Let the Game Pour Down From Gods Above
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Transcript of Let the Game Pour Down From Gods Above
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ISSUE ONE -- NIGEL #10 1 DOWNLOAD LATEST ISSUE >
Nigel bounced up and down in the
dark, his nerves on edge. How can
you get twenty-two gods together for
a football match, not to mention
countless others in the stands to
watch, then let the stadium lights go
out? Frankly, it was embarrassing.
Hed grab the ball and piss off if
there werent so much at stake.
Eventually there was a series of loud
clicks, followed by an intense hum,
and the pitch was bathed in light
once again. Players immediately
latched onto balls and began running
through drills.
Nigel took a moment to soak in the
surroundings. The Monumental cer-
tainly had been named well. The
stands rose up steeply on all sides
and the gods in paying attendance
Let The Game Pour Down From
Gods Above
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were already in full song, rooting on
their chosen side.
Nigel caught sight of Hamish com-
ing back onto the field, wiping his
hands with a rag and looking about
sheepishly.
Sorry bout that. A drunken satyr
spilled some mead on the wiring.
All sorted now.
Nigel nodded and, noticing a spot of
grease on Hamishs cheek, made a
mirroring gesture on his own.
Got a bit on yer face, mate.
Huh? Oh, cheers!
Hamish wiped at his cheek with two
fingers, leaving behind a much big-
ger smudge than before. Nigel
grinned.
No, mate. Other cheek.
Hamish left a matching trail on the
opposite side.
That got it?
Nigel shook his head.
Missed a bit.
Another smudge appeared just as
Nancy jogged up. His feathered felt
hat was still atop his head
Thats got it.
Thanks.
No worries.
Nancy took in the exchange, looked
at Hamishs warpaint, his grin
widening, and elbowed Nigel in the
ribs. The Brit bit his tongue to keep
a straight face.
Looking at Nancy's hat, Nigel asked,
"Don't you ever take that ugly thing
off?"
Nancy let out a guttural laugh.
"Only when I get serious, my
friend," he replied. "Besides, the
women love it."
Nigel barked at that and played at
trying to snatch the headgear away.
Manco strutted up, wearing the arm-
band for his side. Gaston and Pierre,
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still topped with berets and dragging
on cheap cigarettes, accompanied
him. Even up close, it was impossi-
ble to tell them apart, but Padraig
claimed he had it on good authority
that they werent twins. Not even re-
lated, he said.
Are we ready? Manco sneered.
Hamish slipped on his armband and
nodded in the affirmative. Manco
looked momentarily confused by the
black marks on the Scots face, but
decided to ignore them.
All sides ave agreed upon the
stakes, non? One of either Gaston
or Pierre spoke up.
Trying to decide which it was could
give a god a headache. Nigel de-
cided that from now on whichever
one spoke, he would think of him as
Gaspierre.
Hamish reassured the French duo
that everyone had agreed to all per-
tinent wagers.
Nigel looked about. Where are the
officials? No way are this lot going
to work on the honour system.
Otto materialised in full kit and
boots, four startled men in tow and
with Ramona, replete in armour,
horned helm and her own face paint,
on his arm. He glared angrily at
Nigel as he answered.
They are right here.
The foremost man wore a whistle
around his neck. He was seventy if
a day, pale-skinned, balding and pot-
bellied. There were two others car-
rying flags, the first short,
olive-skinned and bearded, wearing
a ghutra on his head, and the second
a tall black fellow, bespectacled and
looking quite unhappy. The fourth
man, carrying an electronic time
clock, was Caucasian, with a cheer-
ful disposition and a thick mane of
wavy black hair. Gaspierre looked
particularly displeased by his pres-
ence.
Nigel snorted.
Youve got to be joking! Except for
the one carrying the clock, none of
them look like they could walk
around a moat, let alone keep up
with us for ninety minutes. Do they
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even know the rules?
Taylor spoke up from behind him.
If you took a survey most people
would say no. But theyre the ones
who run the mortal game. The ref-
eree is the FIFA President. Anyway,
for them this is merely a dream.
They are each actually in bed, sound
asleep.
They run the Game? Nigel sized
them up again.
Lord and Lady! This is a bigger job
than Id thought.
Manco cackled and the rotund ref-
eree blew his whistle, waving every-
one into position to start the match.
One moment! It was Otto. We
must have the anthem. If you please,
I have brought my delightful consort
to do the honours.
