Marty Robbins directed the
statement to his son.
Dobby Robbins was sitting on the sofa with his two mates. They were lined up and fidgeting. “So you want
to be a footballer. Dobby, you’re
eighteen years old. You’ve never even played the game for chrisake. Never
kicked a ball!” Dobby glanced nervously at his
friends, his dry mouth already affecting his performance. Why was he always
nervous when talking to his Dad about something he wanted? Wanted badly. He could think of nothing else
to say. He sat there in a mild stupor
racking his brains for inspiration.
Chika Unigwe – ‘Chick’ to his mates - sat
on Dobby’s right and was engrossed on watching a small fly crawling across Mr
Robbins’s carpet. It had skirted a yellow flower and was heading at speed for a
blue petal. Chick was just wondering if yellow created some sort of problem for
the fly’s brain when Dobby nudged him in to action. Chick sat up quickly, rapidly focusing on the
tall man propped against the mantelpiece.
“We all
do Mr Robbins”, said Chick, hurriedly regaining his composure, “we think we’ve
got a lot to offer the game.” Chick smiled,
lost interest and glanced back to the carpet, but the fly had flown.
Dobby felt a mild confidence
stir within him and he stared hard at his father. “Look Dad, I’ve had good results from Annie Possinger
at college and she thinks I could make a good career in the game.”
Roberto Daleca – ‘Rob’ to his
mates - sat on Dobby’s other side and had been listening intently. He’d had a similar conversation with his
mother, so he knew what was coming. He
felt a little superior - as he always did - and was keen to jump in.
“In my
country Mr Robbins, it’s a way of life. There’s no doubt in my mind that
football is the way forward for all three of us.” Roberto smiled showing a wide spread of shiny white
teeth. “Miss Possinger is impressed with all of us. She
thinks we are just what the game needs.” He glanced quickly at his friends in turn and
added with mounting confidence, “as Dobby said, we have all done well in last
season’s productions. It’s time to move on and specialise. Football players are paid millions for their
acting abilities and we want some of that Mr Robbins. We want some of that!”
Marty looked at the three
young men in turn. “But you don’t play football. None of you. As far as I know
you’ve never played the game. Except for a kick-about down the 'rec'. I just
don’t understand where you’re coming from.”
Chick had abandoned his search
for the fly and sat up abruptly. He straitened his posture and tightened his
features. He was going to make a speech. Dobby could tell.
“We can learn the kicking bit
when we get our first contract” he explained, leaning forward on the edge of
the cushion and waving his arms about to make his point. “Miss Possinger said
that first we must learn the two basics.”
“What do you mean – ‘the
kicking bit,’” said Marty, “That’s what football is. Skilfully and supremely controlling a ball with your feet – and
sometimes your head – with the total objective of scoring goals.” Marty paused for a second and drew a breath.
“That”, he added, “is the kicking bit as you put it. Football’s football. You are either good at it
or you’re not. And who is this Possinger woman for chrisake?” Marty shook his head in disbelief as he
watched Chick assemble his reasoning.
“The first is to do with agility” he said
earnestly, the others nodding in unison. “We have to be able to fall to the
ground in spectacular fashion after some slight connection with another player.”
“And at speed” added Dobby
eager to contribute, “usually running at full pelt.”
“And that’s not easy” said Rob
with an acquired excitement, “not if it’s
to look ‘real.”
Chick was getting in to it
now. Dobby could tell.
“Now that needs a lot of technical
ability” continued Chick, “because obviously the crowd needs to think that the
other guy really clobbered you. Miss Possiinger and her team are just the
people to teach us how to ‘act through’ these artistic performances. Annie Possinger has a
Shakespearian background. She is highly thought of as one of the leading drama
coaches in the UK.”
“Don’t forget the ref” said
Dobby, trying to look important, but just lowering the tone, “he’s probably the
main guy.”
“I was coming to that” said Chick
looking irritated. “And yes he is the main guy. He’s the one you’ve got to
impress. He needs to think that you really have been ‘chopped’ down in your
prime, so to speak. So impressed that
he’ll come over and give you a free kick and maybe even yellow card the bloke
you’ve chosen to fall down over.”
“Some players are even sent off
with a red” said Rob, “if you can make it look good.”
“And the crowd will really get
behind you”, said Chick, “Which will really inspire the team.”
“It’s almost as good as a
goal” shouted Dobby, letting his excitement run away with himself. “Many a game
has been won that way.”
“And don’t forget” Chick
reminded, “If you can manage this piece of theatre in the ten yard box, you
might even be awarded a penalty.”
“And that’s a goal” said
Dobby, “money in the bank. Pronto!”
Robbins snorted not
believing what he was hearing. “And
that’s ‘basic’ number one?” he concluded
glancing at Chick and then his son. “And this woman thinks you all have enough talent
...for what? Play-acting? You can’t be serious. What about the football?
And just who the hell is this Possinger
woman anyway ...for chrisake?”
All three of them looked astonished.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you” said Dobby to his father, his voice wobbling,
“we can learn the kicking bit later. Miss
Possinger says – she’s head of drama by
the way – that we can all become stars.” He pointed upwards with both index fingers. “Think of the pitch as a stage,” he said
spreading his hands outwards. “The world is our oyster. To be – or not to be!”
While Marty Robbins filtered
this new piece of information and fought to assemble some sort of credible response,
Chick was in to basics two.
“Next” said Chick, warming up
a little and spreading his palms outwards to stop any interruption. “You have
to roll around on the ground as though you’re in absolute agony. Pull a really
pained face and look really hurt. Tears if you can. Miss Possinger said that
many actors can induce ‘crying’ in their act, so there’s a lot to learn.”
“The expression on your face
is everything” added Roberto, leaning forward. “Because now-a-days the TV cameras can really
zoom up close. Right on to your face.”
“It’s one of the hardest
things to learn” said Chick looking as though he could achieve this new accolade
to a gold standard. “It could take
months to get it right.”
“My countrymen are kings in
the art “said Roberto, his chest throbbing forward. “There are many academies in Portugal for up
and coming actors and everybody seems to be going in to football. It’s where
the money is.”
The three young men suddenly sat
back in unison, as though pulled backwards by some invisible force, satisfied
that their points had been made. Problem solved. Dobby watched his father visibly shrink in
stature as he absorbed Roberto’s final statement.
“So you see Dad, we’ve got it
all there for the taking. This last year at college has opened the door to a
glittering career. I just need your
blessing...and a cheque for the year’s drama course.”
Later that evening Marty
Robbins poured his fourth large scotch and slouched on to the sofa. He had
finally managed to eradicate the ridiculous antics of his son and his two
useless friends from his mind and now felt that his life had returned to some
normality. Acting indeed! He had soon sent them on their way. He
switched on the TV for some light relief before going to bed. The tail end of a
late news item caught his attention.
“...Jonathon Dribleton,” the announcer was saying, “was awarded an MBE
tonight for his services to the theatre. Mr Dribleton, who once played for Thornton
United and eventually become a football superstar, retired from the game and became one of the
country’s most loved actors.” The presenter
went on to list Dribleton’s theatrical
achievements and then added, “he became a multimillionaire making his fortune
from his acting roles in films. Mr Dribleton
said this evening that he owed it all to his early days on the football pitch.”
With a deep sigh – Marty
Robbins left the comfort of his settee and wobbled over to his bureau. He
opened the top drawer and reached for his cheque book.