Spot Kick

I stood at the lounge window, looking out to the north and the vista of London in the distance. I was in my apartment, on the thirtieth floor of a high-rise block in Croydon. Up until recently, I had been a reasonably famous player in the sweet game known as football, or, as some others know it, soccer - the world game.

I was now at a crossroads in my life, brought about by a wayward knee, and my future had looked bleak. There were, of course, the two loving arms that encircled me, and the waft of her perfume. They made everything better.

She whispered, “Stop over-thinking it, Gnat, you still have a lot to give, and a lot of life to do it in. This isn’t the end of the world, just the beginning of the next phase. I’m here to help, for as long as it takes.”

I turned to her and held her close as we kissed. I was so blessed with having Rita in my life. I suppose that this is the point where I tell you how this sweet moment came about.

My life began in a hospital in Glasgow. I grew up on the Island of Islay, in the Inner Hebrides. I was christened Iacob Steaphan Angus MacDonald, a good name for a young man from a good Clan. My given name was pronounced Jacob and I became known as Jake. We had been here on Islay for so many years much of the history was oral. Islay, the village, was never very big, and everyone went to the one primary school. I didn’t do too badly at lessons but my claim to fame was my prowess on a football pitch.

I was left-footed and naturally gravitated towards the left wing. I was small, for my age, but lightning fast on my feet. In my last year there, we qualified for the interschool final, which we won with a header from one of my pin-point crosses from the left wing. My parents were approached to let me try out with one of the Glasgow Junior teams but my mother was adamant. I was going to France, to live with her brother, Iain, in Cherbourg. I would be attending high school there as they were certain that I would be better off away from the bleak Isles.

So, a week into the summer holiday, I said goodbye to my father, my family, and my friends, to go with my mother on an adventure to France. As I had hardly ever been off Islay, it was all a wonderful change. I never thought that it would be many years before I saw the island, and my parents, again

We travelled by train down through England and finished in Portsmouth, where we boarded a cross channel ferry, directly to the port of Cherbourg. By that time, my brain was being overloaded with new sights and smells. Even the Channel smelt different to the waters around Islay. When I asked my mother about it, she told me that it was because of all the rubbish it had in it.

We went ashore in Cherbourg to meet my Uncle Iain. He was a ruddy-faced and jovial man with a bushy moustache who I liked immediately. My mother stayed with us for a week before getting back onto the ferry. I think that it recharged her batteries to be with her brother. I found out later that he had gone to sea some twenty years before, and hadn’t been home since.

He gave me a fast introduction to the French language as I helped him in his chandlers shop, and I was almost able to hold my own when I went to the high school on the first day. That was a wake-up as I needed to become fluent if I was to get through. When we came to the Physical Exercise lesson, I was pleased that they had soccer. We had enough boys to make two teams and it was wonderful, playing my game again. My team won, four nil, mainly due to my work on the left wing.

By the time I was in my second year, I was a fixture on the left wing and playing in the school team. That year, we won the local inter-school championship and our coach, an old-timer who had a great memory, thought I was as fast and skilful as Stanley Matthews, someone I’d never heard of. He remarked that he wanted to call me Stan as a nickname but, because Stan was a right wing player and I was a left wing, he would call me Nats, instead.

By the time I was in my final year, I had been in a championship winning school team twice. My nickname had been translated into French, as Boucharon, or Gnat, but I was often just Boochie. I was scouted by AS Cherbourg and played in their reserves while still at school. I got to play in the ‘A’ side a few times, in the Ligue Three.

In that year, a scout from SM Caen saw me play and I was offered a place in their team, on a trial, and was also offered a place at the University de Caen, Normandy, depending on my final exams.

I played with Stade Malherbe Caen for four years as we held our own in Ligue Two, just missing out in the final after I had been tackled so fiercely that I had to be subbed out. That year was good on several tiers. I graduated with a degree in Physical Education. I got a girlfriend, and I got contacted by a scout from Paris FC.

That team was at the centre of things, now in Ligue Two, it had been up and down in Ligue One, was once merged with the great Saint Germaine team to create the PSG we know today. That didn’t work out so they went back to being simply Paris FC with their own ground. The move to Paris had a couple of downsides, the first being that my girlfriend didn’t want to come with me, while the second was that my Uncle couldn’t come and see me play as often as he used to.

