A simple story III : Part 10
#9 of A simple story III
In the two unmade beds bedroom, he turned slowly, using what he knew to be his last moments of sleep to take advantage of every second of rest.
The bedroom was large, well equipped with dark wood furniture that contrasted with the steel gray walls except for the picture window obscured by large dark brown curtains. Only a thin line of natural light passed through the latter, but the room was also lit by the ceiling lights.
Fred was still in a half-sleep. His instinct then warns him of imminent danger. He still couldn't hear the sound of the footsteps running towards him, but he could feel them, forcing an eye to open to confirm the approach of the childish footsteps slumbering by the thick carpet. His brain was screaming at him to move and protect himself, but when Fred finally reacted, it was too late. A huge moving mass crashed into him before rolling off to the side, and as usual, Fred woke up protesting, gasping for air. Luke, who was looking at Fred, just wearing underpants, was looking at him, laughing.
" Luke ! How many times have I told you not to do this !
Come on, stand up dad ! It's time !
We are not in a hurry ! The game is only three hours away...
But it is already eleven ! "
Fred looked at his watch, noticing with annoyance that it wasn't indeed around eight in the morning as he thought. But where went his talent for waking up on time and knowing what time it was gone ?
Engulfed without return with the beginning of his fatherhood, without a doubt.
« Already ??? But that's not a reason ! You will see what will happen to you if you try to do this to your father ! "
Fred stood up, looking sternly at Luke who continued to chuckle, a broad smile on his face as he turned to the side. Fred could feel the heavy humidity emanating from the still-lit bathroom.
« Have you ever taken your shower ?
Yes Dad ! It's your turn.
Well I'm going. Start dressing, we'll save time. "
Fred stood up and walked naked to the bathroom while Luke pulled on brown pants and a green t-shirt before turning to his suitcase to finally pick up his socks. The thin and already athletic boy put on his shoes. He would still have to wait for Fred to return to tie his shoelaces properly. To pass the time, Luke looked out the window. He never went tired of admiring the immense towers that hatched the horizon. He could see the Sea of Japan at the bottom, which seemed a little gray and still under the cloudy sky. His gaze focused more to the right on some kind of dome, asymmetrical like an oyster shell, light steel gray in color. He smiled, his hands on the glass, knowing that in a few hours he would finally see his father again, even if the latter would be on the field and he would be in a box with the other guests, made up of the families of the other players who had come at the expense of the Federation.
Of all the hotel views he had ever admired, this was his favorite. He also appreciated the oceans of orange leaves that broke the gray concrete stains of the built quarters. They had spent three full days here visiting the most significant areas of the Hokkaido's capital. Fred had had a great time, enjoying the local cuisines at their true value, while the good-natured Luke preferred to dote on local treats and sweet foods. Looking out the picture window, he was a little sad to know that they had just spent their last night here. But the first round was coming to an end, and that same evening, Greg was expected to return with Fred to England and leave Japan for good. Luke looked at with some little sadness the two suitcases practically ready to be loaded into the waiting minibus before they reached the local airport from where they would leave for London directly.
Fred couldn't wait any longer. He had been in Asia for two weeks and yet he and Greg had only been able to spend two evenings together. And again, for the second, Luke was present. So no wild rides on the schedule. But Fred couldn't deprive Greg of his little brother. He was smiling, letting the hot water rinse his head. Out of the shower, he could see the wreck of used clothes and dirty towels. He would then have to put the latter in the basket and the dirty clothes in a bag before burying them deep in the suitcases. Beware to the poor customs officer who would have the imprudence to take a professional look at it. Or a nose.
His thoughts brought him back to the young boy who was waiting in the bedroom.
It was weird for him to see him also calling him "daddy", the same as he did with his older brother. Fred smiles to himself. It was as if his father had been up to something with the higher authorities to make Luke cross his path.
After Rusty's death, Fred saw the boy cry for his father, mourn him and find surrogate parents in the two lovers. There was such a difference in age between the two rotts. It is clear that Greg could easily pass for Luke's father. He had not deprived himself in the eyes of the administration. In order to help the boy in his misfortune, Greg had the idea to put the old gray hat on the cupboard, near Luke's bed. Symbolically, he would thus always be with his son, protecting him. Everything a 5 year old boy could possibly need.
Fred got out of the shower and unceremoniously laced up Luke's shoes before getting dressed. They were to join the other guests in the hotel lobby for lunch. Then it would be the road to the stadium, to watch the US team's last game, against Scotland to complete the first round of the tournament and the competition.
Sated, the crowd of family members of the players and their guests passed one after the other at the wood and chromed steel counter to return the keys, pay for the recorded drinks and report any problems before heading towards the three minibuses parked in front of the entrance, each being careful to take the right vehicle which mainly fills with wives and children. Fred had the chance to pass among the first and reserved of a glance the back of the vehicle. Quickly, Mark and Ed followed, Ed carrying the smiling little tiger on his stomach, trying to grab the hands that were passing close enough to him. Luke caught up with the game and focused his attention on the other child. Fred patted the baby's head friendly.
" So here's Samuel Delacroix. "
Ed nodded, proud and happy.
" Yes. Anyway, once we're back to sign the final papers. "
Mark put in his voice all his happiness and his pleasure to become a father a second time.
Fred put a panicked hand in the inside pocket of his black jacket, then showed his relief, having found the passports and plane tickets he hoped for. Mark noticed it.
« Hey, but does Luke have a French passport too ? "
- Yes, initially I took it without thinking. The customs officers on the way winced a bit since I only have an American one, but that was quickly resolved. "
Mark stared at the photo of Luke, then at the boy himself.
" He's really Greg's spitting image...
Really ?
Yes, Mark said. I still have a few pictures of Gruff when he was little. I will send them to you.
It would be nice. I imagine his parents kept nothing of him.
Not after all this stuff, no. Rusty's death pains me, I must say. I wish they could reconnect for good. "
Ed was concentrating on the baby in his chest pocket.
" Family stories can be even more complex...
What do you mean ?
Well... "
Ed looked at Mark, all smiles.
"We have a family here where the father is the uncle ..."
Then he looked at Luke, then at little Samuel.
" And where the father is the brother. And or both brothers are not. "
Mark sneered.
