Let the Game Pour Down From Gods Above

8/3/2019 Let the Game Pour Down From Gods Above

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ISSUE ONE -- NIGEL #10 1 DOWNLOAD LATEST ISSUE >

Nigel bounced up and down in the

dark, his nerves on edge. How can

you get twenty-two gods together for

a football match, not to mention

countless others in the stands to

watch, then let the stadium lights go

out? Frankly, it was embarrassing.

Hed grab the ball and piss off if

there werent so much at stake.

Eventually there was a series of loud

clicks, followed by an intense hum,

and the pitch was bathed in light

once again. Players immediately

latched onto balls and began running

through drills.

Nigel took a moment to soak in the

surroundings. The Monumental cer-

tainly had been named well. The

stands rose up steeply on all sides

and the gods in paying attendance

Let The Game Pour Down From

Gods Above

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were already in full song, rooting on

their chosen side.

Nigel caught sight of Hamish com-

ing back onto the field, wiping his

hands with a rag and looking about

sheepishly.

Sorry bout that. A drunken satyr

spilled some mead on the wiring.

All sorted now.

Nigel nodded and, noticing a spot of

grease on Hamishs cheek, made a

mirroring gesture on his own.

Got a bit on yer face, mate.

Huh? Oh, cheers!

Hamish wiped at his cheek with two

fingers, leaving behind a much big-

ger smudge than before. Nigel

grinned.

No, mate. Other cheek.

Hamish left a matching trail on the

opposite side.

That got it?

Nigel shook his head.

Missed a bit.

Another smudge appeared just as

Nancy jogged up. His feathered felt

hat was still atop his head

Thats got it.

Thanks.

No worries.

Nancy took in the exchange, looked

at Hamishs warpaint, his grin

widening, and elbowed Nigel in the

ribs. The Brit bit his tongue to keep

a straight face.

Looking at Nancy's hat, Nigel asked,

"Don't you ever take that ugly thing

off?"

Nancy let out a guttural laugh.

"Only when I get serious, my

friend," he replied. "Besides, the

women love it."

Nigel barked at that and played at

trying to snatch the headgear away.

Manco strutted up, wearing the arm-

band for his side. Gaston and Pierre,


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3/14

still topped with berets and dragging

on cheap cigarettes, accompanied

him. Even up close, it was impossi-

ble to tell them apart, but Padraig

claimed he had it on good authority

that they werent twins. Not even re-

lated, he said.

Are we ready? Manco sneered.

Hamish slipped on his armband and

nodded in the affirmative. Manco

looked momentarily confused by the

black marks on the Scots face, but

decided to ignore them.

All sides ave agreed upon the

stakes, non? One of either Gaston

or Pierre spoke up.

Trying to decide which it was could

give a god a headache. Nigel de-

cided that from now on whichever

one spoke, he would think of him as

Gaspierre.

Hamish reassured the French duo

that everyone had agreed to all per-

tinent wagers.

Nigel looked about. Where are the

officials? No way are this lot going

to work on the honour system.

Otto materialised in full kit and

boots, four startled men in tow and

with Ramona, replete in armour,

horned helm and her own face paint,

on his arm. He glared angrily at

Nigel as he answered.

They are right here.

The foremost man wore a whistle

around his neck. He was seventy if

a day, pale-skinned, balding and pot-

bellied. There were two others car-

rying flags, the first short,

olive-skinned and bearded, wearing

a ghutra on his head, and the second

a tall black fellow, bespectacled and

looking quite unhappy. The fourth

man, carrying an electronic time

clock, was Caucasian, with a cheer-

ful disposition and a thick mane of

wavy black hair. Gaspierre looked

particularly displeased by his pres-

ence.

Nigel snorted.

Youve got to be joking! Except for

the one carrying the clock, none of

them look like they could walk

around a moat, let alone keep up

with us for ninety minutes. Do they




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even know the rules?

Taylor spoke up from behind him.

If you took a survey most people

would say no. But theyre the ones

who run the mortal game. The ref-

eree is the FIFA President. Anyway,

for them this is merely a dream.

They are each actually in bed, sound

asleep.

They run the Game? Nigel sized

them up again.

Lord and Lady! This is a bigger job

than Id thought.

Manco cackled and the rotund ref-

eree blew his whistle, waving every-

one into position to start the match.

One moment! It was Otto. We

must have the anthem. If you please,

I have brought my delightful consort

to do the honours.