I had a great time in Paris. They paid me enough for me to buy an apartment close to the ground, and I could get a bigger car. In Caen I had been getting about in an old 2CV but now found a nice Citroen DS that I grew to love. In my time with Paris FC I made a lot of friends, even though I was not a socialiser. The club liked my work ethic and my knowledge of physical education. I was put in charge of the training sessions for the junior teams. I had a couple of girlfriends but they never stayed long. Probably put off by the fact that I didn’t splash my cash around on drink and drugs.

I was twenty-five when my agent organised a trade to Crystal Palace, to play at Selshurst Park, in London. Paris FC gained a couple of all-rounders out of it. That was a huge move on many fronts. The first thing was to regain my English, which I did, but with a French/Scots accent. The second was the large increase in salary. I had been on a good wage in France but the wages paid by EPL teams was enough to make your eyes water.

I had a few weeks of the off-season to get settled. I sold my DS to a collector and closed up the apartment. In London, I found a nearly new apartment to lease in a tower block on George Street, Croydon. It was close to the soccer ground, but far enough away for me to feel that I had left the job behind in the evenings. I leased a small Audi A2 because of the limited space on the roads and made myself known at the club.

Before we played our first game of the season, I was helping to coach the junior teams and the new intake of young players. I had no reputation in the UK so it was hard, sometimes, to make sure they knew who was boss in those sessions. My home was close to a big fitness centre and opposite the Box Park shops, where I could go and eat. The tower had lots of amenities, even its own gym, so I was well provided for.

One morning, after a work-out, I went over to the Box Park for a meal at the Breakfast Club. While looking at the menu, I noticed a striking young lady in a nurses’ uniform. I couldn’t help but admire her. She got her breakfast and went off to a table. I got mine and sat at another table. I made it a habit, after that, to have breakfast at the same place, as much as I could. Eventually, I was standing in front of her to order, when I noticed a big crowd of schoolkids coming in.

I turned and said, “Looks like the tables are going to fill quickly. I’ll buy your meal if you nip over and save a table for us.”

She smiled, “Love the approach, mine is a full English with a cup of tea and you’re on.”

I nodded as I noted her own accent. It was pure highlands brogue with a tinge of having lived in the south for some time.

When I carried the tray over to the table she had saved for us, I put hers in front of her and bowed, slightly. “Madam, I’m Iacob and I’ll be your server today.”

She laughed, “I expect that you’re not called that often. I’m Deoridh but everyone calls me Rita.”

“You’re right, there. When I was younger, they called me Jake. Now, especially in France, they call me Gnat. That hasn’t taken on, so far, in London. I only got here a few weeks ago. How about you?”

“I’ve been here a while. I learned nursing in Edinburgh but wanted to see the world. I got a job at the Croydon University Hospital, working nights. That’s why you’ve seen me here, having a good meal on my way home.”

“Surely you could get something to eat at the hospital, before leaving, can’t you?”

“You have to be joking! We call it ‘the hospital diet plan.’ Anyone who spends lots of time in the wards ends up losing weight by sending most of the meals back. We have a piggery in Surrey that takes our waste food and I think they sell it on to others in the area.”

“Remind me never to spend time in your ward. It would be nice, though, if you came around every night to tuck me in.”

“A bit forward, I think. You must be a pop star or a politician to have those sorts of lines so early in the morning.”

“No, neither of those, I’m afraid. I play football, and will be in the local team next season. I’ve only just got here after nearly fifteen years in France, which is the reason for my odd accent. Yours sound like it could be highland?”

“Yes, I’m a Campbell.”

I smiled, “That destroys any chance we have of being a couple. I’m a MacDonald.”

“A couple? Now I know that you’ve been doing too many headers. It’s addled your brain.”

“I don’t do headers. I do the cross from the wing for others to do the headers.”

We finished our breakfast and stood.

“Thank you for the breakfast, you smooth talking Gnat. Perhaps we can sit together again. I have enjoyed our conversation.”

I gave her a slight bow, “Madam, your humble server will be happy to see you again.”

We carried on, in a similar vein, for a few weeks. When she was at a table, she would beckon me over. When I was there first, she would join me. I asked her to go with me on a date. I had been given tickets to a show in the city. To my surprise, she accepted.

I had an Uber to go and pick her up at her home, a little south of me, and we had a lovely night in the city. I took her to the show and then we had supper, before the Uber took us back to her place. She asked me in, so I paid the driver and we went up to her serviced apartment. I stayed the night. It was a good job she was patient with me because it took forever to do the manly thing, one of the reasons other girls couldn’t stay with me.

In the morning, she gave me a kiss and told me that it was all right to be slow getting to my ejaculation. She had learned all about such things in nursing and I had certainly pleased her, several times, before I had cum. Being Sunday, I asked her if she would like to spend the day with me and she said that it would be nice.