" I believe that if one day a genealogist will try to piece together our family tree, it will lead him to suicide... »
--
The mood was strange and a little tense in the locker room. Despite the fact that the room was half buried in the ground, all men present could hear the low whisper emitted by spectators in the stadium. The twenty-four members seated on their benches stared fixedly at the white panel in the middle of the room at the reminder of the situation.
Everyone was watching, except Greg. He was looking down at him with his hands clasped in a sort of prayer but to tell the truth his mind was too cluttered with his thoughts to ask for any divine help. He had his cleats on his feet, the required blue socks, his ass in his white shorts like the whole team. A white jersey, with a large red band at the bottom, the left shoulder covered with a piece of starry blue fabric. On his heart, a stylized eagle's head fused with an oval balloon. He was short of breath, consumed with stress.
It was not, however, his first game with the team, nor of the competition itself. He had quickly gained an indisputable starting place as a right pillar, a position he held in his club, the Wasps.
This time, however, he didn't have Frank on his left to back him up during the scrums. The latter had to prepare in the same way as him in the neighboring locker room, his chest covered in midnight blue struck with the Scottish white thistle. Instead, also staring at the ground, consumed with stress, the muscular and fat felid rubbed his lips with his finger before quickly signing himself in order to complete his ritual of divine invocation. Antonio Pater breathed just like Greg, deeply and silently to try to ignore the stress that wanted to overwhelm him.
Sitting on the bench, Greg tried to ignore everything around him. He raised his head and saw on a sheet of paper stuck to the panel the five lines written in bold.
Australia 20
Scotland 10
USA 06
Samoa 02
Namibia 01
It brought him back to reality. It was the group ranking.
At the end of the first round, the first row would not change. The Australians had atomized everyone and were already in the quarterfinals. Greg remembered Klaus' smirk and respectful smile at the end of the game against the Wallabies. The Eagles found themselves on the ground, beaten 37-10. Greg had been satisfied, however, despite the zero point for the day. They were able to score two tries, which the Scots could not do.
The latter was on the second row with 10 points.
Finally, in third place, the Eagles were going to have to fight hard with these 6 small points and hope that the Samoans would not pass them in front at the end of the day. It was easier for them. They had only two points but they were playing against an already eliminated Namibia with three losses on the clock. They would therefore certainly score the 4 points of victory, and one more if they did like everyone or almost everyone by passing them at least four tries, which would be enough for them to take the so precious third place to avoid the qualifiers for to go to Argentina in four years.
The Eagles, on the other hand, were now going to face a top European side. And Greg was going to have Frank in front of him. Which had never happened to him.
Against the wall, the clear Doberman tried to focus on something written on his phone. Dennis Lemon had followed the team and left for the occasion his purely administrative role for that of assistant coach. The American federation was not rich and often the administrators had a second operational post. This was also the case with Melvin Power, who stood in front of the players lined up in a "U", in the middle of the organized almost square. The slim and venerable black equine stood erect, dressed in his eternal dark tweed suit, a light blue cap on his head and a white shirt that underscored his distant aristocratic origin. Arms behind his back, he scanned the players and didn't liked what he saw.
He could feel it. Stress and worry filled the locker room, which bodes ill. One loss, and they would be easy prey in the standings.
" Greg ! Oh, are you dreaming ? "
Still in the clouds, Greg was looking at his trainer without really seeing him.
" GREG !
Oh yes... I'm here !
It does not look like !
I'm here, coach !
I doubt it. I will therefore repeat what I just said. The Scots will certainly let us play to progress against. They are only aiming for second place, which they currently hold, four points ahead of us. We have to win. We have to show the world that our team is no longer a "sleeping giant", although Greg has just shown us otherwise. "
The players chuckled a little, Greg blushed. In any case, this interlude had somewhat taken the players out of their concerns. Melvin resumed in his stentorian voice.
« We must show the world that we are the heirs of the Antwerp and Paris' champions ! We will progress as well. Their left wing is the most fragile, we saw that when they played against the Samoans. We will have to move forward on the closed side, which implies more details on our part to avoid losing balloons in touch. From you, the forwards, I only expect one thing. Their pack, you pulverize it. And you let Sandiego deliver the final blow. But if, of course, you see an opening, don't hesitate to go for it either. The Scots are good at defense, but sometimes they leave doors wide open like the beauty of their country. As always, only open the slap box when the referee is far away or has his back to you. Greg !
Yes ?
When the game is over, you will take your shower first. You're on duty with reporters for the press conference with me. Dennis will make sure your costume will be ready when the final whistle blows.
As long as the Sun is not there, I'm fine ! "
The coach and some players, who understood the remark, smiled, more relaxed.
" This is our last game of the competition. We'll watch the rest on TV once we get home. I am counting on all of you to show that our team does not let itself be trampled on. Come on, it's time, let's go ! "
Hearts filled with apprehension, the whole group got up at the same time and left the locker room. Greg stayed behind to stand next to Dennis.
« Hey Dennis, is it okay then ?"
The Doberman looked at him, then answered him when he remembered Greg's request.
« Yes don't worry, a guy will accompany them here after the game is over.
Thanks dude.
It's nothing, you're not the first to bring the family to the locker room at the end of the game. "
Melvin walked over in his midnight blue suit, his ID pocket around his neck.
" A problem ?
- No coach, I just invited my parents and my boyfriend, I don't want to wait until I come home to give them my presents. "
Melvin thought about it then left, smiling. It was not uncommon to have visitors at the end of the match and he saw no problem. If it had been for a gallant and priced visit as he had sometimes witnessed on the other hand...
But the moment had arrived and Melvin followed his players who paraded in the corridors to reach the field. Being in a closed stadium, he didn't have to worry about the condition of the pitch. The harsh winters in Hokkaido sometimes had advantages, such as being able to play in any season without worrying about the weather outside.
The players were lined up one behind the other, in two lines. Americans on the left, Scots on the right. In front of them, the four referees of the match. The players stared at each other and challenged each other with their faces or simply with their eyes. Neither dared to speak to the other. Even club mates. That day they were enemies. Greg still smiled at a Frank who ignored him, only giving him a quick glance. At least Greg knew he was okay and he was also wracked with stress.
At an almost invisible sign from the head referee, the two ranks began to march. They barely looked at the cameras held by the journalists from the technical teams. It was with thunderous applauses and encouragements that the two teams entered the field.
