This Sporting Life [antikvár]

Part One i i had my head to Mellor's backside, waiting for the ball to come between his legs. He was too slow. I was moving away when the leather shot back into my hands and; before I could pass, a shoulder came up to my jaw. It rammed my teeth together with a force that stunned me to blackness. The first thing I see is Mellor's vaguely apologetic face alongside that of Dai - the trainer - who's bending down with the sponge, whipping water at me. 'Come off for a bit,' he says. 'You've cut your mouth.' I stand up with his hands knotted in my armpits. I call Mellor a few things; the players watch unconcernedly, relieved at the interlude. I walk off with Dai shoving an ammónia phial up my nose. I sit on the bench till he's finished shouting somé advice on to the field, then he presses his fingers round my mouth and his thumbs roll back my lips. ' Christ, man,' he says. 'You've broke your front teeth.' 'That's good,' I teli him sibilantly. 'Blame me.' He stares in at the damage, his eyes dodging round the end of my nose. 'Don't blame Mellor,' he says. 'Does it hurt? It looks as though you'll need a plate.' The reserves gather round him to peer at the scene over his shoulders. 'How d' I look?' Dai's eyes move up to mine for a second to see just how anxious I might be. 'An old man. You don't want to see no girls for a week.'