Suddenly the crowd roared as the ball burst free from the mass of players in front of him and a the opposition players ran on, the lumbering two metre tall Indian amongst them sprinting clear.
Seeing little other choice, he broke his marking and ran towards the giant, hoping his team would cover for him as he looked to pose a challenge to the hulking monster before he would receive the ball.
The opposition player eyed him for a moment as he ran up, then broke out in toothy grin and shoved. He stumbled along for a few metres, trying to keep his balance before he fell to the ground, making the mistake of sticking his hand out as he did so.
The pain shot up his arm, and he felt his wrist turn and immerse itself in fire. He desperately tried to pull himself to his feet as the fire spread, only to collapse to the ground again as he instinctively tried to use his injured limb to prop himself up as the ball was played in.
A chorus of shouts rose from the crowd as his team booted ball clear, high and far and he struggled to his feet. He looked around. The referee did not blow his whistle and play went on.
Football really was a contact sport. And unfair one too.
Labels: stories
