IGMS Issue 13 by IGMS

Author:IGMS [IGMS]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hatrack River Enterprises
Published: 2009-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

After the game, our lockers were swarming with buzz-cams, and even a handful of live reporters. They clustered around McDermott, asking him about the injury, the leg mender, and what-in-the-world-he-would-do without Ribaldi in the Dues Cup. McDermott stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back, answering questions with the usual clichés.

"We will miss Ribaldi, no doubt, but there are fifteen players on our squad, eleven on the field. The others will step up. I have full confidence in them. Andrews is a highly capable backup -- you saw his skills on display today in the 88th minute. We have the talent in this locker room to better last year's multiplier."

McDermott was right, of course (except the part about me being a "backup"), but he didn't believe his own BS. And the media didn't either -- the journalists scoffed, and the buzz-cams zoomed in on McDermott's iris, measuring his pulse and resp rate, displaying his "confidence level" for all the world to see.

McDermott's run as National Team Manager was nearly finished. Players held their spots for decades, or, in the case of media darlings like Ribaldi, indefinitely. But not managers. They wore down in ways the anti-aging treatments couldn't prevent, and the game evolved past them. After twelve years, McDermott's double-flank attacks were no longer the next new thing, and the team's performance was in steady decline. A poor showing in this year's Dues Cup and he'd be done.

I finished dressing and slipped out the locker room exit. The live journalists ignored me, but a few buzz-cams followed. Now that I was a starter, they'd follow me all the way home.

I passed up the player limos and went instead to the public subway. I picked an open seat in the middle of train and sat with my gear bag over my lap, the buzz-cams circling my head, imaging me and the subway surroundings simultaneously.

A few locals pointed, whispered. It was rare to see a National Team member on the subway, let alone a starter who'd just scored the final goal. One chubby taxpayer with thinning hair pulled away from his wife, sat across from me.

"You're Andrews, right?"

I nodded, forced a smile.

"Nice goal there, mate. Totally fooled that Arab keeper."

"Thank you."

The man licked his lips, gathering courage to say what he'd planned to say. He glanced back at his wife. She snorted and turned away.

"Think you blokes can advance without Ribaldi?" he asked quickly. "At least to third round. I mean, no disrespect to you, but Ribaldi's been our leading scorer for --"

"Forty years."

He licked his lips again, nodded. "I mean, that result last year. That multiplier. That was tough on us . . ."

Last year, Australia was eliminated in the second round of the Dues Cup, an embarrassing shutout loss to Thailand. The loss gave Australia a 1.2 multiplier, meaning every Australian's international taxes went up twenty percent. Of course, I didn't play a minute.

"Another year like that, and I'm not sure what we'll do."

Judging by the man's thinning hair and pudgy stomach, the brown spots on his face, he'd skipped a few aging treatments.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.