Collective groans came from all

sides. Ramona pretended not to hear

and cleared her throat as she waited

for everyone to stand guard. When

the two sides were lined up and quiet

she launched into an earsplitting aria,

of which Nigel could understand

nary a word.

He leaned toward Hamish and whis-

pered, Listen, mate. In all the ex-

citement, I didnt get a wager in. I

feel kind of cheated.

Hamishs countenance reddened

slightly as he stammered, Ah, yes...

well, you see... ah, um, well actu-

ally you do have a wager in. We

agreed it beforehand, in your ab-

sence.

Nigels eyes narrowed, and Hamish

began to look positively uncomfort-

able.

Well? Out with it, man! What have

you got me into?




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Cwm spoke up, on the far side of the

Scot. If we lose, you give up any

proprietary rights to the Game, any

authority over it, and agree to depart

from this plane for five millennia.

What? Im banished, and while Im

gone you lot are free to screw up my

Game? Sod that!

He took a step out of the line, intend-

ing to make straight for Manco.

Hamish grabbed him by the arm and

hissed, Its too late, mate. Oath has

been given. All you can do is abide

by it. If you break the pact, youll be

sent packing anyway.

Glaring at the two of them and furi-

ously fighting down his own rage,

Nigel finally ground his teeth and

muttered, Then wed best win, had-

nt we?

Ramona finished her performance

on a high note that threatened to

shatter the banks of lights ringing the

ground. It was debatable whether

the muted applause was in apprecia-

tion of her talents or the fact that the

audience had survived them without

any permanent damage to their

eardrums.

Nigel took up a position in the rear

of midfield. To his right was Espen

of Hollandia. He was well named, a

Dutch bear indeed, with his shock of

black hair, a thick beard and a mat of

curly fur covering his forearms and

legs. Not only that, he was as huge

as a bear, in the bargain. Nigel

hoped he was as agile as his name-

sake.

Behind him, the line was Home Na-

tions all the way, Cwm and Hamish

in the middle, Padraig on the right

and crafty little Declan on the left.

Paddy was actually better in central

defence, but the two Irish gods stub-

bornly refused to get any closer to

each other on the pitch.

In goal was Taylors husband, Todd.

Nigel frowned. Hadnt she said he

was a cheerleader?

She noticed his worried look and

called over to him. Todll be fine.

Hes allowed to use his hands and

hes very enthusiastic!

Nigel took another look. Todd was

smacking his hands together in their

giant keepers gloves, his head bob-

bing and neck veins throbbing as he




6/14

pumped himself up. Nigel began to

worry about what he might be doing

for the next five thousand years. He

turned back towards Taylor and shegave him two thumbs up.

Well, Hamish and Cwm had their

work cut out. He had no reserva-

tions about the girl, though. If she

could handle the ball in a match the

way she did in Medellin, shed do

fine, and Hamish had gushed about

what Nancy could do in the box. All

Taylor needed to do was get the ball

to the little African.

On the wings were two familiar

faces, but Nigel couldnt put names

to them. He gestured to Hamish.

Theyre two of Emil the Turks

sons. Theyll do fine.

Nigel grunted.

The whistle blew and everyone

began to move.

The pace was quicker than he had

anticipated but Nigel adjusted imme-

diately. Manco was up front all

alone but Pierre and Gaston best

not to lump them together just now

were slotted in behind him. There

was a trio of Asians behind them in

the midfield, with Otto and Ivan, the

big Russian, anchoring the defence.

He couldnt make out who was in

goal, but the fellow had a massive

moustache, a pointed beard and a

huge turban. The full-backs were

strange faces as well.

Pierre and Gaston quickly began

working the ball back and forth

across the pitch, trying to open up

Hamish and Cwm and catch Nigel

and Espen out of position. Well,

Nigel was having none of that. TheGallic pair recycled possession well,

playing the ball back to whence it

came whenever someone crowded

them, but they also liked to work

with each other too often. More than

once, one of the Asians made a run

for a through ball, but every time it

ended up at the feet of a French god

on the halfway line instead.

About a quarter of an hour in, Nigel

found what he was looking for.

Gaspierre slotted a ball through

Espens legs, expecting the other

Gaspierre to slip into the empty

space. Nigel nipped in and got there

a second sooner, tapping the ball

quickly to Espen who was now in




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acres of space. The Dutchman

looked up and instantly spread it

right, into Taylors path, but a shrill

whistle broke up the counter attack.