-
Sitting between Mark and Ed, Fred was in some pain for his friend. The atmosphere in the stadium was magnificent. Even for a match without big stars, the meeting was sold out, proof of the popular enthusiasm of the Japanese for the competition. The light rain that fell on the dome did not prevent the supporters from singing their encouragement to their teams. Fred had been surprised the first day when he saw that the supporters of both camps were mixed in the stands. Ed was used to it. Despite the beer flowing, the atmosphere was almost always very good among the supporters. Often times, the game would start in public transport, when the most involved fans were singing songs to the glory of their team. And the meeting did not end until the next day, after a night of drunkenness. What Fred already knew.
The three men were far from being alone in the guest box, but of the thirty or so people present, they were clearly the most studious to follow the meeting either from their chairs or by turning their heads and looking at the screens which broadcast the slow down from the best previous actions. Mark watched the game, suffering for his son who was doing his best on the pitch. Ed, himself, cursed his son and other players, which sometimes had the effect of turning the heads of the other guests who were only partially following the meeting, too busy talking to each other and drinking in the back of the room. Fred tried not to lose sight of the man of his life, also suffering to see the American team being strolled on the field. Around them, the little Luke was running in the company of two other children of players. Fred would glance at him every now and then to see if he was going to cause trouble. Another screen was broadcasting unnecessarily and silently the second game of the day which took place much further south, in Nagasaki. The weather was terrible there, with more intense rain and Samoans and Namibians still not opening the scoring. Fred smiled as he saw every now and then a troop of Scottish supporters circling the pitch accompanied by bagpipes and drums to cheer on their own. He noticed Ed's smile at their sight.
" It seems they take more pleasure in going around the field than watching the game ! "
Ed agreed.
" In Europe, we don't have cheerleaders. It is the supporters themselves who ensure the show and the Scots are the most famous with their Tartan Army. Even when they're on the verge of losing, and believe me, it happens a lot, they never let go. "
Fred liked this mentality. He now fully understood the appeal of the sport to Greg, having the mentality to thrive in it.
Fred returned his attention to the field. He saw the stadium screens turn red and a siren sounded but the players did not relax their actions. It wasn't until the ball came out of the field that the referee raised his right arm high and whistled two shrill blows and the players stopped their runs, catching their breath. Fred winced at the score.
Scotland 15
USA 00
" It's a bad start, it seems. "
Ed could only agree.
Things seemed to be on the wrong track indeed according to Melvin. He dug a quick hand into the inside pocket of his jacket to squeeze out some chewing gum. Dennis watched him do it, used to it. The worse things turned out, the more tablets he took at a time. And Dennis could swear the horse's hand was full when he emptied it into his mouth. He got up and went to meet his players who were heading towards the edges of the field. His gaze was fixed on their downcast eyes. Even Pater, the captain, didn't seem to know what to do with the looming underpants. Melvin put his hand on a few shoulders to comfort the beaten in the first half. He saw his failure looming. And changing players would probably not be enough because what the team lacked was a desire, a soul.
He then saw Greg arrive, who stopped at the edge of the field, his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. There was nothing disturbing abnormal. But Melvin saw something else in his eyes. Intense anger. And that reassured him.
-
Greg was holding his knees with his hands. Pain, he knew what it was. But that wasn't what bothered him. Nothing was going as planned. He couldn't seem to tip the scrum in favor of the team. He felt his legs heavy, he couldn't shake his opponents and above all, that damn oval ball never bounced as it should.
But what hurt him the most, as he returned to the locker room, was the look Frank gave him when they met.
Frank was sad for his friend. He knew he could do a lot better than that. The quest for qualification was important to him, but he felt bad seeing Greg below his level. He would have liked to see him again, to go to his side, to encourage him. But he wore the jersey with the thistle, and for another forty minutes, he would not be on his side.
Greg understood the meaning of Frank's gaze. As he was about to enter the locker room first for the break, following the Scottish players, Greg stayed put.
" Greg... "
The coach repeated.
" Greg, what's going on ? Gets in ! "
Greg straightened up, standing still, his gaze towards the entrance to the locker room.
" No.
What ?
Coach... Can you get me a new jersey ?
But... "
Greg took off his sweat and grass soiled jersey and handed it to the coach.
« And put this one in my bag."
The coach saw that something was wrong. Behind Greg, the other players waited their turn to enter the locker room. Greg turned and looked at his comrades.
" Don't wait for me guys, I'll stay here. Go get some rest.
But Greg...
I will stay here. There is no question that I leave the field like that.
What is happening ?
What is happening ? Nothing is right, that's what's happening ! "
Greg was angry now. He wasn't aggressive, but he wasn't in a good mood, and he was showing it.
" We suck, that's what's happening ! Our back lines are a real Gruyère ! Our wingers are not running fast enough ! Our striker missed two drops and a penalty, and I have nothing in my arms, nothing in my legs ! You know what, guys ? I am not fit to wear this jersey today. None here is. And what hurts me the most is that I don't care that we're being humiliated in the eyes of the world. I am sad for our supporters who have saved months and years to come here to see us ! This match, I want to win it, but I can't afford it ! Sandiego !
Yes ?
Why are you playing like this ? You run twice as fast normally ! Trevor!
I...
How can you miss such an easy penalty ? It was facing the posts ! Even I could have put it on ! Pater !
What ?
You are as bad as I am on my side of the fray ! What is happening to us ? Why are we not able to play at our level ? Yes I know, it's the Scotts ! But we can stand up to them ! We drew against the Samoans ! They just scored more points than us against the Namibians ! It makes you wonder what we are doing here ! "
The coach was watching and especially listening to Greg, his arms crossed. This speech, he wanted to do it, but his right pillar was doing it as well as him, so he let it go on, sending Dennis to get a new shirt for Greg.
« Why are we here ? I'm asking you ! We are here to show that despite all the weight that Football and Basketball have with us, this European sport is also ours ! The coach reminded us ! The Eagles have won the Olympic title twice ! That was almost a century ago, but that doesn't change a thing ! We are strong against the Scottish. We're just missing a goal. Patrick !
Yes ?
What is your goal ? Why are you here today ?
I...
Yes ?
I do not know.
