Striker Boy Kicks Out (11 page)

“Nat, can you come over here please?” called Stan Evans.

Training had just finished and Nat was satisfied with his contribution. He'd worked hard during all of the runs and drills and had bagged a couple of decent goals in a seven v seven game at the end of the session. Far from being miles from the standards set by others, he'd given an excellent account of himself. Surely Ian Fox saw that and accepted he'd improved his game?

Nat walked over to Evans as the other players headed back into the changing room.

“I want to do a bit of extra work with you today,” explained Evans.

“OK,” nodded Nat. This wasn't unusual. Evans often asked a player, or a couple of them, to hang back and go over some drills or work on some tactical planning.

“What are we going to focus on?” asked Nat.

“Well, the gaffer and I have been talking about you,” said Evans, “and we'd both like to see a bit more of the physical side of your game. I know that because of your
age you're nowhere near fully-developed, but you're well built enough to compete in this aspect of the game.”

“Fine,” nodded Nat.

“It's especially important because Reakin and Smithfield are very tough defenders to play against,” went on Evans. “We don't know yet if you'll get a game at all, but if you do, those two will be throwing their weight around big time to show our attackers who is king of the Celtic penalty area. So this is what you and I are going to do. You're going to dribble into the penalty area and I'm going to be waiting there for you. I'm going to use my upper body strength to try and outmuscle you to the ball. Call it a barge, an enthusiastic challenge, or a despicable piece of naked aggression – it doesn't really matter. I want to see you withstanding these challenges without going down.”

“I've got it,” nodded Nat.

Evans threw Nat a ball and retreated into the penalty area of the goal nearest to them.

Nat dropped the ball onto the turf and began to run towards the area. Evans had placed himself ten yards inside the box, directly in front of goal. And he launched himself at Nat as if he really meant it. Nat felt the full force of the impact and went crashing onto the ground, his shoulder feeling as if it had just been attacked with an iron bar.

Evans put out his hand and helped Nat up.

“Let's go again,” said Evans, “and this time don't
just take the impact, react against it. Use my own barge against me.”

Nat ran at the goal and once again Evans issued another crunching challenge that floored him. He got up, shook himself down and lined up another run. This time, Evan's challenge knocked him off balance but he stayed on his feet. He could see what Evans meant about using his opponent's strength against them. If he met the barge halfway and shoved back with all his power he could maintain his equilibrium.

He went down on his fourth go but stayed up for his fifth. On his sixth attempt, he gritted his teeth and ordered himself to go in hard, meet fire with fire, get round Evans. As he raced into the box he was ready for Evans and took the force of his challenge with an equally strong movement of his upper body. A split second after impact, he had swerved round Evans, the ball still at his feet.

“Excellent!” shouted Evans. “That's more like it!”

For the next half hour, Nat and Evans stayed out there. Evans switched his position in the penalty area and kept challenging Nat. Nat was knocked over quite a few times, both his shoulders and his chest taking mighty knocks, but by the end he was staying on his feet more and more, and was beginning to relish the face-offs.

“OK, we'll stop there,” puffed Evans. “You did very well. I know it will be different in the actual match, but stick to what we've just worked on and you should be OK.”

“I'll try,” answered Nat.

“Just remember,” said Evans as they walked back to the changing room, “every moment spent with this club is another step on a gigantic learning curve. Even the most experienced players still pick things up. You look at the Wildman – he's always listening, always learning.”

Nat spent the afternoon in the team hotel, swimming again and drawing three-three with Kelvin in a hard-fought table tennis contest. The players ate a light supper of grilled fish and vegetables, washed down with water and a healthy protein charge of assorted nuts. Nat sat between Emi and Nicky Sinclair, and although everyone was chatting and cracking jokes, Nat's mind was on that night's match. He was a bit more confident now that he'd make the subs bench, but you never knew with Ian Fox. Talk about keeping your positional cards close to your chest! Mind you, why would Stan Evans put extra time into getting him physically ready for facing Reakin and Smithfield if he wasn't actually going to play against them in some capacity?

He'd have to wait a bit longer for this information, though. Fox had told them he'd only be revealing the team over at the El Mar Stadium, a couple of hours before kick off. When it was finally time to board the team bus, Nat felt the tense anticipation rising within him, and he elected to sit by himself, picturing the two Celtic centre-backs in his mind, and seeing himself challenging
them in the way he'd practised with Stan Evans in training that morning.

Inside the changing room, Nat was jittery.

“Alright?” asked the Wildman, coming over and sitting down on the bench next to him.

“Yeah,” lied Nat. “I'm fine.

The Wildman looked him in the eye. “Are you sure?”

Nat nodded, trying to look confident.

“Don't forget what I told you,” said the Wildman. “I still get nervous before every game, especially big ones, like tonight. I know it's only one match and that no one will die if I don't play well, but that doesn't stop the adrenalin flowing, OK?”

“Sure,” replied Nat.

The gaffer's voice then cut across the changing room.

“Listen up,” said Fox and instantly all conversations stopped, as eighteen players sat down on the benches, awaiting the most important announcement of the trip so far. Nat felt the muscles in his stomach tense even further.

“I know lots of the big teams back home are rotating their squads heavily during their pre-season games to try out new blood and new formations,” said Fox, “but my intention is to stick to a pretty firm starting eleven wherever possible. I will tinker, and of course there'll be plenty of substitute appearances, but I'm looking to build a strong base. If we can get the team right out here it will be excellent preparation for the new season back home.
Just look at the national sides that go into tournaments
without
a stable line-up – more often than not they act like headless beasts, eleven disconnected parts battling each other.”