Nigel turned to see a grimacing

French god rolling on the ground,

clutching a shin. What the hell?

Nigel hadnt even touched him. The

fat little bald man walked up and

flashed a yellow card in his face.

Nigel went ballistic.

Are you mad? I got the ball, not

him, you moron! What the?

Before he could get the rest out

Hamish and Cwm had corralled him,

and Taylor as well. Espen was doing

his best to calm the startled human

and keep Manco, Gaston and Pierre,

both on their feet now and looking

fresh as daisies, from egging the old

fellow into producing a red.

Calm down! Hamish urged.

But

Cwm cut him off this time. Getting

you sent off is just what they want,

you effing fool. Get your head out

of your arse or were done.

Nigel rounded on him but then got

hold of himself. Cwm was right.

Had to happen eventually. He didn't

put voice to the thought but it

brought a smile to his face and broke

the red haze in front of his eyes.

Right. Youre right. Sorry. Im

fine, now. Lets go.

Cwm stood stunned for a moment.

Then he actually smiled too, and

clapped Nigel on the back.

Lets do it!

Manco was impatiently standing

over the ball, eager to take the free

kick. The ref was having none of it,

however, and allowed Todd to set up

his wall. The Yank barked out orders

as though hed been doing it all his

life. Who the bloody hell was this

bloke? And what had he done with

Taylor's meek little hubby?

Nigel took his spot in the front line.

The wall leapt in unison as Manco

connected with the ball. On his re-

turn to earth, Nigel twisted to see the

result.




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The ball had curled above and

around the wall and was bending

right towards the angle of the goal.

Crap. At the last instant, however, ahuge gloved hand was there, and the

ball caromed harmlessly outside the

post. The save was followed by a tri-

umphant roar from the stoked Amer-

ican keepe. Well done, Todd!

Manco hurried over and lined up the

corner. Nigels group was well or-

ganized, though, and Hamish got a

head to the in-swinger. It ricocheted

directly to Nigel, who took one

touch to get it over to his fellow an-

chorman, Espen.

The big bear could move, the Brit

was glad to see. He slipped past one

half of Gaspierre, took another touch

and sent the ball to the centre circle.

Taylor locked onto it and moved into

the attacking half, drifting slightly to

the right. Out of the corner of her

eye she saw a shape dart behind twoothers, and she sent a low, perfectly

weighted ball between Ivan and

Otto.

Nancy streaked in from the opposite

side, just beat the charging keeper to

the ball, flitted past his flailing lunge

and toed the ball into the goal.

Nigel punched his fist in the air in ju-

bilation. One-nil! Five thousand

years, his arse!

The side quickly settled back, con-

tinuing to separate Gaston from

Pierre. Each time they won the ball

back, Manco screeched in frustra-

tion, while Espen moved the ball

from flank to flank, picking out

passes masterfully. Life was good.

Just before time, however, it turnedbad. Very bad.

After a sustained pummeling of the

opposing goal, during which they

couldnt seem to find the final touch,

Nigels side were caught napping.

Otto latched onto a loose pass and

sent the ball soaring down the pitch,

more in hope than expectation.

Manco was sharp, though. While his

markers hesitated, he raced onto the

clearance and side-footed past Todd

from the edge of the area to level the

score.

Before Nigels troops could regroup,

the ball was back down their end

again. Gaston and Pierre finally




9/14

worked some space just outside the

area, combined with a neat one-two,

then slipped a ball into the six yard

box. It was an inch too far forManco. Nevertheless, as the ball

trundled out for a goal kick, the de-

vious Incan cleverly tripped himself

over Cwms trailing foot, collapsing

in a heap and wailing like a banshee.

The tubby official, twenty yards be-

hind play, pointed to the spot.

Manco dusted himself down and

calmly calmly sent Todd the wrong

way, placing the ball just inside the

other post. Manco danced through

the box, arms raised. Cackling

madly, he pointed to the dejected

keeper. You are too easy, Ameri-

cano!

In just a couple of minutes the game

had turned on its head. The half-

time whistle sounded and Nigel

jogged over to a despondent Todd.

Slipping an arm over Todds droop-

ing shoulders, Nigel squeezed hard

and said, Shrug it off, mate. Nei-

ther was your fault. Well get it

back.

But

But nothing, mate. Youre doing

fine. Forget whats happened andget your head back in the game. We

need you!

Todd looked up at Nigel. He smiled

like a newborn.

Right. You can count on me!

Good on ya!

