Page 10 of The Underdog

Gramps always told me I could do anything if I put my mind to it. He was the first person who believed in me when no one else did. So, when I did eventually walk across the stage at graduation, even if it did take me an extra two years, Gramps was right in the front row cheering me on. I still remember him whispering “congratulations” in my ear after I stepped off the stage, telling me he’d always known I could do it. It’s as if I can hear him telling me that exact same thing now.

I need to fight.

Fighting in the book of Delaney means that this somber, scolded act is no longer going to cut it. I need to crank up the tears here. Although all of my classes might’ve been wrong for my first semester at university, the Dramatic Arts class sure taught me a thing or two about aspectacle.

“You know what? Maybe you’re right…” I sniffle through the tears, putting my head in my hands. “You and Mom did say that I’d never amount to anything.” I kick my foot out in front of me. “You both totally warned me about starting my own company. You said I’m not driven enough, not passionate enough…” I break my voice with a false sense of hurt, meeting their eyes and subtly glancing at Mr. Cunningham as I finish my sentence. “Smart enough…”

My parents exchange worried glances, and I immediately know it’s working. This isn’t my first time pulling out the waterworks on command. There’s a reason why I’m an only child.

I continue to dramatically wipe my tears away with the back of my hand before glancing over at Mr. Cunningham’s suit pocket. “Sorry, do you mind?” I ask tearfully, nodding towards his silk handkerchief.

He hands it over to me, looking equally alarmed and shocked at the situation unfolding in his office. This is a hell of a lot more than he is getting paid for.

“I guess I’ll just…wait to hear from you, Mr. Cunningham,” I mumble, handing the handkerchief back to him, but it’s not before I notice the glare he shoots at my parents before I leave.

“Delaney, wait!” I hear my dad’s exasperated voice behind me, making me stop in my tracks. Of course, it’s my dad who stops me. He’s always been the pushover of the two.

A smirk falls over my face for a moment, but I let it drop back down to a frown before turning my body in his direction. “Yes?” I sigh, with slumped shoulders. “What is it?”

He straightens his spine before reaching for his jacket that hangs over the back of one of the armchairs. “You have three months, Delaney.”

My mouth falls open in surprise before I hear Mom’s voice pipe up. “What?” she jolts her head in his direction. “Hank!” she says with conviction. “Are you sure that is a good idea? We could have this sold within the next week or?—”

He puts up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence as he makes his way towards me.

I gulp as we stand face-to-face. I think he knows that it’s not a surprise that my tears have conveniently stopped. “Three months, Delaney,” he repeats a second time. “Double the team’s value, and we’ll keep them,” he instructs, slipping his arm insideeither sleeve of his jacket. “But,” he lingers, and I fear for what’s about to come next. “If you don’t, they’re gone. No ifs, ands, buts…ortearsabout it.”

I take a moment to take in his words. There’s no way he just agreed to this—no way they’re giving me this opportunity.

My feeble attempts at suppressing a squeal are surmounted. I can’t hold back any longer as I run over to my parents and pull them in for a hug, jumping up and down. “Thank yousomuch, guys! I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Silence now falls over the room, but the buzz of excitement in the air is inevitable as Mr. Cunningham looks my way, placing a careful hand on my arm. “Well, Delaney,” he smiles. “Looks like you’re going to Crawley.”

FIVE

W A R R E N

“Pick it up, boys,”I cup my hands around my mouth, shouting across the field. It’s Monday morning, and as usual, it’s clear that the boys have somehow completely lost sight of what it means to show some aggression in their step. “What EPL are you trying to play in here? The English Premier League or the English Princess League? This is pitiful, lads!”

“Coach…” a few players groan out in exhaustion, but it’s our lead defender, Daniel Green, whose voice trumps the group. “It’s been three hours. Can we take a break?” He cranes his neck from side to side before stretching his hands out in front of him, cracking his knuckles.“My whole body is sore. Even my hands hurt.”

“Green, let me be the first to tell you that that’s not a result of this practice. It’s because you probably never stop wanking off!” I blow the whistle loudly, catching everyone by surprise. “I’ve had enough!” I prompt everyone to come in and take a knee. “What’s going on with you lot?” I ask, glancing around at their weary faces. “We only have a few weeks until the start of the season. Now it is more important than ever to start training, not be acting like a bunch of mard-arse’s out there. What’s gotten into you?”

“But, Coach?—”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear anything else come out of your mouths.” I cut their explanation short. I don’t need to hear their justification. I just need to see that they’re going to do something about it. “You want this practice to end? Then stop prancing about and show me that you’re ready to play. Then, and only then, I’ll call it, alright?”

They don’t seem convinced, exchanging skeptical glances amongst one another—some of the lads have even taken the liberty to lie down on their backs.

It’s infuriating.

Growing up, I used to hate it when my mum would say things like, “Your generation has it easy,” while I listened to her explain the treacherous walk to and from school she’d embark on every day, but now, I’m finding myself falling guilty of that same habit.

I’m not the most “laid-back” coach around. I know that. But these boys have had it easy compared to me. Back when I was making my mark, I worked my arse off. I didn’t have time to complain because I knew it would get me nowhere. I had a vision from the start and knew that if I wanted to make it big, I had to push. I had to motivate myself, even on the days when I was completely and utterly exhausted.

But nowadays, it seems like the only two motivators the lads have are women and booze.

Winning hasn’t been a luxury to this group, and I can’t expect them to want to practice like winners when they don’t know the feeling. But they can…and I have full faith that one day, they will.

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