When Princess Celestia realises her subjects see her as a joke, she responds with the ultimate PR stunt: she plays hoofball. A muddy campsite, a local hoodoo and herself might just get in the way of a clean sweep.
Princesses Celestia and Luna's popularity ratings are at an all-time low, with most Equestrian citizens deeming the pair amusing but incompetent and eager to distance themselves even further from the dissatisfied populace.
Determined to raise herself in said ponies' estimations, Celestia announces that she and Luna will participate in the Annual Amateur Hoofball League, a small-time sporting event hosted in rural Equestria. Unbeknown to her, the tournament plays host to more than teams, and one local hoodoo could ruin everything.
Roughly 30% of this story involves the playing of hoofball and uses terminology with which you may not be familiar. The following association football terms/idioms appear in the text. You may wish to refer to this list, where they are briefly defined.
Between the goalposts – (when used idiomatically) playing in the position of goalkeeper
Build-up play – the phase of play during which the team in possession attempts to create a scoring chance against an organised defence
Byline – the part of the goal line to either side of the goal
Centre-forward – an attacker who plays centrally; one who is typically expected to contribute to a team's build-up play
Final third – the third of the field in which a team's attackers are typically situated and where most if not all attempts to score occur; the attacking third
Four-four-two – a formation comprising two lines of four players in front of which two strikers play; a popular amateur formation due to its ubiquity and relative simplicity
Full-back – a defensive player on the wing; historically a player of the last line of defence playing centrally
Goal kick – a free kick taken by the defending side from within their goal area after attackers send the ball over the byline
Half-back – an obsolete midfield position; a player in front of the full-backs and behind the attackers in a two-three-two-three formation
Hold-up play – an attacker retaining possession of the ball to delay (hold up) play, allowing teammates to advance further up the field
Inside forward – historically an attacker positioned near the centre of the field
Offside trap – a manoeuvre in which players in the defending team push upfield in order to put one or more opposing players into an offside position
Penalty area – the rectangular area marked out in front of each goal, within which a foul by a defender involves the award of a penalty kick and outside which the goalkeeper is not allowed to handle the ball
Simulation – an attempt by a player to gain an unfair advantage by falling to the ground, and possibly feigning an injury, to give the impression that a foul has been committed
Striker – generally a forward or attacker; specifically an attacker at the front of a formation, who operates in and around the penalty area, anticipating scoring chances
Tackle – an act of playing, or an attempt to play, the ball when it is in the possession of an opponent
The break – a counter-attack; to break, or to hit an opponent on the break, means to launch a counter-attack
The hole – the space between defence and midfield
The sticks – the goalposts or goal frame
Touchline – the boundary line on each side of the field
Two-three-two-three – an obsolete formation of the 1930s utilising inside forwards in front of midfield to support the half-backs
Upright – a goalpost
Volley – a kick of the ball made before it touches the ground
Wall – a line of defenders forming a barrier against a free kick taken near the penalty area
Wing – either of the parts of the field close to the touchline
Winger – an attacking player on the wing
Written and co-edited by Acologic Co-edited by Radian Proofread by Radian and Fireman Al Art by amalgamzaku
‘There’s no denying the stats, Your Highness,’ said Joachim gravely, shuffling through pages upon pages of surveys, polls, petitions and statements. ‘Your approval ratings are at an all-time low.’
Celestia closed her eyes and sighed. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘No, no, it can’t be true.’
Joachim grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘No!’ Celestia worked her mouth, then looked at Luna, whose mouth was full as usual.
‘Can you believe this?’ she said. ‘The insolence! I give them homes! I give them sunshine! I give them lives! And this is how they repay me?’
Luna, who was on her fourth cup of hot chocolate that afternoon, merely shrugged. She bit into a biscuit. ‘Mm. I fink...’ She chewed noisily. ‘... Ish fair they say wa they wan oo.’
