by Abbey Foxx
“This isn’t over”, I warn them, my finger pointed accusingly at each one of the three men in turn, before Dougie manages to pull me away.
We are halfway to the exit when I hear the CLICK CLICK of that pen again, and my temper gets the better of me. I break away from Dougie, storm back over to the desk and show them just what a one year ban means to me.
When the security guards finally pull me away, all six of them, the table is a mess of broken wood and formica splinters, Hendrix is a shivering mess, and my ban has been doubled in length to two whole fucking seasons, without the ability to train rugby, officially, anywhere in the world.
I don’t feel good about it. I have a bitter taste in my mouth that makes my stomach lurch in all kinds of directions and none of what’s just happened seems real.
No rugby, anywhere for two years. If I so much as pick up a ball they’ll give me a lifetime ban.
Dougie thinks we can get it reduced again, but only back to one year and after what’s just happened, it’s going to take some serious grovelling on my part. Whichever way I look at it, they are fucking me. Me. Jasper fucking Stone. The future of rugby in this country. The future of rugby anywhere in the world.
I’m not going to let them get away with it. No-one can tell me whether I can or can’t play the game I’ve spent a whole lifetime making mine. My dad would turn in his grave if he knew what they were planning on doing. I need a drink to work out how to get this sorted, because this does not end here, not even slightly.
Moxlin, Arkansas, USA.
Moxlin Tigers training ground.
Penny
I find Dad exactly where I expect to, at the very edge of the field, staring out into the void of silent space in front of him. I catch him here from time to time, alone, just looking at the nothingness, perhaps reliving past glories or contriving to create new ones, maybe just hoping someone will answer his prayers.
I take my place alongside him without a word, and Dad puts his arm around me to draw me into him.
We have a month before the new season starts, six more to save this club from bankruptcy, and anything else but a winning run and we are seriously fucked. It’s likely we are anyway, but I don’t have the heart to tell Dad that just yet.
Dad’s been in charge here for as long as I can remember, putting me officially in charge of the finances when I graduated from college. Believe it or not, the Tigers were once a superbowl winning side. Looking at them now, they are exactly what everyone has been saying for a long time, the joke of the NFL.
We went 0-16 last year. 0-16. That was with the first draft pick who spent fifteen of those games recovering from injury. The year before that we didn’t even score a touchdown in the whole season. Our last win came at the very start of that campaign two years ago, from a series of field goals and a hell of a lot of good luck in a messy game we won by a single point and shouldn’t have.
Things have been on the way downhill for a long time but Dad and I refuse to let go.
Investors want to buy him out, rip down the roots of the club and change our history. They want to get rid of the Tigers and build a shopping mall in our place. A fucking shopping mall. Neither of us are going to allow them to do that if we can help it, but the decision may be slipping out of our hands.
This club is hemorrhaging money, and it’s affecting our lives away from football as well. Dad’s not exactly ancient, but he’s getting older, and the stress of this job is affecting his health. We’ve got first draft pick again this year if we want it, but we’re going to have to do some creative accounting just to afford our existing player’s wages, let alone get anyone new in. Dad and I both know we’re going to have to pass it up, we just haven’t told the players that yet.
This club needs a miracle, and there is an outside possibility I may have just found one. A glimmer of hope in a world that has been devoid of it for what feels like an eternity. Either that or it’s the final nail in a coffin that’s taken forty years to build. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
“Jasper Stone.”
Dad doesn’t even look at me.
“We can’t afford any more players, Hon. We can barely afford to pay the ones that are willing to stay.”
“What if we got him to play for us for free.”
Now his eyes drop away from the field and he turns to fix them on me.
“Free? Look, I know you’re a whizz with numbers, Penny, but you and I both know that if there are two things that are certain in the world of football, it’s that a quarter is almost never fifteen minutes and nobody ever plays for free.”
I’d expected exactly this reaction from him and I’m not going to give up so easily.
“Well, this one might.”
“Then he’s not a football player.”
“Actually, he’s not a football player.”
“So who is he?”
“Who’s Jasper Stone? Ok, where do I begin?”
London, England.
The Divine ‘O’ Nightclub.
Jasper
One fucking year without Rugby. Two if Dougie can’t manage to get the ban reduced. How the fuck am I going to survive? Alright I’ve got a bit of cash stacked away from the last couple of years, but who the fuck is going to want to touch me now? Adidas have already pulled out and Dougie reckons Gillette and Hackett will be quick to follow. This is seriously bad news.
“Hey, aren’t you Jasper Stone?”
I’m suddenly surrounded by a group of good looking girls desperate to get a selfie. It isn’t the best moment, but this might be what I need to cheer me up. I pose, let them take turns sitting on my lap and give each one of them a kiss on the cheek when I’m done. It’s not like me to pass up an opportunity and even though these girls don’t stick around for long after they’ve got what they want, I’m happy to give it a go. I’m not in a long term relationship and I don’t want to be. I like playing the field in every sense of that word, and now I can’t play it in the literal sense, that leaves only one option left.
