Big and Clever by Dan Tunstall

Music is blaring out of the PA system. Harry J All Stars. The Liquidator . Same as when I used to come with my dad. The playlist must be stuck in a time warp.
    â€œAnyone need a piss?” Ryan asks.
    Raks and me shake our heads.
    â€œOK then. We might as well get out and see what’s going on.”
    Ryan leads the way up a flight of concrete steps. The nearer we get to the top, the louder the sound of the crowd is getting, bouncing down off the low metal roof of the Kop. The music has stopped now and the tannoy announcer is reading out the Letchford team. Each name is getting a cheer apart from Dave Nicholson. He used to play for Mackworth. I can feel the little ball of excitement in my stomach getting bigger and bigger.
    The pitch is starting to come into view. It’s only the sixth home game of the season and the grass is still looking lush and green. The Letchford players are warming up at our end, doing shuttle runs and taking shots. We climb the last couple of steps and then stand at the top, surveying the scene. The home terracing stretching out in front and behind us. The away supporters in the corner to the right, the orange seats of the Main Stand slowly filling up but the black seats spelling out LTFC still visible. The glass-fronted executive boxes at the far end, scoreboard perched on the top. The corrugated roof and wooden seats of the Family Stand away to the left. Old Trafford it isn’t, but it still looks fantastic.
    I look at Raks and Raks looks at me. We’re both grinning like idiots, swept up in the atmosphere of the occasion.
    â€œNow, this is better than fishing,” I say.

five
    As the ref blows his whistle for half time, a chorus of boos rumbles round the Southlands Stadium. 0-0. And it’s not exactly been Champagne Football. The players troop off towards the tunnel and the PA system cranks into action. Let Me Entertain You . Someone’s got a sense of humour.
    â€œWhat do you reckon, then?” Ryan asks.
    I smile, picking a few flakes of black paint off the crush barrier in front of us, running my palm over its rough, pitted surface.
    â€œJust like watching Brazil,” I say.
    Ryan laughs.
    â€œYou’re going to like it here.” He turns towards Raks. “What about you, mate?”
    â€œWe should be at least one up, shouldn’t we?” Raks says. “How did Leroy Lewton miss that one near the start? He was only about three yards out.”
    Ryan shrugs.
    â€œThat’s Leroy Lewton for you. He’ll play a blinder if he thinks the scouts are in looking at him, otherwise he couldn’t hit an elephant’s arse with a banjo.”
    â€œAt least he’s looked like he’s interested,” I say. “Not like Dave bloody Nicholson. How many times has that left winger gone past him?”
    â€œDon’t get me started on Dave Nicholson,” Ryan says. “The man’s a donkey. Sometimes you wonder if he’s only had the rudiments of football explained to him five minutes before kick-off.”
    â€œWell you know what his real problem is though, don’t you?” Raks asks.
    I shake my head.
    â€œHe’s a dirty Mackworth scumbag, isn’t he?”
    We all laugh.
    Let Me Entertain You is abruptly brought to a halt and the tannoy announcer starts to give out the halftime scores. Grimsby are winning at Swindon and Boston are drawing at home to MK Dons, so there’s not much to get worked up about. The best news has been saved for last though. Mackworth are two nil down at Accrington Stanley. A big cheer rings out.
    â€œSee?” Ryan says. “It’s not all doom and gloom.”
    We make our way back up the terracing and go down the steps to the concourse. I head for the toilets while Raks and Ryan join the back of the food kiosk queue.
    As I’m waiting for my turn at the urinals, doing my best not to inhale the smell of shit that’s filling the air, I see a couple of familiar faces