‘Don’t speak with your mouth full!’ snapped Celestia. ‘Fair?’ she repeated. ‘To pot with fair! Where’s the respect?’
Luna shrugged again and took another biscuit. Joachim cleared his throat. ‘“Princesses Luna and Celestia”,’ he read aloud, ‘“albeit amusing on occasion, have proved themselves incapable of governing the nation either efficiently or reliably and are carried by more competent subordinates whose contributions to Equestrian prosperity go unnoticed and uncredited...”’
Celestia nearly gagged on her outrage. The sheer, unadulterated cheek! she thought. That such hypocritical malcontents had control of their newspapers – why, it made her figuratively sick. ‘Who wrote those words?’ she demanded, and Joachim frowned down at the offending paper to determine their origin.
‘“Gimme”, Your Highness, in the Canterlot Journal, I believe,’ he said.
‘The Canterlot –? Right! Cancel my subscription at once!’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’
‘I shall not be subjected to such libellous remarks as those printed in that sorry rag of a newspaper!’ Celestia scowled at Luna, who was smirking into her mug. ‘Something funny?’ she growled. Luna snorted, spilling hot chocolate. ‘Insolent girl!’ said Celestia. ‘Get a hold of yourself! Joachim! Clean up this – no! In fact, if she so readily abandons her regal bearing, Luna shall do it!’
‘If it pleases you,’ said Luna, and her horn glowed. The liquid evaporated, leaving behind a strong smell of praline.
‘Right! Now, where was I?’
‘That sorry rag of a newspaper,’ said Luna.
‘Ah yes.’
Celestia bit her tongue and thought hard. It was beyond a joke. Though they had approved themselves (beyond any doubt, and over what Celestia would describe as no less than an exemplary tenure) fully equipped to steer Equestria safely through any turbulence, she and Luna had nonetheless lost its confidence of late. There had been much trouble with respect to politics in the south, whose plight, according to the insufferable Journal and its ilk, she neither understood nor appreciated. Then there had been that stunt with the hats, where Luna had annoyed her so much that, marginally overreacting, she’d announced a grand hat-throwing contest at the palace. All in all, the royal image was compromised, and it was her duty, one way or another, not only to restore dignity to the position but to popularise it; for far worse than these ignominies was that the ponies of Equestria were no longer interested in her, and the prospect of dusty irrelevance was, frankly, intolerable. She had to do something. She had to do something. She thought hard. The timely answer to this most infuriating issue came to her within seconds, as most of her more brilliant ideas did.
‘Luna!’ she exclaimed. ‘The time has come again for us to put on the ultimate spectacle! We shall improve public relations!’
‘How?’ asked Luna, chewing, her brow raised.
‘We shall compete alongside these ungrateful plebeians in a test of courage and strength! The ultimate test! And in so doing we shall show them once and for all that we are ponies of the people! We shall enter a team into a hoofball league!’
Luna choked on her biscuit. After two minutes of Joachim’s finest abdominal thrusting, she spat out the soggy remnants that had clogged her windpipe.
‘Are you mad?’ she croaked, her eyes watering. ‘Did you forget the hat tricks? Reaffirm that we are a pair of clueless clowns? We’ll be a laughing stock – again!’
‘This isn’t hat toss, Luna,’ said Celestia. ‘This is hoofball. Think!’ she added, quelling her sister’s retort. ‘Luna, ponies devote their lives to this sport! Imagine what we could do, what we could gain if we gave them a reason to cheer! What a chance to reengage the disillusioned! Why, our team will be composed of the finest, the greatest, the best ponies Equestria has to offer! We shall accept no less than the cream of the crop! And we’ll be there, on the ground, with them. Ponies of action, willing to have a go. Imagine, Luna – crowds upon crowds of our subjects heaping praise on us for a job well done!’
Joachim frowned. ‘It would have to be its own event, would it not, Your Highness? We cannot force entry into a sanctioned tournament. The FA won’t permit it.’