I didn’t come here to dance either. I came here to drown my sorrows and to pick up my spirits.
The news is already out.
My ban is official. I’ve got press conferences I’ve been avoiding and interviews with newspapers and media agencies I keep putting off. If I see another journalist buzzing round me I’ll do without hesitation what I did that landed me in this mess in the first place. I have principles about privacy, but I guess that kind of thing doesn’t fit well with a public persona. I’ve never been able to assimilate that in the way that Dougie, the Rugby Board, and my club and country have always wanted me to.
Fuck paparazzi. That guy deserved it. What I don’t deserve is this ridiculous ban and I know my fans agree with me. People love me, you just need to read social media and not daily newspapers to see that. The rugby board are going to regret it. The whole of the country is going to regret it.
“Do you regret it, Jasper?”
A cute blonde has slid in alongside me. At first glance I can’t tell if she’s pap or not, but those kind of questions I don’t answer anyway.
“Yeah, I should’ve ordered a treble.”
“It might be wise to save your money.”
“Then I’ll have a quadruple please, on the rocks.”
I shake my glass and the girl smiles at me. Just tidy enough to keep the reality from the door that little bit longer.
She’s not paparazzi, but it isn’t long before we encounter some, outside the club on the way back to mine. These fucking people are like angry wasps ready to swarm over anything that looks like it needs to be stung.
“Fucked up, Jasper?”
“You can’t avoid us forever, Jasper.”
“Comments, please?”
“Fuck off.”
“Anything else to say?”
I’m a little drunk, and a lot pissed off. I shouldn’t do it but I can’t help myself. These people are like the scum of the earth and they need to be told. I grab one of the
cameras, wrench it out of the guys hand and look for all the world like I’m about to smash it against the ground. I don’t, but it doesn’t stop him pleading.
“That’s my livelihood. I’ll sue you. I’ll send you to prison.”
Instead I just turn the camera on him and start clicking so the bulb flashes off in his eyes.
“How do you like it now? You fucking worm.”
When I’m done, I rip the memory card out and toss the camera back to him.
“That’s my work, my intellectual property. That’s a criminal offense.”
I place the card on my tongue and swallow it.
“I’ll let you know when it comes out and you can come round and pick it up.”
When we leave a crowd has gathered round us, whooping, cheering, filming the whole thing on their mobile phones. This fucking country is obsessed.
I’ve had enough. I flag a cab down and blondie and I head back to my apartment.
Moxlin, Arkansas, USA.
Moxlin Tigers training ground.
Penny
I show Dad the tapes, the newspaper articles, the records, both personal and criminal, the good, the bad, the shocking and everything else in between. His answer, once I’m done, is a resounding “No.”
“This is the animal you want to bring to Moxlin? This is your idea for a solution to our problems? He’s not even playing our sport.”
It’s a fair point, but if anyone can make the crossover, as long as he stays out of trouble for long enough, it’s Jasper Stone.
I consider myself a bit of a nerd when it comes to sports. It’s why I’m here standing next to my dad in the first place, while my brother, who was never able to throw or catch a ball of any size like his little sister could, holds down a very corporate job in a very big city about as far away from Moxlin as you can get.
I’m not only in charge of the accounts department here at the Tigers either. I help scout players and I look after PR. Jasper Stone is the best rugby player to come out of England in the last generation, which isn’t just my own opinion, it’s universally acclaimed. Some consider him the best player in the world currently, with the potential to be one of the all time greats, and I may have just negotiated a deal to get him to play for us, ok not at rugby, but at a game that largely employs the same techniques, all completely for free.
He may be our only hope, and if he isn’t, we lose nothing.
“Players make transitions from one sport to another all the time. You can’t deny he’s not talented.”
“He’s a mess. We don’t need that kind of player here, no matter how good he is. No matter how bad a situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
“Well, unfortunately you and I both know that’s not entirely true.”
“Forget it, Penny, it’s a nice idea, but it’s not going to work. We need to concentrate on rebuilding the team with the players that have stayed loyal to us, and you need to concentrate on working out how to pay them and keep the club afloat.”
“He’ll go elsewhere.”
“Let him.”
“Dad, I’m serious about this. Watch the videos again. This guy is two meters tall, weighs two hundred and forty pounds and can run the hundred meters in eleven seconds. We just need to give him the ball and he’ll do the rest.”
“And what does he do when he hasn’t got it? Go looking for girls he can fuck and guys he can fight.”
I roll my eyes.
“We’ll handle him.”
“Who’ll handle him?”
“I’ll handle him.”
Dad knows I’m a strong woman but he still can’t help but give me the look.
“If he comes, he comes for free, Dad. Free. What have we got to lose?”
“Our reputation.”
“Our reputation?” It almost makes me laugh. “Dad, we are the joke of the NFL. Our reputation can’t get any worse. If we don’t start winning, this is the end of the Moxlin Tigers forever. We don’t get a do-over, we don’t get another season, this is it, our absolute last chance to save ourselves from the annals of NFL obscurity.”
