Trials

The first two weeks of each half is when all the sports teams hold trials to pick their new squads. It is always a period of uncertainty, as previously heralded sportsmen are sent down to the B’s or C’s, and late bloomers are promoted to the top squads. No-one knows where they stand, and the atmosphere in the school is one of anxiety.

I myself am a footballer, a very average footballer, who has reached the heights of the B team, but have mostly represented the C’s and the D’s. Whilst my preferred position is right-back, I have played across the park as a type of utility player.

Trials in C block are different to previous years, as you now join forces with the B blockers to form mixed teams. This is a culture shock, as many of the older boys are completely unknown to you. Furthermore, they are that much taller, stronger and rougher, and feel threatened by the young pretenders trying to steal their places.

Instead of A, B and C teams, the top squads are ranked by number – 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd etc. Based on my experience, I was summoned to the trial for the 4^th, 5^th and 6^th squads out on Dutchmas 8.

Trials at school bear little resemblance to those of professional teams. There is no warm-up, no skills exercise, no mention of tactics. Instead a full 11-a-side game begins immediately and doesn’t stop for the next two hours.

I was positioned at right back on one of the teams, and was in the action from the off with a strong sliding tackle on my opposition number, a B blocker called Asquith. Although perfectly clean and applauded by the 4^th coach, the tackle did not go down so well with Asquith.

What followed over the next hour was an exhibition of misconduct from Asquith that would have made the bastard child of Vinnie Jones and Joey Barton blush in shame.

It began with verbal intimidation. Apparently my boots were crap. I had no left foot. I was uglier than Carlos Tevez. I was stupid. I was gay. My face looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Whilst trying to ignore him, it was difficult to concentrate with these comments running through my brain.

When he realised this was having little effect, things turned physical. He left his foot in on every challenge. He elbowed me in the ribs when I marked him at a corner. He gave me a dead leg two seconds after the ball had gone.

The peak of his poor sportsmanship though came when play had stopped for an injury. With everyone using the stoppage as an opportunity to get some water, I walked over to find Asquith holding my water bottle.

‘Get off my bottle!’ I shouted at him.

‘Oh sorry,’ he smirked, ‘I didn’t know it was yours.’

‘It’s got my name on it!’ I said.

‘Oh yes, so it does,’ he said, pretending to notice for the first time. Then, very deliberately, he took a long gulp before emptying the contents all over the grass.

Witnessing this tipped me over the edge. Asquith’s aim had been to get me riled, and he had finally succeeded. My only thought now was about getting revenge.

Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long. As play recommenced one of Asquith’s teammates sent a long pass to him on the touchline. Asquith went to control it, but the ball went further in front of him than he was hoping. In fact, it was right in the middle of him and me.

With the blood rushing to my head I took my chance. I sprinted forward and leapt into the air like a long jumper. With my feet ahead of me I saw my landing target as the area of the ball, and in mid-air glimpsed Asquith’s terrified expression. Before he could react, however, I had reached earth, the studs of both my boots smashing sickeningly into his unprotected right ankle.

If two-footed challenges are an art form then this was a masterpiece. I didn’t need to be told it would be my last involvement in the trial, and with Asquith writhing around on the floor in agony I trudged off without remonstration.

Only when I got back to my house did I feel regret. My horror tackle had probably ruined my chances of making any team at all. Although it had been great to almost break Asquith’s leg in two I didn’t fancy the prospect of twiddling my thumbs for the rest of the half.

In the end though my worries were misplaced. The 5^th coach was a self-proclaimed admirer of aggression, and although he told me I had gone overboard in this instance he selected me for his squad.

There’s only one problem, though. Asquith is in it too! It seems like a major reconciliation plan is needed.