Editing - taking words and polishing them until they paint a world
STAYING LOST
The crowds, who moments before had been shouting and dancing, froze. Then they began moving in unison; zombie-like they shuffled forward. Supporting the team. Supporting each other. A wall of black and red, the supporters leaned forward – closer – drawn towards the spot where he stood. Hands gripped at their scarves, imprisoning them so they could no longer whip around faces or away.
Jon smiled, it would take more than scarves to disturb him and spoil his aim. Nothing would be allowed to interrupt his preparations. He loosened his shoulders, swinging his arms. He began to pace backwards in a carefully controlled curve. Once he reached the place – the only square of grass that contained the exact spot to being his run up from – Jon held up his linked fists, and eyed the shot with care.
Along the line of his arms he saw the two men hurrying down from the castle keep – the main building of Tudor School. Jon recognised the Head Teacher, Mr Gray, even he was on his way to the rugby pitch. The second man was a little shorter than the headmaster. He looked vaguely familiar too. Jon couldn’t wait for either of them to get down to the field. Time was running out.
Jon blew out his breath, steady and controlled. Leaning into the heel of his back foot, he rocked a little as he prepared for his run up. His concentration was complete now. His eye was on the line, invisible to everyone else, that the ball must follow so he could make the kick successfully. Everything he had been taught to do was second nature. The seam on the ball was the most important thing in his universe at that moment.
Wrong shaped ball, but supporters are supporters no matter what the sport.
Football is my sport - I've been to over half the football grounds of England, Wales and Scotland. Maybe I should try to complete the list?
Go Man Utd - a good day for the Red Devils. I'm glad Scholes scored.
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