You see ? We do not know it. I'll tell you. The goal of this team must be to win ! Not to qualify, because I think it's too late for this year. But because we must show ourselves to be the worthy heirs of the champions of the last century. But for this team to have a goal, we also have to have a goal. I have one, but I was too distracted to realize it. Sandiego !
Yes ?
What is your goal ?
I want... Make my daughter be proud of me !
This is a valid goal ! What about you, Carter ?
I want... to win... I want to show that my place here is not usurped.
What about you, Larson ?
I want to be able to sign for a big European club.
What about you, Greg ? "
Greg looked at the coach who had just asked him the question, while giving him the requested new jersey. Greg put it on.
" I want... "
Greg paused for a moment, looking vaguely at the boxes overlooking the field.
" My son is looking at me right now. I want him to be proud of me too. But there is more.
- What then ? "
Greg hesitated again. He didn't want to break his promise to Frank. He decided to remain vague.
" A friend of mine is...sick. This game is very important to him, and I want to pay tribute to him by winning. "
All the players gave the others their reason for playing on this day. When the last one spoke, they didn't had time to go back to the locker room. But the more the men talked, the more Melvin smiled again. The coach had made sure that they could drink on the spot and have a massage on the lawn. The referee had of course intervened so that they return from the locker rooms, but no regulation prohibited the players to remain on the ground during the break. The spectators saw on the giant screens as Greg was chewing out to the whole team, including himself, but they could not hear a thing. Above, Ed did not miss a beat of the show. Mark and Fred were equally surprised.
The Scottish players were surprised, on coming out, to see that the Americans had remained outside. One of the assistants told them about it, but they didn't believed it. They were mostly surprised to see that their looks had changed.
" We're going to play now. Like never before. We will beat them. They scored three tries in ten minutes, we have forty left to qualify for the next finals. We are going to do it. Each time they score us three points, we will give them six ! This is how we are going to win ! Or at least get the defensive bonus point we're missing ! "
Greg was finishing circling around the other players like a caged lion, short of breath, barely hydrated and rested, but his heart swelling with new will.
The coach was amazed at Greg's speech. But he still doubted the latter's ability to hold his rank. He made him stay with him for a moment, without anyone else hearing them as the other players slowly regained their places on the pitch.
" Greg, I'm happy with you. But you haven't told the whole truth, I can feel it.
What do you mean ?
A sick friend is a reason to fight. But I know that's not why you want to stay on the pitch.
That's right, coach. I didn't want to tell the others.
What is your real reason for fighting then ? "
Greg stared into the distance, a smirk, his eyes a little closed.
« I want to win because ..."
Greg smirked even more, but shook his head "no".
" For a good reason, but I'm sorry Coach. You are not the first person I want to tell this. "
Melvin looked at Greg then, sizing him up quickly before nodding.
" Greg... I was about to replace you. But I know that now you will do everything to win. "
Greg said nothing and resumed his place on the field. Frank was almost in front of him, and he could see that his gaze had changed. He knew the match was far from being over.
-
Like all spectators, Fred had seen that no American had entered the locker room. Ed wondered what was going on. A few images from the giant screens showed them that Greg was at the center of the matter. Ed was next to him, his gaze alternating between the screen and the field.
" I feel like the game has only just begun...
Really, Ed ?
Oh yes. I've seen this look before. The Scots are going to suffer now. "
Fred didn't know enough about the sport, he had to take Ed's word for it. He didn't have to wait long to learn that the latter was right.
The kickoff was, this time, given by the Americans. The ball was caught by a Scotsman but before he could pass it on, Carter, a slender cougar, had pounced on him, slamming him hard on the hard ground. The crowd thought they heard the sound of broken bones and reacted accordingly but the two men quickly stood up, the Scotsman having difficulty to stand. The referee said nothing, the charge had been regular.
The ball rolled a few yards behind before Carter grabbed it. Without waiting, he threw the ball behind him and Greg, launched in a cross run, grabbed it. Frank was standing across from Greg. The latter didn't even give him a look. Without remorse, he gave him a violent blow to the chest and Frank felt in the ground, gasping for breath. Greg ran a few more yards before having to give the ball in turn, blocked by two wingers. The American attackers forgave no one. Having reached ten meters from the last line, they faced the defenders. A false pass put the Scottish full-backs on edge. Greg picked up the ball and threw it against the ground, screaming in rage. He got up quickly to look at the referee. The latter raised an arm to the sky, whistling.
Greg exulted !
Try !
Scotland 15
USA 05
Over the minutes, the Scottish defense tightened, leaving room for attackers to carry out deadly counters. The American defenders took a long time to fill in the gaps. But the gap was narrowing as time passed and Melvin was finding it harder and harder to sit still on the sidelines.
-
There were only five minutes left to play. The tension was at its high. The sign showed why.
Scotland 24
USA 23
Both teams were exhausted. Having to play hard had drained a lot of their strength. Greg felt his thighs harden to the limits of the cramp. Carson and captain Sandiego had had to leave their places on the field, threadbare, and Greg was afraid to see one of the referees raise the sign giving his number in red, a sign of his exit. Melvin could see that Greg was no longer fresh. But get the leader of the revolt out now ? It would bring the team to pieces, Melvin knew it. He only had to hope that Greg had some more under the pedal.
The crowd of spectators was ecstatic. Largely led to the score, it had seen the Americans slowly catch up. In the lodge, it was also only applause and cries of joy, the guests now ignoring the drinks and the petits fours. Ed was very happy too and Fred also gave of his person to fuel the good atmosphere under the astonished eyes of the children present in the group.
The referee called an American foul. The Scots, who were too far from the US in-goal to attempt the penalty, looked at each other and the captain decided on a scrum. Greg looked Frank straight in the eye as always. And for the first time, Frank lowered them.
Greg knew then that his friend was at the limit of his strength. Which was also the case for him.
" I'm sorry Frank. I like you, but this game, I want to win it. "
No one but him heard that remark to himself. Greg moved into position, crouching in the front row, one arm slung over the pillar's shoulder, feeling the second row arm against his legs, a face glued to his butt to contain the opposing thrust.
As soon as the referee said the word "set", Greg pushed and hit his opponent's shoulders with all his might. Frank gave in to the first push and the Scottish pack broke within seconds. The Americans got their hands on the ball and pushed towards the Scottish end.
