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We continue on to the park, Keegan chattering the whole way. As soon as we make it across the road and onto the grass, he sets the ball down and starts kicking it around, chasing after it and dribbling it between his feet.
I watch him play for a minute before he turns and grins up at me. “Come on, Dad! I need an opponent.”
I offer a wry smile and jog over to him so we can play one-on-one for a bit. Considering Keegan is half my size, I of course go easy on him. But even at eight years old, he’s already bursting with talent.
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it, to be honest. If his dream is to play professionally, I’ll of course support him all the way; but it can be a hard life at times, and as a parent I think I’d prefer for him to actually grow up first before committing to spending his life as a professional athlete. At the very least, I’d want him to finish school.
As promised, Archie arrives after about half an hour. But he’s not the only visitor—around ten minutes after he gets there, about ten of Keegan’s school friends show up at the park, all homing in on Archie and me.
“You know anything about this?” I ask my son.
He shrugs. “I made a few calls.”
I have no idea when he made these so called ‘calls,’ or even how—he does have a mobile phone for emergencies, but as far as I know Courtney’s, her parents’, and my numbers are the only ones saved in it—but the result is that a whole bunch of eight-year-olds have now joined us in the park, the vast majority of them gawking at Archie and me like we’re aliens from another planet.
“Oh my god, that’s Archie Milligan,” I hear a boy say in a not-so-hushed whisper.?
“And Tom Whitford!”
“They’re both here!”
“Duh, of course Tom Whitford’s here,” a little girl with red pigtails says with a dramatic eye roll. “He’s Keegan’s dad.”
“But why is Archie Milligan here?”
“Why are you lot all here?” I butt in.
Several pairs of eyes blink up at me, seemingly startled to be addressed by me.
“Keegan said we could come play with you,” a dark haired boy I vaguely recognise says.?
My eyes find my son, and he just shrugs.
“Do your parents all know you’re here?” I ask them. The last thing I need is for their parents to learn on the news that their kids all snuck off to play some footy with Archie Milligan and Tom Whitford.
My question is answered with lots of nods, and “yep”s. And then one little girls says, “My mum fancies you. She won’t mind.”
Archie lets out a snort of laughter at that, and I send him a narrow-eyed glare. He ignores me, offering the kids a bright smile and clapping his hands together. “Who’s up for a scrimmage?”
Of course, everyone—including my own son—wants to be on Archie’s team, so I seem to end up with the stragglers. I have Mia—the girl whose mum fancies me and also apparently thinks Archie and Robbie are an item; Dev, the little dark haired boy; James, who keeps eyeing the football like it’s going to bite him; and a few other kids whose names I can’t remember.
Mia, at least, has some talent—not quite at Keegan’s level, but still very impressive—the rest of the team, however, are not so impressive. They’re trying, though, and I guess that’s the main thing.
“Go on, James—tackle!” I call out, as the boy sprints after Keegan, drawing closer. He manages to catch up to him and then—ah, shit.“No, James, that’s not what I meant when I said to tackle him,” I say with exasperation as I watch the two boys rolling around on the grass after James’s spectacular—yet illegal—rugby tackle. “It’s not rugby. You can’t literally tackle people.”
“Then why do they call it that?” he says with a huff as he stands up, brushing himself off. “This game’s so stupid.”
I just shake my head. How the hell is this kid Keegan’s best friend when he clearly has no clue about my son’s favourite thing in the world?
“I think that’s a red card!” Keegan calls gleefully. “You’re gone, mate.”
“It’s not a red card,” I protest. “James didn’t understand the rules.”
Archie shrugs. “It’s how they learn.”
I let out a disgruntled huff and gesture for James to join me on the sidelines of the makeshift pitch. He looks immensely relieved and part of me wonders whether he actually broke the rules intentionally just so he could be sent off. Surely an eight-year-old isn’t that diabolical?
Keegan is of course awarded a penalty kick and has no trouble finding the net. And despite the fact that he’s on the opposing team, I can’t help grinning as I watch him run around like a lunatic, celebrating as though he’s just kicked a World Cup-winning goal.?
