by Abbey Foxx
Topher can play the hero all he wants, once a dick always a dick in my book. I just hope the rest of the team aren’t the same. He probably feels threatened, which is why he’s decided to stamp his authority all over me as soon as the opportunity to do so presented itself. It can’t be easy for the star quarterback to have someone come in that’s more famous, better looking and a much better athlete than him. That’s got to hurt. That’ll be what all this is about. Compensating for his complete and utter inadequacies.
It takes an hour and a half to get to the camp and I swear I run more like eleven miles than ten. Topher parks up his car, takes one look at me sweating balls and then tosses a drink my way.
“Not bad, English. Not bad. Not great, but whatever. It’s the first day. Room for improvement.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? Same again tomorrow then I suppose.”
We make our way to the locker room where several people have already arrived and are busy getting ready for the session. Harrison is here too, a big ledger book in his hands I guess must be full of plays he wants us to practise. I get nods and weird hostile looks typical of this kind of environment. I look for Penny too, but she isn’t around.
“He make you run?”
I nod. “What?” Topher says, defending himself. “Best way to start.”
Harrison takes control, while I find an empty seat.
“Listen up. This is Jasper, he knows fuck all about football, but apparently he’s pretty handy with a rugby ball. Look after him.”
“What up, Jasper?”
Topher passes me shoulder pads and a helmet, both far too small for me.
“Where the fuck are Michaels and Morrell?”
“Late.”
“I want two hours training plays picking up from last week. Topher get Jasper up to speed. I want him subbing Mosley out.”
“What the fuck?”
“Put him in your shadow Mosley. Jasper, you show these boys what you can do.”
“Give me a ball and I’ll show you what I can do.”
“This isn’t rugby, Harrison.”
“This isn’t England either.”
“Then take it slow, and Jasper, whatever the fuck you do, don’t injure yourself. Someone get him a helmet that fits.”
“You subbing me out. This mother fucker comes in from across the pond to take my position.”
The guy who I guess is Mosley is looking at me as though I were a piece of shit he’s just had the misfortune to stand on.
“Nobody’s subbing no-one out. Just show him the plays.”
Mosley comes over to me.
“You know what a running back is?”
“No.”
“Gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“He don’t know shit.”
“What do you know, English?”
I’ve got a crowd around me now, all glaring at me waiting for me to say something that makes me sound like I know what the fuck we are doing. The thing is, I don’t.
“I know Moxlin haven’t won anything for two years, which tells me none of you lot know what the fuck you are doing. Give me the ball and tell me what I can and can’t do with it, and we’ll see just how well I fit in.”
Mosley shakes his head.
“You’ve got your pads on back to front.”
There are more people, more faces and more names than I can remember. I can’t believe how fucking technical all of it is compared to how we train back home. I’d be running into pads and tossing the ball across the field by now, but here I have to listen to a fucking lecture before I get a chance to play. When I do, and we’ve all lined up in the formation Topher wants, the whole thing is over before I get a chance to even work out what it is that’s supposed to be going on.
Not only that, they keep on saying shit that makes absolutely no sense at all. Alright, it’s some kind of code that makes perfect sense to everyone else but me. Half way through the third play I catch on, and I figure they’re saying some shit just to rile me up.
“You fuck up in England or what?”
“I heard you fucked up which is why I’m here.”
“Not the way I’ve heard it told.”
Finally the ball comes to me. Finally it seems like we’re actually doing something more than just lining up in a formation and breaking it down ten seconds later. It goes like this.
“I’m going to fake throw the ball and pass it to you.”
“Alright.”
“You run with it as far and as fast as you can.”
“Alright.”
“Don’t fuck up.”
“I won’t if you don’t.”
The ball comes to me, the wall splits in the center, I see a gap and go for it. I’m on my ass less than half a second later, the wind knocked out of me so quickly I think I’m going to puke. I wait for six bodies to peel themselves off me, someone to take their elbow out of my throat and someone else to take their knee out of my groin. That shit was fucking telegraphed, and by the way Topher is bent over pissing himself, there was no way I was meant to get any further than I did.
“Bad luck, English.”
I stand up, rub my neck and toss the ball back to him.
“That the best you’ve got?”
“Alright, let’s go again.”
We repeat the play three more times, and each time I end up on my ass with a pile of bodies stacked up on top of me.
I know they’re just doing this shit to test my mettle, but there is no way I’m going to let them get to me. I’ve been a sportsman for long enough to know that this is how people get tested, especially on their first day at training, and if I show any signs of weakness at all the rest of my time here is going to be hell.
I’m getting beaten up but it’s going to be worth it. Each sack I take now is going to make me stand out like a hero. And I can take it. I could take it without the pads on. These guys are pussies. I tell them that too, and it has the desired effect.
