Into The Team

INTO

THE

TEAM

Rob

Damon

CoolDudes Publishing Pty (LTD)

Into The Team

Copyright © 2015 Rob Damon

The author has asserted his moral right as the sole author

of this work in accordance with international copyright laws.

All Rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored, transmitted,

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This includes photocopy, e-book, or any form of binding.

This is a work of fiction.

All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual football clubs, players, or locations, is purely coincidental.

Images purchased under license from 123RF.

Cover design by Louis C Harris.

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CoolDudes Publishing Pty (LTD) 64 Windsor Road, Gerdview, Germiston, Gauteng, South Africa.

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ISBN-13: 9780620672375

Typeset in Times New Roman 12pt.

Published by CoolDudes Publishing Pty (LTD)

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.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my mother

for giving me the writing space,

and a big thank you to the author Chris Scully,

whose encouragement helped get me to this point.

And not forgetting Louis J Harris – for giving me the break!

Dedication

This book is dedicated to anyone who has the balls to go for it.

Only the strongest bonds can win

Today is the day. Today is the day. Today is the day
….

Todd Mackerson kept thinking those words. They had been in his head as soon as he woke this morning. They’d remained with him as he showered, as he ate breakfast, and as he went out the front door. They’d grown louder, more forceful, while heading up the street by the old boarded up shops. They’d repeated faster as he passed by the rusting conveyer and crumbling tower peeping out of the overgrown and rubbish strewn land that had been the former colliery. And as he waited now, sports bag over his shoulder and hands stuffed in parka pockets, he kept them going, fearing that if he stopped thinking those words, he’d suddenly find himself not standing where he was.

It didn’t feel like the day was real; his normally clear and focused mind had spiraled away. And yet it had to be real. For if it wasn’t real, he wouldn’t be feeling the chill of an October breeze on his cheeks; he wouldn’t have a tummy that tickled as if countless tiny hands were in there, gripping and groping at his insides.

Today is the day. Today is the day
….

This was the day for him to escape his grim, north Lancashire town, the day his mother said would never come. The day his friends said
would
come, while giving winks and digs and exaggerated laughter. Only his girlfriend, Cherie, had believed in him, and right now, as he waited for the man who could change his life, he thought briefly of her. Today he would justify the belief she’d always had in him.

Today had to be the day.

Because if today wasn’t the day, what next for a twenty year old rookie who’d already been knocked back by the local fourth division club at the ages of sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen? If today wasn’t the day, should he give up and accept his mother’s words of putting his dreams away?

Although at times, the idea of giving up wormed into his head like a creeping vine, reaching further into his thoughts as the years mounted up, he knew he’d never give up.

Today is the day
….

It all started last Tuesday night when he’d trudged off the football pitch down on the long and bleak stretch of road called Hilton Lane, which curved along the outskirts of his hometown of Blackmoor. The pitch belonged to the local school, but Todd, and a handful of youths, played matches there to help inspire the pupils into sport, and keep their minds away from the reality of the town into which they’d been born.

The team was called Blackmoor Pits, which had been a joke name they’d given themselves in recognition of the town’s past. Like many towns in the region, Blackmoor had been a mining town, but the pits had been decommissioned before Todd was born, and so he, and the rest of the team, had grown up hearing about the ‘pits’, spoken by the oldies in reverence, as though the ‘pits’ had been some lost guardian of the people.

They played most matches against the senior school team. But last year, after much persistence from the school, they’d gained recognition by the County Amateur’s league, and so every other Tuesday and Saturday they’d be on the pitch entertaining a handful of townspeople and visitors as they battled against other amateurs from other towns like Blackmoor.

Todd had been in love with football since his father first took him to a real match in a real stadium at the age of seven. He’d loved those gleaming shirts the teams wore, loved to watch the speed of the ball as it flew from one player to another. He loved the cheers and the energy all around him as the crowd egged their side on. And he loved seeing the ball crash into the back of the net and turn the stadium into a vibrating ring of joy.

On his eighth birthday his father had given him his first football. Even now, at the age of twenty, Todd could remember the smell of that leather casing, the cool and tough feel of the grip in his hands as he took it from the box. The endless day he’d spent with it in the local park had become a permanent room in his mind, one he crawled into every time he pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

That was the day his dream of being one of those players, in one of those stadiums, had pushed all other childhood dreams aside. From that day on, he knew his dream was to play for one of England’s biggest clubs.

