I glance back over my shoulder. “Captain.”
She laughs, and I can hear it lingering in the air as I round the corner.
And, annoyingly, I find myself smiling too.
Bloody hell.
7
the beautiful game
THIS IS THE ONE BY THE STONE ROSES
This is absolutely insane. Everyone warned me about the atmosphere, but seeing it in person is beyond what I imagined. It hits me before I even enter the stadium. The entire neighborhood is buzzing with electricity, like static before a storm.
It’s Saturday—match day—and I’m standing outside Ashdown Park with Pippa, who looks completely game-ready. Meanwhile, I’m layered up in a coat and a vague sense of panic. They’re already allowing fans inside, but Pippa wanted me to linger outside the stadium and just feel the energy.
The street is packed with fans in Rockford FC kits and scarves, faces painted, all heading into their church. One person starts shouting about something like it’s life or death, and then they all pile on. There’s music playing from the street vendors, drumming in the distance, and a steady electric current of anticipation leading toward the stadium.
“This… this is a lot,” I mutter, barely able to take it all in.
Pippa grins. “Just wait till you’re inside.”
“Great.”
“Come on,” she says, looping her arm through mine. “You can’t come to your first match and not wear something Rockford. It’s like showing up at a wedding without a gift.”
“Oh, is it?” I laugh as Pippa pulls me through the crowd toward the team store. Inside, it’s a riot of red and blue. Kits hang from the walls and everything from hats to sweaters to mugs are stacked on the shelves. It’s absolute chaos in here, packed with fans, and I’m surprised there’s any stock left in the store.
Pippa makes a beeline for the scarves and pulls one from the rack. It’s classic—red and blue stripes with the club crest stitched at both ends.
“Put this on,” she commands, shoving it at me.
I laugh, but loop the scarf around my neck. It’s warm. I look at myself in the mirror. Okay, fine—it’s kind of cute too.
“There,” Pippa says, beaming. “Now you don’t look like you’re being held here against your will.”
Inside the stadium, it’s even louder. Fans chant in unison, a deep, thunderous chorus that vibrates my seat. I don’t know any of the words, and they seem to have a song foreverything.The loyalty is kind of overwhelming.
We find our seats down low near the halfway line, and I sit down next to Pippa.
“Okay,” Pippa says, nudging me. “Time to get you caught up on everyone.”
“I know who the players are,” I remind her with a laugh.
“I know that,” she says. “I mean, who they are as players.”
“Alright.” I nod my head toward the pitch. “Hit me.”
“Well, you have Sebastian, your striker. Number ten. Scores loads of goals, and he loves doing it. He’s dramatic. Loves to kick the corner flags in celebration,” she says, pointing to the corners of the pitch.
“Got it.”
“Carlos,” she says, laughing. “Oh, Carlos. He will get in the other team's face, under their skin. And not just them, but their fans as well. He plays it up. He’s a total ham.”
“Or a menace,” I quip.
“Oh, he is, absolutely. But the fans love him for it. And he’sourmenace.” Pippa shifts her focus toward the goal. “Harry Freeman, the keeper. He can come across as a bit odd, but he’s brilliant. He’s superstitious and talks to the ball, but he’s focused.”