Celestia opened her mouth, then closed it. She frowned as well. Then she waved a hoof dismissively through the air. ‘It matters not. Once ponies hear that the monarchy will be contending in a hoofball tournament...’ She chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say there won’t be room enough for all of them. It’s assertive. It’s devil-may-care. It’s perfect! Yes, that’s it. I’ve made up my mind. Joachim!’ she snapped. ‘Send them a letter, tell them I am interested in one of their hoofball events.’
‘The... the FA?’
‘Yes, and if we cannot enter the top flight, then let’s see what they can do for us. All-time low indeed...’
Joachim bowed. ‘At once, Your Highness.’ Celestia turned her attention to Luna.
‘Ready to pick a team?’
‘Right, you lot! Up against the wall!’
The forty or so guards on duty obeyed, their armour rattling. Celestia surveyed each of them in turn, her eyes narrowed. She knew them well, of course. There was Pot Luck, who’d earned his place only a year ago – a practical joker of sorts and in good fun. Flash Sentry, ever dependable, whose poker-like posture put even hers to shame. Dancer and Whirlwind, two of Luna’s guards who’d remained at the Castle since Nightmare Moon’s defeat. She knew them well, which was exactly why she’d asked for them. Her team was to be the archetype of everything she wished to stand for in the eyes of her subjects. What better pool from which to extract such characters than that whose contents had already conquered the highest bar of expectation?
‘Hoofball,’ she said quietly. ‘Passing, dribbling, shooting – tactics, motivation, celebration – joy, heartbreak, victory, defeat – that which the beautiful game entails, as they say. To succeed at such a sport, we must have –’
‘Passion!’ said Luna loudly.
‘They’ve got passion,’ said Celestia. ‘They wouldn’t be guards if they didn’t. What I was going to say was organisation, commitment and vigour. Look at the best hoofball teams, teams such as – anyway, the best hoofball teams are organised. They are committed. They are strong on the ball and off it. They never hesitate. They never give up. You must be equally organised, equally committed, equally hungry for glory.’ She paused, admiring how they accepted this information, and inferred what was expected of them, with carefully maintained indifference. ‘Luna and I will go to my office. You will enter one at a time, and then we shall test you. The best of the best – that’s who we’re looking for. Any questions? No? Excellent.’
‘Are you sure you’re going about this the right way?’ Luna asked later once Flash had left the office, his shin bruised.
‘Do you doubt me, Luna? Our guards are Equestria’s crème de la crème! We wouldn’t have them if they weren’t!’
‘But none of them actually know how to play hoofball!’
‘Believe it or not, Luna, I had thought of that.’
‘And?’ prompted Luna.
‘We’ll train,’ said Celestia simply.
‘Train!’ Luna repeated angrily. ‘Sister, this is ridiculous!’
‘Is it?’ replied Celestia, entirely serious. ‘Do celebrities not dabble in such horseplay all the time? Actors and singers flying in the Derby? Wonderbolts acting, singing, dancing? Painters in fishing competitions! Fashion designers on farms, Luna!’ It was true, and Celestia chided herself for not realising this before. Modern life had become a great tapestry of interests, so varied and bulging that ponies would look upon only that which turned their gaze. She was about to.
‘Sister!’ exclaimed Luna, her voice peaking as it did when about to make a fundamental point. ‘We are not celebrities!’
‘We are as good as!’ Celestia fired back. ‘Or as bad, I should say! Face it, Luna, we’ve become glorified figureheads ponies won’t even look at! Something needs to be done.’
‘But this...’
Celestia ignored her. ‘Nevertheless, you are right. Training, alone, may not be enough to have a proper bash. Hmm. We could use a specialist. An expert. A star signing.’
‘Well, it’s hoofball; they’d likely be working class, remember,’ said Luna. ‘You know, normal. I’m sure they’ll be a little overwhelmed by... all this.’