Collective groans came from all
sides. Ramona pretended not to hear
and cleared her throat as she waited
for everyone to stand guard. When
the two sides were lined up and quiet
she launched into an earsplitting aria,
of which Nigel could understand
nary a word.
He leaned toward Hamish and whis-
pered, Listen, mate. In all the ex-
citement, I didnt get a wager in. I
feel kind of cheated.
Hamishs countenance reddened
slightly as he stammered, Ah, yes...
well, you see... ah, um, well actu-
ally you do have a wager in. We
agreed it beforehand, in your ab-
sence.
Nigels eyes narrowed, and Hamish
began to look positively uncomfort-
able.
Well? Out with it, man! What have
you got me into?
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Cwm spoke up, on the far side of the
Scot. If we lose, you give up any
proprietary rights to the Game, any
authority over it, and agree to depart
from this plane for five millennia.
What? Im banished, and while Im
gone you lot are free to screw up my
Game? Sod that!
He took a step out of the line, intend-
ing to make straight for Manco.
Hamish grabbed him by the arm and
hissed, Its too late, mate. Oath has
been given. All you can do is abide
by it. If you break the pact, youll be
sent packing anyway.
Glaring at the two of them and furi-
ously fighting down his own rage,
Nigel finally ground his teeth and
muttered, Then wed best win, had-
nt we?
Ramona finished her performance
on a high note that threatened to
shatter the banks of lights ringing the
ground. It was debatable whether
the muted applause was in apprecia-
tion of her talents or the fact that the
audience had survived them without
any permanent damage to their
eardrums.
Nigel took up a position in the rear
of midfield. To his right was Espen
of Hollandia. He was well named, a
Dutch bear indeed, with his shock of
black hair, a thick beard and a mat of
curly fur covering his forearms and
legs. Not only that, he was as huge
as a bear, in the bargain. Nigel
hoped he was as agile as his name-
sake.
Behind him, the line was Home Na-
tions all the way, Cwm and Hamish
in the middle, Padraig on the right
and crafty little Declan on the left.
Paddy was actually better in central
defence, but the two Irish gods stub-
bornly refused to get any closer to
each other on the pitch.
In goal was Taylors husband, Todd.
Nigel frowned. Hadnt she said he
was a cheerleader?
She noticed his worried look and
called over to him. Todll be fine.
Hes allowed to use his hands and
hes very enthusiastic!
Nigel took another look. Todd was
smacking his hands together in their
giant keepers gloves, his head bob-
bing and neck veins throbbing as he
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pumped himself up. Nigel began to
worry about what he might be doing
for the next five thousand years. He
turned back towards Taylor and shegave him two thumbs up.
Well, Hamish and Cwm had their
work cut out. He had no reserva-
tions about the girl, though. If she
could handle the ball in a match the
way she did in Medellin, shed do
fine, and Hamish had gushed about
what Nancy could do in the box. All
Taylor needed to do was get the ball
to the little African.
On the wings were two familiar
faces, but Nigel couldnt put names
to them. He gestured to Hamish.
Theyre two of Emil the Turks
sons. Theyll do fine.
Nigel grunted.
The whistle blew and everyone
began to move.
The pace was quicker than he had
anticipated but Nigel adjusted imme-
diately. Manco was up front all
alone but Pierre and Gaston best
not to lump them together just now
were slotted in behind him. There
was a trio of Asians behind them in
the midfield, with Otto and Ivan, the
big Russian, anchoring the defence.
He couldnt make out who was in
goal, but the fellow had a massive
moustache, a pointed beard and a
huge turban. The full-backs were
strange faces as well.
Pierre and Gaston quickly began
working the ball back and forth
across the pitch, trying to open up
Hamish and Cwm and catch Nigel
and Espen out of position. Well,
Nigel was having none of that. TheGallic pair recycled possession well,
playing the ball back to whence it
came whenever someone crowded
them, but they also liked to work
with each other too often. More than
once, one of the Asians made a run
for a through ball, but every time it
ended up at the feet of a French god
on the halfway line instead.
About a quarter of an hour in, Nigel
found what he was looking for.
Gaspierre slotted a ball through
Espens legs, expecting the other
Gaspierre to slip into the empty
space. Nigel nipped in and got there
a second sooner, tapping the ball
quickly to Espen who was now in
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acres of space. The Dutchman
looked up and instantly spread it
right, into Taylors path, but a shrill
whistle broke up the counter attack.
Nigel turned to see a grimacing
French god rolling on the ground,
clutching a shin. What the hell?