Nigel turned to find Taylor beaming.

Blushing, he headed the other way to

confab with Hamish and Cwm.

After mulling it over for a bit, the

trio agreed that they were doing fine.

Both goals could be put down to in-

competent officiating, and there was-

nt much they could do about that.




10/14

Theyd carry on as they were after

the restart, and if they couldnt find

their way back theyd think about

opening up and perhaps bringing ina fresh body. Nigel hoped it didnt

come to that, though. The pine was

filled with fresh-faced young

godlings who looked as though

theyd never even seen a battle, let

alone been in the thick of one.

The second half started slowly, bothsides wary of conceding a goal that

would drastically change the face of

the game. Mancos pack were sitting

back, soaking up pressure and look-

ing to hit on the counter. Nigel and

Espen were prepared though, track-

ing back to help cut off any service

to Manco and his French allies.

As the clock ticked down to the final

quarter of an hour, the scoreboard

still read 2-1. A deflected long shot

had resulted in a rare corner for the

opposition, and Pierre and Gastonworked it short to Manco, twenty

yards out. He was surprisingly

strong for his size. Managing to

shake both Hamish and Cwm, he

burst into the area. Only Todd, knees

knocking but gloves at the ready,

was between Manco and the game.

Nigel saw it all unfolding, but he

was just out of range to handle it

properly. There was nothing for it.

He was going to have to take Manco

down. And if he was, he might as

well get his moneys worth. Racing

in from behind, Nigel launched him-

self at the little Incan, raking his

sharp studs from thigh to ankle.

Manco went to the ground, scream-

ing. This time his pain was genuine.

A shrill whistle pierced the prostate

strikers groans and the crowdsjeers. An incensed tub of lard came

bounding over, whistle shrieking

with each breath and his hand fran-

tically waving a card as red as his

cheeks. Looking down at the still-

whimpering Manco, Nigel shook his

head.

Take it like a god, you little shit.

As he turned to head off the pitch, he

glanced at Todd. The American

looked pale and grim but he gave

Nigel a thumbs-up. The Brit

slumped against the corner of the

tunnel entrance and watched Manco,

recovered now, confidently step up

to the ball. The drug lord made a




11/14

herky-jerky approach, hoping to de-

ceive Todd one more time and kill

off the match not to mention

Nigels career.

Absolutely full of himself, Manco

cheekily sent a soft shot right down

the middle. Todd, tensed for another

leap, showed amazing instincts and

stayed rooted to the spot, simply

kneeling to cradle the slowly rolling

ball into his arms.

A huge grin spread across his fea-

tures and he pointed back at Manco.

Who's easy now, Corto?

Manco's visage turned a deep purple.

Alone on the spot, stamping his feet

and screaming at the top of his lungs,

the tiny Incan looked the complete

fool

Even down a god, Taylor and the

lads were inspired by the save and

they rallied. Pierre and Gaston were

shackled by a reinvogorated midfieldpatrol of Espen and Taylor, and as

they could get no space or time on

the ball, Mancos supply dried up.

When a ball did make it through, his

fury had upset his timing. Still, the

sands of time were running down for

Nigel.

Then the game turned ugly.

Taylor, fed again by Espen, turned

on a sixpence and sprinted into

space. From either side, Pierre and

Gaston, who had dropped back into

midfield to see out the game, closed

on her. One gave her a hard shoulder

and the other slid in, cracking into

her ankle before nudging the ball

away. Taylor went down. She

stayed down. She hadnt made a

sound raising herself another notch

or two in Nigels eyes but he knewshe was finished.

Half of Nigels squad rushed to the

American goddess aid, waving for a

physio, while the rest restrained

Todd, eyes bulging and mouth froth-

ing, from getting his gloves on Pierre

and Gaston. The referee stood pa-tiently by, cards firmly in pocket and

hands on hips.

Nigel realised hed better think about

a sub. He didnt recognise any of the

gods on the bench; mostly sons of

old friends, he suspected. Their

wide eyes pleaded up at him, search-

ing for an indication of who should

go on.




12/14

As he mulled over the unenviable

decision, the air beside him suddenly

crackled. A pasty-faced god with

raven hair and a hooked nose mate-rialised. He was kitted up and ready

to go. Meeting Nigels eyes with a

twinkling set of his own, his smile

exposed a row of yellow, crooked

teeth.

Hello, friend. Need some help?

Nigel threw his head back and

laughed. Sandor, you old bastard!