But the backs quickly reformed an effective line of defense and not a single American player could cross it. The Scottish forwards tried to intercept the ball in order to start against to finish the match as quickly as possible.
But the Eagles had quickly learned not to pass too long against them. Carrying a nonchalant demeanor, Carter stood on the wing. He was holding the side of his abdomen, breathing deeply, his face grimacing. His direct opponent thought he was the victim of a side stitch.
The ball spun backwards but to his horror, the Scottish man saw Carter leap to his feet and catch the ball he intended for a teammate. Carter ran like a madman diagonally to avoid the opposing line. But there were too many Scottish people to go any further and his full backs hadn't followed quickly enough to be available. He then gauged the angle and kicked the ball which went up in the air. The Scots prayed for the ball to fall as quickly as possible, or at least near the poles. The ball hit a post and went off to the side where it hit the other pole before falling limp behind. The two linesmen did not bother to look at each other and raised their flags in unison.
Drop.
Scotland 24
USA 26
Melvin leapt into the air, as did the entire bench, players and assistants, who saw with anguish the time remaining. The stopwatch showed 36 minutes. Still 4 to play. An eternity.
Much to their joy, the American team looked at Johnson, who had worn the captain's armband ever since Sandiego left. The young ursid looked around him. He saw the Scots get back into place once they had picked up the ball, then his classmates who silently asked him what to do next.
The young captain couldn't hear Ed drumming on the window of a
" Don't try to score anymore, guys ! Close the shop and let the storm pass ! "
who filled the place with his powerful voice.
What should I do ?
Johnson took responsibility and with one hand he gestured to lock a door. All the players understood. It was no longer a question of attacking, but of defending this meager advantage at all costs. No one protested, because everyone knew they were at their limits.
All the players went to defense. Each balloon was calculated. Each player was doing their best to be in two places at the same time. So as not to let one player leave to score a try, so as not to let another get in position to score a drop. And without making a mistake, so as not to risk a penalty. The time seemed to them infinitely long. But no player gave in. To avoid injury, they soon realized that it was better to cause the impacts rather than suffer them. Greg was in pain all over. His hair was mixed with grass and more sweat. The referee called another scrum following a Scottish foul. Greg and the players looked at the stadium clock before getting into position.
39 minutes and 18 seconds.
Greg felt that this melee was the last he could endure. He felt into place. Lucky for him, Frank was even more tired. He managed to hold his position despite the shock of the impact. He blocked his ankle to save time. The American pack collapsed and the referee ordered a second scrum, Scottish this time.
39 minutes and 46 seconds.
This time around, all the players knew they had to conquer the ball at all costs. The winner of the match would be the one who takes it.
New impact. Greg gritted his teeth not to scream in pain, not to give in. He didn't know who had the ball, and he almost didn't care. He pushed as best he could, not knowing if he was moving forward or backward.
This time it was the Scottish pack that felt. The ball rolled at Farwell's feet, who grabbed it, but under pressure from two opposing forwards, he had to pass the ball to Greg. Greg then noticed that a large red spot had just appeared in his field of vision. It was the stadium screens that had just turned red. At the same time, a loud siren sounds in the stadium.
40 minutes !
Greg remembered his first rugby school lessons and he knew what to do. He cocked his shot and kicked the ball into the opposing camp. The oval ball randomly bounced between four Scottish defenders, then it finally made its way to the sideline. The crowd of spectators howled their pleasure and their anguish at how this was going to end. A Scotsman grabbed it, and he spun around to get back in the right way. But the angle was wrong and he slipped, almost locking his ankle. He managed to avoid the injury, but his shoe bit on the outside white line.
Greg then saw the assistant referee raise his flag.
The Scotsman had stepped outside the field.
Dead ball.
Greg fell to his knees as the referee lifted both arms skyward, whistling three long, shrill blows. Greg in turn raised his arms and howled his joy.
The match was over ! They had just won!
Greg was no longer in pain. He was no longer tired. No American player was in pain anymore, as the Scots felt tiredly to the ground, in tears.
Hamilton was the closest player. He was one of those who had a hard time getting used to play with Greg. He hugged him in tears. Hamilton did nothing to reject Greg. Carter joined the two men, then Wilson came. Soon the fifteen players were no more than a kneeling group, weeping for joy as the Americans in the stands screamed with joy and congratulated each other. The guest lodge was no more than an orgy of happiness and tears. Everyone congratulated each other, even Luke who wanted to participate in the party. Only Sam stayed in his playpen with the other babies, screaming in fear at a joy they didn't understood.
Ed pulled away from the stranger he was hugging, his eyes in tears. He looked at the screens which now showed the improbable. The presenters, seated behind the desks, seemed to be commenting on a result that appeared fleetingly behind them.
Namibia 09
Samoa 03
Ed was all smiles. His eyes widened even more when he saw a new sign displaying what was possible an hour and a half before, but which was the reality no one had dared to believe.
Australia 20
USA 11
Scotland 11
Namibia 05
Samoa 03
Below, a last line justified the classification between the opponents of the day.
USA +06
Scotland -04
The differential between the points inflicted on the opponents against those collected throughout the tournament. Rule that sent the Eagles to the quarterfinals and Scotland home.
He only heard one thing. All around him, it was only an intense hubbub of cries of joy, happiness, surprise too. But that wasn't what hurt Frank the most. Not even the carpet of grass, which was very pleasant, lying on it. Frank had his hands on his face, as if to hide the truth, his eyes wet with tears of pain and intense disappointment. Around him, heads bowed, the other players dressed in midnight blue also did not hide their tears, wandering sadly on the lawn. Some stood in front of bleachers laden with sad Scottish people, trying to put on a good face by greeting them to thank them for their unfortunately unnecessary support.
Frank laid there, trying to catch his breath. He felt a presence and, opening his eyes, he could see Greg smile at him. He had two players by his side and he extended a friendly hand to him.
Frank forced a smile, slowly getting up, helped by Greg's hand. He nodded to the two American friends who framed Greg.
" Good luck for the future guys. You will need it against France. "
The Doberman was sad, but sincere. Greg was too.
