Terry Pratchett - Unseen Academicals

‘That would indeed appear to be the complaint of the luckless warriors of United,’ said the editor. ‘They are clustering around the referee and what would I give to be a fly on that wall?’

‘There is no wall, sir.’

‘It would seem—’ and the editor stopped dead. ‘Who is that?’

‘What is that, sir?’

‘Look over there at the stands! The upper-class stands, I might add, to which we were not invited.’

The sun usefully took this opportunity to appear from behind the clouds and the bowl of the Hippo seemed to fill with light.

‘That’s the micromail girl, sir,’ said the assistant.

Even some of the protesting United team were looking up at the stands now. She hurt the eyes, but they were dragged towards it again.

‘I’ve got her picture on my bedroom wall,’ said the assistant. ‘Everyone has been looking for her.’ He coughed. ‘They say it doesn’t chafe, you know.’

Now, all the footballers on the field, bar the unfortunate Charlie Barton, who was having a dizzy spell, were clustered around the referee, who said, ‘I repeat; it was a perfectly acceptable goal. A trifle unkind and showy, perhaps, but nevertheless entirely within the rules. You’ve watched the Unseen lads training. The game moves about. It doesn’t send you a clacks to tell you what’s happening next.’

A voice a little lower down said, ‘It is an elementary mistake to believe that even the most doughty keeper of the net can single-handedly defend against the full might of the opposing team.’ This was Nutt.

‘Mister Nutt, you are not supposed to tell them that sort of thing,’ said Ridcully.

Mr Hoggett looked downcast. A man betrayed by team, history and expectations. ‘I can see we’ve got a lot to learn,’ he said.

Trev pulled Nutt off to one side. ‘And this is where it all goes bad,’ he said.

‘Oh, come now, Mister Trev. We’re doing very well. Bengo is, anyway.’

‘I’m not watching him. I’m watching Andy and Andy is watchin’ Bengo. They’re bidin’ their time. They’re lettin’ the poor old buggers get into a hell of a fix and then they’ll just take over.’

And then Trev was given a short lesson in why wizards are wizards.

‘I have a modest proposal and I wonder if you will hear me out, referee. While we at Unseen University are absolute novices, we have had rather more time to get to grips with the new football than our current opponents have. Therefore, I propose to give them one of our goals,’ said Ridcully.

‘You can’t do that, sir!’ said Ponder.

‘Why, is it against the rules?’ Ridcully’s tone deepened and became noticeably more pompous. ‘I ask you, are good sportsmanship, fellowship and generosity against the rules, pray?’ By the end of the sentence, his voice was audible nearly to the very back of the stadium.

‘Well, of course there is nothing against it, sir. There isn’t a rule stopping you washing your laundry during the middle of the game-and that is because no one would do it.’

‘Right. Mister Hoggett? One of our goals is now yours. We are, as it were, level.’

Hoggett, transfixed, looked around at his fellow players, ‘Well, er, if you insist, sir.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of taking no for an answer,’ said Ridcully expansively.

‘What in the world made him do that?’ said the editor of the Times, as an exhausted runner brought him the news.

‘It was a very generous gesture.’

‘Why did you do it?’ said Ponder to Ridcully.

‘I am totally transparent, Stibbons. Generous to a fault, that’s me. It’s not my fault that they do not know they are inferior and this will play on their minds for the rest of the game.’

‘That’s rather… cunning, sir.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? I’m rather proud of it. And once again, we get to kick first. No wonder this is such a popular game.’

‘That was a remarkable piece of psychology there,’ said Nutt to Trev as they walked back to the sidelines. ‘Somewhat cruel, possibly, but clever.’

Trev said nothing. There was the shrill call of the whistle for the game to resume, followed instantly by the referee screaming, ‘A LITTLE BIT OF HAIL WON’T HURT YOU, BOY, IT’S HEALTHY AND WILL DO YOU GOOD.’

‘That’s magic,’ said Trev. ‘Should that be happening?’

‘No,’ said Ponder Stibbons behind him. ‘It’s just possession.’

‘Yes, the game is all about possession, Mister Trev,’ said Nutt.

Trev looked up again at the stand. There was the shining shape of Juliet, only a few feet away from Vetinari himself and flanked by Glenda and Pepe. She could be a goddess. It’s never going to happen, is it? he said to himself. Not her and a boy from the candle vats.

Not really going to happen. Not now.

And then Bengo screamed and it seemed as though every voice in the stadium joined in one communal ‘OOOOOH!’

And the whistle blew again.

‘What happened, sir?’ said the editorial assistant.

‘Can’t exactly be sure. They got the ball to Macarona again and then he collided with a couple of United players and they all ended up in a heap.’

Nutt, the first to reach the stricken Macarona, looked up at Trev gravely. ‘Both patellas dislocated,’ he said. ‘We’ll need a couple of men to take him down to the Lady Sybil.’

The former Dean looked around at the clustered footballers. ‘So, what happened here, Mister Shank?’ he said as perspiration dripped off his chin.

Andy momentarily lifted a finger to his forelock.

‘Well, sir, I was rushing forward according to the rules to tackle Mister Macarona and I had no idea at all that Jimmy the Spoon, here, had got exactly the same idea and was coming from a different direction and suddenly we were all there together going arse over tip, if you would excuse my Klatchian.’

Trev glowered.

The look on Andy’s face was transparent. He was lying. He knew he was lying. He knew everyone else knew he was lying and he didn’t care. In fact, he rather enjoyed the situation. Andy’s boots looked heavy enough to moor a boat.

‘They got ’im like the meat in a sandwich, sir,’ Trev complained to the referee.

‘Can you substantiate that, young man?’

‘Well, you can see what’s happened to the poor bugger.’

‘Yes, but do you have any evidence of collusion?’

Trev went blank and Nutt supplied in a whisper, ‘Can you prove it was a set-up?’

‘Can anyone?’ said the referee, looking around the players. No one could. Trev wondered how many might, were it not for the fact that Andy was standing there, innocent as a shark. ‘I am the referee, gentlemen, and I can only referee what I see and I saw nothing.’

‘Yes, because they made sure of that,’ said Trev. ‘Anyway, listen to the crowd. They all saw it!’

‘Look! They’ve got boots on them that could strip bark,’ Ridcully protested.

‘Yes, indeed, Mustrum, I mean, sorry, captain, but as yet there are no rules about which boots should be worn and at the very least these are the boots that have been traditionally worn for the game of foot-the-ball.’

‘But they are man traps!’

‘I can certainly see what you are getting at, but what would you like me to do?’ said Henry. ‘I have a suspicion that if I cancel this match at this point you and I would not get out of here alive, because even if we ourselves did escape the wrath of the crowd, we would by no means escape the wrath of Vetinari. The game will continue. Unseen Academicals can play a substitute and I will, let me see—’ He pulled out a notebook. ‘Ah, yes, I will award a free kick at the very point where this unfortunate incident took place. And may I add that I will look askance at any future “incidents”. Mister Hoggett, I trust that you will make this clear to your team.’