On and off the Pitch

by Acologic

Chapter III – Out with the New and in with the Old

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On and off the Pitch
by Acologic

3.

Out with the New and in with the Old

***

Celestia woke early the next morning, as was her custom, and after raising the sun, she tried to whip up a meal. It was prudent, she reasoned, to display a firmer dedication to the project than Luna, Joachim or anypony else, not merely to consolidate outwardly her persona as the leader but to ensure she continued to fulfil such a role capably. She wasn’t here simply to chase desirable impressions, helpful though they were. This was a chance again to prove to the populace, and to herself, that she remained dedicated, competent and hard-working. If that involved catering for her own guards, then so be it. She wasn’t lazy or thoughtless as the press made out. Duffy, who had gone into town, had said she could help herself to whatever there was in the kitchen – there wasn’t a lot. Once she’d sliced and buttered a couple of stale loaves with her magic, she roused Joachim and gave him his breakfast alongside the task of serving the team theirs in bed. Satisfied with her handiwork, she retired to the living room, where Luna, who had slept badly, was sat.

‘Morning,’ said Luna, yawning as Celestia placed their plates on Duffy’s tiny dining table. ‘How’s the – hey!’ She flinched at a mock blow from Celestia’s clipboard.

‘Wide awake now, are we?’ said Celestia, grinning. ‘Good. We’ve much to do.’ She sat down beside her and rapped the clipboard sharply. ‘Tactics, Luna, tactics.’

They spent the next hour and a half discussing just that.

‘I thought we said we’d play him at the back.’

‘No, I want him to hold up play.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

‘Entirely sure.’

Luna questioned; Celestia answered. Luna suggested; Celestia rejected. Luna sighed; Celestia denied.

‘My tactics are unshakeable!’ said Celestia eventually, stung. She had studied hoofball harder than any of them, for if a coach were to accompany her, even only to advise, then credit for any subsequent achievement of the team’s would be not only split but rendered significantly less glamorous, thereby defeating its purpose. ‘Unshakeable, Luna, do you hear? They will not be slighted or defamed!’

‘All right, all right!’

The field hadn’t changed much overnight, wet, muddy and cold; but Celestia smiled as the first rays of her oncoming sunshine breached the lingering cloud. Joachim was stretching thirty yards away, against the cottage gate. She walked over to him. ‘Your Highness,’ he said, bowing his head as she approached.

‘Everypony’s awake?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Joachim, ‘and grateful for their food, Your Highness.’

She snorted. ‘Yes, well. Let’s see how they feel after training on this.’

The morning skipped into afternoon as the team practised lightly their passing, shooting (they marked the goal using tent posts) and decision-making under pressure. Duffy came back. He had brought them mountains of salad for lunch, and shortly after they ate, the team went for a jog, leaving Celestia and Luna behind to finalise their tactics. On the roadside, a stone’s throw from their encampment, ponies wearing matching tangerine jackets trooped by, pointing and laughing at the tents. Celestia recognised the colours from the programme: these were the Vanhoover Vandals. Rendered pink in the face, she hitched up a smile and flagged them down all the same. The coaches were less derisive. The pitches, they confirmed, were ten minutes’ walk from Duffy’s field, abreast of the main road. It was half-past one; kick-off was at three. ‘Plenty of time,’ she muttered to herself. Duffy shuffled through the cottage door, sandwich in hoof.

‘Didn’t see no ghosts, then?’ he asked once the Vandals had passed.

‘Of course not,’ said Celestia tartly. ‘Ghosts aren’t real.’

Duffy shrugged and, tucking into his egg-and-cress, didn’t bother to argue the point.

Still contemplating her starting eleven, Celestia had Luna stand in front of one of the tents, at which she began taking shots. ‘Oh yes,’ she said as Luna tipped the ball away with a wing. ‘Yes, that’s a fine save! You’re tip-top between the sticks, Luna, I must say!’

‘Thanks!’ said Luna, beaming as she got to her hooves, covered in mud. As soon as the team got back, Celestia had them practise penalties. Luna saved quite a few, but Whirlwind scored all his kicks.

‘Excellent!’ said Celestia as the team patted the latter on the back. ‘Excellent! Well done indeed!’

They knocked off one final passing drill, then did some stretching while Celestia imparted to them their game plan.

‘There will be no foolish ball-punting or silly simulations in this match,’ she told them clearly. ‘Anypony caught not giving it their all will be substituted, then dropped. You have been warned.’ She glanced down at her clipboard. ‘The team is as follows: In goals, Luna. The defence. Bouncer and Sky Scraper. In midfield –’

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Luna. ‘That’s only two defenders! I thought we were –’

‘I’m speaking, Luna!’

Luna groaned. ‘Stick to what we agreed, Sister, please...’

Celestia ignored her. ‘We will play,’ she continued, ‘in a two-three-two-three formation. I flatly refuse to imitate the artless systems of today. Four-four-two is for amateurs!’

‘We are amateurs!’ said Luna hotly.