" We do not care. I don't want you to end this game on a bad note. "
Frank didn't know what Greg wanted to do by standing behind him. He understood when he felt the latter's head come between his legs, his arms hugging his thighs and his body leaving the ground, held in balance by the other two players. Frank was on Greg's shoulders, who made his way to the nearest stands. The audience greatly appreciated Greg's initiative, and applauded Frank as he tried with tears in his eyes to apologize to his audience for the loss. Greg barely had the strength to walk halfway around the stadium before he had to put Frank down. The gesture had been noticed by the whole stadium, appreciated to its fair value by all, Americans and Scots, and would undoubtedly make the image of the day on television that very evening.
The group returned to the locker room. As tradition has it, the victors lined up and cheered the Scots as they returned to their shelter. Then the Americans did a lap of honor to congratulate their audience in turn. But Greg did not participate in this last outpouring. As he began to accompany the group, Mervin sent him gently but firmly towards the showers.
Turning one last time on the rough concrete floor, Dennis arrived at his destination. In his American-colored tracksuit, the clear Doberman detachedly showed off his transparent pouch attesting to his identity, function and complete freedom to move in those parts of the stadium closed to the public at the last keeper before he could strike against the double wooden door before entering. He did not wait for permission to do so because he knew that no one could hear him, the lodge reserved for American guests was nothing more but a pandemonium of cries of joy, improvised dances and bottles emptied in record time. He tried to walk straight, to avoid getting caught and embraced by complete strangers, responding with a big smile to the various requests before finding the people he was looking for.
" Mr. Kaplan ?
Yes ?
Will you come with me ? Mr. Miller wants to see you now. "
Fred looked at Mark and Ed, wondering what the hell was going on.
« Are you Messrs Miller and Delacroix ?
Yes.
He asks you too. "
The three men followed the deputy. Ed and Mark stayed a few steps behind.
« What does he want to see us for ? "
Dennis just shrugged, leading the way in front of Fred who was holding the little Luke by the hand as Ed was trying to comfort his Sam, still scared on his stomach.
« Hey, I think Greg wants to give you his gifts before he goes home. It was not planned but he was finally right because he will be a good week late in the end ! "
Dennis made no secret of his joy. Mark and the others weren't hiding it either.
« Are we going to see dad then ?
- Yes Luke. But then as the gentleman said, he will come home a week late ! "
On the way to the locker room, Greg was jumping for joy, now fully realizing his feat. Finally, the feat of the team. He still had a little trouble believing it. Left to try to grab third place in the group, they had just won the second, synonymous with qualification for the second round of the tournament. He spared no one his joy, lining up high fives, slaps on the shoulders of complete strangers and surprise hugs from security personnel, carefully avoiding the journalists who had managed to infiltrate before entering the still empty locker room, placing on the bench the dirty Scottish jersey he had in his hands and a ball he had stolen from the technical staff.
Even alone, he shared his joy with the walls and benches, cramming his dirty laundry into his place, putting his rings back into his nose and nipples and draping his right shoulder with a clean towel as he made his way to the showers, naked, grabbing a random soap. The hot water squirting from the shower head was doing him a lot of good, managing to remove some of his fatigue that was dissolving in the drain. The rest, Greg could swear he couldn't feel it, so much adrenaline filled his veins. He would definitely have a terrible time the next day, but right now he didn't care.
Greg lifted his head, letting the hot water massage his face, a big smile on his face. Always happy, he intoned in a detached manner the first words that seemed to suit him.
"Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming... "
His voice emphasized his joy, but quickly Greg felt tears rise to his eyes. He was busy soaping himself up but suddenly he felt that his actions were not right. They were out of place. He took a better seat on his feet, still under the hot and massaging jet, his arms at his sides, facing the wall he did not see, having his eyes closed, his head raised.
"Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilious fight
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming ? "
Greg was now fully involved, feeling over the sentences his happiness and his pride in having brought a little more to his country.
"And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night than our flag was still here. "
Greg broke off in surprise, opening his eyes. Four other voices had joined his. Stepping forward to escape the water once returned, he saw three other players standing at attention outside the open shower door. The fourth person was a journalist, apparently authorized, who enjoyed filming the scene, taking care to cut at the waist. Greg quickly caught up with his slight delay by chasing his teammates with his voice.
Approaching the locker room, Dennis was forced to show his identification pocket more and more often, taking care to specify that the men behind him were with him. There were more and more people in the halls, everyone wanting to reclaim a moment of glory and the troupe began to team up, Fred finally hugging Luke. They arrived at their destination, finding the locker room now full of players and reporters, Dennis accompanying the end of the chorus in his broken, broken voice.
"Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
Over the land of the free and the home of the brave ? »
( The American Hymn. Duh. )
Cries of joy and applause accompanied the last stanza. Dennis took matters into his own hands and, with the exception of his companions, he kicked the intruders out to leave a moment of relative privacy for the players who were starting to undress, which delighted the couple and Fred who paid attention to don't be overly interested.
Those who knew Fred, on the other hand, were careful not to expose themselves for the moment. Dennis turned his head and located Greg, who was luckily for him sitting, in costume, ready to attend the obligatory press conference. The player wore a black suit over a sky blue shirt. He stood up, warning his family and hugging his parents in turn, then Fred before focusing his attention on Luke whose head was rubbed to his displeasure.
" I'm so glad to see you guys again. Fred, I'm sorry but I'll be late home tonight ! "
Greg did not hide his happiness that Fred gave him back. The players laughed at the humorous remark.
The room was full of conversation but Greg's voice was loud enough to silence the others when he started to speak, pointing to his family.
" Guys, this is my family. This is Mark and Ed, who made me the man I am. "
The two men waved to the group. Some returned politeness to them, others pretended nothing had happened, hiding their disinterest or hostility as best they could.
« And this is Fred, who I've been living with for a while, as some people know."
Fred was wearing an embarrassed, shy smile.
Nobody was unaware of Greg's homosexuality and all reacted according to their feelings about the question. Luke was also entitled to his introduction, earning everyone's sympathy.
Dennis was tapping his finger on the screen of his watch, to remind Greg not to hang around, which he understood, taking the dirty ball in his hand. He threw it in the direction of Mark, who caught it flying with both hands.
« It's for you daddy ! I can't guarantee you it's the one I flattened but it made the match ! "
Mark looked at the ball, then flicked it between his hands, showing his pleasure.
