Click-clack click-clack click-clack...
The familiar sound of boots across a tiled floor, though the sound of around 200 boots at the same time was unusual in Bostopia. What was more usual though was the cheers coming from one dressing room as players arrived and the sound of silent reflection from the other. The Bostopian Gridiron team had been defeated yet again, going now to a 0 and 4 record on the tournament. The last home loss, 10 – 7 against Starblaydia, had been easier to take, because at least they had put some points on the board, but this was a 20 – 0 shutout in their own stadium that had been humbling at best. Their worst defeat to date, 0 – 31 at Lisander a game before was compounding the problems.
Laces were untied and boots slipped off while the players contemplated the latest game. It wasn’t anybody’s fault – they were simply outclassed by much better opposition. The World Bowl was proving to be a steep learning curve, when the girls were used to playing against teams who were basically the same standard as them. Was it the interception in the second quarter that cost them? No. Was it that they were girls? Definitely not. They weren’t afraid of being tackled or doing tackling, the domestic game showed that. They were just being outclassed.
There were positives though. The drive against Starblaydia which led to their first points at ‘the Common’ was impressive, being finished off with a classy 27 yard run down the sideline into the endzone. The euphoria of that was quickly forgotten by the time the clock wore out in the 4th, and practically ancient history by the time of this result.
The quarterback, Ava Burnett, looked up as she pulled off one of her socks, ready to say something, but stopped herself upon seeing the despondent looks on her teammates faces. It really would have been the right time to say something, but the mood was of a team that just wanted to shower and go and even that wouldn’t be simple. In other parts of the multiverse, Kenmoor Common would have been referred to as a ‘soccer-specific stadium’, meaning it had showers for around 20 people on each team, plus a large bath or two for players who’d picked up a bruise or two. This meant that only around half the team could even think about going home.
Uniforms were being half-heartedly chucked towards large black bin bags in the middle of the floor when somebody finally spoke up – ‘make sure you put all your socks the right way out, please ladies’. It was that sentence which would end up being reported on the one or two websites which bothered with this sport in the country. The first known managerial comments out of Clarise’s mouth weren’t the ones before the matches where she had tried to get the team pumped up, or the ones at half time where she was trying to pick the team off the floor already most of the time, it was her limp comment about making sure socks were the right way around.
Eventually, the changing rooms emptied and the lights were turned off as the final player drove away out of the car park and back into their private life. This broken team were bound to head in separate directions for the rest of the tournament if they didn’t get on track soon.
