24 - Timing [T1] (Patreon)

24.

So much of football is about timing.

Egypt are due to play in the first World Cup, but miss their connecting ship to Uruguay. If only they'd arrived, they might have won, and people might have taken African football more seriously in the subsequent hundred years.

Lucas Digne signs for Everton. He loves it and the fans love him. Things go smoothly until he falls out with his manager. After a very public spat, Digne demands a transfer. He moves to Aston Villa. The manager is sacked three days later. If he had only waited...

Euro 96, the semi-final, extra time. England vs Germany. Paul Gascoigne slides towards a cross. He's inches from goal - any contact will do. If he had only started his move nought point nought nought seconds earlier...

***

The church building was grim. It had the aesthetic of a prison, and not one of those cool ones where super-villains are kept in transparent boxes. No, a boring prison. A box with iron bars surrounding by iron railings. Vandal paint on the roof.

So why did being there bring me such calm? The answer's obvious: because I felt safe.

Not that being in a church would save me from a demon and his trident, but at least I'd die surrounded by warm, friendly people. Maybe as I lay dying they'd sing Jerusalem. Or is that too colonial? I'd once asked Ziggy what his favourite football chant was. I wondered if James Yalley had a favourite hymn. Dumb question. I knew he did.

While I was letting my mind drift around, latching onto and releasing ideas, I spotted movement near the church's entrance. James had poked his head out, seen me, and retreated.

I laughed. How can you be so serious, so studious, strive to have maximum dignity at all times, and yet be so goofy?

He came back. I knew he would. His jaw looked clenched. For him, this was round two of our epic battle. The tedious moment in a video game where you have to beat the guy you already beat.

He was wearing his big mustard suit. My heart broke a little bit. The kid was as poor as me, but he had something I didn't. He knew how to be content with what he had.

"Mr Best," he said. "That was quite a performance. A masterclass."

"Good to see you, James. What's your favourite hymn?"

"Oh." This disarmed him. It disarmed him so much he grew suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking if I got stabbed to death, what song would I want you guys to sing? You know, as the last thing I ever heard."

"If you were stabbed during the service we would scream and panic and run around. There would be no hymns."

"Great. Forget about stabbings. What's your favourite hymn?"

"O Holy Night. The David Phelps version." I tapped this into my notepad. I had 8% battery left. I hate when it says 8%. It’s never 7 or 9. Check your phone. If it says 8% it's just guessing. It could last another minute or another hour. James scanned the car park. Maybe he was looking for the people who had made me think of knife attacks. "Are you going to listen to it now?"

"No. What are you doing out here, James? You're missing the second-best sermon of the week."

He glanced back at the entrance. Wishing he could go back? I couldn't read his expression. "You want to talk. Don't you?"

"No. It's quite vain to assume my sermon was about you. Isn't that one of the sins? Vanity?"

"Oh, Mr Best. Why are you like this?"

I laughed. "I don't know. What time is it?" He looked at his pound shop digital watch and told me. Still loads of time before the first World Cup match. Kick off would be 4pm in the UK. I could have this chat then drive to Darlington. Easy. "James. You know I think you'd be an amazing football player. That's why I asked your pastor to let me do a quick bit before his sermon. But I asked him weeks ago. Feels like weeks ago, anyway. I was all pumped for it. This'll be the final push that James needs! I was actually going to do it all blood and thunder. Fire and brimstone preacher, I think you call it? Get really mad about your wasted talent. I was genuinely going to shout: Can I get an amen? Do you do that here?"

"Only by accident."

"Yeah, well as you heard, I didn't do that. I didn't have it in me. I just don't know how I feel about it all now." I rubbed my nose. "So how was it? Did it persuade you?"

"No."

That was the strange thing about talking to James. I found it really relaxing. He was so implacable. I had to try, but I didn't mind failing. "Okay."

He shuffled his feet around and glanced at me. "Aren't you going to tell me how amazing it is to be a football player? How there's nothing like it?"

"What?" I laughed. "I wasn't planning to do that, no. I used to think about taking you to a stadium, showing you around the facilities and the secret chambers and all that, and then we'd go into the dressing room and there'd be a kit with YALLEY written on the back."

The lack of sleep must have been messing with my head, because I could have sworn I saw a wistful, dreamy look come into his eye. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I'm stupid," I laughed.

"But you could still do that," he said.

"James, there's this dude. He's trying to get me to live my life the way he deems fit. And I find that super annoying. I think I'd prefer to do whatever I want, to be honest. Anyway, I was up all night wondering if I'm doing the same with you. I know it's not exactly equivalent, but I decided to drop it. Respect your wishes."

"You still did the presentation. I won't call it a sermon."

"Yeah, well. I put a lot of work into that three minutes!" I thought about telling him I'd lost my job because of all the Christian chats I'd had on company time, but it seemed overly manipulative. "I got suggestions of Bible passages and I spent hours on aggressively tedious and weird websites trying to understand them. In a way, I'm glad the sermon didn't sway you. Everything you said last time is still true."

"Well..." said James. "I think it might have worked, the fact of you making one final effort like that, had the situation been different. And if you had chosen a different parable. That one does not mean what you think it means."

"Yeah it does."

"But -"

"I'm fine not knowing, James. Thanks."

He looked frustrated. "I have to tell you something, Mr Best. From the Bible. Please."

I was really all done with that book, preferably forever, but it didn't cost me much to listen. "Fine."