Nigel hadnt even touched him. The
fat little bald man walked up and
flashed a yellow card in his face.
Nigel went ballistic.
Are you mad? I got the ball, not
him, you moron! What the?
Before he could get the rest out
Hamish and Cwm had corralled him,
and Taylor as well. Espen was doing
his best to calm the startled human
and keep Manco, Gaston and Pierre,
both on their feet now and looking
fresh as daisies, from egging the old
fellow into producing a red.
Calm down! Hamish urged.
But
Cwm cut him off this time. Getting
you sent off is just what they want,
you effing fool. Get your head out
of your arse or were done.
Nigel rounded on him but then got
hold of himself. Cwm was right.
Had to happen eventually. He didn't
put voice to the thought but it
brought a smile to his face and broke
the red haze in front of his eyes.
Right. Youre right. Sorry. Im
fine, now. Lets go.
Cwm stood stunned for a moment.
Then he actually smiled too, and
clapped Nigel on the back.
Lets do it!
Manco was impatiently standing
over the ball, eager to take the free
kick. The ref was having none of it,
however, and allowed Todd to set up
his wall. The Yank barked out orders
as though hed been doing it all his
life. Who the bloody hell was this
bloke? And what had he done with
Taylor's meek little hubby?
Nigel took his spot in the front line.
The wall leapt in unison as Manco
connected with the ball. On his re-
turn to earth, Nigel twisted to see the
result.
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The ball had curled above and
around the wall and was bending
right towards the angle of the goal.
Crap. At the last instant, however, ahuge gloved hand was there, and the
ball caromed harmlessly outside the
post. The save was followed by a tri-
umphant roar from the stoked Amer-
ican keepe. Well done, Todd!
Manco hurried over and lined up the
corner. Nigels group was well or-
ganized, though, and Hamish got a
head to the in-swinger. It ricocheted
directly to Nigel, who took one
touch to get it over to his fellow an-
chorman, Espen.
The big bear could move, the Brit
was glad to see. He slipped past one
half of Gaspierre, took another touch
and sent the ball to the centre circle.
Taylor locked onto it and moved into
the attacking half, drifting slightly to
the right. Out of the corner of her
eye she saw a shape dart behind twoothers, and she sent a low, perfectly
weighted ball between Ivan and
Otto.
Nancy streaked in from the opposite
side, just beat the charging keeper to
the ball, flitted past his flailing lunge
and toed the ball into the goal.
Nigel punched his fist in the air in ju-
bilation. One-nil! Five thousand
years, his arse!
The side quickly settled back, con-
tinuing to separate Gaston from
Pierre. Each time they won the ball
back, Manco screeched in frustra-
tion, while Espen moved the ball
from flank to flank, picking out
passes masterfully. Life was good.
Just before time, however, it turnedbad. Very bad.
After a sustained pummeling of the
opposing goal, during which they
couldnt seem to find the final touch,
Nigels side were caught napping.
Otto latched onto a loose pass and
sent the ball soaring down the pitch,
more in hope than expectation.
Manco was sharp, though. While his
markers hesitated, he raced onto the
clearance and side-footed past Todd
from the edge of the area to level the
score.
Before Nigels troops could regroup,
the ball was back down their end
again. Gaston and Pierre finally
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worked some space just outside the
area, combined with a neat one-two,
then slipped a ball into the six yard
box. It was an inch too far forManco. Nevertheless, as the ball
trundled out for a goal kick, the de-
vious Incan cleverly tripped himself
over Cwms trailing foot, collapsing
in a heap and wailing like a banshee.
The tubby official, twenty yards be-
hind play, pointed to the spot.
Manco dusted himself down and
calmly calmly sent Todd the wrong
way, placing the ball just inside the
other post. Manco danced through
the box, arms raised. Cackling
madly, he pointed to the dejected
keeper. You are too easy, Ameri-
cano!
In just a couple of minutes the game
had turned on its head. The half-
time whistle sounded and Nigel
jogged over to a despondent Todd.
Slipping an arm over Todds droop-
ing shoulders, Nigel squeezed hard
and said, Shrug it off, mate. Nei-
ther was your fault. Well get it
back.
But
But nothing, mate. Youre doing
fine. Forget whats happened andget your head back in the game. We
need you!
Todd looked up at Nigel. He smiled
like a newborn.
Right. You can count on me!
Good on ya!
Nigel turned to find Taylor beaming.
Blushing, he headed the other way to
confab with Hamish and Cwm.
After mulling it over for a bit, the
trio agreed that they were doing fine.