" Thanks, kid ! "
Still smiling, Greg took his dirty jersey in his hands and handed it to Ed.
« This one is for you dad. "
Ed stared at the grass and sweat stained jersey, gripping it, smiling.
« I swear I'll never wash it ! "
Ed was happy and he wasn't hiding it. Some players were watching the scene, content with themselves and also appreciating the gifts that Greg gave to his parents, knowing their great symbolic value. Luke was graced with his shorts, and more pleasantly, the Scottish jersey bearing the name Bell. The boy knew him and he too was happy with this unique gift. He proceeded to put it on, which quickly made him look like a dark ghost to the encouraging laughters in the room.
Greg was looking at Fred. His turn had come. He gestured to look for something in his jacket pocket. Groping around, he climbed onto a bench, facing Fred.
« Where did I put this thing ? "
As he spoke, Greg had put one knee on the wood, keeping a precarious balance on the bench. The gesture and the posture attracted the attention of some. It looked like he was going...
Here ? Now ? No way...
" Ah, there he is. "
Greg then looked at Fred.
"I have something to ask you, Fred... How long have we known each other ?"
Fred shrugged. Dennis seemed to be satisfied to see the family ceremony end, they would be on time.
" I do not know anymore. Within nine years.
And how long have we been living together ?
A little less than a year why ? "
Greg kept a thin smile on his face, his eyes lowered a little.
« You can imagine, I didn't have time to go to the gift shop, luckily the ref was around, and I wanted something really original. "
Greg put out a yellow plastic whistle. Fred understood that he had obtained it from the referee, probably in all friendship. The whistle was in his hand, the lanyard sticking out behind the pocket. Fred took the whistle and pulled it lightly. His movement stopped when Greg closed his fist on the end of the cord, drawing Fred's attention to the gesture more.
" I'm glad you're with me, Fred. We both experienced things that made us live some bloody adventures. But the most important thing in all of this is the fact that everything we have experienced has placed us on this path. I don't know if it's God to be thanked for because I find it hard to believe that he has time to waste with insignificant guys like us. But if this is the case, I thank him and if not, I can only hope that we will continue like this a little longer. Fred, my kid loves you very much and I know you will be a wonderful father to him. "
A little further, seated players began to open large round eyes, finally understanding. Fred didn't know where Greg was going.
Greg then opened his hand. Attached to the cord, a smooth silver ring rested in his palm. Fred saw him, not reacting, not understanding. Greg closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, his voice moved.
« Fred, will you marry me ? "
The surprise didn't show on Fred's face. He showed only a neutral face, his eyes fixed on the silver ring. When he finally looked at Greg's face, his only reaction was to let tears run down his cheeks. He couldn't speak. So he had to do
" Yes "
with the head.
Which instantly caused another eruption of joy in the locker room.
-
He was breathing softly. He was sitting on a simple chair, Greg by his side. Behind them shone the official logo of the competition and in front of it, about fifty accredited journalists were seated, separated by a large table covered with a sky blue sheet. At the back, the spotlights flooded the room with light, the cameramen filmed the scene. Melvin rested his forehead on his hand whose elbow rested on the table, not hiding his dismay. He opened his eyes and glared at poor Dennis, who had nothing to do with it after all. The Doberman, standing along the wall, tried to look away. The room was filled with amused murmurs and throat scraping. To his right, Greg was seated, all smiles. His immaculate suit was still dripping with a mixture of water, soap and champagne and he pretended all was well, his head covered in moss, his feet bathing in the small pool of water still flowing from his body. He looked at the assembly for a short moment, amused, a thin smile on his lips asking into the microphone.
« Okay, who wants to start ? "
in the most timid, normal, and innocent way.
The group of young people looked, half amused, half curious, at the village square which was for once the scene of an unusual spectacle. Of course, it was not uncommon to see the small Basque village see its main square crowded with vehicles of all kinds, but it was usually during the week and the vehicles were vans that housed the equipment and provisions sold on the weekly market of the small town. But there, it was a Saturday and among all the vehicles, there was an impressive collection of luxury vehicles and sporty little cars that had more than one boy and a few girls dreamed of, who usually only knew the bike for everything means of transport.
Coming quickly from home, careful to skid his rear wheel without falling, the teenage gray wolf caught his breath before approaching his friends he had hoped to impress once again. But on this day, they only had eyes for the guests who were waiting at the entrance of the town hall, dressed for a day of celebration. About thirty guests were divided into groups, chatting while waiting for the moment of the departure signal. The wolf lightly punched his closest comrade on his shoulder.
« Hey, vous savez qui se marie ? »
« Hey, who's getting married ? "
The cub, barely older than him, turned his head, sneering.
« C'est un vrai cirque. C'est le nouveau, tu sais ? Le pédé.
« It's a real circus. This is the new one you know ? The queer. "
The boy grimaced.
« Celui qui a racheté l'ancienne auberge ? T'es certain ?
« The one who took over the old inn ? You're sure ? "
The boy nodded.
« Ouais. Papa m'en a parlé. Il aurait préféré ne pas avoir à le faire ici mais bon comme il a acheté ici il en a le droit. Mais bon il ne voulait pas le faire alors il laisse son adjointe le faire à sa place même si c'était son tour. »
« Yeah. Dad told me about it. He would have preferred to avoid letting him do it, but hey since he has a house here now he has the right to come here. He didn't want to do it so he told his assistant to take his place for today even if it was his turn. "
The wolf spat on the ground to show his contempt. Among the group, no one took it back. Only a young bull shook his head in refusal, still sitting on his bike.
« Cela va les gars. Personne ne vous force à regarder cela. »
« It's okay guys, they're not forcing you to attend either, duh. "
The wolf grimaced in his direction.
« Eh bien Antonio, tu tournes pédé aussi ? »
« Well Antonio, are you turning faggot too ? "
The young horned teenager showed his erect middle finger to the wolf, who sneered.
« Si tu avais une soeur, elle te dirait certainement le contraire ! »
« If you had a sister she would tell you the opposite ! "
A gray wolf girl was also watching the crowd.
« Vous avez vu les voitures ? On dirait que ça rapporte de se faire mettre. »
« Have you seen the cars ? It seems it paid to be fucked. "
The group sneered even more. The young bull preferred to push on his pedals to ride away, muttering a
" Tontos ! "
moving further and further away from the group.