‘All what, Luna?’ asked Celestia, gazing absent-mindedly at her gold-plated curtain fastenings. ‘I’m sure an arrangement can be made,’ she continued. ‘Why, it’s amazing what a pouchful of bits’ll get you these... these... ’ Her eyes widened. ‘Luna,’ she spluttered. ‘Luna, did you say “working class”?’
‘Uh... yeah.’
‘Out of the question!’ snarled Celestia, and she slammed a hoof onto her desk to underline the point. ‘Have you forgotten the very reason for which we are doing this? It is because of them! Those ponies! The naysayers who are voting “no” in the polls! I won’t hear of it! On no account shall we employ a working-class pony as a member of our team! On no account!’
‘But you said –’
‘We shall make do with what we have!’
And that settled the matter; an hour later Celestia chose the team. She selected them not on their hoofballing abilities, which she wasn’t yet capable of judging, but on their willingness to engage with the project. It was vital, she figured, to representing her successfully that they displayed heart if nothing else. As such, several were nursing minor injuries, for she’d attempted to simulate a range of in-game scenarios inside her office and had done so perhaps a little over-enthusiastically. She grinned at them. Her guards, no strangers to her whims, acknowledged this most recent departure from the job description with straight backs and faces.
‘Gentlecolts,’ she said, ‘congratulations. Today, we begin! Tomorrow?’ She let the question ring. ‘I’ll tell you what happens tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow we set out with much to gain and even more to lose. Tomorrow we walk onto the pitch, determined to leave with nothing less than victory! Tomorrow, we fight! And if we fight hard, which we will...’ She paused, chest heaving. ‘By the sun, if our names aren’t already carved into that trophy, I don’t know what is!’
‘Not... not actually tomorrow, though, right?’ asked Pot Luck, grinning sheepishly.
‘Oh, we are the Canterlot Elite! Never, never, never shall we be beat! Whenever we shoot, we score! And whenever they shoot, we save! Never, never, never admit defeat!’
The minibus was full of the sound of chanting, an activity whose importance Celestia had highlighted regularly since day one of the team’s existence. It lifted everypony’s spirits and served as a healthy reminder that, over the next three days, each player was expected to do their bit. ‘Who’s going to win this tournament?’ shouted Celestia.
‘We are!’ chorused the team automatically.
‘WHO’S GOING TO WIN THIS TOURNAMENT?’
‘WE ARE!’ they responded.
‘Now that’s more like it!’ Grinning broadly, Celestia punched her seat and let off a few come-ons. ‘I can’t wait, Luna! I can’t wait! We’ll show them! We’ll show everypony!’
Luna was absorbed in the official programme, her expression grim. ‘We’ve got our work cut out,’ she said seriously. ‘The Wondercolts mean business. Guess who’s been appointed head coach?’
Celestia didn’t care who. She was savouring the image of ponies from all over hurrahing while she lifted a trophy high. She’d been waiting for that moment, and she wouldn’t have to wait much longer – that was the plan, anyway. Woe betide anypony who prevented its coming to fruition. The Annual Amateur Hoofball League. It wasn’t much, but suited her needs well enough. The FA, as predicted by Joachim, had thought little of their competing alongside the pros. Not that it mattered, ultimately, in which tournament they played: the action in and of itself would bring forth the attention she was looking for. The rest was details.
Her head was crammed with formations, positions, training and tactics, and her conditioning she had taken very seriously. In the two-and-a-half weeks before the tournament, Canterlot’s foremost hoofball coaches had set to work strengthening the squad via tactical-awareness tests, coordination exercises, decision-making drills and rigorous repetition. Palace guards’ fitness was peak as a rule, levels above that of the amateurs with whom they were to clash. Subsequently, their camp had been a case of nailing down the basics, which they had. Celestia’s good mood improved the longer she thought about it. Solar scored nearly a sixth of his volleys; Bouncer tackled almost as well as if he’d been doing it for months. That Luna had proved to be lightning quick between the goalposts was a welcome bonus. Indeed, they were transformed from a group of novices into – well, a group of amateurs. There was only so much one could accomplish in a short space of time. But what they had accomplished, she thought, would prove to be more than good enough. If anything, such comparative lack of preparation would enhance their reception once she and the team started winning.