Both goals could be put down to in-
competent officiating, and there was-
nt much they could do about that.
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Theyd carry on as they were after
the restart, and if they couldnt find
their way back theyd think about
opening up and perhaps bringing ina fresh body. Nigel hoped it didnt
come to that, though. The pine was
filled with fresh-faced young
godlings who looked as though
theyd never even seen a battle, let
alone been in the thick of one.
The second half started slowly, bothsides wary of conceding a goal that
would drastically change the face of
the game. Mancos pack were sitting
back, soaking up pressure and look-
ing to hit on the counter. Nigel and
Espen were prepared though, track-
ing back to help cut off any service
to Manco and his French allies.
As the clock ticked down to the final
quarter of an hour, the scoreboard
still read 2-1. A deflected long shot
had resulted in a rare corner for the
opposition, and Pierre and Gastonworked it short to Manco, twenty
yards out. He was surprisingly
strong for his size. Managing to
shake both Hamish and Cwm, he
burst into the area. Only Todd, knees
knocking but gloves at the ready,
was between Manco and the game.
Nigel saw it all unfolding, but he
was just out of range to handle it
properly. There was nothing for it.
He was going to have to take Manco
down. And if he was, he might as
well get his moneys worth. Racing
in from behind, Nigel launched him-
self at the little Incan, raking his
sharp studs from thigh to ankle.
Manco went to the ground, scream-
ing. This time his pain was genuine.
A shrill whistle pierced the prostate
strikers groans and the crowdsjeers. An incensed tub of lard came
bounding over, whistle shrieking
with each breath and his hand fran-
tically waving a card as red as his
cheeks. Looking down at the still-
whimpering Manco, Nigel shook his
head.
Take it like a god, you little shit.
As he turned to head off the pitch, he
glanced at Todd. The American
looked pale and grim but he gave
Nigel a thumbs-up. The Brit
slumped against the corner of the
tunnel entrance and watched Manco,
recovered now, confidently step up
to the ball. The drug lord made a
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herky-jerky approach, hoping to de-
ceive Todd one more time and kill
off the match not to mention
Nigels career.
Absolutely full of himself, Manco
cheekily sent a soft shot right down
the middle. Todd, tensed for another
leap, showed amazing instincts and
stayed rooted to the spot, simply
kneeling to cradle the slowly rolling
ball into his arms.
A huge grin spread across his fea-
tures and he pointed back at Manco.
Who's easy now, Corto?
Manco's visage turned a deep purple.
Alone on the spot, stamping his feet
and screaming at the top of his lungs,
the tiny Incan looked the complete
fool
Even down a god, Taylor and the
lads were inspired by the save and
they rallied. Pierre and Gaston were
shackled by a reinvogorated midfieldpatrol of Espen and Taylor, and as
they could get no space or time on
the ball, Mancos supply dried up.
When a ball did make it through, his
fury had upset his timing. Still, the
sands of time were running down for
Nigel.
Then the game turned ugly.
Taylor, fed again by Espen, turned
on a sixpence and sprinted into
space. From either side, Pierre and
Gaston, who had dropped back into
midfield to see out the game, closed
on her. One gave her a hard shoulder
and the other slid in, cracking into
her ankle before nudging the ball
away. Taylor went down. She
stayed down. She hadnt made a
sound raising herself another notch
or two in Nigels eyes but he knewshe was finished.
Half of Nigels squad rushed to the
American goddess aid, waving for a
physio, while the rest restrained
Todd, eyes bulging and mouth froth-
ing, from getting his gloves on Pierre
and Gaston. The referee stood pa-tiently by, cards firmly in pocket and
hands on hips.
Nigel realised hed better think about
a sub. He didnt recognise any of the
gods on the bench; mostly sons of
old friends, he suspected. Their
wide eyes pleaded up at him, search-
ing for an indication of who should
go on.
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As he mulled over the unenviable
decision, the air beside him suddenly
crackled. A pasty-faced god with
raven hair and a hooked nose mate-rialised. He was kitted up and ready
to go. Meeting Nigels eyes with a
twinkling set of his own, his smile
exposed a row of yellow, crooked
teeth.
Hello, friend. Need some help?
Nigel threw his head back and
laughed. Sandor, you old bastard!
So what was you after all, you
scheming old squire. Ill be
damned!
Sandor nodded towards the pitch. I
was hoping to prevent that, he
replied.
Nigel extended an arm towards the
pitch. By all means.
