"You can't just go into one at him. Do you know who he is?"
"Yeah," she replied angrily. "He's the chairman of the sports club. So what?"
"I don't think letting him have it with both barrels is a very good idea. Do you?"
"He shouldn't be immune to showing some manners, quite the opposite in fact. If you hold a position of responsibility like that, then you should carry yourself with some dignity and pride. This place is always full of kids and teenagers and I don't think anyone should act that way and get away with it. What sort of role model is he to the kids, eh?"
As they both hit the bitingly cold air outside, Peter carefully considered Richie's words, as she eyed his every move, and maybe every thought.
"Sorry. You're right of course. Want me to come with you to find him?"
"I don't think that's really necessary, do you? But don't stop me like that again, or I'll snap you like a twig," she joked.
"Understood," replied Peter, knowing when he was beaten.
Plonking themselves back against the barrier, the two friends found themselves in pretty much the same place they'd been for the first half, as they waited for the referee to restart the match. They didn't have to wait long.
Salisbridge were out of the blocks like a jet fighter fuelled on pure adrenaline. Whatever the coach had said to them at the break had certainly got them going. As he witnessed yet another ferocious tackle from one of the home side's players, Peter wondered how long they could keep up this high tempo, and whether they could all remain injury free. Looking on, he could see that each and every one of Tank's teammates were focused only on getting the ball, performing to their maximum and getting themselves back into the match, and he knew from playing hockey that you were more likely to get hurt going in for a challenge half heartedly than going in fully committed. It was almost as if the Salisbridge players were reborn, they were so totally different from their first half display and leading them by example, throwing himself in harm's way almost constantly, was Tank. Watching his friend, back to his normal self, a steely glint in his eye, he knew at that precise moment that his prediction about Salisbridge losing the match couldn't have been further from the truth.
Right now one of the opponents had the ball, looking to kick it long. With a Salisbridge player bearing down on him, he must have panicked just a little because he sliced the kick wildly. One of the Salisbridge wingers was on it in the blink of an eye, gathering the ball in and charging off down the pitch, taking out half of the opposition in one go. The rest of the team chased after their winger, hoping to offer support, but he was miles ahead of everyone, everyone except Tank. With only two opponents to beat, the winger dropped his shoulder one way and speedily swerved the other. Not having been totally fooled by the dummy, his opponent managed to recover enough to grab hold of the winger's ankle, just as he'd thought he'd got past. As he started to stumble to the ground, he just about managed to offload the ball to Tank who was motoring along just inside him. Keeping his eyes on the ball, despite it spinning wildly, Tank gathered it in cleanly as he ran, avoiding the flailing opponent on the floor as he did so. Clutching the ball tightly to his chest, he glanced over his shoulder, pleased to see that no one from behind was in a position to catch him. Turning his attention to what was in front of him, he had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Standing in his way was the opponent with the smug grin, the one who'd injured him in the first half and the one that had punched him twice in the scrum. As Tank approached like a huge out of control runaway boulder crashing down the side of a mountain, his opponent still wore the same smug grin.
Tank had already decided on a course of action and had poured on as much speed as he had left, the muscles in his legs burning with pain from the effort. As the distance between them closed, the opponent's grin wavered. Not sure what to do, the opposing defender mirrored Tank's moves, jinking first left, and then right, before going left again. Knowing the defender was more than a little off balance, Tank put his head down and, wrapping both hands tightly around the ball, pumped his legs as fast as they would go, gasping for breath as he did so. An instant too late, the defender realised what was about to happen, but being just slightly off balance there wasn't a chance of him doing anything about it. Tank ploughed through the defender, catching him full on in the stomach, sending him some six or seven feet in the air. A splintering crack, like the sound of a gunshot, echoed across the pitch as the two collided. Crossing the line, Tank placed the ball down on the turf directly beneath the posts, the welcoming squelch of the defender landing awkwardly in the mud brought a grin to his face. Raising his hands above his head in delight, Tank lapped up the applause from the small crowd, including both Richie and Peter. By now his teammates had caught him up, enveloping him as a group, patting him on the back and ruffling what little hair he had left on his head.
'None of this kissing and cuddling here,' Peter thought, 'unlike in all the football on the television.' Why footballers who know they're going to be filmed celebrate in quite the way they do, he just didn't know.
Causing a five minute delay to proceedings, the smug defender had to be helped from the pitch by two of his team's substitutes and their physio. The match resumed with Salisbridge putting away the conversion, much to the delight of the small crowd, who now had something to cheer about. Salisbridge were now very much in the ascendancy with the score at 14-20.
Play continued with the home side trying their hardest to break down the opposition and gain the much needed points they needed to win the game, but without much luck. They had a few drop goal attempts, which didn't really trouble the posts very much, along with two penalty kicks, both within range, both going agonisingly wide. The crowd, along with Peter and Richie, were becoming frustrated in much the same way as the players. If it hadn't been for the smug defender crying like a baby as the physio escorted him into the changing rooms, the crowd would have had nothing at all to smile about.
Both sides having made their final substitutions with ten minutes to go, the match became even scrappier, to the disbelief of the crowd. Peter and Richie drained their glasses dry, both tossing the plastic glasses over ten feet in the air, landing them squarely into a bright blue bin set up beside the pitch, much to the amusement of several onlookers. Both smiling at each other, each with but one thought.
'If only they knew everything else we were capable of.'
Turning their attention back to the muddy scrap of a game, the two friends shouted encouragement in Tank's direction, but whether or not he could hear it was something else entirely.
Towering high into the air on the halfway line on the opposite side of the pitch, the fancy new electronic timer showed that only three minutes of the match remained. It looked as if time had run out for Salisbridge to get anything out of the game, thought Peter, shivering ever so slightly, all the time rubbing his hands together. Feeling for his friend, knowing that he'd be gutted to lose, particularly to such unsporting opposition, all he wanted to do at the moment was go and warm up inside the club house; he really didn't care who won or lost at this point. Tank, it had to be said, had other ideas. His body hurt beyond belief. In all the time he'd played this action packed, adrenaline fuelled, mightily addictive sport, he'd never hurt this much. NEVER! He knew he'd done something bad to his right ankle and really wasn't looking forward to taking his boots off. On top of that, his left shoulder felt badly bruised, and as for his left ribs, well he struggled to pull in a full breath, and he couldn't stand upright without nauseating waves of pain pulsing through them, not to mention the cuts and almighty bruises lining his face and the huge lump on the top of his right cheek.