‘Rainbow Dash,’ said Luna, breaking Celestia’s reverie.
‘Huh?’ she said, lost.
‘Head coach of the Wondercolts! Trouble for us by all accounts. Look.’
She passed Celestia the leaflet, which contained profiles of each of the competing teams. ‘“The Cloudsdale Wondercolts”, ’ Celestia read, ‘“a branch of the Wonderbolts Academy programme... formed twenty years ago... competed in every tournament... fifteen league titles... incumbent manager Rainbow Dash favours fast-paced, attacking hoofball...”’
‘They’re the team to beat,’ said Luna. ‘What happens if we can’t?’
‘Can’t?’
‘Beat them.’
Celestia tutted. ‘She of little faith! It’s a good job I’m here! Were you its captain, this team would crumble!’
‘Epic praise, Sister, as always.’
The journey stretched on, and the sky darkened; sheets of rain peppered the windscreen. Celestia grimaced and hoped the pegasi would allow her sunshine to exist uninterrupted come tomorrow’s match. Eventually, the bus came to a halt beside a grubby-looking cottage complete with thatched roof and boarded windows. The weather showed no signs of easing up, and Celestia and the team eyed the muddy road apprehensively. Joachim had assured her they’d been allocated the best of what was available. Surely, she thought, this couldn’t be the place. Nonetheless, the driver grinned. ‘This here’s your stop,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your stay.’ And he leered at them as they filed out of the bus and into the deluge.
‘Joachim!’ Celestia threw at him as he stepped off. ‘This can’t be right!’
‘I’m afraid so, Your Highness,’ he said, squinting through the rain as he unloaded their luggage from the hold. ‘Everywhere else was booked.’
Once everypony had disembarked, the bus rumbled away and Celestia knocked on the cottage door, which opened. Before her stood a stallion between whose lips was held a pipe. He stared blankly at the team and said, ‘Can I help?’
Celestia winced as water trickled down her neck. ‘Yes! Yes, we are the Canterlot Elite! Competing in the Annual Amateur Hoofball League, you understand, and we were told you’d accommodate us?’
‘Arr,’ said the stallion. ‘You’re that princess, eh? Better come ben the hoose. It’s horrible out here. You’ll get soaked.’
‘Too late,’ muttered Luna resentfully, her mane a soggy mess.
‘Luna!’ hissed Celestia.
The team followed the stallion in, doing their best to fit inside what little space there was. Celestia scolded Luna out of earshot. ’How can we expect his sort to improve when you can’t even handle a bit of rain with the proper graces?’ The hallway was dimly lit by wicks burning in tarnished brass platters that hung from the walls on string. Celestia wrinkled her nose. The cottage reeked of mould and damp.
‘Welcome to Clanfindunsisterossnessway,’ said the stallion.
‘Oh,’ said Celestia. ‘Delightfully, ah, picturesque. Is that the name of the town?’
‘No, that’s the name o’ me hoose. The toon’s called Bendunsiswastowickbondbeckloweckswy.’
‘Aha ha,’ said Celestia weakly. ‘Of course.’
‘Got your tents?’ he asked.
‘Tents?’ repeated Celestia, confused.
‘Aye. You did say youse are stayin’ for the tournament?’ He led the team to an unobstructed window and gestured with his pipe. ‘There’s ma field. You can set up after a cuppa if you like.’
When the stallion’s expression did not change, she realised he was being serious. Celestia gawped helplessly at the muddy plain. There must have been some mistake. Nopony in their right mind could expect her to camp out there for three days, could they?
The sight of Joachim puffing as he dragged in four large, heavy bags couldn’t have answered the question more completely.
