‘Yeah, but I’m tryin’ to learn with all of this goin’ on.’

‘Well, at least you nearly did it. We haven’t lost yet and it’s still only thefirst half.’

When play was resumed, according to the editor of the Times: A certain amountof backbone had been retrieved by the men in pointy hats and captain Nobbs leda concerted attack in an attempt to further interfere with Charlie Barton’slunch, but to the dismay of all, the son of Dave Likely still appeared to haveonly a nodding acquaintance with the art of goal scoring and it appeared verymuch that his only chance of putting one away would be to have the ball wrappedup and sent via the Post Office. And then, to the shock of all, the occultgang appeared to prove that they were far better at billiards than footballwhen another of Likely’s powerful, but directionless, attempts rebounded againoff the goal on to the head of Professor Rincewind, who was, in fact, runningin the opposite direction, and was in the back of the goal before anyone,including Charlie, knew where it was. This got a cheer, but only because thegame now appeared, in our opinion, to be a comedy routine. Alas, there was nocomedy about the fact that in several parts of the Hippo, fights were breakingout between gangs of rival supporters, doubtless inspired by some of theshameful performances on the pitch…

As the two sides trooped or hobbled back to their places, the referee calledthe captains together. ‘Gentlemen, I’m not quite sure what we are doing here,but I am quite certain that it’s not exactly football and I look forward to theinquiry later on. In the meantime, before anyone else is injured and especiallybefore the crowd start to tear this place apart and eat one another, I willtell you that the next goal scored will be the last one, even though we arestill only in the first half.’ He looked meaningfully at Hoggett and said, ‘Isincerely hope that some players will examine their consciences. If I may coina phrase, gentlemen, it’s sudden death either way. I will give you a fewminutes to impress this upon your teams.’

‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Hoggett, looking around, ‘some of my lads are notpeople I would have chosen, if you get my drift. I’ll give them a good talkingto.’

‘In my opinion that would only work if you were hitting them with a hammer atthe same time, Mister Hoggett. They are a disgrace. And do you also understandme, Mister Nobbs?’

‘I think we’d like to carry on, too. Never say die.’

‘And I would not like to see death here, either, but I suspect that yourrequest for extra time is in the hope that Mister Likely will learn how to playfootball, but I fear that will not happen in a month of Sundays.’

‘Well, yes, sir, but can’t you—’ Hoggett began.

‘Mister Hoggett, I have spoken and I am the referee and right now I am thenearest thing to the gods.’

I am the nearest thing to the gods. It came back as an echo. Softer. Brighter.He looked around, ‘What? Did you chaps say something?’ Nearest thing to thegods. There was a sound like gloing! But the ball was still in his hands,wasn’t it? He stared at it. And was it just him, or was there something in theair? Something… in the air… the silveryness of fine winter days.

Trev did an embarrassingly jiggly little run on the spot as he waited. When helooked up, there was Andy Shank watching him.

‘Your dear old dad must be ’aving a fit,’ said Andy cheerfully.

‘I know you, Andy,’ said Trev wearily, ‘I know what you do. You corner somepoor tosser and taunt ’im until ’e loses ’is rag and so ’e starts it, doesn’t’e? I’m not risin’ to it, Andy.’

‘Not risin’ to anythin’ very much, are you?’

‘Not listenin’, Andy,’ said Trev.

‘Oh, I reckon you are.’

Trev sighed again. ‘I’ve been watchin’ you. You and your chums are bloodymasters at stickin’ the boot in when the ref ain’t lookin’ and what ’e don’tsee ’e can’t do nothin’ about.’

Andy lowered his voice. ‘Well, I can do something about you, Trev. You won’t bewalking out of this place, I swear it. You’ll be carried out.’

There was the sound of the whistle, followed by the unstoppable ‘ANY BOY WHOHAS NOT BROUGHT HIS KIT WILL PLAY IN HIS PANTS!’

‘Sudden death,’ the former Dean said and the sides collided, Andy emerging withthe ball at his feet and his dishonour guard flanking him at either side.

Ponder Stibbons, in the path of their advance, calculated quite a lot of thingsvery quickly, such as speed, wind direction and the likelihood of beingphysically trodden into the turf. He made an effort at any rate, but ended upflat on his back after the collision. As the editor of the Times put it: inthis scene of despair, dismay and disarray, one lone defender, Nutt, stood inthe way of United’s winning goal…

There was a roar immediately behind Nutt. He daren’t look round, but someonelanded on top of the goal, making it shake, dropped down and indicated by meansof one huge and horny thumb that Mr Nutt’s assistance was no longer required.There was a green crust around the Librarian’s mouth, but this was nothing tothe fire in his eyes.

At this point, according to the editor of the Times: Seemingly nonplussed bythe return of the wizards’ famous man of the forest, Shank essayed anotherattempt at the winning score, which was stopped one-handed by the Librarian andeffortlessly thrown back into United’s turf. With everything to play for, itseemed to us that every man on the pitch was chasing the ball as if they were apack of boys, scuffling in the gutter for the traditional tin can. However, MrNobbs, who we are assured is no relation, was able to make some space to givethe unlucky Mr Likely another attempt at following in his father’s footsteps,which he failed to do by the width, from our estimation, of about half of oneinch and the ball was snatched up by Big Boy Barton who then collapsed,choking, having stuffed, we understand, a considerable amount of pie into hisface to keep his hands free.

‘It shouldn’t be like this,’ said Glenda, and the thought echoed back in herhead: It shouldn’t be like this. ‘Trev has to win, it can’t go any other way.’And her voice came back again; could you get echoes in your own head? They weregoing to lose, weren’t they? They were going to lose because Andy knew how tobreak the rules.

The rules.

I am the rules.

She looked around, but apart from the doctor and his groaning or, in Ridcully’scase, cursing charges, there was no one near her apart from Juliet who waswatching the game with her normal, faint smile.

‘Good heavens. All he needs is to get only one goal,’ said Glenda aloud.

I am the goal, said the quiet voice from nowhere.

‘Did you hear that?’ said Glenda.

‘Wot?’ said Juliet. She turned and Glenda could see that she was crying.‘Trev’s going to lose.’

I am the ball.

This time it had come from her pocket, and she pulled out Trev’s tin can.

As Doctor Lawn gave a groan and hurried back up the pitch towards the chokingCharlie (as the Times later put it), she followed him and caught up with MrNobbs. ‘If you ever want a cup of tea and a piece of cake again in your life,Mr Nobbs, you kick the ball towards me. You will know where I am, because Iwill be screaming and acting silly. Do what I say, okay?’

Do what she says, okay? he heard her voice echo. ‘And what will you do, throwit back?’

‘Something like that,’ said Glenda.

‘And what good is this going to do?’

‘It’s going to win you the match, that’s what. Can you remember rule 202?’

She left him wondering and then hurried along to Mrs Whitlow and thecheerleaders who, right now, had nothing to cheer about. ‘I think we shouldgive the boys a really good display at this time,’ she suggested. ‘Don’t youagree, Juliet?’

Juliet, who had been dutifully following her said, ‘Yes, Glenda.’