I dressed while she showered and dressed, and then I called an Uber to take us to my apartment. When we got there, she was staggered by the place, especially the view. She sat by the window while I showered and dressed and then we went down to the car-park where we got into the Audi. We spent the day in Oxford. I confessed to not having seen much of England and she admitted that she was the same. We then spent many a Sunday, exploring the sights and sampling food in various towns.

By the time the season started, she was living with me, in my apartment. She had obtained a few pills which helped our sex life, and she had taught me ways in which I could give her satisfaction if the pills didn’t work.

That season, I earned my money on the pitch. I was used to playing more than once a week and it was only a problem when we played in FA Cup games as well. I did my party tricks on the left wing and, by the middle of that season guys were coming up to me when I was out, to ask me for my autograph. There was often a request for a selfie, and, more often than not, Rita was asked to stand on the other side.

The team held its own that year, moving from the lower ranks towards the middle of the league. We got to the semi-finals of the FA Cup and everyone was happy. I did whatever was asked of me when it came to socialising and Rita was constantly by my side, her shifts allowing.

I stayed true to my roots, not rushing off to buy a country mansion or collect a bevy of blondes, like most of the guys I played alongside. I saved my money, but lived a good life. I always thought it was funny whenever we came out of the ground after a training session. My Audi wasn’t that big but it was easy to see in the car park, as it was taller than most of the other vehicles. I could never understand why you would spend close to a million pounds on a car that would do three times the speed limit, but carry less than my old 2CV. Some of the other players had a garage with several of these things.

Over the course of the season, the junior teams I helped coach did pretty well. The club was kind enough to give me a bonus for my input. When we got to summer, I cajoled Rita in coming north with me, to show our parents that a Campbell and MacDonald could be friends.

We loaded the Audi and went to her home first. I was greeted with politeness but no warmth. We then went, via ferry, to Islay, where I was greeted with a lot of hugs and kisses. My folks were more accepting of Rita. They said that the past was the past.

We spent a week on Islay before making our way to London and Rita heading back to work. I had to go to work with the new intake of juniors so my days were filled. During those times we were only together in the couple of hours before her shift, and the couple of hours when she came home in the early morning.

The following season we made it into the upper echelon of the EPL. We got knocked out of the FA Cup a couple of rounds earlier than the previous year, but we were beaten by the team that went on to win it, so that was not so bad. That summer, we packed our cases and took the Eurostar to Paris, where I had the apartment cleaned and provisioned before we arrived.

Rita was entranced by Paris. I took her around and showed her the sights. I bought her some Paris labelled fashions, introduced her to the friends from Paris FC, and hired a car to go down to Cherbourg to introduce her to my Uncle Iain.

We were welcomed like royalty. He had organised a dinner with a lot of the kids I had gone to school with, and had played football with. There were also some from the AS Cherbourg team. It was quite a night and there was a bit of dancing at the end. Rita was amazed at the reception I had received, as was I. I never realised that I was held in that sort of regard.

The following season we did well enough to worry the usual top teams. We got knocked out of the FA Cup, again in the semi-final, and ended up sixth in the league. The big push, for the following year, was to get into the top four, and so play in the Championship League against the other top European teams, in the year after that.

In the summer after that, Rita and I married. We had a low-key wedding with just a few close friends. My parents came down but hers didn’t. We spent our honeymoon in Paris, at the apartment. Rita was slowly picking up the language and could go out shopping on her own, if she wanted to.

The following season was exciting. The team was the best I had ever played with and we won more times than we lost, or drew. It was five games before the end of the season when the game that ended my career was played. We were a goal down with twenty minutes to play and the ball was passed to me as I waited on the left wing. I looked up to see what awaited me as I ran forward.

It was a local derby and the back line of our opposition was noted for their size and their willingness to use it. I headed for the corner and made my cross as their full-back bore down on me. I was at full stretch when it felt as if I had been hit by a train. I felt myself fly and then I hit the ground on my back and everything went dark.

The next time I woke up, Rita was sitting by the bed, holding my hand. When I opened my eyes and made a noise, she had tears in her eyes as she carefully hugged me. She then told me that she had to call the doctor to check me out.

The doctor came in and checked that I was able to count the fingers he held up, follow a moving finger by swivelling my eyes, and answer a lot of questions about my history and the world around me. It came clear, to me, that I was not just here for a check-over after being hit.

They left it to Rita to tell me that I had been in an induced coma for nearly a month.

