Page 20 of Playing the Field
‘For the record, I don’t think he’s the hot-headed yob you think he is,’ I assure her. ‘Impulsive, yes. Maybe even a little rash. But he’s not out of control.’
‘You spoke to him for, like, five minutes,’ she huffs. I’m not about to correct her. ‘I still say we don’t need his kind of help. I’ve got my training plan set out. I know what I’m doing. I’m happy with everything the way it is.’
‘Dad?’ I turn to him, hoping he can see this more objectively.
‘I’m not sure.’ He’s frowning at the table. ‘I can see both sides of the argument. Not to take anything away from you, Cassie– we all know you’re doing and will continue to do a brilliant job. But if Pryce is volunteering to give us an insight into how they train at the very top level of football, and he’s offering it for free...’
‘We could at least invite him down for a couple of sessions to see what he can bring,’ I suggest. ‘You don’t have to like him, Cassie, but it’s got to be worth putting up with him for a couple of hours if it means we all get to learn something.’
Dad and Cassie exchange a look. She must know, deep down, that what I’m saying makes sense.
‘There’s one other thing to consider before we decide,’ Marge says, and we all look her way. ‘I just thought it was worth mentioning that we’ve had nothing but positive press since we started this. Isn’t there a risk we might undo that if people find out we’ve brought him in? We don’t want to look like we’re condoning poor conduct by teaming up with someone with a reputation like his.’
‘Another valid point,’ Dad agrees, rubbing his chin. ‘We do need to weigh up what we might gain from his presence against what we could potentially lose. It’s a really tough call– and it could go either way.’
‘But they do say no publicity is bad publicity,’ Barbour points out. ‘If him coming here gets Crawford more exposure, which might result in more fans, that can surely only be a good thing.’
‘Okay, let’s put it to a vote,’ Dad says. ‘Raise your hands if you’re in favour of accepting Pryce’s assistance.’
Barbour and I put our hands up. Bob is hesitant and Marge admits she’s on the fence. Eventually she decides to side with me and Barbour, while Bob is more inclined to agree with Cassie. It’s down to Dad, who drums his fingers on the table for a while longer.
‘Could you cope if we got him down just the once?’ he asks Cassie. ‘We’re so early in our schedule it probably wouldn’t throw your plans too far out of kilter.’
She closes her eyes and sighs. ‘I hate it when you two gang up on me.’
Neither Dad nor I say anything. It’s a line she always trots out when she doesn’t get her own way and she knows it too. So after she’s had a few seconds to sulk she adds, ‘I’m not happy about it, but as long as I’m still head coach, I’ll do my best to suck it up.’
‘Of course you are,’ Dad says. ‘He’d be there purely for consulting purposes. I think I’m going to take a punt and say we should go for it.’ He raises his hand off the table. ‘So with four votes to two, we’ll invite Pryce to join us for the session tomorrow evening.’
‘And hope we don’t end up regretting it,’ Cassie says.
‘I’ll pass the message on through Bailey,’ I tell them, not about to admit I’ve already got Ben’s number in my phone– when he dropped me off yesterday he insisted I take it.
Then we turn our attention to the other items on the agenda, and Marge tells us the players’ kits have all been ordered now. ‘And Adam’s working up a template for the season tickets, so that’s all in good shape.’
‘Fantastic,’ Dad says.
‘And I’ve spoken to Olly about a fundraising day at The Fox,’ I tell them. ‘He’s keen and says we can do it on the last Saturday in June, which gives us just over a month to prepare for it. So we can start putting our heads together and coming up with ideas for that, too.’
‘A cake competition!’ Marge proposes. ‘I’ll be the judge. I’ve always fancied myself as the next Mary Berry.’
‘We should get all the players involved,’ Bob suggests. ‘Get them doing car washes or something. And I agree that we should have prizes up for grabs to entice people to come.’
‘Maybe some football challenges,’ Barbour says. ‘Beat the keeper, that kind of thing.’
‘All great ideas,’ Dad says, nodding his head. ‘Let’s keep adding to the list and we can pick our favourites nearer the time. Now before we finish up, does anyone else have any other matters they need to raise?’
He looks round at us all shaking our heads.
‘Then before we close the meeting, I just have a couple of things I’d like to share, although how I’ve managed to keep them to myself until now I’ll never know. So I’ll just give myself a little drumroll by way of introduction.’ He strums his hands against the edge of the table, enjoying the curious looks on all our faces, before announcing, ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the unofficial Crawford management team, it is with the greatest pleasure that I’m now able to confirm, that from the first week of August, on a twelve-month agreement with an option to extend, we’ll be starting our new ground share with the Redmarsh Rovers!’
Cassie and I both squeal. I’ll get back to worrying about recouping the costs later.
‘Wait!’ Dad holds a hand up, leaving us both frozen halfway out of our seats.
‘There’s more,’ he explains. ‘Because this exciting piece of news brings me to the very last piece of our jigsaw... and I’m beyond delighted to also be able to tell you that, as of today, Crawford United is now officially affiliated to both the London and Surrey football associations– and we’ve been granted our place in the Combined Counties League!’
The commotion that follows sends drinks flying across the table and chairs crashing to the floor as we all leap up in celebration. There are tears, laughter, high fives, hugs, dancing and a heady combination of shock and ecstasy. We’ve done it! We’ve bloody done it! Fully established– and all in a little under six weeks.
