Castle High

25. Winter - II

“This cold is hot.”

Jake remarked amidst quivering for warmth, as he stepped down from the front-porch of his house with both of his hands dipped into the pockets of his hoodie – to join an equally fazed Andrew and Joey, who stood waiting for him to lock up. 

“Done.” Jake declared as he stepped down from the threshold, joining the duo. “So whom and whom would be present, again?”

“Well,” Andrew began as they all broke into a pace, venturing out of the gates of the compound. “Just Steve and Jamie, although I sense Marc is going to show up also. He always gets wind of these activities, no matter how discrete we are in planning them.”

Oh, God.

“Marc might be present.” Jake exhaled, curling his fists which were enclosed in the pockets of his hoodie. He was in the center of the trio, Andrew by his left and Joey – on his right. “His presence does nothing to buoy the spirits, does it? Why is he showing up, anyway? You can’t tell me someone like him doesn’t suck at ‘all’ sports.”

Joey chuckled, his own hands encased in his side-pockets. “Well he doesn’t exactly suck at ‘all’ sports. If playing video games on consoles count, then Nah. He doesn’t suck in all.”

“So, you ever played European football before, Jake?” Andrew enquired. “It’s quite a fascinating sport, though. I’ve been opportune to catch it a few times on TV.”

“Does playing it on consoles count?” Jake jeered, inducing laughter in the group. “Then yeah, it’s quite an elementary sport. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it isn’t difficult in its own right, I’m just saying you don’t have to take a lot of rules into consideration during game-play. Asides from committing a foul and offside, all you have to do is keep the ball in play and try to get into your opponent’s goal.”

“Yeah, it’s so easy.’” Joey piled in, sarcastically. “I mean it’s easier to control the ball with your legs than your hands; especially when you’re doing that for ‘ninety’ good minutes. Forty-eight minutes is almost as long, you know. I mean how much difficult could it get?”

“Idiot,” Andrew growled. “Quit undermining basket-ball. Sometimes I wonder what’s the difference between you and Marc.”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Joey scoffed. “What I’m implying is that you shouldn’t criticize something you can’t even do. Both sports are tasking in their own rights. European foot-ball is a really stressful game. Just imagine yourself in a 109 meter field, running from end to end continuously for an hour and half? Let’s even leave the ball and your opponents out of it. I could still remember the morning of the Jungle Camp excursion where you and Jake ran for a couple of meters, and were panting like you had completed a cross-country marathon in the Olympics.”

“Hey!” Jake protested, shoving Joey at the side lightly. “We had ‘three’ big-belly burgers each. It’s called ‘big-belly’ for a reason. I don’t think Cristiano Ronaldo and the rest have to deal with a full stomach during game-play.”

Andrew grinned. “Let’s just see how well we fair today. After that, then I’d see if I’d gain more respect for foot-ballers or I wouldn’t care less.”

“So, where are we headed anyway?” Jake enquired, as they halted by a juncture and proceeded to taking the road by the left. “An actual soccer field?”

“I wish,” Joey drawled. “I know we’re heading to a field of some sort. A cornfield – most likely.”

“Better not have grasses taller than me.” Jake retorted, anxiety echoing in his voice. “We don’t want the game to turn into a situation where y’all would be looking for me in the grass, instead of the ball.”