Page 5 of Pitch Prince

The game was scrappy from the start, with us and Edinburgh trading tries and conversions throughout the first half to take us to an even score at half time. I had put in a shift and was panting with exertion and covered in mud as we entered the tunnel, but I hadn’t managed to get a try in. We stood in the changing room, shoulders shivering from the cold. Garrett had given a no-nonsense speech about how important it was that we won.

“No shit,” muttered Finn to my side. A couple of us laughed and Garrett turned his eyes to us.

“I’d have thought you, Finn, would be most focused on this fucking game so don’t give me any of that disrespect. If you want to keep banging supermodels, you better hope you put in a performance that gets you into the Wales squad.”

I heard Finn’s audible gulp, and Garrett looked at his watch. “Right squad, let’s get back out there. Let’s show those Scottish wankers what we’re fucking made of!”

With a roar, we all ran back out of the changing room and onto the pitch at the same time as Edinburgh’s team. There was a jostle with so many big men in the tiny tunnel and I nudged into Anderson as he exited the tunnel. He shot me a grin and I smiled back. He was a tank and I was an arrow. Let’s see what got the most tries.

I was aware that I’d shifted my style of rugby play after my injury. I wasn’t as combative, didn’t run head first into so many situations. What I did do well was take the ball and run a good distance with it. It got good tackles in but mostly stuck to the sidelines and waited for the ball to come to me. Until I saw Callum Anderson catch the ball and run like a bull down the blindside. There was no one else in a position to tackle him, and I knew he wasn’t much faster than me. I strafed to one side so that I could use my left arm to take him down.

It was like he ran in slow motion as I calculated the best angle to tackle him. His skin was like porcelain under the cold floodlights and the sheeting rain had dyed his strawberry hair a darker auburn. I could see the green of his eyes as he got closer. I charged toward his waist and locked around him with my left shoulder, making sure to wrap tight as he came down on top of me. Almost as if shocked that I’d taken him down with my smaller frame, the ball rolled out of his grip and over the touchline.

My shoulder ached but that was par for the course. I’d taken a big guy down without major injury to myself, and got possession of the ball for my team in the process. I’d call that a great success. I got up, dusting myself off and held a hand out to Callum to help him up. He took it and patted me on the back.

“Good tackle,” he said. The Gentleman of Rugby.

As the game neared its end, we were just four points behind Edinburgh’s score after a couple of penalty kicks and a lucky try had taken them into the lead. With one try, we would win the game. I watched as the clock ticked up steadily toward eighty minutes. It was our turn for a line out throw-in, and if we timed this right we could guarantee success.

I watched as one of my team-mates, Andy, shuffled his feet awkwardly on the sideline as he held the ball and the two teams got into position to attempt a catch. He was delaying just a little bit to run the clock down, and the rest of us stood in line across the pitch in anticipation of the throw.

He threw, and I watched as Finn was thrust up in the air by our team to catch it. After a quick scrabble with an Edinburgh player he had hold of the ball.

The ball got passed backwards along the line with speed, and I was at the very far edge. I ran forward with my team, watching as each player was taken down by the iron-clad Edinburgh defensive before it got passed down the line. I let myself have a really quick glance at the clock. Seventy-nine minutes. If we scored a try now we were guaranteed the win. All I needed to do was support my team…

We approached the halfway line slowly, agonisingly. But then a gap opened up in front of me as Finn took the ball from a downed player. I saw it, and so did he.

I can do this. The ball arced past some of my team-mates and I reached out to grab it without effort. This is when rugby felt as easy as breathing. As soon as the ball was in my grip I tucked it in close to my chest andran.I passed through Edinburgh’s defensive line like it was nothing at all, and kept on running. There was only one obstacle in front of me, and it’s name was Callum Anderson. I ran as fast as I could as he ran to intercept me, and there was only one thing I could do.

In rugby, one could only be tackled as long as one held the ball. I couldn’t pass forward without getting a yellow card, but I couldkickforwards. In front of me stood Callum Anderson, behind me and steadily catching up were the other fourteen members of the team.

I dropped the ball and let it connect with my foot, chipping it past Callum and sidestepping him as he realised he couldn’t yet touch me. In seconds, he had cottoned on and I could sense him at my rear as I ran for the weird shaped ball. The biggest risk in rugby was never knowing exactly how the ball would roll.

But it was bouncing beautifully toward the try-line, and I dived toward it as it touched that white line, ever conscious of Callum Anderson’s laboured breathing behind me. My fingers touched the ball and I applied downward pressure to press it into the grass.

The crowd went wild as I lay there in the grass, panting. I’d sprinted half the pitch with the whole of Edinburgh Thistle in pursuit, and I’d fucking done it. I had won us the game.

Our kicker effortlessly got the ball over the posts and we won the game by three points. The changing-room celebrations were epic, with Finn handing out beers as we all stripped out of the muddy clothes and headed for the showers. Edinburgh would be having a much more sombre discussion in their changing rooms.

I soaped up and washed in the open shower block with no shame. I was the only openly gay member of a professional rugby team in Wales, and not one man on our team gave a shit. Gayer things happened on rugby tours all over the country, but the sport still hadn’t ever shed its macho image. I hoped me playing so effortlessly and well for a team like Cardiff meant another kid somewhere out there wasn’t afraid of stepping into a changing room.

“Good game there,” said Finn as he took his place in the shower next to me. Somehow, he always gravitated towards me. Perhaps because I was young and I thought I’d be a party animal like he was.

I subtly looked at Finn as we showered. Not a gay thing, I knew we all did it. He had a reputation with the ladies, and if rumours were to be believed in some of Cardiff’s gay bars then he was active in those too. I could see why. He was tall, broadly muscled from shoulder to ankle and tanned, with close-cropped black hair and caramel-brown eyes. I didn’t even need to look downward to know what he was working with.

He’d gained the nickname Flipper from us because of his name, theParty Playerby the press because of his antics. But in changing rooms, he’s gained the nicknamethe Horsefor a reason. Something about his wild ways put me off him, and despite us being close I’d never asked him about the bisexuality rumours that flew around Cardiff. If he wanted me —or anyone— to know, he’d talk to me.

“Coming out tonight?” he asked. “I’ve heard the Edinburgh players are all out at Live Lounge, and I’ve got priority access.”

“Of course you have,” I muttered. After a rugby game I liked to decompress in my flat, but it had been so so long since a game. Since I’d scored a try. Since I had been the star of the show. “Fuck it, I’m in. Do you have any…”

“Aftershave, deodorant, toothpaste? Clean shirts? Come check out my stash, I’ve left no room for people to make excuses not to come out.”

Finn brazenly walked out of the showers without grabbing a towel but I wrapped one around my waist before walking out to join him in the changing room where half the team were now getting dressed in post-match shirt and tie.

“I can’t believe you have all this shit,” I said, looking into his bulging kit back. There were spare toothbrushes, toiletries and… “Are those condoms?”

“Can never be too careful, brother,” said Finn, giving me three.

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