“Darling, Gnat,” she said, “I had to make some decisions on your behalf after they took you to hospital. After they transferred you here to the Croydon University, there were a number of things that came to light. The main thing was that you had hit the ground so hard that they had to operate on your spine to fuse some joints. You were very lucky that you didn’t actually break the spine, or else you would be spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair. As it is, you will need some weeks to get to walk easily again.”

“So, my career is finished?”

“I’m sorry, darling. Yes, your playing days as the Gnat are over. The club has already played a benefit match for you and your contract will be paid up to the end date, seeing that it’s due for negotiation in a couple of months.”

“So, why was I kept under for so long?”

“That was also from your landing. You developed a lot of fluid on the brain. They had to drill your skull to create a drain. That was close to three weeks before you had stabilised enough. For the rest of it, I’ve been asked to not tell you any more until the psychiatrist can talk to you.”

“OK. How did the team go?”

“Well, your cross was headed in. I think it was in the back of the net before you landed. That game ended in a draw. The player that tackled you was sent off and also fined for his tackle. As far as the rest of the season goes, the manager told the team that they should play the rest of the season in your honour. They ended fourth and play in Europe next year.”

“Wow, and I won’t be there to play. That’s a lot to take in.”

She reached up and turned a tap on the drip and it wasn’t long before I was asleep again.

The next morning I was visited by the trick-cyclist. He put a laptop on the table that went over the bed.

“OK, Gnat, I wish we could have met under different circumstances. What I have here is video from the game, supplied by the TV station. Now, this first bit is from the camera following the ball.”

The video showed me collecting the cross and making my way down the left wing. I could easily see the big guy bearing down on me and reaching me as I made the cross. Then our striker put the ball in the net and they all jumped up and down, before coming over to where I lay there. The paramedics were called and I was stretchered off.

“Now, I’m going to show you some video from another camera.”

I watched closely as I approached the camera and then gasped as I saw the full-back hit me at full run, obviously intending for me not to finish the game. The bit that made me gulp was that I was at full stretch as his knee connected with my crotch and it was this that put me into the air. I winced as I saw myself hit the ground a couple of seconds later.

“Gnat, I’m sorry to tell you this, but it was that connection with his knee that is the reason I’m talking to you now, and not a doctor. That contact, and the way you were stretched when it happened, damaged your genitals so badly that they needed to operate. Before they did, X-Rays were taken and it was discovered that you had testicular cancer, no doubt the cause of your problems in the past. Rita has been very open with your history.”

“So, you took them both?”

“Yes, I’m afraid they had to. The pictures also showed that you had the beginnings of prostate cancer as well, so the surgeons did what they had to with that. Luckily, it hadn’t gone anywhere else.”

“I suspect that there’s more?”

“Yes, there is. Because of how you were stretched, and the severity of the blow, it ruptured your penis. Rita gave her permission to do more surgery. That reconstructed your groin into one that now resembles a vagina. There’s a catheter in there at the moment, but when that’s removed, you’ll need to sit to urinate for the rest of your life. I’m sorry to lay this all on you in one hit, but knowing where you stand will allow you to plan the rest of your life.”

“What will that be, then, now I’m a eunuch?”

“You’re not a eunuch, Gnat. You look like any other woman down there. You just don’t have the rest of the female equipment that goes with it. You will never produce testosterone again, so your muscle mass won’t change. It’s quite likely that your body will start producing small amounts of estrogen, giving you smoother skin and better hair. Rita has assured us that she will be beside you, whatever you decide.”

With that, he packed up his gear and left me to consider my future. Over the next few days, Rita and I discussed what we should do, and our decision brought me to where I started this story. She was by my side as I had further operations, as I learned how to conduct myself as the new me. She urged me to be the best I could, something that took the best part of a year to complete.

So, here we are, today. I took a last look out of the window to the city vista. The apartment had been good but the lease finished today. The Audi had gone back to the lease company months ago and all the bigger stuff had gone off, by road. Rita had encouraged me to contact old friends, and it had created my new future.

Today, we are about to take a taxi to the station, to get on the Eurostar, heading for Paris. There, Rita and Jaqueline MacDonald would be going to the Paris apartment. I was looking forward to some good dress shopping before I started my new career as the Head Coach of the Paris FC/ Jurisy womens’ team, playing in Coupe de France, Feminine.

We made sure we looked good, checked our lipstick, grinned at each other as we picked up our overnight bags and handbags, before closing the door for the last time and going to the elevator. We held hands and looked at ourselves in the big mirror as we descended to the ground floor and our exciting new future.

Marianne Gregory © 2022