Nat felt a twist of hope inside. He'd been on top form in the last two training sessions and he'd ended the season on a high. Dennis Jensen was definitely at the front of the striker queue, with Robbie Clarke just behind him. Nicky Sinclair was surely the fourth choice forward? So that should place Nat as first reserve striker, shouldn't it? Mind you, Celtic were very physical opponents. Would Ian Fox agree that Nat was in any way ready for facing them?

“OK,” went on Fox. “In goal will be Dalston. At left-back, Young; right-back, Bartlett; with centre-backs, the Wildman and Adeyo.”

Jack Bell looked hurt but no one else raised an eyebrow at Dalston's inclusion – he was the senior player and had performed well out here in training so far. There was no surprise at Fox's choice of back four either. They were the bedrock of the team – unless one of them got badly injured or left the club, they'd be staying put. Midfield was going to be interesting, though. The two central midfielders Paulo Carigio and Dean Jobson had a tempestuous relationship. It was connected to the definition of their roles. They both loved attacking but weren't so keen on tracking back and shielding the back four. This had led to a lot of tension in the last few months, which had boiled
up as the season drew to a dramatic climax, particularly after the two-one defeat against Tottenham when they really went for each other in the dressing room.

So Nat was a little bit surprised to hear both of their names called out by Ian Fox. He'd have thought that Fox might try each of them playing alongside Jermaine Clifton (who was on excellent form) – maybe one in the first half, the other in the second half – or give them each one game – say, Carigio against Celtic and Jobson against Lazio.

“Alongside Carigio and Jobson will be Adilson on the left of midfield, and Sacrois on the right.”

Nat felt his nerves start buzzing into overdrive. Now it was the strikers' turn.

“Upfront will be Jensen and . . . Clarke.”

Even though he'd expected this, he still felt a pang of envy, but Nat made himself smile and he gave Robbie Clarke a thumbs-up.

“The other seven of you will all be on the subs bench,” announced Fox, his gaze lingering on Nat's for a couple of seconds.

What a relief. At least I make the cut!

With twenty minutes to go until kick off, all eighteen players went out to warm up on the pitch. The stadium was already filling up and in the far left-hand corner was a group of about three hundred Hatton Rangers fans. The Rangers squad ran over and clapped them, a welcome that was delightedly returned by the fans. Then it was passing
and dribbling drills led by Stan Evans, as the stadium rapidly filled up. Just as for the Celtic v Lazio game, local people were keen to see the match, even though their team, El Mar, weren't playing.

“Alright, lads,” shouted Evans, checking his watch ten minutes later. “Back inside.”

In the changing room the first eleven ditched their tracksuits for their kit, while the subs kept theirs on.

“I'm sure the boss will give you a run out,” whispered Stan Evans, slapping Nat on the back.

“Thanks,” nodded Nat, grateful for Evans's positivity. It wasn't long before the two teams were lining up in the tunnel, nodding hellos to each other. Celtic had won a toss earlier in the evening and so were in their home kit, while Hatton Rangers were in their away kit of black shirts, black shorts and black-and-white striped socks.

The subs hung back behind the two lines and followed them out when the teams strode onto the pitch. They were met by a wall of sound and the twenty-two first choice players lined up on the touchline for formal introductions and handshakes with local dignitaries, while the subs hit the benches.

“Do you reckon you'll get a game tonight?” asked Jermaine Clifton, sitting down next to Nat.

“No idea,” replied Nat with a shrug of his shoulders. “What about you?”

“No one can ever second-guess the boss,” smiled Clifton.

Nat liked Jermaine. Not only was he an excellent player, he was also very into team spirit and was genuinely delighted for other players when they did well. Nat wanted to become a bit more like that – at the minute a part of him really wanted Jensen or Clarke to have a bad game so he'd have a chance of coming off the subs bench and getting to play.

Nat turned to focus on the pitch. The Hatton Rangers players were warming up on the half of the pitch to his left. Emi and the Wildman were heading balls to each other in the penalty area, Dennis Jensen and Robbie Clarke were lobbing balls at Graham Dalston in the Rangers goal, while Adilson and Kelvin were exchanging quick-fire, low balls that skimmed over the turf. Dean Jobson, Paulo Carigio, Pierre Sacrois and Andy Young were standing in a square, playing keepy-uppy.

I wish I was out there!

On the right side of the pitch, the Celtic captain Angus Reakin was walking round his players, slapping them on the back, issuing words of encouragement and shaking his fist at them. Reakin really was a ‘players' player', loved and respected by his teammates. He had that spirit of utter belief in his own abilities and in those of his team, and he would do almost anything to lead Celtic to victory.

Nat then checked out Celtic's tiny but hugely skilful right-sided midfielder – Gavin Clyde. He was smashing in shots at their gigantic keeper Bruce Collins. Just outside the Celtic area were their central midfield pairing of
Nigel Flort and Neil Trent, both very experienced players, with plenty of European games under their belts. Strikers Ilio Campdora and Jimmy Doode were rifling passes at each other, while left-back Rob Storey and right-back Davey Cathcart were going on short, fast sprints. Would Cathcart's forays into the Rangers half allow Rangers players to exploit the space he left behind?

The Romanian referee checked his watch, consulted with his assistants and blew his whistle. The game was on.

Celtic kicked off and played the ball straight to Gavin Clyde. He exchanged a one-two with Ilio Campdora, who started a move that ended with Clyde firing a thunderous shot just over the bar, much to Graham Dalston's relief. Ian Fox was up in a second and into the technical area, screaming at Dean Jobson for letting Clyde outpace him in the middle third of the park.