The Game

There was a day once when the factory boys took to a rusty van driving through the early morning dark to play soccer on a muddy field. Our team was called. now let me think, does it matter that I cannot remember? Let's call our crew the 'Raging Eagles'. the Eagles had pimples and bad breath, but we were all mates for the day. It's not easy to 'rage' on a rutted field in the middle of an industrial estate on a misty Sunday, but we did our best. The other team arrived full of snarky-jeers and leers. Insults were returned, added to and sent back. The game was more a donnybrook than regular soccer. Rules were made up on the fly only to be broken. Legs were kicked black and blue, one arm and a head diagnosed by one and all as totally for33ked. Later we convened to a pub at the other end of that sooty town and downed a few, then a few more, vowing to be brothers forever.