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#FridayFlash: Spikes High

#FridayFlash: Spikes High

by Tony Noland

Coming up on midfield, Kent moved the ball forward with a fast double-toe move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the big striker from Westerville Central High, a blonde guy sporting number 21, moving up alongside him like a tanker truck.

All night long, that jerk had been kicking high, leaving big welts on Kent's thighs with his spikes, cheating with his size to make up for what he lacked in speed and footwork. He'd been doing it to the whole Asherton side, then smirking afterward. The referees were clearly in the Westerville pocket, since they not only hadn't carded him, they hadn't called him on it at all, not even a warning. Home field advantage my ass, Kent thought, more like a clear case of bribe-the-ref. Well, enough's enough; I'm gonna put a stop to it, even it I get a yellow. Hell, even a red would be worth it. Down 4-0 with two minutes left, things can't get much worse.

Kent got ready for the hit. The Westerville striker cut left, then started to jink back to the right, his knee high as Kent moved the ball across his quarter. Spikes up, Number 21's right leg came up for a snap kick, not at the ball, but at Kent's left thigh.

Instead of trying to avoid the slashing kick, Kent stepped hard and twisted back into it, kicking the ball away into empty space downfield. As Kent expected, his opponent was distracted by it long enough for Kent to plant his own feet, take the kick on his thigh and bring his elbow up into Number 21's chest, just left of center, as hard as he could. Kent braced his left fist with his right hand, so he was able to put the entire weight of his body behind the blow.

The pain that radiated out from his elbow was a shock, an electric bolt that made him fear for his arm and wrist. Number 21 went up in the air, lifted on the point of contact by the combination of Kent's explosive twist and by his own forward momentum. For a moment, he seemed to hang in the air, his bulging eyes locked with Kent's own, his lips flapped out in a ridiculous parody of exhalation as the air was driven from his lungs.

Then, he fell. Kent continued his twist, moving out from under the dumb bastard, pivoting his elbow out and away. His opponent hit the ground hard, like a big sack of wet laundry.

Kent snarled and spun away, sprinting after the ball, hoping the referee had missed the hit. When the ref's whistle sounded a moment later, Kent fixed his very best look of confusion and disbelief onto his face. The ref, however, ran past Kent without stopping to draw a card or even point a finger. Now genuinely surprised, Kent turned to watch him as he moved over to kneel by Number 21, lying motionless at midfield where he'd fallen.

The ref said something to him, then leaned in closer and said something else. As the ref straightened and began to motion to the sidelines, the Westerville coach and assistant coach were already running onto the field, followed by their trainer, carrying a big first aid kit. Kent panted, feeling the sweat bead and roll down his scalp. He watched the Asherton trainer, Mr. Mickton, also come running onto the field with a kit, soon joined by other officials and adults. Over the bent heads of the men surrounding the prone figure, the referees and both line judges stood close by, watching. After a moment, the Westerville assistant coach stood up and backed away, cell phone out and dialing. The trainers smoothly rolled Number 21 onto his back and began CPR.

From the silent, breathless bleachers, a woman's voice screamed a name. One scream, one shocked cry, then nothing. Over the PA system, the announcer said something that Kent couldn't understand, the blood pounding in his ears filling the world with a roaring, rushing wave.

The assistant coach was pacing, talking, shouting into his phone, his voice rising and falling in a running account. The big middle-aged men leaning over, the trainers giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, their bearded faces pressed hard against the smooth, slack lips of the blonde young man. They all hovered and moved around Number 21, kneeling, crouching, leaning, standing, looking like nothing so much as the cloud of moths that swarmed the field lights, dipping, swooping, circling, as though to find life-giving heat in the cold October night.

CPR, mouth-to-mouth. CPR, mouth-to-mouth.

Kent counted ten, eleven, twelve cycles before he heard the first sirens, and then, behind them, beneath them and above them, the heavy whup-thup, whup-thup of an approaching helicopter.

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28 comments:

  1. Resisting the Halloween theme this week, Tony? Equally topical with US Football season roaring along. Quite dire and easily believably with how physical that sport gets along. This is the fear of many a mother.

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  2. What seemed like a simple thing became very complicated very fast. Well done, Tony.

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  3. And this is why no son of mine is playing this sport! Foosball, yes; football, no!

    Great work with the blow-by-blow action. Peace...

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  4. I love the ending. Really gave off the disconcerted helpless feeling.

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  5. Wow, I never knew soccer could be so dangerous. This is why revenge is not a good thing. Excellent story!

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  6. How life changes with just the simplest of retaliations. This is why I reprimanded my kids for fighting, even if the other guy hit first.

    You captured a parent's fear.

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  7. Man, this is really complex. I mean on the one hand, live by the sword, die by the sword. On the other hand, Kent just hosed his future. Revenge is an unpredictable beast.

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  8. And like in the movie "Rollerball" the light on the scoreboard went out against Number 21 for the Away team...