On the fifth run through of the very same play, when the ball gets passed to me and they expect me to run straight through the gap that gets created just for that purpose, a kind of funnel that I know will end with me on the bottom of a big pile of skin again and every single one of these assholes laughing at the new guy, I take things into my own hands. Fuck it. I fake a run through the center, only to duck out round the side, skip a tackle and drop into a higher gear. I’m fast I know that, and I know if I get around the wall of them on the outside, no-one's going to be able to catch me.
They see it too late, and when I skip that first tackle I’ve got two yards in my stride and I’m pulling away. When I set the ball down in the end zone, no single player closer than two metres away, I make a big thing of it just to piss them off. I do a victory dance and I smash my helmet on the floor and I make every single player realize exactly who they are dealing with.
“Asshole.”
“What’s the matter? You didn’t think I was that fast, Mosley?”
I get it twice as hard because of that, but it’s definitely worth it. These guys can pound me all they want, but at the end of the day we all know who’s winning. It doesn’t take me long to pick up the rules of this stupid game, and it doesn’t take them long to realize I know how to play their game better than some of them play it too. I can run, I can hold the ball, I can hold my own too, the only thing I can’t wrap my head around are the fucking commands.
When the session is over, I’m spent. Ten miles to get here and another six or seven on the field, my whole body is aching and I need a rest.
“You’re fucking shit”, Topher tells me. “You play like that in a game, we’re going to lose.”
I know he’s bullshitting, just because he has to.
Harrison gives me a book to study. It’s like a fucking bible full of formation patterns and code words that he treats like an ancient scroll. It’s my homework. That and working out how to put the pads on the right way round. To be honest, I’m not used to wearing a helmet. If anythi
ng it feels even more dangerous than not wearing one.
“Good work today, Jasper. You did alright.”
Harrison doesn’t sound all that convinced. I want to tell him I did alright, but the rest of the team are shit, but I don’t think it’ll go down too well if I do. It’s clear why they’re not winning though. If this is what they call a training session it’s obvious why they’re getting overrun in the games. Half of the players didn’t do anything today but run around like headless chickens. The rest just pounded my ass, which isn’t exactly going to give them much practise for when we play for real. I don’t even know this game but I can see where they’re going wrong in the build up. That and the fact that everyone seems out of shape after the summer.
When we are getting dressed, Penny makes an appearance and Topher makes a show of letting everyone in sight know she’s his.
When he’s finally let her go, she makes her way over towards me.
“Go alright?”
“Couldn’t have gone any better.”
“I saw. Looks like you’ve taken a pounding.”
“It’ll fix.”
“I’ve got good news. Here.”
She takes a cell phone out of her bag and passes it over to me.
“It’s old, but it works.”
“I hope you’ve left your number on it.”
She ignores that. “I’ve arranged an advance for you too, just until you get your card working, and I’ve checked you into a better hotel in the city. You move there tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Topher makes his way over to us and puts a protective arm around Penny.
“So, how did he do?”
“English? He’s shit. He’s worse than we are.”
Topher smiles his shit-eating grin at me.
“It’s going to take half the season for him to realize what the fuck we want him to do, the other half to actually do it. He makes Mosley look like J.J. Watt.”
“Hey!” Mosley complains.
“Better than you expected then?”
“Not worth the money we are paying him, that’s for sure.”
I shower, pull on some new clothes and get ready to head home. When I’m done, all the other players apart from Topher have already bolted. I think Topher’s stuck around to give me a lift back to the motel, but he’s only hanging around until Penny’s finished work. With the first game of the season only a few days away, Harrison and Penny seem to be up to their eyeballs in organization work. This part of the setup has always confounded me, which is why I’ve stuck to playing ball, and staying as far away from the business side of things as possible.
Up in the office Penny gives me a couple of hundred bucks to see me right until the bank lift the ban on my card and phones a taxi to take me back home to the motel. She offers to do it herself, but I tell her not to worry. She seems like she’s got her hands full with that prick Topher, and something else seems to be bugging her as well so as much as I’d like to take her out to the bar and sit with a beer and chill out again like last night, I figure I’d best leave her alone.
In the evening I phone home. Mom’s the same as always and there’s been no change on the ban, even though the appeal has been accepted and a date has been set to review. Dougie tells me they are putting that lanky fuck Jones in my starting place although they’re holding back my number until I get back from here. That’s something I suppose.
As I crawl into bed, my whole body hurts like hell. Tomorrow I’ve got to do the same again and pretend it’s not affecting me, and tomorrow I know for a fact they are going to go twice as hard for the shit I gave them today.
Penny
We’ve got the Jaguars here on Saturday and they are going to kill us. There is no way we can win that game, even with a whole team of Jasper Stones. He did well today, I’ll give him that, despite not knowing what the fuck he was supposed to be doing. Topher’s an asshole and I’m pissed at him for treating Jasper like he did, especially because he’s supposed to be looking after him not pushing him to the fucking limit.
“He can handle it, and if he can’t we don’t want him anyway.”
“You’re lucky I don’t tell Dad.”
“Who do you think told me to test him like that?”
