard-Slices – tacks of them were sent over from Rosebank Bakery as a sign of goodwill for the school putting up their sponsor board inside the sports grounds.

  Everyone wanted to spoil the team. Even teachers had cut each of their lessons short by ten minutes so that pupils could sit and chat. There was only one real subject on the mouths of the frenzied teenagers. After lunch, everyone was told to report to the main hall, as there would be a special assembly for the team. Thabo was going to hand the trophy over to Headmaster McArthur who had a cabinet specifically built for it. It would be displayed in the front of the hall.

  The whole school roared as Thabo walked up with the cup and shook McArthur’s hand. Photographers clicked away frenetically, and pictures of their famous pose would later be posted all over the town. Jay wished that Layla was there to take one too. She’d have loved to have added it to her scrapbook, and she’d have certainly given this wonderful period in their school’s history a new dimension. Her trademark black and white photography would immortalise the school further.

  After Thabo took a seat, Zondi walked up to the podium. He received cheers as wild as Thabo had, but immediately quelled the noise by moving his hand up and down in a flat motion, asking for the noise levels to be reduced. He thanked the school for their support throughout the season—this and every other one he had been a part of. He fondly recalled some of his finest memories with a glint in his eye. He told them about how glad he was that Rosebank had begged him no less than ten times to be their coach. He had kept turning the school down, because he wanted to coach a professional club.

  He told them that the greatest thing he ever did was finally saying yes to the school. Coaching young talent gave him a greater sense of purpose than coaching superstars. He looked at his boys in the front-row and smiled warmly. This was one of the best groups he had had under his wing. Not because they won the Staffords Cup, or they ended years of pain for this school, but because they played the game the way he thought everyone should play; with a smile on their faces and respect towards the opposition.

  With that said, he told everyone that he’d achieved what he set out to do in his coaching career. He had turned boys into men, and it had been the most rewarding, demanding and inspiring journey he could have asked for. Next on his journey, he wanted to help raise his grandchildren in the same fashion. He had neglected his family whilst focusing on his adopted Rosebank family. He did not want his grandkids to grow up and forge lives of their own whilst he missed out on all the wonders that came when the innocence of a child flourished into the strength of its next character.

  He promptly announced his retirement. No one in the hall knew this was coming, not even McArthur, whose eyes widened as the words left Zondi’s mouth. OMZ stated that he would help the school seek out his replacement and there was absolutely no need to panic as Rosebank was in good hands. He had watched many teams in the lower grades play, and there was an abundance of talent all the way through. The future was brighter than the gleam of the new cup in the cabinet.

  When he walked off the stage, the assembly stood and applauded, overlooking whether he wanted their claps or not. The team converged around him and covered him in hugs. Their love finally broke down his guard. The tears flowed down a living legend. School eventually ended and Jay wondered how long his and his friends�
� new-found immortality would last. He needed to think long and hard about what he was going to do with his life next year. A scholarship to a university would probably be the best option for him. He could no longer bank on his father’s money.

  In a way, this had set him free. The university he would apply to would depend on Amritha and her destination. She had fantastic grades, so options for her would not be a problem. She could even leave the country. Would she let him follow her?

  He waited outside the school for Layla, feeling guilty that he’d not eaten her sandwiches. She would ask him earnestly if they were not to his liking. He would try his best to convince her that it was because they were overwhelmed by the bakery treats and it had nothing to do with the fact that she’d lost her touch in the kitchen. They would have small arguments like that, like a family. A family, he thought, he could get used to.

  As Jay kicked around a pebble outside the school, he saw a distant figure in jeans and a low-cut red long-sleeve top making her way towards the gates. As she drew nearer, he noticed how pretty she was. She had a curiously placed birth-mark in the middle of the upper region of her chest. She stopped right in front of him, doing her best to hold back her tears.

  “Miss, is everything okay?”

  She shook her head. Her frizzy hair, tied into a half-done pony tail, swayed to and fro.