2026-09-09, 02:00 PM - Word count:
Nick was quiet after the game.
For the 90 plus minutes and the half-time talk, he had been near roaring with ferocious enthusiasm, applauding every good pass, commiserating every wayward ball and trying his upmost to lift the team around him.
In the showers and the changing room at the Thames Arena, the team were mourning the loss to Inter London and the stunting of another cup run before it had even started. How had they lost?
In the first 45 minutes they had peppered the London goal, with Nick and von Wolfe linking up neatly to finally slot one past the otherwise unstoppable Kakou in goal.
But the one goal lead never stood for long, and a more dominant London came back strong in the second half, and Kaap were now the ones on the back foot.
After the dust had settled, a jubilant Inter London team were the 4-2 winners and the Thames Arena erupted. The freshly relegated side relishing an opportunity to get one over their formal Division One rivals and the result felt like a slap in the face.
He hadn’t done badly at all – it was no longer his rookie season and his confidence had slowly been growing. The midfield partnership with Felix Pedro was solid, and the link up play going forwards was getting more and more natural. His corner routines were becoming more threatening, too.
That all said, he felt somehow responsible for the ball going into the wrong goals tonight – somehow even more so than if he had had a bad night. His efforts to bring the team up with him had been loud but ineffective.
He showered alone and for a little longer than usual, hoping to be the last one out of the changing room and into the drizzly London air that he had once called home.
________
The team were staying the night in London, so Nick had some time to kill in his old city.
He considered who to see – some of his old friends were surely at the game, and a fair few still kept in touch and wished him luck before games. They were all Inter London fans, though, and it was unlikely that it’d be super wise for him to be seen around them after the game. Some had already accused him of trying to force London to draft him and questioned his loyalty.
His parents were season ticket holders – or were. He headed South, following his feet as he headed to the river. He tried calling his Mum’s mobile phone and there was no answer.
Hesitating, he tried his Dad’s phone instead. Same deal – it just rung and rung and rung. His parents were old, a little deaf and rarely heard their phones ringing at the best of times.
Concerned, but not surprised, he continued his journey, deciding to take a more scenic route. He was close to Oxford Street now – could divert through Soho and towards Charing Cross. It was raining a little but he didn’t fancy getting the tube tonight, especially when he was in central.
Walking past the various pubs and clubs he felt a small urge to drop in and enjoy being a tourist in a place he used to call home, but he already had a destination in mind and hadn’t realised it until then.
It was a little walk across the river now, and then along the South Bank, past the London Eye and County Hall. There used to be a bus stop around here somewhere. The 90+ minutes of football were starting to take their strain – he’d also been walking for nearly an hour and the adrenaline had worn off. His plans were adapting to a quiet night.
The BL1 bus came along and he took a seat on the top deck. The grime and the bright lights were all so familiar to him – this bus felt so familiar. He felt himself relax fully, perhaps for the first time since this crazy football career had taken him so far from this place.
He checked his phone – a couple of messages from friends to check in, a picture of von Wolfe, Okada and some other in an Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse (Nick would tell me them later this was probably NOT the authentic London experience they were hoping for) – but neither of his parents had called him back. And they were still not answering.
Hey Mum, heading to you guys now – you’re probably already back from the match. See you soon! Nick x
Send.
Some 20-odd minutes later he was on the pavements in Lewisham, instinctively pulling up his hood and dropping his head. If he was going to be recognised anywhere…
He swung the small garden gate that was barely hanging onto its hinges and strode towards the door in 3 steps – his childhood home that felt like an absolute lifetime away. After the game, he even managed a smile as he imagined his old bedroom.
He rang the doorbell, only then noticing the lights were still off all over the house. It had been a couple of hours since the game finished. Had they gone to bed? Surely they would have replied.
He rang his Mum’s phone again and once again the robotic voice told him to leave a message:
“Hey Mum, its Nick, I’m just at the house but not sure where you guys are? Thought I could crash for the night but we need to get Heathrow first thing… you know what. I’ll just head back to the team hotel, think my toothbrush and charger are there. Anyway. See you!”