“You’re both as bad as each other.”
“I didn’t see Jasper complaining. And what do you care anyway?”
“I don’t want him injured.”
“Right.”
“You think he’s going to be ready?”
“Jasper? Listen, Penny, I know you think this guy is some kind of genius, but I just don’t see it. One, he doesn’t know the rules, two, he’s dumb. The amount of times he got sacked today.”
“And how many of those times could he have avoided it?”
“If he was good enough, all of them.”
“What have you got against him anyway?”
“Against English? Nothing. With or without him we are going to lose anyway so it doesn’t matter.”
“Then you better make sure you play as well as you can.”
“I can’t carry a whole team.”
“You don’t think it’s the other way round?”
“Careful, Penny.”
“Just go easy on him, ok? This isn’t his game, or his country.”
“Exactly my point.”
“You’re such an asshole sometimes.”
“I’m not the one that invited an unwanted guest here. None of the players want to fight for their position against someone that isn’t even a football player, just ask Mosley. Ask your dad, he doesn’t want him here either.”
“You might change your mind when you start winning.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Then what chance have you got?”
“The sooner Moxlin collapse, the sooner I can leave.”
I can’t believe I’ve just heard him say that. “If Dad heard you he’d make that fast track.”
“Then I better not let him hear me.”
I leave Topher to play computer games and head upstairs. Our relationship has never exactly been stable, but lately it’s been about as rocky as it gets. It could be the stress of the team, it could be the countless times he’s cheated on me or it could be that I just don’t love him anymore, I’m just not sure. We started out so well, and the first six months were as good as any, right up until I caught him with that slut of a cheerleader. Dad doesn’t know anything about any of that at all, because I know if he did, Topher would be shipped out without another word. He’s on his final warning. I know I’m a dumb ass for going back to him, but it’s hard to resist an athlete. I just think sometimes I’ve fallen for the wrong one.
I turn to thinking about Jasper. Of all of the stories I’ve read about him, of all of the girls he’s slept with, he’s never been unfaithful. Alright he doesn’t hang around with any one girl for too long, but at least he doesn’t cheat on them like pretty much every single other sports star I’ve ever known.
I know a few of the girlfriends of our players and if there is one common theme amongst us all, it’s that each one of our men can’t keep his dick in his pants. After the last time, Topher and I moved in together so I could keep an eye on him, and as far as I can tell, it’s worked. He says he loves me, and it’s taken me a while to believe he means it again. I guess only time will tell if it’s true.
I wonder how long it’s going to take Jasper to find someone special here. That accent is enough alone to make a girl’s panties melt. If I wasn’t with Topher, I’d find it pretty difficult to resist his advances, if I thought he was serious, of course. I know he’s just messing around, and it wouldn’t be right for me to get involved anyway. The last thing I’d want is to get attached only for Jasper to piss off back to England. I could always go with him, but my life is here at the club. I couldn’t leave the Tigers behind, and I know for a fact that Jasper couldn’t give up his beloved rugby. Dad would kill me as well.
It’s a good job I’m not
single because if I was it might be a hard thing to refuse. Jasper’s a good looking guy. He’s a bad boy too, much more so than Topher, and that’s just the kind of thing that turns me on.
Of course, I knew that when I convinced Dad to sign him. I knew he was exactly the kind of thing that made my stomach feel like it was being overrun with butterflies, only it’s a thousand times as strong having him here in real life. I knew it wouldn’t matter how I felt though. I’ve got Topher and I’m not the kind of girl who believes in cheating. It’s nice to look though and even nicer to dream.
“What are you thinking about?”
Topher’s standing in the doorway staring at me.
“The team.”
“You know the house is a tip, Penny.”
Fucking hell. Talk about perpetuating traditional stereotypes. “So clean it.”
“It isn’t my job.”
“It’s not exclusively mine either.”
“What are we having for dinner?”
“Fucking hell, Topher. Is that what you came up here to ask me?”
“I’m an athlete, Penny. Your athlete. You’ve got some responsibility to look after me as well you know.”
I almost laugh at that. It’s been like this for a while. Topher has no idea how to look after himself and if I don’t cook, he ends up eating only take out. Then Dad gives me shit for not looking after him.
“I’m not your mother, Topher.”
“I’m going to order pizza. We need to clean the house Penny. It’s a mess.”
And then like that, he’s gone again. For all his plus points, Topher has just as many negatives. He’s been mollycoddled far too much in his life which is why he’s like he is. Getting him to clean up after himself is an act of complete and utter frustration. I didn’t realize just how bad he was until we moved in together, but he doesn’t know how to cook, or to put on laundry. Dad reckons it’s normal for someone like him. Dad forgives a lot of his star quarterback and I have to put up with the shit.
Alright he can throw a ball a hundred yards, and when he pays me attention, which is less often than I’d like, he’s the cutest guy in the world, but if he has to look after himself on his own, he just falls apart.
