Page 100 of One Last Try

A whistle pierces the air.

“Penalty Team Wild Card for not rolling away from the ball,” Daisy yells, holding her hand out towards Mathias’s half.

“Daze, come on. How am I supposed to roll away from that?” I know she’s right; I made zero attempt to drop the ball. Still gonna argue it, though.

“Number two, don’t make me yellow-card you for back-chatting,” she replies.

“What about yellow-carding number ten? That was flagrant head contact he just committed there.” I’m smirking, but Daisy puts her hand on her hip and glares at me, and I huff out my resigned sigh. “How many minutes left?”

She peers over at the LED board attached to the hut, and doesn’t even need to squint with her eighteen-year-old eyes. “Six and a half.”

Noooo.I want to pout. It’s going too quickly. I’m having so much fun, this needs to never end, but also, I’m tired as fuck, so that might actually be a good thing.

Mathias kicks the ball into touch. It sails off into the stands and we all get in position for the lineout.

If I could freeze this moment right now, stop time, I would. Mathias waiting beside the pitch, ball in his arms ready to throw, eyes darting about looking forthe best option, smile on his face. Daisy in the fray watching us all closely. Bryn pressed into my side, Harry Ellis at my other. Lando hovering near the front, calculating his next opportunity for mischief.

Two seconds later, the ball is sailing over my head. Neil lifts Pi into the air, who catches it with ease for Team Wild Card. We’ve been practicing that skill a lot during our recent Sunday mornings, and even though Neil’s playing for the other team, a bubble of pride swells inside me. Neil is sixty, and he fucking nailed the move.

The game is already moving away from the lineout, but I don’t miss the little “Aye!” and the thumbs up Neil gives me.

This might be the last time I’ll ever get to do this—stand here and play before hundreds of people. I’m covered in mud and grass stains, knees raw. There’s an origin-unknown slice down my tricep, and there’s so much sweat under my head guard that I imagine pulling it off will look the same as a swimmer putting on their cap. My heart thumps savagely, and my quads scream at me.

Six minutes left to soak in all of this. Six minutes of Team Boss versus Team Wild Card. Six minutes until I can rest.

“Boss!” Someone calls out my name, and I’m instantly pulled back into the game, like there’s a rope around my middle.

And then the ball is in my hands. I’m open. I spare half a second to place all my guys and theirs, and I start running.

It’s futile, though. Mathias is already there, right ahead of me. I’m nowhere near the twenty-two metre line, and he’s already waiting to stop me. I have three options—pass, dodge, or barrel through.

Passing’s not a possibility. I’m still waiting for my guys to fall into position, and besides, if I pass the ball, I also pass the glory.

And I want that last try to be mine.

Need it to be mine.

Dodging is no good. I’m not light-footed enough. We’ve been practicing ladder work and pivots, but I’m a forty-five-year-old forward; I’m not built for that sort of ballet.

Wrecking ball it is. And it’s already upon me. I drop my shoulder and brace for impact, preparing to drive Mathias out of my way.

The little “oof” he emits as my shoulder slams into his sternum is simultaneously the cutest and most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. He doesn’t go down. Neither do I. Suddenly, Bryn is beside me, dropping his heft into the mix, and we’re walking Mathias backwards in a maul.

Mathias calls for his teammates, and they’re joining in within seconds, piling on. Team Boss add weight to my side, and everybody’s so preoccupied fighting for control, nobody notices when a perfect gap in the side of the maul opens up.

Split second decision, no overthinking, I take it.

The moment my boots hit that unguarded space, Mathias pivots. He’s fucking good. There’s no way I can get the ball over that line with him on the opposite team, but I at least need to try. There are only a few minutes left of play, and it’s my last opportunity.

I run. Like my life depends on it. The ball cluched tight to my chest. My other arm pierces the air and drags me forward.

I only know how quickly Mathias is gaining on me because of the crowd and the noises they’re making. It’s not cheering, not booing either. In fact, it’s the opposite—the absence of sound. It’s as though seven hundred people took a deep inhalation all at once.

I try to sidestep him, but Mathias is far too smart for that. He’s ten metres from me. Seven. Five. I’m wasting valuable time checking over my shoulder.

He’s right there. He launches himself.

“Mr B!” Lando yells from my other side. I toss the ball back before I’ve even checked to see where he is. I’m using echolocation at this point.

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