Striker Boy Kicks Out (23 page)

Forty-five minutes later, they followed a long flight of steps downwards and emerged onto the Talorca pitch. It was in pristine condition and several members of the ground staff were standing on the touchline looking at them suspiciously, as if they were planning to drive heavy diggers round their turf and hack it to pieces.

Nat gazed up at the two huge display screens and the towering banks of seats. It was easily as good as any stadium he'd seen anywhere around the world. It might not have the capacity of the Bernabéu or Camp Nou, but it felt equal in stature.

“Gather round!” called Ian Fox. The players sat in a horseshoe shape on the grass. It was another scorching day and several people shielded their eyes from the sun with their hands.

“Well, lads, we've made it,” nodded Fox. “We've arrived at a destination this club has never got to before. I can't stress how big a deal this is, particularly for the fans. I know we've enjoyed some promotion campaigns, but we've always achieved that as the second placed team or the team that won in the play-offs. We've never actually brought them any trophies. However, I don't want the weight of expectations crushing you. If we lose, we lose. I'm confident there'll be other finals. But let's try our damnedest to win! You've outplayed Celtic and Lazio. In my opinion, Talorca are no better than either of those teams. Yes, they have home advantage and their fans will scream the place down, but I really think we can brush that aside if we concentrate on our football.”

“It would also be beautiful to bring Alberto Tieras down a peg or two!” shouted the Wildman.

Everyone cheered, no one louder than Nat.

“As I outlined,” continued Fox, “we're playing four-three-two-one. Some people will think I'm mad to carry out an experiment in such a vital game, but to me it's not an experiment. I can see it working – I can see the finished product. You're the right players for this system.”

Nat glanced to his side and saw that Nicky Sinclair's face was pale.

After stretches, runs and drills, Fox separated the
players into position groups. He took all of the midfielders and forwards, while Stan Evans had the defenders. The goalies worked together.

“Now, listen up,” said Fox, when he'd taken the eight midfielders and attackers away from the rest of the players. The group consisted of four midfielders – Adilson, Pierre Sacrois, Jermaine Clifton and Luke Summers. The strikers were Jensen, Clarke and Sinclair – all starters – plus Nat.

“There is only one way we're going to score against Talorca tonight, lads, and that's by skill. I genuinely believe we are more technically gifted than they are, and that will mean playing the ball on the ground. Quick passes, one-twos, running at their defenders – if we do all of those things, we will score and we'll have a chance of winning. I particularly want to work on set pieces. We will
not
be lobbing the ball high into their penalty area because there's absolutely no point. Tieras and Co. are phenomenal in the air and will out-jump us nine times out of ten. That's not a criticism of any of you, it's just a fact. If we're not going to outmuscle them, we'll have to out-think them.”

All eight players looked at each other and nodded. One thing that could always be said for Ian Fox and Stan Evans, they knew the game backwards and their research on opponents was always impeccable. Their tactical analysis earned the club numerous points each season.

“So the first move to work on relates to if we get a free kick anywhere outside the area, but near enough to cause them damage. I want Adilson to take these free kicks.”

Adilson nodded.

“The first free kick we get is going to work like this – Dennis, Robbie and Nicky, I want all of you mixing it up in the penalty area. Swerve, lunge, barge, do anything to give your markers grief. Jermaine, you'll be just inside the area on the right side of the free kick. Talorca won't send out a man to mark you, I'm sure of that. They'll be far more worried about the aggro that's going on in the box. Adilson will take a long run up, suggesting that he's going to whack it in. But . . . he'll strike the ball along the ground to you, Jermaine, and you will shoot immediately. With the curve you can put on a ball, son, you'll be able to get it over their defence and will have a decent chance of scoring. It's nothing revolutionary, but they won't be expecting it.”

Nat totally agreed with Fox's idea. It had to be worth having a crack.

“Our second free kick, Adilson will also take. Robbie will be just beside the Talorca wall. When the ball reaches Robbie, he'll flick it with the underside of his boot to Dennis, who will be standing a few yards to the left of the wall. Dennis will then shoot.”

“Understood, boss,” said Dennis.

“After those first two,” added Fox, “I want variations on the same theme – quick free kicks to feet. Short passes and shooting with the minimum of fuss. They'll get our strategy after a few, but hopefully we'll have scored by then. So, Nicky and Nat, go and grab that model wall and bring it over here.”

They walked over to the touchline, picked up the model
of a defensive wall with six players painted on its front, and carried it to the others. The next half hour was spent going over these free kicks again and again, involving all eight of them. Nat got plenty of time beside the wall, a few yards away from it, or doing decoy runs. There was a good atmosphere between the players, everyone committed to grabbing a goal at a set play.

Then they hooked up with the others and played some three v three games, and the session ended with seven-a-sides, and then some passing and movement with the eleven who'd be starting. It was nearly 1 p.m. when they finished. Fox and Evans looked satisfied with the session and, as the players filed off the pitch, Nat thought about how much the game meant, not just to the squad, but to Evans and the gaffer. Tonight they could go down in history as the first ever management team to bag a trophy for Hatton Rangers. No wonder they were so fired up.

Back at the hotel after lunch, the players' visitors started arriving. There were wives and children and cousins and parents – increasing the decibel level in the hotel a hundredfold, as children ran amok in the corridors and squealed with delight in the swimming pool.

Just after two o' clock, Nat saw his father entering the lobby and he ran over to greet him.