The wolf focused on the group who continued to chat in front of the old house. Nothing distinguished it from the other houses of the village with its long white two-storey facade, its black roof, its black shutters too and the angles of the walls made of exposed stone which highlighted the whitewashed walls. An old awning of stones and wood on its right no longer housed a carriage as it originally did, but a technical vehicle. Only the double inscription on the door
" Town hall "
« Mairie »
"Herriko Exte"
Indicated, in French and Basque, the character of a public establishment.
A gray car, long and freshly washed, slowly arrived and stopped in front of the group, who turned around, accompanying the descent of the passengers with lively, applause and shouts of joy. The teenagers saw the male couple getting off, dressed in their black clothes, yellow or blue shirts, holding each other by the shoulders in front of the crowd who started to follow the young couple while applauding them, not forgetting to do to enter among the first the little rott who smiled with all his teeth. One of the grooms wore an old gray hat on his head that didn't matched well with the rest of his clothes.
The horde entered the town hall and made their way to the hall prepared for the occasion. The little boy grabbed one of the front row seats while the guests spread out across the room, facing the desk where an elderly woman was waiting, smiling, files and papers spread over them, letting the crowd slowly take their places. The rows of chairs gradually filled up. Mark, in his red polo shirt and black pants, accompanied his husband on one of the front row things. To his right, little Luke was securing his place. When John arrived in turn the little boy defended the empty place next to him. John protested a little before changing his mind and shifting one place. He held in his hand that of his wife Hannah who smiled back at him.
Once everyone was in place, the grooms made their entrance in turn, to a thunderous applause, A little embarrassed to be the center of everyone's attention. Greg and Fred nodded their heads to their guests. Arrived in front of the lonely woman, Greg took the time to remove his hat and put it on the empty place in the front row. He looked at him, then at Luke, who nodded his thanks. Greg faced the woman, who was opening a thick red book with one hand, following the lines of her finger, looking at the assembly.
« Mesdames, messieurs. Comme le veut la loi, je vais maintenant vous lire les articles du code concernant le mariage ainsi que les obligations qui en découlent. »
" Ladies and gentlemen. As required by law, I am now going to read you the articles of the code concerning marriage as well as the obligations which result from them. "
The deputy spoke then, in a neutral but warm voice, enacting the short legal texts which had governed marriage procedures for about two centuries, being careful not to resort to a feminine article or to refer to a woman in this case there. She spoke only in French, of which she informed the assembly, being sometimes only English-speaking, then repeated it in English. Then after a few minutes, she got down to business. Greg and Fred were standing in front of her, hand in hand, all smiles, stomachs tied.
She looked at Greg to begin.
« Monsieur Gregory Miller, voulez-vous prendre pour seul et légitime époux monsieur Frederick Aaron Kaplan ici présent ? »
"Mr. Greg Miller, will you take as your sole and lawful husband Mr. Frederick Aaron Kaplan here present?" "
Greg inhaled.
« Oui. »
" Yes. "
The assistant then turned to Fred. He did not speak French. The deputy spoke the traditional formula, then translated it into English.
« Mr. Frederick Aaron Kaplan, will you take as your husband Mr. Gregory Miller here present ? "
Fred also took a breath to speak in his most beautiful voice. Her father squeezed Hannah's hand tightly, who smiled back at him.
"I do. "
Fred recovered quickly, adding a more legal
« Oui. »
With a nice thick American accent.
Satisfied, the assistant smiles at the two newlyweds.
« Par les pouvoirs qui se sont conférés, je vous déclare donc mari et...maris. »
"By the powers that have been conferred, I therefore declare you husband and... husbands. "
The assistant made up for it in time. You could hear that this was not a frequent thing for her. Fred and Greg were wasting no time and kissing to the applause of the audience.
The crowd had now dispersed in the private garden of the old inn. The French doors to the living room were wide open to allow free passage for guests visiting the ground floor. A rope obstructed the passage of the stairs with a sign marked with a large "closed" to dissuade anyone from going up, Greg explaining that the first floor was in total repair. The public therefore preferred to stand in the garden, at tables scattered around and furnished with various foods and drinks. Foreseeing, and aware of customs, Greg kept the beers and the strongest spirits in reserve for the end of the evening. The guests stood under the shade of the trees while the children preferred to run in the sun, indifferent to their parents' orders to keep their clothes clean. Fred went from guest to guest, Greg explained the age of his house to the curious. John was standing under a tree, a glass of wine in his hand, his wife resting a little by his side, her back against the trunk.
" You're okay ?
- Yes, it's just the jet lag, it's nothing. "
Ed walked over, his hand digging into savory pastries.
" Everything is fine ?
Yes, it's good thank you. It was quick and easy today.
I know. It is usually like that here. Obviously, not going through the Church saves time.
I know. But that makes it so... administrative... "
Ed smiles.
"Here, whatever we say, we like it a lot, you know. "
This gave Hannah a big smile.
« What about you John ? "
Fred's father watched his son, who was from behind, chatting with other guests.
" Oh me, my opinion doesn't matter anymore. My son is settled, I have nothing more to say.
Everything was going as you imagined ?
Almost. It's true that when my Fred was a kid I sometimes imagined him at his own wedding. Everything turned out as I expected. Save one or two details... "
Ed and Hannah smiled. John didn't hide his pleasure either. Greg was approaching now.
« Hey, are you all right here ?
Yes that's good son.
Good.
By the way Greg, now that you've got your hands on my boy brilliantly, what are you going to do now ? "
Greg looked at his stepmother, smiling.
" I do not know. We will already continue our training with Luke. I think you already know a lot about raising a child, right ? "
John and Hannah nodded "yes" at the same time.
« And we are delighted that Fred also knows what we went through with him ..."
Ed agreed too.
" Otherwise I don't know much. I will soon resume training for the next championship, Fred will return to the base. We didn't plan anything. We will live in an ordinary way I imagine and we will see what can fall on us. Stories of broken washing machines, I imagine. Nothing notable or important. "
Ed sneered.
" Be careful, the French filmmakers like to make films with them... "
The little group couldn't stop giggling. They then joined the main groups of guests to continue the party, without thinking about it.