Give Him Wings

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Give Him Wings

“You must be as old as Barry Rass in the Crosby Arms.”
“D’you mean the old’un who sits in the corner of the bar?”
“Yeah, old Barry Rass.”
“Rass my arse!”
“He’s young in his head mate – you should go talk with him.”

Reaching for his beer at his fortieth birthday ‘celebrations’ - which were becoming less and less of an occasion – David thought again about his career. He knew he was losing pace and his slow relegation to right-back from defensive midfielder from his original position on the wing should have told him that his time, and his legs was running out and, well, he should have expected to get a ribbing from team mates. OK, so twenty-two years at the same club in the lower leagues had made him a bit of local legend, and the money had been good, but time was against him. Just one more season, perhaps.
“Dave, mate,” he remembered the quiet words from the manager, Andy, “when are you going to join me on the coaching staff?” The words still hurt even though they’d be said on a number of occasions over the past few years. “Surely you must find the training getting harder? With your experience, the younger players will look up to you”.
“Just one more season, boss – I’m still feeling good.”

It wasn’t as if anything had happened on his fortieth or that he’d made any special promises to himself about that last season he’d just committed to on paper (with no promises of either getting in the team or even a testimonial – it was a sympathy contract!), but something did happen during the first few days back training in the following August.
“Have you been training extra over the break Dave?” Brian the physio looked serious as he asked the question just as David was leaving.
“No, why.”
“Err, nothing really – see you tomorrow.”

“Andy, do you want to take a look at this?” The two of them pored over the stats of that week’s squad testing.
“That old dog has been putting in extra.”
“Nah, he says he hasn’t.”
“I’m not convinced yet – let’s see how he gets on over the next three weeks – there’s a long way to go before the season starts proper.”

But something had happened. Every test of speed, endurance, flexibility undertaken by David was showing repeated improvements – over and above previous seasons. They watched him from the side and talked about him after sessions; the club captain was soon knocking on Andy’s door.
“What’s going on guv’, he’s strippin everyone – no one can get near him at the moment.”
“Dead cat bounce mate – I’ve seen it before – he’ll not make the start of the season at this rate.”

“Why aren’t I in the squad for Saturday boss.”
“Sorry, mate – last season you were a shoe-in on the right – but you’ve seen the old man at the moment – he’s on fire.”

Christmas came and went. The three games over the holiday period were always hard and the boss had to be careful with some of the youngsters who never knew how to pace themselves and always drank and ate too much. The same couldn’t be said for David, though.

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