Page 202 of Playing By Ear

Still, he envied John’s drug-induced equanimity. If tipsiness in an unfamiliar place wasn’t high on the list of Stupid Ideas for Blind People, he’d ask for a spare pill or two.

Instead, he drew another in a long line of deep breaths, dwelling in the distinctive self-torture of the rabid football fan.

“I am divinely supported in all that I do. I am divinely supported in all that I do.”

Jamie ripped his attention from the pitch to look at Colin. The striker was sitting with eyes closed and the backs of his hands resting on his thighs, thumbs and fingertips touching in a meditative pose.

“I am divinely supported in all that I do,” Colin repeated. “I am divinely—ah, fuck it.” He opened his eyes and saw Jamie. “It’s a thing my Reiki therapist gave me.”

“Like a mantra?”

“Sort of. I promised Andrew I’d use it when I got stressed. Better than rubbing my scars, he said.”

“Is it working?”

“Fuck, no. I never been this nervous at a match.” He stuffed his hands under his thighs to sit on them. “If I was in the starting eleven, there’d be nae time to be nervous.”

Being a substitute was a singular stress factory, as Jamie was discovering. “You’re our second-half secret weapon.” He looked down at Colin’s arms. “And if rubbing your scars keeps you calm, fucking do it.”

“Aye.” With a shaky finger, Colin traced the ancient self-harm marks beneath his black thistle tattoo. “Aye, we’ve got this.”

“Definitely.” Jamie turned back to the pitch. “Forthside cannae keep up this constant attack for long. If we can hold them at bay a wee bit longer, they’ll start flagging, and⁠—”

Jamie cut himself off as a Forthside fullback intercepted one of Ali’s passes and whipped a soaring pass of his own. Robert and Liam scrambled back to defend against Forthside’s tall center forward, Watson, and their winger, Tait, as they rushed the goal.

Colin and Jamie leapt to their feet, shouting encouragement to the defenders.

With a deft flick of his boot, Watson zinged a shot past Heather’s near post into the net.

“Fuck!” Jamie cried out with all his soul.

The Forthside United fans let out a roar, then started their signature song. The catchy melody ended with a series of claps and a bellowed “F.U.!”

During the short break in play after the goal, Fergus hurried over to speak to Charlotte. Jamie couldn’t quite hear their manager’s instructions, only her calm, determined voice.

Whatever she said, it worked a treat. As play resumed, the Warriors seemed to settle in and remember who they were, dominating the midfield with clean, confident passes.

“In the long run,” Jamie told Colin, “we can win by playing our own sort of game. We’ve got everything we need—the skills, the fitness, the spirit.”

“Maybe, maybe.” Colin’s fingertips tripped over his arm, playing the scars like piano keys. “But you know what they say: ‘In the long run, we’re all dead.’”

The knot in Perry’s stomach was slowly undoing itself. The Warriors were now absorbing Forthside’s pressure instead of crumbling beneath it. They weren’t yet on the front foot, but the game had reached a balance point.

If nothing else, the livestream commentator had stopped predicting a massacre.

“Soon Forthside’ll crack,” John said. “Any second now, they’ll regret pushing so high.”

“Precisely,” Andrew said. “One perfectly lofted pass and they’ll wish they’d kept both center-backs in their defensive third.”

Perry concurred. The Warriors had adapted to their opponents’ direct play. But Forthside no doubt had their own adaptation. What was their Plan B?

As prophesied, Katie booted a long diagonal pass to a surging Duncan. The Warriors striker charged into the box, the cheers of the Regiment drowning out the voice in Perry’s earphones. He resisted the instinct to look away from the screen to “see” it live.

Duncan took his shot, but a Forthside defender made a heroic slide to block it. The ball ricocheted over the line to the right of the goal, granting the Warriors a corner kick.

The Rainbow Regiment roared, finally having something to cheer about. Perry stood with his fellow fans but kept his eyes on the screen.

“Come on, Robert!” Ben called out. “Put your magic napper on that ball.”