A Chancer Read Free Page A

minute.
    Tammas nodded. He was sitting on the bench with the team stockings and the pants on but had yet to be thrown a jersey. He reached into his jerkin pocket for the cigarette packet, but left it
there.
    Soon most of the team had gone. Donnie came back. The man in charge was walking towards the exit. Donnie muttered, You’ve to go sub man sorry.
    Aw fuck.
    Donnie was silent for a moment. It’s your own fault; he chose the team at the station.
    Tammas looked at him.
    He’s just after telling me . . . Donnie pointed to the exit. Christ sake Tammas if you hadnt been fucking about in the bookie’s you’d probably’ve got picked. You were too
late.
    Too late! I was first there.
    Aye well you should’ve stayed there; that’s what I’m saying, he didnt know. How could he if he didnt fucking see you?
    You told me I would get a game Donnie.
    Well what can I do man? I cant do fuck all . . . He shook his head and turned away, then he indicated the large suitcase in the centre of the floor. Number 12’s in there, he said. And he
grinned. Come on Tammas ya bastard, stick it on immediately. If he doesnt give you a game before half time I’ll strangle him!
    Fuck off.
    Donnie had reached into the bag and he threw Tammas the jersey, and he laughed. I always collapse at half time anyway, so you can come on in my place!
    About midway through the first 45 minutes Tammas zipped up his jerkin to as high as it went, hunching his shoulders. The wind was fierce. And that coupled with the sharp slope
from sideline to sideline was causing the ball to travel on long distances whenever miskicked with any force. In company with the substitute from the other team Tammas was having to go chasing
after it every few minutes. A couple of old men and wee boys were also there helping. On one occasion he had to run fast to stop the ball interfering with the game on the next pitch and when he ran
back the teams were waiting for him and Donnie was there on the touchline ready to take the throw-in. Tammas gave him the ball and muttered, Fuck ye Donnie ya bastard.
    Donnie seemed not to have heard. He moved to take the throw-in. Tammas stuck his hands in his side jerkin pockets, he took out his cigarettes. The other substitute approached him. Hey jimmy, he
said, you got a fag you could give us?
    Tammas nodded and gave him one, and offered him the matches.
    Ta . . . He indicated the man in charge of the other team: He doesnt like us smoking when we’re playing.
    Silly cunt, said Tammas.
    The other guy nodded, he was concentrating on getting a match to stay alight long enough to get the cigarette going. Eventually Tammas passed him his own and he got a light from it.
    It was nothing each at the interval. When the players came off the man handed round a pile of orange quarters. Tammas left them and strolled onto the park where the other
substitute was kicking the ball about with the boys and the elderly men. He kept his hands in his jerkin pockets but trotted over to get the ball when it was passed to him. Then he saw Donnie
waving to him and he trotted back. Donnie said: Has he no told you anything yet?
    Naw.
    Hh, he’s not told me anything either.
    Tammas nodded, then he grunted: He’s no even fucking spoke to me.
    Ach. Donnie shook his head. We could be doing with you too, that number 6 we’ve got’s a fucking dumpling.
    Tammas sniffed.
    I dont really know the guy well enough to eh . . . to say anything. What like is it watching?
    Ha ha. Tammas turned and spat onto the pitch.
    Donnie chuckled.
    The referee was returning to the centre circle; he paused on the way to uplift the ball.
    That fucking rain better stay off, muttered Tammas.
    The teams were now returning and the referee had placed the ball on the spot and was checking his watch. When Donnie had gone Tammas strolled down the touchline, passing the man in charge of the
team, to stand some twenty yards away from him. But less than ten minutes later he walked back to him and said,