The rain stopped come the evening, which although welcome did not have much bearing on the condition of their already waterlogged camping ground. Between arriving and pitching their tents (one marquee-like, the other a narrow two-pony), Celestia had hot-showered twice, assuring Auld Duffy she would make good his heating bill, whereas everypony else had had to be hosed down by a disgruntled Luna, who had magicked herself somewhat clean. They had then eaten a dinner of boiled potatoes, a less-than-satisfactory part of the increasingly unsatisfactory package, before readying for bed.
‘Already?’ said Duffy, who had come to check on their progress, through a mouthful of pipe as Cash tripped over Moonweight’s sleeping bag. ‘Don’t want to wait a bit? I could boil the kettle, get some cocoa on the go. Could fetch you a cup o’ summat stronger too –’
‘Absolutely not!’ said Celestia firmly. ‘Our first match is tomorrow!’
Duffy shrugged. ‘Never stops the others.’
It got dark very fast.
‘Odd,’ said Celestia. ‘I haven’t even –’
‘Hey!’
Luna was shouting at her from the roof of the cottage, her horn aglow. The moon was jammed clumsily in front of the sun in semi-eclipse. ‘Get a move on!’ she cried angrily.
‘Ah,’ said Celestia. ‘Sorry.’ She took off to join her sister.
‘Got to be careful in the dark,’ Duffy was saying once they’d finished, ‘especially where youse are laying, cosied up near the Cliff Side an’ all.’
‘The cliffside?’ said Celestia. ‘But we’re sleeping in your field!’
‘No, no, the wee hillock at the end there – you see him? Aye. We call him the Cliff Side.’
‘Why?’ asked Luna, illuminating the Cliff Side with her horn. The hillock was small, and stubby, and entirely forgettable.
‘Named after a bloke who used to live here,’ continued Duffy in hushed tones. ‘This cottage has stood for seventy years, and sixty years ago Auld McCliff took ill at the base o’ this very field. One night he and his wife hear summat moving outside. McCliff tracks the soond tae the hillock. One second he’s standing on top. The next? He’s fallen tae the groond, clutching his chest. His wife calls for help, but by the time it comes Auld McCliff has gone. Vanished.’
‘Vanished?’ said Luna.
‘Aye!’ said Duffy impressively, his voice rising. ‘Vanished and never found! And call me crazy, but I say he was taken by Mahookle Wackytoggie!’
‘My cookie whacked a doggy?’ said Luna, her eyes wide.
‘Aye! Mahookle Wackytoggie! And there’s proof! Each year the teams come, and each year they see him! And mark my words, before this tournament’s end, youse’ll see him too!’
‘Who?’ asked Celestia.
‘Auld McCliff! Or at least his ghost!’
Celestia had heard enough. ‘We’ll take our chances,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, Mr Duffy, and thank you.’ But Luna refused to move. ‘Luna, really!’ said Celestia after hearing why. ‘Grow up, girl, there’s no such thing as Macrooked Walkie-Talkie! Now it’s off to bed, I need you fit for the match!’
‘I have dreams to guard!’ protested Luna.
‘Dreams to guard nothing!’ Celestia snapped back. ‘You’re going to the Cliff Side, and I don’t want to hear another word about it!’
Grumbling, Luna followed her into their tent. ‘Here we are,’ said Celestia, unfurling their sleeping bags. ‘One for you. One for me.’ She wriggled into hers, which was tricky – her wings didn’t seem to want to fit through the opening.
‘Hmph,’ she said as she managed to squeeze them in. ‘Oh, very nice, Joachim,’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘Very –’ She felt cold water soaking through the material. ‘... Comfortable.’
Luna giggled.
Chapter III – 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.
‘Keep it simple!’ Celestia called as Whirlwind attempted a tricky ball to the wing. It was picked off in the air by a tall midfielder – luckily, Whirlwind won it back. The Giants’ striker made to tackle.
‘Pony on!’ cried Celestia, whose warning resulted in Whirlwind’s passing the ball just in time.