He takes one last look at the house he grew up in and disappears into the night.
For the 90 plus minutes and the half-time talk, he had been near roaring with ferocious enthusiasm, applauding every good pass, commiserating every wayward ball and trying his upmost to lift the team around him.
In the showers and the changing room at the Thames Arena, the team were mourning the loss to Inter London and the stunting of another cup run before it had even started. How had they lost?
In the first 45 minutes they had peppered the London goal, with Nick and von Wolfe linking up neatly to finally slot one past the otherwise unstoppable Kakou in goal.
But the one goal lead never stood for long, and a more dominant London came back strong in the second half, and Kaap were now the ones on the back foot.
After the dust had settled, a jubilant Inter London team were the 4-2 winners and the Thames Arena erupted. The freshly relegated side relishing an opportunity to get one over their formal Division One rivals and the result felt like a slap in the face.
He hadn’t done badly at all – it was no longer his rookie season and his confidence had slowly been growing. The midfield partnership with Felix Pedro was solid, and the link up play going forwards was getting more and more natural. His corner routines were becoming more threatening, too.
That all said, he felt somehow responsible for the ball going into the wrong goals tonight – somehow even more so than if he had had a bad night. His efforts to bring the team up with him had been loud but ineffective.
He showered alone and for a little longer than usual, hoping to be the last one out of the changing room and into the drizzly London air that he had once called home.
________
The team were staying the night in London, so Nick had some time to kill in his old city.
He considered who to see – some of his old friends were surely at the game, and a fair few still kept in touch and wished him luck before games. They were all Inter London fans, though, and it was unlikely that it’d be super wise for him to be seen around them after the game. Some had already accused him of trying to force London to draft him and questioned his loyalty.
His parents were season ticket holders – or were. He headed South, following his feet as he headed to the river. He tried calling his Mum’s mobile phone and there was no answer.
Hesitating, he tried his Dad’s phone instead. Same deal – it just rung and rung and rung. His parents were old, a little deaf and rarely heard their phones ringing at the best of times.
Concerned, but not surprised, he continued his journey, deciding to take a more scenic route. He was close to Oxford Street now – could divert through Soho and towards Charing Cross. It was raining a little but he didn’t fancy getting the tube tonight, especially when he was in central.
Walking past the various pubs and clubs he felt a small urge to drop in and enjoy being a tourist in a place he used to call home, but he already had a destination in mind and hadn’t realised it until then.
It was a little walk across the river now, and then along the South Bank, past the London Eye and County Hall. There used to be a bus stop around here somewhere. The 90+ minutes of football were starting to take their strain – he’d also been walking for nearly an hour and the adrenaline had worn off. His plans were adapting to a quiet night.
The BL1 bus came along and he took a seat on the top deck. The grime and the bright lights were all so familiar to him – this bus felt so familiar. He felt himself relax fully, perhaps for the first time since this crazy football career had taken him so far from this place.
He checked his phone – a couple of messages from friends to check in, a picture of von Wolfe, Okada and some other in an Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse (Nick would tell me them later this was probably NOT the authentic London experience they were hoping for) – but neither of his parents had called him back. And they were still not answering.
Hey Mum, heading to you guys now – you’re probably already back from the match. See you soon! Nick x
Send.
Some 20-odd minutes later he was on the pavements in Lewisham, instinctively pulling up his hood and dropping his head. If he was going to be recognised anywhere…
He swung the small garden gate that was barely hanging onto its hinges and strode towards the door in 3 steps – his childhood home that felt like an absolute lifetime away. After the game, he even managed a smile as he imagined his old bedroom.
He rang the doorbell, only then noticing the lights were still off all over the house. It had been a couple of hours since the game finished. Had they gone to bed? Surely they would have replied.
He rang his Mum’s phone again and once again the robotic voice told him to leave a message:
“Hey Mum, its Nick, I’m just at the house but not sure where you guys are? Thought I could crash for the night but we need to get Heathrow first thing… you know what. I’ll just head back to the team hotel, think my toothbrush and charger are there. Anyway. See you!”
He takes one last look at the house he grew up in and disappears into the night.
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