Big and Clever by Dan Tunstall Page A

coming towards me. It’s the two sixth formers who acknowledged Ryan in the canteen the other day. The DVD boys. As they come past, they both make eye contact and nod in my direction.
    â€œAlright, mate?” one of them says.
    I feel a sudden surge of pride. They know I’m a Letchford fan. They know I stand on the Kop. It feels good.
    By the time I’ve finished, Raks and Ryan have been served. Ryan’s balancing three polystyrene cups of coffee on top of each other, and Raks is clutching a jumbo hot dog smothered in mustard and tomato sauce. He’s already eaten half of it.
    As Ryan leads the way back up, Bon Jovi’s Keep The Faith is coming over the PA. We’re still in a musical time warp. Taking care not to spill the coffees, Ryan heads past the green-jacketed stewards and down the terracing. I’m assuming he’s aiming towards where we stood for the first half, but instead of stopping when he gets there, he carries on going, eventually coming to a halt by a crush barrier right up against the fencing separating our supporters from the away section.
    â€œThis should be a better viewpoint for the second half,” he says.
    Taking a coffee, I look over Ryan’s shoulder and through the mesh towards the Castleton fans. They’ve come all the way down from Cumbria, but they’ve brought a decent crowd. Well into the hundreds. A big bald-headed bloke in a sweatshirt catches my eye and raises his middle finger. I quickly look away.
    Out on the pitch there’s some sort of kids’ penalty competition going on at the far end. Letchy The Lion, our mascot, is acting as compere, but there seems to be some sort of dispute over who’s taken a kick and who hasn’t. It’s started raining and everyone looks like they’d rather be somewhere else. The Castleton subs are doing stretching exercises in the centre circle, and the Letchford lot are playing keepy-uppy in our goalmouth.
    â€œWho’s that?” Raks asks, pointing to one of our subs. It’s a youngish-looking lad with bleached hair and neon blue boots. He’s keeping the ball up with just about every body part imaginable, like a performing seal. He finishes off by trapping it between the heel of his boot and his arse, turning to the crowd as if he’s expecting a round of applause. He doesn’t get one.
    Ryan tuts, turning away from the pitch.
    â€œThat’s Danny Holmes. Our record signing. Flash bastard.”
    I nod. I’ve heard of Danny Holmes. He was some sort of whiz-kid striker at Man U, but then he did his cruciate, was out for eighteen months and never really got another chance. We still ended up paying a hundred and fifty grand for him, though.
    â€œWhy’s he on the bench then?” I ask.
    â€œHe’s not fully fit,” Ryan says. “He never is. If he manages ninety minutes all season we’ll be doing well. He’s always got a tight hamstring or damaged ligaments, or shin splints. Something niggling. The thing is, if he spent as much time in the gym as he does swanning around town in his Porsche, we might just get our money’s worth out of him.”
    Letchy’s penalty competition has ground to a halt. It’s starting to get dark and the floodlights are slowly flickering into life. I take a swig of coffee and check my mobile. No more messages from Zoe. There’s a squeal of static from the PA system and then the opening bars of The Boys Are Back In Town . Another chorus of half-hearted booing breaks out and I look up to see the teams straggling back out onto the pitch. The ref blows his whistle and the second half gets under way.
    Letchford are attacking our end now and almost straight from the kick-off a long diagonal ball from Tony O’Neill sails into the Castleton box. Leroy Lewton slides in from our left flank just as a Castleton defender slides in from the opposite direction. There’s a collision, the defender flies in one