‘You’ve got time,’ he said meekly to Bouncer.
Bouncer passed to Celestia, who passed to Pot Luck, who passed back. Celestia saw Solar in the hole and played the ball in to him.
‘Hold it up!’ she said.
Whirlwind ran forwards, Solar knocked it back and Whirlwind, with his first touch, played it through to Moonweight.
‘Close him down!’ screeched one of the griffons.
‘Shoot!’ shouted Celestia.
Moonweight rushed his effort, however, dragging his hoof across the ball, which rolled harmlessly out for a goal kick.
‘Unlucky!’ said Celestia. ‘Well played, though, let’s keep this up, people!’
The Giants’ keeper booted it long. Sky Scraper beat his griffon in the air with ease, sending the ball back up the pitch. The team had gone quiet, unused to the norms of communication on a hoofball pitch.
‘Shout for it, come on, now!’ Celestia encouraged. ‘Shout for it!’
‘Mine!’ called Flash, jumping.
But he was pushed to the ground by the opposition’s full-back, who had climbed Flash to reach the ball. There was a short blast of the referee’s whistle.
‘Foul,’ he said. ‘Free kick.’
‘Stick with your pony!’ said the Giants’ captain, marking Celestia tightly.
‘Whip it!’ said Beamer, moving around inside the box.
Whirlwind obliged. Solar tried to get his head to the ball, but the Griffonstone keeper caught it.
‘Out!’ he screamed, throwing it far. ‘Out!’
‘Back now!’ said Celestia. ‘Back!’
Moonweight fouled the griffon in possession and was shown a yellow card. Protest came, but the referee was having none of it.
‘Griffonstone free kick,’ he grunted.
Their captain let fly, but it was an easy save for Luna. A minute later, Griffonstone regained possession and went for goal again – this time Celestia blocked the shot.
‘Mark up!’ she yelled as Griffonstone readied the corner. ‘Watch the runners! Follow the runners!’
Too late. The striker who’d missed during the warm-up rose impressively and aimed a powerful header towards goal. It missed by inches.
‘Who’s watching number nine?’ asked Luna helplessly.
‘Wake up, people, this isn’t good enough!’ said Celestia.
But she needn’t have worried. Her guards’ general discipline was beginning to show through, and their training had equipped them with the means to utilise it. Tightening up at the back, they found their rhythm and soon created chances. Solar nearly opened the scoring with a drive that cannoned off the crossbar, and Flash cut inside to test the keeper, who made a decent save. Whirlwind came close with another free kick, but at half-time the score remained nil-nil.
‘Good show,’ said Celestia, panting, and she beckoned to Joachim, who was readying the water bottles. ‘All right, everypony, have a drink.’
They drank deeply. Joachim, who, on Celestia’s orders, had been observing the match being played on the opposite pitch, watched.
‘Nil-nil in the other match too,’ he reported with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. ‘What a game it’s been! The Vanhoover Vandals have this player unlike anypony I’ve ever seen –’
Celestia raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were gathering information on the Wondercolts, not ogling the other players.’
Joachim blushed. ‘I am, Your Highness, that is to say, I’m not ogling, but – well, she’s fantastic! You’d better watch out, you’ll be playing against her tomorrow.’
‘P for problems, Joachim,’ said Celestia dismissively.
‘Huh?’ said Luna, who was listening.
‘There’s no P in future – and therefore no problems about which we should worry.’
‘How’d you work that one out?’ asked Luna.
‘It’s a saying, Luna! Anyway, enough of this nonsense! Team talk, people!’
The team stood together in an awkward huddle.
‘We’re playing very well,’ began Celestia, ‘but we aren’t scoring. Not to worry, though, I have a plan.
‘Those pesky griffons are going to try to hit us hard come the restart. That doesn’t scare me – they haven’t enough fuel left in the tank. Now, I don’t want to see anypony doing any more than they have to. Keep possession. Make them chase. They’ll tire quickly and that’s when we’ll strike! Flash?’
