Page 44 of Lord of the Lock

23

Chapter Twenty-Three - Finn

The game was close. Too close, considering the massive skill gap we should have had between the two teams. But we had eighteen players altogether and Pandy had already injured three players. So at the very start of the second half, we had the fifteen players on the pitch and no more substitutes for injury. Our supporters were cheering from the sidelines — turnout was always good for a Pont-Pandy match, but the game was one that made me want to tear my hair out. I looked at Rhod’s bald head and realised for the first time it might not be a genetic thing.

“Play a careful game, boys,” I’d said during the half-time huddle. “We’re five points up, all we need to do is maintain that. Don’t risk injury, don’t make any stupid tackles. Just play like your mother is watching, and defend as one.”

Now, I was watching as the boys played carefully. Too carefully. Pandy were dangerously close to a try and our players were trying to keep themselves safe from the crush of bodies. “Push back!” I shouted. “Push it fucking back!”

I watched as one of their biggest players broke free of the pack with his ball in hand and our lock ran straight at him. It would have been a spectacular tackle if their player hadn’t sidestepped awkwardly. The two collided with a crack that could be heard from across the pitch.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” Rhod replied. Our team physio ran across the pitch to check on the players. “Come on, get up, get up,” I chanted under my breath. But after a minute the physio and a couple of players were helping both of the lads off the pitch. Pandy had a substitute to send on, but we would be down to fourteen men for the rest of the match. I wanted to scream, I wanted to have a right old temper tantrum right there on the sidelines. But I wasn’t some playboy rugby player now, I was these lads’ coach. They needed me to be there to provide encouragement, to keep up that inspiration for them even when things were going wrong.

The ref spoke to each of our captains before play carried on, but with fourteen players on the pitch it was pretty easy for Pandy to get a try past us. And then another, two minutes later.

“For fuck’s sake!” Rhod muttered, hands shaking on the clipboard he always carried around with him. “We’ve not lost to Pandy in ten years and I don’t plan on it today…go and get your kit on.”

“What?”

“You heard me, go and find a kit big enough, grab some boots from the lost and found and get the fuck onto the pitch.”

I ran behind the spectators, around the pitch to our changing rooms like my arse was on fire. I hadn’t played rugby since…well, since all the shit had gone down. But it was time to give it a go again. Sure, it was probably cheating to have an ex-Welsh international on the pitch. But I was out of shape, and I wasn’t about to let anything get between me and holding the ball again.

I grabbed the nearest XXL shirt and shorts, grabbed some socks and a muddy, smelly old pair of size thirteens.Which gross bastard left these behind?I wondered before reading the name tag inside.Oh. Finn.These were my old boots from my school days, and when I slipped my feet into them it was like coming home. If home was a muddy boot that had probably been used by forty different players since I had last played for Pont.

I ran out of the changing rooms, and as soon as there was a break in the play I ran through the spectators and on to the pitch.

The ref immediately ran up to me. “You can’t be here, mate. The game is an amateur…”

“Call the rugby union. Check my status,” I said before he could carry on. “I’m unaffiliated with any team. No-one wants me. So I’m allowed here.”

Muttering, the ref walked away from me and I took my position in the line as he whistled to resume play. Pandy had possession of the ball and they were playing fast, dirty rugby. Ben was like gazelle as he chased them across the pitch and our team were in-sync, but somehow Pandy just had an edge. One familiar big bastard ran toward me with the ball and I took him down with ease. It was a fucking delight to be in the game like this again. I was so elated with tackling that I had completely forgotten that the game moved on straight afterwards, and missed my chance to tackle the next player or rip the ball from them. Luckily, with fifteen players again, we were playing in sync and one off ours managed to rip the ball and kick it out, into the other team’s twenty-two. It rolled out of bounds

“Good one, mate!” I clapped our player — Ioan — on the shoulder and he smiled at me. His risky manoeuvre had put us on the front foot a little bit, because the ball bouncing out in that spot - within 22 metres of the opposition try line — meant that we got the line-out. And line-outs were where I shone. I may not have played rugby in months, but I had designed our plays. And I was standing in for our downed lock, which was my preferred position anyway.

Ben stood on the sidelines ready to throw in the ball. “Right lads, gold one two!” Everyone took their positions and as Ben threw I jumped, two other players getting a death grip on my thighs to hold me higher for longer. The opposition player wasn’t quite as tall as me and Ben had thrown beautifully, so I managed to get hold of the ball and I threw it backward down the line as soon as I was on the ground. It sailed through the air between players until one of our wingers got a beautiful corner try.

We all got the chance to catch our breath as our kicker lined up his next shot, and I noticed a couple of additions to our audience. Garrett and Bernie were stood next to Rhod, as well as Pete Grainger, Cardiff’s new manager and Garrett’s replacement as Garrett had moved on to coaching the Wales squad. Pete was an old legend in the English game. He was stood next to a player who’d joined Cardiff in my absence, George something-or-other.

But it wasn’t the rugby royalty in the crowd that drew my attention. It was the flash of shocking pink and tortoiseshell spectacles. I waved over at Nathan with a grin, and he waved back just as enthusiastically. I was glad to see him so happy. Perhaps my worries about his meeting with Lewis had been for nothing. As our kicker sailed the ball between opposition posts and the crowd cheered, Nathan’s gaze slid over to the opposing team. I noticed that the lad who I’d tackled earlier was staring at him with malice.Oh. I was so stupid. That was Lewis’ friend, the one who’d terrorised Nathan in the pub before. If he went down a couple more times, perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

As we walked back to our half of the pitch to kick off again, I rallied the boys around me. “Win or lose, that’s the energy, the power, the unity I want to see in you all. You’re playing fucking fantastically, lads!”

“Another punt in the swear jar?” joked Ben. “Or just aDon’t say fuck every sentencechallenge.”

“Fuck off,” I shouted, giving him the two-fingered salute to drive my point home even further. He just laughed.Kids. No respect these days.Once he was done laughing at me, I pulled him aside.

“Do you know that big fucker on their team?” I asked quietly.

“Charlie? He’s a bit of a bastard around town. Why?”

“Gonna teach the big bastard a lesson,” I replied, gesturing for the whole team to get ready for Pandy’s attack.

Pandy kicked the ball into our half and we pushed against them hard until we were all sweating and grimy in the August heat. But a bad rip meant that we had to go into a scrum. I walked towards the lads gathering to take my place, and I passed Charlie as I did. Subtly, he pulled at the bottom of my shirt to turn me around.

“Still fucking that little shit then?” he asked quietly. “Just know if he runs his mouth you won’t always be around to protect him.”

---