Читать книгу Rise of London Gambler. Second edition - Serik Jumanov - Страница 6

The referee pointed for a corner kick.

“Shit, it’s going to be a goal” murmured John, taking a position near the post.

His height did not allow him to be successful with headers when playing football so he always took position near the posts when an opponent team had a corner kick. He looked around to see where Mike is and found him marking a tall guy, a central defender of the opponent team. The corner kick was taken, the ball was crossed to the area of penalty kick where the opponent striker was the first to head it – just into the net – goal!!! Goalkeeper looked helpless. The opponent team roared and began to greet each other, crawling around the striker.

It was only a couple of minutes to the end of the match. Score now was 1—1, and it was really unlikely to score again in such a tight game. The wind became stronger and colder, blowing the leaves towards John’s opponent team goal. Darren, the manager of Fulham Compton Football Club – the team John and Mike were playing for – looked satisfied, though.

The game restarted, and John, who was in a position of a central midfielder, got the pass from a teammate. He dribbled into the opponent half but nobody seemed to be supporting him. He took a quick look around – no; there were no options in the attack. Another moment of intuition struck him as he was dribbling alone. The defender was approaching to block and tackle him. John shot intuitively from long distance. The wind blew the ball and it lobbed the opponent team goalkeeper – right under the crossbar!

“Goaaaaaaal!!!” He cried, being intoxicated with joy, and ran with raised hands to his teammates who were jumping and running to greet him.

“Great, man! We fucking did it!!! High five! Yeah!!!” Congratulations and cheering were coming like a waterfall.

“I can’t believe it!” John was laughing happily. “It’s just my lucky day!”

“Heads up!” shouted opponent’s manager to his players. “Let’s play!!!”

The match soon finished, and the players went to the dressing rooms and showers. Darren, the team manager, John and Mike decided to meet at the clubhouse near the pitch to watch a football match on TV.

“It’s a good idea to talk to a manager. Darren seems to be an adequate guy, and if he invites you to have a beer with him, there are strong reasons for that, believe me,” said John talking to Mike. “Also, the waitresses are Fulham Compton’s women team players!” smiled John.

“OK, let’s go. Do you know, how much is the beer at the clubhouse?” asked Mike but John didn’t hear him since it was very noisy in the dressing room.

Darren was sitting at the table in the bar and taking probably the best seats to watch TV. He waved his hand once he saw John and Mike, inviting them to his table.

“The first half is almost over, it’s going to be a break now, so let’s talk,” said Darren, chewing.

“Let me be brief with you, guys. What are your plans this season? I’d really want you to stay with us. Club President – you can see him at the bar, he is also a bartender here – told me he will sponsor the team only if we have a strong one. Last season our team earned only one point throughout a whole season, the team was shit, and the only reason why they decided to keep it is my promise that I am going to make a successful team this season. We are doing okay by now, but if you leave – I know you might leave, let me be straight with you – we are not going to have a team. I know you have friends who can play ball really well. You can invite them to play for us, right? So, guys, if you stay with us this season, I can confirm to Club President we will participate in the League…”

“Of course, Darren, we are with you,” said John, turning his eyes to Mike who nodded his head affirmatively. “You can rely on us. What about new players, I have some…”

“Great!” exclaimed Darren with a smile of satisfaction. “Let’s have a drink! The club pays for all drinks today! Okay, let me introduce you to our Club President, Andrew. I think he will be happy to hear the news.”

Club President was a nice guy, approximately fourty years old, plus he was an effective communicator. They had a brief but intense chat. “So, if we need you to play for our first team, we can call you, right?” he asked the guys who happily nodded their heads. “OK then, we’ll keep in touch, Darren. Any more drinks? Meatballs and pasta are going to be ready soon.”

The guys returned to their table. Next hour was spent in discussion on the match finished and the teammates’ performance.

“Darren, we need to talk to the keeper. I know he is a nice guy but if he continues playing like that, we…”

“Only person I need to talk to right now is that girl over there, you see?” said Darren, laughing. “The waitress, her name is Zaida. She is a midfielder of Fulham Compton Ladies team.”

“Manchester City – Swansea: 4—0, fulltime” read John on the screen.

“Wait! Oh my God!!! Is it real?! Is it final score?” – he asked the people around him. “I just won one hundred fifty pounds!!!”