‘Your Highness?’
‘I like what you’re doing. Cut inside, then pass or shoot. They aren’t quick down the right, and we must take advantage of that. Cash, you need to start cutting the ball back.’
Cash nodded.
‘If you don’t shoot,’ Celestia told the team, ‘you don’t score. I want to see a tad more courage in the final third, then, if you please! Thank you! Now get out there and finish the job!’
The second half started as Celestia had predicted – with the griffons playing hardball. Mere seconds after the whistle, the Giants’ captain brought Whirlwind down viciously.
‘Canterlot free kick!’ snarled the referee, brandishing his yellow card. The captain spat.
‘Have a crack!’ called Luna from her goal.
‘Five in the wall!’ said the Griffonstone keeper.
Whirlwind waited for the referee’s cue, then curled his shot over the wall. It soared past the claws of the goalie and hit the net.
‘Yes!’
‘Come on!’ Celestia punched the air, jubilant.
The team surrounded Whirlwind, bumping hooves with him and clapping him on the back. Celestia embraced him, her stomach dancing, but let go very quickly and, embarrassed, shared a grin with Luna, who had come off her line to celebrate.
Ten minutes later, they scored again: Celestia grunted as the Giants’ captain barged her.
‘Wha—? HOW DARE YOU!’ she shrieked. ‘ASSAULTING ROYALTY! I COULD HAVE YOU FLOGGED!’
Cash took the commotion as an opportunity to square the ball to an unmarked Moonweight, whose effort rippled the inside netting.
‘Ha ha!’ crowed Celestia as Moonweight celebrated and the griffons argued angrily between themselves. ‘That’ll teach you, ha ha!’
It seemed as though the Canterlot Elite could do no wrong, whereas the griffons’ play became wilder and wilder.
‘Foul!’ shouted the team in unison as one of the Giants crunched into the now-feebly-stirring Flash Sentry. Celestia grimaced.
‘Joachim!’ she called. ‘Bring a stretcher!’
‘Do we even have a stretcher?’ muttered Beamer.
But Flash, to her relief, was even tougher than she thought, and shaking himself lucid, he played on. In fact, it was thanks to Flash that they scored their final goal, he beating two defenders before preparing to cross.
‘I’m open!’ screamed Celestia, surging forwards, curving her run to beat the offside trap just as they had done in training. The griffons were too slow to react in time. Flash pinged it towards her head. She met it in the air but connected badly, the ball glancing off her horn. It was this error, however, that wrong-footed the goalkeeper, and the ball bounced over the goal line. She raised a hoof in celebration, laughing, while the griffons tried to shift the blame.
‘Come on!’ she shouted, punching the sky as the team converged on her, congratulating her with far more enthusiasm than they had their peers. ‘Come on!’
The Giants had nothing left to give. The match ended three-nil.
‘Spectacular!’ said Celestia, hugging whoever was nearest (one of the griffons, looking murderous). ‘Terrific! Tremendous!’
‘Nice goal, Sister,’ said Luna, grinning. Celestia laughed in both delight and relief.
‘Victory, Luna, victory! Drink it in!’
‘Two-one to the Wondercolts,’ Joachim announced as he handed out the water bottles. ‘What a match!’
On the pitch next to theirs, players were bumping hooves and mumbling, ‘Well played.’ Celestia watched as a mare wearing Vandals tangerine detached herself from the rest of her team and trotted over to where the Wondercolts’ manager was stood. Even from this distance, Celestia noticed Rainbow Dash stiffen.
‘Your Highness, that’s her,’ whispered Joachim excitedly. ‘The player I told you about!’
‘Rainbow,’ said the mare, nodding.
‘Lightning,’ responded Rainbow, nodding back. Celestia shrugged and turned away.
‘We shall deal with her later. Tonight, we celebrate!’
And she led the team back to the changing rooms, chanting once again.