"You should have chosen the story of Zaccheus. He was a tax collector, and they were despised because they worked for the Romans. And because people at the time did not like paying tax. And people were astonished when Jesus asked to share a meal with this tax collector. Jesus did not spend time with the great and the good. He gave what he had to those at the bottom of society. Labourers, dockworkers, normal people. His philosophy was that healthy people do not need trauma surgeons - injured people do. Do you see?"

"Not in the slightest."

He swallowed some more frustration and nodded. "When we talked, I was prepared to defend all my points. But you agreed with me about most of them. That was very unexpected. I had the strangest feeling that although I was right superficially, I was wrong on a different level."

"Because I didn't argue about every little thing?"

"Yes. Is it strange?"

"I don't know. It makes me feel better about that day. I thought I'd done everything wrong."

"No, Mr Best. You made me reconsider. I spoke to Pastor Yaw about all this. He agreed with me that football is problematic and troubled and full of problematic and troubled people. And he said, 'Would Jesus, then, spend his Sunday mornings in church with people who already believe in him, or would he perhaps go to a football match?' I told him there aren't many matches on a Sunday morning and he suggested I might try to be less pedantic." He grinned sheepishly.

I was listening to all this in an interested but detached way. If Jesus came back, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest if he chose to go to watch Exeter City versus Port Vale.

"Pastor Yaw suggested," continued James, "that if God has given me the talent you think I have, is it not so that I may pass through doors into rooms that the average person cannot even approach? A football club is full of people who need Jesus. Who is going to be salt and light to them? Who will be their example?"

My skin started to buzz. I was finally starting to understand that I'd misread this situation. He hadn't steeled himself to defeat me again, but to join me! This was a massive moment in my life. The winning lottery ticket had blown all around town and come to rest wedged under the windscreen wiper of my car! I only had to cash it in!

I stared at the young man, soon to be the perfect specimen of a defensive midfielder. With a kind of fascinated horror, I imagined him inside a football club. Giving Bibles to the entire first team squad as Christmas presents. Having the captaincy removed because he tried to organise a team bonding session not in a nightclub, but in the ruins of an abbey. I imagined him openly forgiving Caveman for pissing in his football boots. What a response that would be! I wish I'd thought of it!

Why was this happening? What could I learn from this?

"Do I have this right?" I said. "Before, you didn't want to be a footballer because football is wicked and sinful. And now... you want to be a footballer because it's wicked and sinful?"

"If I have the talent, yes."

"Unreal," I said. Then I paused, trying to work through the timeline. "You didn't just decide this now."

"No. I made my mind up some time ago. But Pastor Yaw asked me to wait to tell you."

"Until after I'd pranced around the stage shouting Hallelujah?"

"Until after you had studied the Word of God."

"He thinks me reading about Jesus smashing up a casino and cooking loads of fish sandwiches is going to convert me?"

"It might."

I laughed. "That's optimistic."

Once again I got mentally stuck on the timing. If James had told me his decision the day he had made it, I might not have joined in the trial at Chester. I almost certainly wouldn't have become a player. I wouldn't have riled up Old Nick. It was, if I was being suspicious, as though I'd been manoeuvred into conflict with him. If there were demons, were there angels? I chewed on my thumbnail and looked away. I was making things needlessly complicated. The timing - and what it meant - was a coincidence.

James wrung his hands. "Mr Best, I would like to thank you."

"For what?"

"For trying to respect my wishes. It would have been easy to use your playing career as a selling point."

"My playing career? Did Kisi find some match report that mentioned me?"

"She did not need to, Mr Best. We were there."

"What?"

"We were at the match, yesterday. All of us."

"Oh." I didn't know how to feel about that. I must have included Kisi in my text blast. And she'd insisted on going and for some reason, the whole family had decided to make it a day out. I smiled. It made me feel a bit better about showing off. At least they'd have had something to talk about on the long drive home. "Did you enjoy it?"

"The first half, yes. I have to say, Mr Best, that when it comes to your personal performance..." He sighed. "Such tactical indiscipline." He waited for me to react, then burst out laughing. "I am sorry. That was a joke. I am trying to do more jokes. You were incredible. What more can I say? Kisi burst into tears when they announced your substitution." He smiled, nostalgically. "And I was, to be truthful, almost as disappointed. I trust Pastor Yaw when it comes to Bible scholarship. I trust my father when it comes to aeronautics. I trust you when it comes to football. If you say I have the talent to go far, then I believe you. Strange as it may be. I am ready to put my career in your hands."

Huh! I thought about explaining that my playing skills were quite separate from my scouting skills, but that would have been a very James way of communicating. In the end, he was right to trust me. Probably. "James, wow. Your career in my hands? This is really unexpected. Wow. I thought this was over. Maybe I shouldn't... No, this was his idea. He can't be mad about this."

"Who?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud. I'll have to find you somewhere to train. Get you started."

"Is your club not an option?"

"No. Nor is Chester. That youth system is a mess. FC United maybe. But that means talking to... Or I suppose I could get Ziggy to do it. No, it doesn't feel right. I'll have to think about it." My head started fizzing with options and possibilities. I grinned. I was re-energised. "James Yalley! Youngster! My new DM client! I'm building quite a team! All right!" I held my hand out for him to shake.

And of course, when we shook hands, the monthly perk dropped. And it was a corker.

...

Thanks for your support!

The day off last week was perfect. My burnout bar has fallen to zero. Lots of Player Manager coming in the near future!