Page 6 of Playing the Field
I stare at him in astonishment. ‘Our sponsorship deal?’
He nods then squeezes his eyes shut– I think it made his head spin. When he’s recovered, with just the occasional bit of slurring he manages to tell me that Olly is keen to become the official fan pub of the new team, even though Dad has explained we don’t know yet where our new ground will be or how many supporters we’ll have.
I guess he’s set to lose a significant amount of business when Hamcott Park relocates. Until the flats being built on Hamcott’s soon-to-be defunct ground are inhabited, his profits are sure to suffer.
‘So what he’s proposing,’ Dad says, ‘alongside a Crawford United after-party at The Fox every Saturday, is his pub name and logo on our team shirts and some advertising space on our website and in return he’ll shell out for all the players’ kits, including any reserve players as well.’
‘Oh my God, that’s bloody amazing!’ I run round the table and throw my arms round him. We couldn’t have asked for a better ending to the day.
4
The momentum keeps building after that and a series of breakthroughs follow in quick succession. First, we receive an email from someone who wants to enquire about season tickets, which I excitedly tell Dad, Cassie, Bob and Marge about at our next kitchen table meeting.
‘I didn’t even know if that would be a thing at this level of football,’ Dad confesses.
‘It would certainly help with our bank balance.’ I tap my pen on the pad in front of me. ‘What do you think we could reasonably ask of people?’
‘I don’t suppose we can ask anything till we’ve actually got some players and our FA approval,’ Dad says. ‘Let’s give it some more thought then we can put it to a vote further down the line.’
I tick it off the agenda and we move on to the next item– Dad also has some big news to share, courtesy of the coach hire company where he works.
‘I thought I might be for the chop when the owner called me into a private meeting. He usually just leaves me to it and we stay out of each other’s hair. But it was quite the opposite– after everything I’ve done for the company, he wants to throw his support behind Crawford United, so he’s offered us a complimentary coach to ferry our team to away games and said he’ll make sure there’s always something spare. I practically bit his arm off!’
If it were possible to burst with pride, I think Dad would be exploding.
‘Of course there’s an expectation of a mention or two on our website,’ he adds. ‘But I think we can all live with that.’
‘A hundred per cent, that’s amazing,’ Cassie gushes.
‘It’ll save us loads,’ I agree. ‘Please say thank you from all of us. Though I’m sure you already have.’
We move on to the final item on tonight’s schedule. And it’s more good news from me.
‘I’ve had an email from a reporter at theHamcott Herald. She’s somehow got wind of our story and wants to interview me, Cassie and Dad for this Saturday’s paper.’
‘She must have picked up one of your flyers,’ Marge speculates. ‘This could really help us let more people know about the player trials and the crowdfunding. Have you already said yes?’
I nod. ‘I just need to let her know when.’
It’ll certainly make a change from all the Ben Pryce stories that are still dominating the sports headlines thanks to his stubborn silence over the fan incident at the Millford–Hamcott game. The more he refuses to discuss it, the more the speculation keeps growing. What makes a professional athlete lose control to the extent that he risks his whole career over it? Will he get dropped by Millford City for bringing them into disrepute? The conjecture goes on and on. But it’s time to move on to a more positive story– our story.
‘She’s happy to come here to do it, and says we can either supply our own photos or she’ll take a couple while she’s here,’ I explain. I’ve already got one in mind. It’s from Cassie’s engagement party and people always comment on how alike we look in it. The hairstyles are different– Dad’s is short with the odd fleck of grey among the brown; Cassie’s is long, straight and impossibly glossy; mine stops at my chin in a wavy bob– but we have the same blue eyes, oversized smiles and rosy cheeks.
‘Does tomorrow suit everyone?’ Dad asks. There are nods all round. ‘Then I’ll pick up some better biscuits on the way home from work. We want to make a good impression.’
The reporter, Helen, laughs when I tell her Dad did this. ‘It’s much appreciated,’ she says as she takes a seat at the kitchen table the following evening, dropping her rucksack on the floor beside her after she’s extracted a notepad and her phone. Me, Dad and Cassie are in our usual spots, as if we’ve never been away.
‘I’ve been run off my feet all day,’ Helen tells us, sweeping her hair off her face. She sighs as it flops straight back into the same position. ‘Literally all I’ve eaten is half a sandwich.’
‘Then let me put something better in the air fryer,’ Dad says. ‘I’ve got a chicken that needs roasting. It’ll be ready by the time we’ve finished chatting. Unless you’re vegetarian?’
‘I’m not, but there’s no need to go to any trouble,’ Helen assures him.
‘We’ve all got to eat,’ Dad insists. ‘There’s some cold pasta and salad in the fridge. It won’t take me long to throw it all together.’
Helen catches my eye and smiles. ‘Is he always like this?’
I laugh. ‘He is– he’s a feeder. But in a good way.’