Again, Celestia ignored her. ‘As such, Bouncer and Sky Scraper will be our full-backs – good, old-fashioned full-backs who pull their weight, not prissy little popinjays who skip up and down the touchline.’ She tapped the clipboard. ‘The midfield. I shall play centre half-back. On my left, Whirlwind. On my right, Pot Luck. Our job is to win the ball swiftly, then pick out a teammate. You’ll pass either to me, the inside forwards or Solar. When our opponents have possession, we drop back. Understood?’

Whirlwind and Pot Luck nodded.

‘Solar, you’re our centre-forward. I want to see you in the hole. Hold up play when you can, and if our wingers are crossing, make sure you’re at the near post.’

Solar nodded.

‘Good, excellent. Flash, Cash – you’re the wingers. Low, whipped crosses, if you please – head height at worst. That leaves Beamer and Moonweight, who’ll play in front of the midfield. Support the others, make runs and if you’re going for goal, don’t hesitate – hesitation is the harbinger of defeat.’

Celestia tossed the clipboard at Joachim, who caught it instinctively.

‘Joachim,’ she said, ‘you’re holding the bandages.’

---

Celestia blinked happily up at the sun. There wasn’t a cloud left in sight. Admittedly, the pitches were as sodden as Duffy’s field, but that, she was sure, they could deal with.

‘You’ve outdone yourself today, Sister,’ said Luna, shielding her eyes as she too peered skywards.

‘Hmph,’ said Celestia. ‘Let’s hope the pegasi don’t ruin it for us. Right, you lot!’ she snapped. ‘To the changing rooms!’

The changing rooms were fusty and looked as though they hadn’t ever been properly cleaned. Clumps of dried mud littered nooks and crannies behind benches, and tufts of crumpled grass flickered listlessly in the draught. Puffing, Joachim dropped the kit bag in the middle of the floor.

‘Now,’ said Celestia firmly, ‘before we get changed, I must ask you this. Do any of you have a lucky number?’

The team said nothing.

‘Let’s try that again. Do any of you have a lucky number?’

‘I do,’ muttered Pot Luck.

‘Pray tell.’

‘Um... it’s thirty-nine.’

‘Right! Kit number thirty-nine for Pot Luck! Quickly, Joachim, quickly!’

Joachim smiled perfunctorily and said, ‘Your Highness, we have only twenty sets. There is no kit number thirty-nine.’

Celestia gasped. Luna rolled her eyes. ‘Sister, please –’

‘If there is no number thirty-nine, then we shall make one!’ exclaimed Celestia. ‘The kits, Joachim! Give them to me!’ Celestia unzipped the bag and rummaged feverishly through its contents. She pulled out kit number nine, which was still in its packaging, and tore open the seal. ‘A pen, Joachim! A pen!’

Joachim pulled one from his saddle bag and handed it to her. Luna shook her head and sighed as Celestia drew neatly a large number three to the left of the nine on both the shirt and the shorts.

‘There!’

She threw the kit to Pot Luck, who caught it, grinning.

‘Anypony else have a lucky number?’ she called.

‘Oh no,’ said the team together.

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Oh yes,’ chorused the team.

‘Good. Everypony get changed.’

‘Was that really necessary?’ asked Luna a couple of minutes later, as they strode onto the pitch.

‘Entirely necessary. A pony’s superstitions must be considered and respected. Only then can we coax out every last droplet of sweat they possess.’

‘Is that really something we want?’

‘Unquestionably. Sweat is a universal indicator of hard work. The more a pony sweats, the harder they’re working. In fact, I shall have Joachim inspect our kits after the match. He’ll find out who’s been working and who hasn’t!’

Their opponents – the Griffonstone Giants, who were garbed in a violent red – were warming up. Celestia watched as their lumbering striker whacked a shot over the bar.

‘Typical of amateurs, that,’ she remarked loftily. ‘No control. Do you hear that, you lot? I want composure!’

The team acknowledged her with a half-hearted ‘Right!’.

‘Excuse me?’ snapped Celestia, firing up at once.

This time they compensated with a response loud enough that a couple of the griffons stopped their practising to stare. Celestia smirked and said in a low voice to Luna, ‘We’ll crush them into the dust.’ Luna grimaced, pulling on her gloves. The referee blew his whistle.

‘Captains!’ he called, beckoning Celestia over. ‘Over here, please!’

Celestia won the toss. She bumped her hoof against the Giants’ captain’s claw. ‘Good luck,’ he said with a smile that fell short of his eyes.

‘You’re going down,’ said Celestia excitedly. ‘Solar! We’ve got the kick-off! Heads up! Eyes open! Give them no time on the ball!’ she called. ‘Come on, people, let’s win this!’

The team answered her approvingly. Celestia smiled; they were getting better. She cast her eyes over, for want of a better word, the crowd, composed wholly of substitutes, reserves, coaches and Joachim. Her smile slipped. It was hardly the turnout she’d hoped it would be. Still, there was plenty of time to change that. Today, on this pitch, she, Luna and her ever-loyal guard would announce to Equestria the unique set of qualities they possessed – and would remind the country that such qualities were implicit in success of every kind. The work came first; the rewards would come later.

‘Let’s give ’em hell, boys!’ shouted the Giants’ captain, abandoning any pretence of sportsmanship.

‘Ready?’ said the referee. The whistle sounded. Solar passed the ball to Whirlwind.

They were off.