As I mulled over this bitter memory in Mr O’s Place, someone suddenly sat down opposite me. I looked up from my sandwich and was surprised to see Rodway looking back at me.
‘Morning, gaffer.’
‘Aye, morning, son,’ I replied gruffly. He was no doubt here to grouse about being left out of the previous game – how was I to break the news to him that he’d be missing the next one too? And the thirty-four after that?
‘You look terrible,’ he said, pinching one of the sausages from my plate. ‘Even worse than I did during the week.’
I was miserable – it felt like everyone was out to have a pop at me and now here was Rodway sticking the boot in.
‘Et tu, Rodway?’ I asked, sarcastically.
‘No, I ate one,’ he said, wolfing down the sausage. ‘Any road, I’m sure we’ll get a result on Wednesday, boss. The team from Blipplip are the whipping boys of this league. I mean, their species is just microscopic bacteria – we’ll literally walk all over them. Keep the faith, gaffer. We believe in you.’
It was all I could do not to burst into tears right there. Here was this wayward kid who I’d been quite prepared to dump on the scrapheap and now, with me at my lowest ebb, he was giving me a pep talk. I could see from looking at him that he’d made a conscious effort to clean up his act – he looked fresh, healthy and fit. He was back to the Rodway I’d signed almost a year ago, a street urchin who had been orphaned during the L’zuhl invasion and had stowed away on an evacuee shuttle to Palangonia. This kid was the future of football, I’d known it from the moment I clapped eyes on him mugging a defenceless old man to steal his wallet. I’d said to Gerry as Rodway kicked the ailing man to the ground, ‘Hell of a left foot he’s got on him.’
‘Listen, son,’ I said. ‘I’ve got… something to tell you. Something you won’t want to hear.’
‘If it’s about Gerry’s naked sleepwalking then don’t worry – Gillian warned us all about that months ago.’
‘No, not that,’ I said, though now I felt depressed all over again. It’s worse. Palangonia FC has been canned.’
Rodway frowned, confused.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘They’ve kicked us out of Galactic League C? For one defeat? Can they even do that?’
‘No, the Compound Council have chucked us in the bin,’ I explained. ‘There’s a… well, there’s something going on. Some problem the military top brass have got their knickers in a twist over, so the budget is being redirected to General Leigh, the prat.’
‘What kind of situation?’ he asked, suddenly concerned. ‘Is something happening with the L’zuhl? Are they planning an attack?’
I frowned in annoyance. Here I was, telling him that the club was toast and yet all he was interested in was what the L’zuhl might or might not be doing.
‘You need to get your priorities straight,’ I said. ‘In fact, everyone does. They’ve never valued what we do. What we bring to Compound life.’
‘Um… what do we bring?’
I was aghast.
‘What do…? Come on, get your head on. We bring what the beautiful game always brings: joy. Excitement. A reason to get up in the morning. Hope, Rodway. We bring hope. And I’ll tell you… the galaxy needs that right now, more than ever.’
‘So… what can we do? Make them change their minds somehow?’
‘Fat chance of that,’ I scoffed dismissively. ‘Not with Leigh calling the shots.’
‘So we just give up?’ Rodway asked, sounding genuinely startled. ‘That hardly sounds like you. Last year when we lost that cup game in the ninetieth minute, you had us play on for hours after the final whistle until we equalised, even though the other team had gone home.’
‘Another couple of hours and I really think we’d have nicked a winner,’ I said, cursing the memory. I’d written to the league to have the result officially acknowledged as a draw but I never heard back. Up to them.
‘I can’t believe this is really the end,’ Rodway said, wistfully looking out of the window. I had a horrid realisation that with no football club to occupy his time, Rodway would doubtless slide back into his wayward lifestyle. I couldn’t see that happen.
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ I said. ‘The end, I mean. Not for us. Gerry and I… we’ve had another offer.’
‘You have?’ Rodway replied, intrigued. ‘From another team?’
‘Yep. Well, no. Not exactly. But Dave Moyes is right on the brink, apparently. They lost 5–0 yesterday. The man’s dead on his feet. Once he’s gone, they’ll fall over themselves to get me and Gerry.’
‘So they’ll sack their manager for losing 5–0 and then hire a replacement whose team has just lost 6–0?’ he asked carefully. I bristled.
‘Yeah, well, that was extenuating circumstances,’ I said. ‘Our striker had let us down badly, so we were demoralised. Shame, that.’
That shut him up.
‘The point is,’ I went on, after a long pause to let him stew in his own juices, ‘we can make a fresh start, a new beginning. Me, Gerry… and you.’
‘Me?’
‘That’s right. You’re my Les Ferdinand, and I don’t say that lightly.’
‘I don’t know who that is.’
‘I want you to come with us to… wherever the hell it is,’ I went on. ‘It’s Galactic League D, I appreciate that, but I really think we could mount a serious promotion push once I clear out all the dead wood that Moyesie has inevitably signed.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Rodway replied, sounding stunned.
‘Say yes, son,’ I said. ‘It’s either that or you get left here on Palangonia, the galaxy’s rancid arsehole, for the rest of your life. Stuck here with Gillian and General Leigh lording it over everyone, acting like they own the place. And football? Forget it – within a generation it’ll be forgotten in this nebula. It’s up to you.’
‘Yes!’ Rodway beamed. ‘Let’s do it!’
‘Attaboy,’ I said, shaking his hand. He could be a bit of a one sometimes but the kid had the guts of a damn lion.
‘I’d better get home and start packing,’ Rodway mumbled excitedly, getting up from the table.
‘Mind you don’t say anything to the other lads,’ I warned him. ‘The likelihood is that I won’t be able to take most of them with us.’
As I said these words I felt sick. The last thing I wanted to do was abandon these boys, but I was powerless to help them here. By taking Moyesie’s job over on… wherever the hell it was, I could build a team around which the galaxy could unite and provide a glimmer of hope to the runts I had to leave behind on Palangonia (which would be the vast majority of the squad, in all honesty – my holding midfielder, Rooker, had arrived at our first training session carrying a tennis racket, and Caines, my left-winger, was, well, a bit of a left-winger who refused to play unless there were guarantees that all players would have an equal share of possession during a match.)
‘I won’t,’ Rodway said, heading for the door. ‘You, me and Gerry. The dream team. I’m sorry I let you both down this week. It won’t happen ever again.’
I nodded.
‘Good on you, son,’ I said. ‘Remember: you’re my Ferdinand.’
‘I