That day was here. Or at least the opportunity had arrived.

Last Tuesday, after scoring three goals and setting up two others in that friendly small town match, a man with a tense frown and deep Welsh accent had latched onto him.

He’d introduced himself as Miles, Miles Dixon. The name didn’t mean anything to Todd as he extended his hand to shake with the man. But it meant everything to him after their five-minute conversation.

Dixon had heard of the Blackmoor Pits through the school head and had come to Blackmoor several times during the last few weeks to take a look at what he’d been told was some promising talent. After Todd flew through the game that night, tackling and taking, dodging and scoring on another relentless effort to forget the humdrum of his life, he’d caught the eye of this wandering talent scout. After their brief talk, the man left with Todd’s mobile number.

He’d almost written the incident off. When the weekend arrived, and he’d not heard from Dixon, he’d decided that five-minute chat had been nothing but bullshit. “Take it with a pinch of salt,” his mother had said. “Don’t go getting those hopes up.”

Todd had begun to think she was right. But yesterday, his mobile rang.

Dixon had been unspecific. “I’ve got a few lads I think you should meet.”

Those had been his words. And apart from telling him it was a chance to get his footballing foot in a big door, he had kept the call brief and without detail.

But Todd didn’t care. He needed all the chances he could get at his age. Since leaving school four years ago, he’d had one job in a local takeaway, serving pizza and burgers to late night drinkers. For the past two years he’d been unemployed, and with no sign of jobs coming to his dying town, he’d devoted every day to his love of football.

While the rest of his mates lay in bed till midday, then spend the afternoon parked on the sofa, letting the television slowly numb their brains, Todd would be kicking balls down at the local park, or jogging around it, or doing push-ups and sit ups, rain or not. And not even for a sore throat or aching gut would he miss a match.

So today was the day. It had to be. Even with no idea of where Dixon would take him, and who he was going to meet, Todd was willing to put his trust in this man who trawled the country looking for the next generation of players.

The junction between the town’s main high street, and the only route out of Blackmoor,
a
duel carriageway leading to the M61, was its usual Sunday morning quiet as he waited. His mind was now full of happy guesswork, wondering if Dixon had connections with all the top clubs in England. Maybe he had contacts in the premier league, or if not, maybe he knew “lads” who did. He supposed that was way too much to expect, but for the short time he had until he found out where he was going, he allowed himself to dream big.

A gleaming white Ford Mondeo with smoked windows slowed alongside the curb. Todd almost felt unworthy as Dixon leaned across the passenger seat and opened the door.

Dixon was a mid-thirties - possibly nudging forty - balding man with a cheeky grin and a forehead lined with creases. Todd imagined he’d been a player when he was younger, but had, along the way, given in to booze and calories. Nevertheless, his eyes were sharp, giving him a keen, watchful expression.

“How are you today lad?” Dixon grinned and gestured with a nod for Todd to get into the car. “I expect you’re thinking this is a mystery tour, eh?”

Todd smiled, his heart up in his throat as he climbed in. He eyed Dixon, expecting him to say more, but the man only met his gaze with silence.

“I’m just eager to see where I’ll end up,” Todd said, pulling the door shut.

The inside of the car felt warm on this bright October day, and the comfort of the seat, together with the clean smell of newness made him feel like he’d been specially picked for some privileged appointment.

“It’s best you don’t think about it,” Dixon said. “Today’s just gonna be a kick around with a few players I know, just for them to see what your feet can do. So don’t go asking questions. You’ll see for yourself when we arrive. Should take no longer than an hour to get there.”

Taking in a deep breath, Todd nodded. “You’re the boss.”

Dixon grinned and laughed as he put the car in gear and took off.

“It’s not me who’s the boss,” he said. “You’re the boss today. And if you play your feet as well as you did last Tuesday night....” Dixon chuckled.

“Can you give me just a hint?” Todd asked.

“No hints.” Dixon shook his head as he drove towards the motorway. “You don’t need no hints, all you need is to relax your mind and get your feet prepared.”

Todd nodded and decided to keep quiet. Wherever he was going, he was going to be playing, so he put patience ahead of pressure, and did the one thing he always did prior to a match. He gazed through the window and thought of the man who’d nurtured him into what he is today.

Today is the day…dad.