So what was you after all, you

scheming old squire. Ill be

damned!

Sandor nodded towards the pitch. I

was hoping to prevent that, he

replied.

Nigel extended an arm towards the

pitch. By all means.

At a nod from the fourth official, theHungarian trotted into the fray, clap-

ping for Taylor as the stretcher carted

her off, then briskly shaking hands

with Espen and Nancy. The little

African turned towards Nigel, his

everpresent smile replaced by a men-

acing glare. He lifted his hat off his

head and flung it over the touch line.It was time to get serious.

Pierre and Gaston were obviously

less than enchanted with this San-

dors admittance, and the pair loudly

harangued the referee. A thunder-

cloud crossed the elderly humans

round face, and his whistle fairly

roared as he shooed the two French

gods away with surprising authority.

Maybe this one had something in

him after all.

The match started up again and itsoon became evident that Espen and

Sandor had something of an under-

standing. They moved the ball be-

tween them with even more

telepathy than Pierre and Gaston, but

kept the others involved, too. De-

spite their godpower advantage, the

two Gallic deities and their mateswere now desperately on the back

foot. Otto and Ivan had a firm leash

on Nancy, however, and he didnt

look like breaking free again.

They had help, as well. The Arab

linesman, in the Ghufta, had begun

raising the offside flag every time

the little African looked like having

half a chance. Thankfully, the sour-




13/14

faced fellow on the other side

seemed completely uninterested in

participating in his dream. He fol-

lowed the play up and down thetouchline, but his expression never

changed and his arm never left his

side.

Knowing they couldnt catch Manco

offside made Hamish and Cwms job

simpler, as one man-marked him and

the other swept in behind.

Espen and Sandor kept plugging

away in their attempts to find Nancy,

determined to fight for their red-

carded mate till the last. As the sta-

dium clock approached ninety

minutes, Nancy came to the top of

the box to collect an angled ball.

Marked by two defenders, instead of

turning back into the crowded area

he laid a return pass in front of San-

dor, who stepped into it with author-

ity. His low effort fizzed through

Ottos legs and thumped into the net,just inside the far post. The bearded

and turbaned keeper hadnt a prayer,

and the match was all square.

Nigel danced on the touchline glee-

fully.

Incensed, Manco, Pierre and Gastonredoubled their efforts and, as the

fourth official indicated seven min-

utes of injury time might as well

put up eternity, Nigel though they

descended on Todds goal. Hamish

and Cwm did their honest best but

the pressure was overwhelming and

efforts rained in.

Yet it didnt matter. Todd was a god

transformed; stinging shots were

parried left, right, tipped over the bar

or smothered. Crosses were

punched out and he screamed en-couragement at his line so loudly

that even Nigel, now pacing back

and forth in the six by four technical

area, could hear it over the raging

crowd.

At last, the whistle blew and twenty-

one gods stood on the pitch, stunned.The match was deadlocked and no-

one seemed quite sure what would

happen next. Pierre and Gaston

were lobbying for extra time, but

Hamish held firm.

We agreed on ninety minutes, me

froggies, and ninety minutes it is.

Nigel stays and, reluctantly, so does

Manco. He glared at the Incan.




14/14

Count yourself lucky, mate.

Nigel strode up with a wicked grin

on his face but Manco chose discre-tion over valour, fading hastily out of

sight. Gaston and Pierre looked at

each other, then, in unison, at Nigel.

Merde, two voices snarled in har-

mony, and then they too were gone.

Otto walked up and offered his hand.Well played, he said, and he meant

it. I enjoyed myself. The woman

was quite good but I think Id rather

deal with her than that tricky cus-

tomer Sandor. See you next year?

Nigel smiled grudgingly, Maybe

sooner, mate.

As Otto took his leave, Nigel could

have sworn that Ramona offered him

a surreptitious wink. Nah. That was

just too much woman for him.

Turning to his teammates he put both

arms around a startled Sandor, plant-

ing a kiss firmly on the Hungarians

lips. Laughing merrily, he addressed

the rest.

Alright, who knows where theres a

decent pub in this burgh? Im buy-ing!



This is an extract from Issue One of

Man and Ball magazine: Let Sleeping

Gods Lie.

This issue introduces Nigel and fea-

tures stories on German football

since reunification, African Arsenal

fans, an unsung Dutch legend, and

seven other intriguing articles.

It can be downloaded in its entirety

HERE >
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Let the Game Pour Down From Gods Above