“And you think this meathead from across the pond is our only saving grace?”
“He’s the best chance we’ve got.”
Dad shakes his head.
“Then we’re fucked.”
London, England.
Corsham Rugby Club training ground, manager’s office.
Jasper
“What the fuck? No fucking way.”
I thought they’d put this meeting on to tell me they’d spoken with the board and got the ban lifted entirely, not this. What the fuck do I want to go to America for? I don’t know anything about America, or Americans, or that bullshit fucking dance that they make out is a sport over there. I’m an English Rugby player not an American Football fucking jock. I don’t know the first thing about it.
“Now hang on a minute, Jasper. If you want to continue getting paid, you may not have much of a choice.”
Dougie, Alex Santos, some chick from HR who I’m pretty sure I haven’t banged but might have done by the way she’s been fluttering her eyelids at me, and some other young looking girl who I presume is Alex’s new secretary, all wait for a response.
“Paid? Full pay? My pay?”
“I thought that might prick your ears up, lad.”
“I want to continue playing rugby, here in England, not American Football a thousand miles from home.”
“You’re lucky there’s still a place for you here at the club at all after what happened. It’s only because you’ve been with us since you were six and Dougie knew your father that you are, so I’d be careful how you tread if I were you.”
“You know that ban is bullshit. Jack Thompson puts an opposition fan in hospital and gets suspended for a week, I threaten a scum paparazzi and get banned for two years.”
“On top of everything else.”
“They’ve had it in for me since I started. And before that they had it in for my dad as well.”
“That’s as may be, but it doesn’t change the situation we find ourselves in now does it?”
“And your answer is to send me to America.”
“It might give you a chance to stay out of trouble for a while.”
“It won’t give me a chance to play rugby though will it?”
“Full pay, with benefits, in a beautiful part of a brand new country.”
“Where?”
“Moxlin, Arkansas.”
“You’re fucking me.”
This is the last thing I need. First I can’t play rugby at all, second, if I want to get paid I have to leave the country.
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“You’re sending me into the middle of nowhere for a year so I stay out of trouble.”
“The offer is there on the desk. I can’t pay you anything if you don’t go, Jasper. I can’t reduce the ban either.”
“Dougie?”
Dougie shrugs his shoulders. “How fucking hard can it be? You know how to catch a ball, you know how to run, what else is there? At least they give you armor to wear over there.”
“You’re all deadly serious, aren’t you?”
Even the secretary nods gravely.
“They speak the same language, Jasper. At least it’s not France.”
Arkansas. I can barely even say it, let alone know where it is. Too hot for this country to handle, Jasper Stone is ejected to pastures new. I can see the morning headlines already.
“And if I say no?”
“The job center is around the corner. Catherine can sort out your P45 and we’ll see you in two years time not one.”
Catherine, the girl I'm pretty sure I’ve fucked, purses her lips into a knowledgeable smile. We’ve got you by the balls Mr. Stone she smiles at me. By the fucking balls.
I’ve been a professional rugby player for eight years, but I’ve played the game for my entire life. My dad was a professional rugby player for the same team and capped by England six
teen times. I’ve already doubled that amount. I’ve won the world cup with England, the six nations and the grand slam twice. This is my sport, I’m unstoppable at it, and I always have been. I know absolutely nothing about American Football, but I suppose Dougie is right, he usually is. How difficult can it really be and what choice have I got now anyway?
“You can’t reduce the ban?”
“You told a well respected journalist you were going to have him murdered.”
“He deserved that.”
“No one deserves that Jasper. It’s fucking embarrassing for you and this club, and he was only doing his job. You knew where it would lead.”
“I wasn’t going to actually do it, was I?”
“One year in America. You’re lucky you’ve even got this option. Go out there, keep your nose clean and when you come back nobody will even remember you.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. There’s going to be a hole in this sport no-one can fill.”
“I’ll make sure we keep your clothes peg polished up then.”
Alex always was a cheeky fucker. My dad respected him for that.
“Fine, fucking hell, fine. Where the fuck do I sign?”
One.
Penny
Something tells me they’re not going to like this, so it’s a good job that Dad’s the one that has to tell them. To be honest, I still can’t believe he’s agreed to take Jasper Stone on. If we weren’t in this fucked up situation in the first place, there is no way he would have agreed to it.
The season starts in a week. They’ve been training all summer but it doesn’t look like it at all, in fact, it looks like they’ve never trained before in their lives. We have all the same players we had last year apart from Denton Collins, our first draft pick from the year before who played one single game for us before getting injured, and Kyle Miller, who have both been sold on to other teams. With six players injured, three more absent and at least two more on the edge of retirement, we look like a sorry bunch indeed.
There are at least sixteen games in front of us without even thinking about going any further, and that’s a hell of a climb with what we’ve got to work with.