    I once waited 3 years to get someone back on the football filed. He of course didn't know why I had 'randomly' launched myself on him and looked up at me from the ground raging. I put on my best psycho mask as if to say you don't wanna mess with me and sure enough he let it go. And he missed the penalty too when he got up. Sweet. Like your protagonist I waited until the game was well lost before deciding to square my own personal score.

    American jargon for football (soccer) is so different from ours as to almost make it a different sounding sport. Still, at least you still call them referees and not umpires!

    Marc Nash

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  9. And this is why they call it a "contact sport." I had enough trouble playing lacrosse when I was kid. That was a rough game too. Excellent story Tony. You really brought me as the reader into the story and made me see through these people's eyes. Quite a riveting read.

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  10. I like how the whole story crawls to a halt right there at the end, it's almost like the dramatic slow-mo, when something like this happens. A very controlled slowing down, which had the desired effect.

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  11. Thanks for reading and commenting, everyone. I did a lot of back and forth on this one. At one point, I had a VERY different ending, which I pulled.

    In many ways, this is almost straight reportage after the hit. You hear all of Kent's thoughts before that, but once the ref runs past Kent, you're out of his head almost entirely. Whatever emotional state he's in, and whatever emotion it delivers to the reader, has to come from the dispassionate observations of the actions unfolding.

    Needless to say, this was a bit of an experiment.

    Oh, and I know practically nothing about soccer, so if I've made mistakes in terminology, etc., all I can say is, "poetic license".

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  12. Don't like to read anything sports-related but this was riveting!

    Dumb lug deserved it. Ahem. I mean, tragic how one misstep can balloon into tragedy.

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  13. I noticed the change in tone and observation after the ref ran past. I think it worked really well. It showed Kent's disbelief, maybe even shock at how quickly things changed. You know the action happening behind him is frantic and fast paced, but it all seemes to take place in slow motion. Well done.

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  14. How quickly anger can get away from us, and simple strike of revenge can become something more devastating. Well captured, Tony!

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  15. The action (something I have problems writing) is well done. I know nothing about soccer, but I was never confused.

    This is why I play a non-contact sport like ultimate frisbee. ;)

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  16. vicious and a very abrupt change of emotion..very tight tony

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  17. Gah! I was all for Kent exacting his revenge on that guy. American Football's a contact sport and a very physical game, after all. Besides, if you dish it out, you should be prepared to take it.

    But then...that switch when the Ref and the coaches take over and we no longer know what Kent is thinking and the atmosphere changes is masterful. You realise that something has gone horribly wrong, very fast. And you feel as if it's all rushing and swirling around you - like it probably is for Kent on the pitch - and there's nothing you can do to take it back or put it right. Wow! Great job Tony.

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  18. Thanks for the great comments, everyone. Some people did vampires or ghosts for Halloween... I went for a more bone-deep kind of scare.

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  19. Great job on the suspense. Its exactly like that on the field when you can't see what is going on. But wow what a shocker ending. Couldn't wait to find out what had happened. Love your writing.

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  20. Great detail here! I always enjoy your #fridayflash. Thank you.

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  21. Scary indeed. A case of retaliation gone too far.

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  22. Tony: Riveting read. I clearly noticed the change in tone and, what's more, empathy in the narrator's voice once it became clear #21 wasn't hopping up. Well orchestrated on your part.

    One technical bit that distracted me: what I understand from my sports-trainer friends (who cover these games), any level above primary school requires an ambulance on hand at every game. The paramedics would have been at #21's side within a few seconds.

    However, using the stages of medical care as stages of Kent's awareness was a useful device.

    In the end, the "looking like nothing so much as the cloud of moths that swarmed the field lights, dipping, swooping, circling, as though to find life-giving heat in the cold October night" reminded me of the immediacy of John Updike's "In Football Season" which is pretty much the highest praise I can bestow, as that's forever my favorite short story. :D

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  23. Thank you Tiffany, Johanna & Cathyrn, I'm glad you liked it!

    Galen, now that you mention that, I seem to recall seeing ambulance on duty at games. I'd have to revise this to say the coaches gestured to the paramedics, and they were the ones to call in the life-flight helicopter.

    As for your gracious comparison of my little scribbling to Updike... well, I'm at a loss. Thank you.

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  24. Great story Tony. Contact sport all right. A feeling of helplessness at the end.

    Flashquake

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  25. The abrupt change worked and wow, what an ending...

    I glad with the fact that I was never a sportsman...

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  26. I was eagerly awaiting # 21's comeuppence. Don't we all like that sort of vicarious justice? I was not expecting the sudden turn and it struck me just as it might had I done something impulsive and stupid and was left with the consequences. I think your "experiment" was a success!

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  27. Having been to many a soccer game, I can attest to much of what happened in the story. Very realistic. Sometimes one moment of payback goes further than anyone intended. Nice job, Tony.

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  28. Powerful writing Tony. It works really well. And I am not a fan of soccer at all!

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