At a nod from the fourth official, theHungarian trotted into the fray, clap-
ping for Taylor as the stretcher carted
her off, then briskly shaking hands
with Espen and Nancy. The little
African turned towards Nigel, his
everpresent smile replaced by a men-
acing glare. He lifted his hat off his
head and flung it over the touch line.It was time to get serious.
Pierre and Gaston were obviously
less than enchanted with this San-
dors admittance, and the pair loudly
harangued the referee. A thunder-
cloud crossed the elderly humans
round face, and his whistle fairly
roared as he shooed the two French
gods away with surprising authority.
Maybe this one had something in
him after all.
The match started up again and itsoon became evident that Espen and
Sandor had something of an under-
standing. They moved the ball be-
tween them with even more
telepathy than Pierre and Gaston, but
kept the others involved, too. De-
spite their godpower advantage, the
two Gallic deities and their mateswere now desperately on the back
foot. Otto and Ivan had a firm leash
on Nancy, however, and he didnt
look like breaking free again.
They had help, as well. The Arab
linesman, in the Ghufta, had begun
raising the offside flag every time
the little African looked like having
half a chance. Thankfully, the sour-
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faced fellow on the other side
seemed completely uninterested in
participating in his dream. He fol-
lowed the play up and down thetouchline, but his expression never
changed and his arm never left his
side.
Knowing they couldnt catch Manco
offside made Hamish and Cwms job
simpler, as one man-marked him and
the other swept in behind.
Espen and Sandor kept plugging
away in their attempts to find Nancy,
determined to fight for their red-
carded mate till the last. As the sta-
dium clock approached ninety
minutes, Nancy came to the top of
the box to collect an angled ball.
Marked by two defenders, instead of
turning back into the crowded area
he laid a return pass in front of San-
dor, who stepped into it with author-
ity. His low effort fizzed through
Ottos legs and thumped into the net,just inside the far post. The bearded
and turbaned keeper hadnt a prayer,
and the match was all square.
Nigel danced on the touchline glee-
fully.
Incensed, Manco, Pierre and Gastonredoubled their efforts and, as the
fourth official indicated seven min-
utes of injury time might as well
put up eternity, Nigel though they
descended on Todds goal. Hamish
and Cwm did their honest best but
the pressure was overwhelming and
efforts rained in.
Yet it didnt matter. Todd was a god
transformed; stinging shots were
parried left, right, tipped over the bar
or smothered. Crosses were
punched out and he screamed en-couragement at his line so loudly
that even Nigel, now pacing back
and forth in the six by four technical
area, could hear it over the raging
crowd.
At last, the whistle blew and twenty-
one gods stood on the pitch, stunned.The match was deadlocked and no-
one seemed quite sure what would
happen next. Pierre and Gaston
were lobbying for extra time, but
Hamish held firm.
We agreed on ninety minutes, me
froggies, and ninety minutes it is.
Nigel stays and, reluctantly, so does
Manco. He glared at the Incan.
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Count yourself lucky, mate.
Nigel strode up with a wicked grin
on his face but Manco chose discre-tion over valour, fading hastily out of
sight. Gaston and Pierre looked at
each other, then, in unison, at Nigel.
Merde, two voices snarled in har-
mony, and then they too were gone.
Otto walked up and offered his hand.Well played, he said, and he meant
it. I enjoyed myself. The woman
was quite good but I think Id rather
deal with her than that tricky cus-
tomer Sandor. See you next year?
Nigel smiled grudgingly, Maybe
sooner, mate.
As Otto took his leave, Nigel could
have sworn that Ramona offered him
a surreptitious wink. Nah. That was
just too much woman for him.
Turning to his teammates he put both
arms around a startled Sandor, plant-
ing a kiss firmly on the Hungarians
lips. Laughing merrily, he addressed
the rest.
Alright, who knows where theres a
decent pub in this burgh? Im buy-ing!
ISSUE ONE -- NIGEL #10 14 DOWNLOAD LATEST ISSUE >
LET THE GAME POUR DOWN FROM GODS ABOVE
This is an extract from Issue One of
Man and Ball magazine: Let Sleeping
Gods Lie.
This issue introduces Nigel and fea-
tures stories on German football
since reunification, African Arsenal
fans, an unsung Dutch legend, and
seven other intriguing articles.
It can be downloaded in its entirety
HERE >
http://manandball.com/#/download-pdf/4554959574http://manandball.com/#/download-pdf/4554959574http://manandball.com/#/download-pdf/4554959574http://manandball.com/#/download-pdf/4554959574