“Hi Dad!”

“Nat!” grinned Dave, giving his son a bear hug, which, to Nat's relief, wasn't witnessed by anyone associated with the club.

They sat down at the far side of the lobby and Dave ordered a beer for himself and a coke for his son.

“This is plush!” smiled Dave, taking in his surroundings.

“I know,” replied Nat, “but, in a way, it's been better not staying here. It's intense enough spending so much time with the team, so it's good to have a little bolt hole where I can get away from it. Did you bring your harmonica?”

“Damn, I forgot it!” replied Dave in mock horror.

“Excellent!” grinned Nat, who wasn't the number one fan of his dad's music.

“How are you feeling about tonight?”

“I'm nervous, really nervous, even though I'm not in the starting eleven.”

“You'll get a decent stint, I reckon,” replied Dave.

“We'll see.”

“I would love it if you skinned Tieras and scored a sensational goal!”

“Me too!” grinned Nat, who nonetheless shivered at the mere mention of Tieras's name.

“Your mum would have been tickled pink by all of this,” said Dave, waving his right arm round at their surroundings. “She was a real outdoors person, she loved camping and nature. But there was a part of her that also loved a bit of luxury. For our fifth wedding anniversary, we stayed for a night at the Landmark Hotel in central London. It was unreal – an amazing room and fantastic service. It was expensive, mind, but totally worth it. We felt like royalty!”

“You must miss her loads,” said Nat. “I know I do and I only ever knew her for six years.”

“I do, mate,” sighed Dave, “I miss her every day. It's weird – it happened over seven years ago, yet I still find myself about to ask her opinion on something or other, and then when I realise she's not here any more, I get a shock.”

“Do you think you'll ever . . . you know . . . meet someone else?”

This wasn't something they'd ever really discussed. Over the years, Dave had gone out with a few women, but none of these relationships had ever been serious or lasted long.

“I don't know, Nat, that's the honest answer. Sometimes I think there's no point in even trying, because no one could ever come close to matching your mum. Other times, I tell myself off for being such a fool. Maybe now we're settled back in the UK and we're going to stay put, I might meet someone one day. Never say never.”

“You know I wouldn't mind,” said Nat. “If you found someone you really liked, I'd have no problem with it.”

His dad looked at him with a proud smile on his face. “Thank you,” he said, patting his son on the shoulder. “That's an amazing thing to say. If I ever did find someone, I'd only ever let it develop if you liked her. We're in this thing together, and your opinion comes at the top of my list.”

They were silent for a minute.

“Do you ever talk about her to any of the other players?” asked Dave.

“It's funny,” replied Nat. “I hadn't really until this trip, but then Emi told me his dad was ill back in Ivory Coast, and I spoke to him about Mum. It felt good – you know, it was like a small part of that weight on my shoulders lifted.”

“That's good,” nodded Dave. “We should both probably talk about her more.”

For the next couple of hours, Nat and his father chatted
about everything from their new life back in England, to the rights and wrongs of the formation Ian Fox had opted to play in that night's game. Stan Evans then did the rounds, informing players' guests that visiting time was over. He and Nat's dad shook hands heartily.

“Good to see you, Dave,” beamed Evans.

“I'm delighted to be here,” replied Dave.

“Well, you should be very proud of your boy. He's done exceptionally well in training and in both substitute appearances he made.”

Nat blushed.

“I don't want to embarrass you!” laughed Evans, ruffling Nat's hair. “I'll see you sometime tonight, Dave.”

They shook hands again and Evans carried on with his rounds.

“I'm off to my hotel,” said Dave. “I'm absolutely whacked. I think I'll do things the Spanish way and have a siesta so I'm fresh for the match.”

“Go for it, Dad. And thanks for being here.”

“Don't be mad. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I know it's easier said than done, but try not to get too nervous.”

They hugged, then Dave walked across the lobby and out of the building.

All round the place, players were saying goodbye to their visitors. There were several outbursts of crying from children who wanted to stay with their dads a bit longer, but within half an hour the hotel was guest-free.

Nat spent the rest of the afternoon on a sunlounger with a large umbrella shading him. He'd found one of the
previous day's English newspapers. He started with the sport and worked backwards. When he'd finished with the paper, he grabbed his iPod and spent a while listening to music, dozing and swimming.

By now it was six, and after a light supper it was back onto the team bus. There were already quite a few Talorca supporters in the street outside La Plaza, and they took great pleasure in booing the Rangers coach and making rude gestures at the players. Nat and his teammates laughed.

The bus pulled round the side road beside the stadium and when they'd disembarked, Talorca officials showed them back to the away changing room. In spite of the fact that Stan Evans was circulating, trying to put everyone at their ease, the atmosphere was tense, nervous. Nat saw that the edgiest expressions were on the faces of the older players, including the Wildman. They were well into their careers and this might be their last ever chance of getting their hands on a trophy. When they finally retired from the game, it would be gratifying to look back and see that they'd won at least one final.

Evans led everyone outside onto the pitch for some warm-ups and passing and shooting drills. There was still half an hour until kick off, but the stadium was already three quarters full, and the noise that greeted them was staggering – boos and hisses and angry shouts.

“Blimey,” said Kelvin, “these guys take their football seriously.”

Nat was also shocked. The crowd noise already sounded
louder than it had at Anfield. The match was going to be an intimidating experience for the Rangers players and they would need to ignore it as best as they could and stick to Ian Fox's game plan.