Page 4 of Playing the Field
Another vote follows, at the end of which purple has a clear lead. I drum my feet on the floor under the
table.
‘We’re a bit short on logo ideas,’ Dad says, peering into the final bowl. ‘There are only five pieces of paper.’
He scoops them up in one hand. ‘We have a standard shield, I think this one is meant to be a foot kicking a ball, this one just says goalposts, we’ve got a fork—’
‘It’s a trident,’ Marge corrects. ‘To represent the three founding members again.’
‘I think Manchester United might have something to say about that,’ Adam points out.
Dad nods his agreement and adds that one to the ‘no’ pile. Then he squints at the last piece of paper in his hand. ‘Well, we definitely don’t have any artists among us, but last but not least, I think we have an owl.’
‘It’s a phoenix,’ Bob corrects. ‘You know, because we’re rising from the ashes.’
Cassie, Marge, Adam and I shoot our hands up into the air before Dad can even start the vote.
‘I think that’s unanimous,’ Bob says.
‘Provided we get someone else to draw it,’ Dad says, laughing.
And that’s all the important decisions out of the way, so Dad thanks everyone for their contributions.
‘I’m so grateful to have you all here on this journey with me,’ he says warmly. ‘We’re now another step closer to making this happen.’
3
Unsurprisingly there isn’t the same level of positivity in the air at Hamcott Park’s penultimate home game of the season. In fact I’d go so far as to say the atmosphere is borderline funereal. The fans who haven’t already given up on the club– which is probably around half of them– are engulfed in a fog of gloom. I think everyone is emotionally exhausted from the weeks of praying for a reversal of fate and the realisation, finally, that nothing can stop the relocation.
But for me, Dad, Cassie, Bob and Marge there is this new hope– hope that we’re on the way to achieving something really special. And we’re ready to share that hope, so we skip our pre-match lunch at The Fox and instead spread out along the road leading up to the ground so we can hand out flyers to anyone who will take one, briefly explaining our plan and letting them know how they can support us.
I never let the smile leave my face, even when one fan asks, ‘You really believe in this?’
‘I do.’ I beam. ‘We’re working really hard and all the signs are positive so far.’
This just gets a ‘hm’ in response, but I refuse to let it dampen my spirits.
‘Tell all your friends,’ I call after him.
At least he stuffs the piece of paper in his pocket and doesn’t toss it away.
By the time I meet the others in the stand, ready to watch the match in the half-empty stadium, I’ve got through about a third of my flyers. I pass a little bundle to the person on the end of each row and ask them to take one and pass the rest along. I don’t know far they’ll get before someone just bungs the rest under their seat. In hindsight, I wish I’d put ‘win a season ticket’ across the top instead of ‘Hamcott: the new era’– it might have got people’s attention more effectively. I make a mental note to do that ahead of the last home game. It’s all a learning curve.
The crowd celebration is lacklustre when Hamcott Park scrape their way to a win. Everyone knows it’s not going to change anything. Then Dad, Cassie, Bob, Marge and I race down to the exit with our remaining flyers and try to persuade as many of the departing fans as possible to give our pamphlet a glance. I’m not ashamed to admit we even fish a few discarded sheets out of the top of a rubbish bin and hand them back out too.
‘You did make sure the email address works,’ Dad checks for probably the twentieth time after the last of the fans have departed.
‘It works,’ I assure him. ‘People can get in touch.’
He takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, seeming momentarily unsure what to do now our whirlwind of an afternoon has ended.
‘Come on, let’s go and get a pint,’ Bob suggests. ‘I think we’ve earned it.’
Marge nods. ‘I’m parched. We did good today, Mikey.’
A screwed-up flyer chooses that exact moment to blow past our feet and continue on its way up the street. All four of us watch it go. We knew a number of them would get ditched by people who haven’t even glanced at them, but it’s hard not to feel a little disheartened by it.
‘People just need a bit of time to mull it over, that’s all,’ Cassie says quietly.
