Getting Wilder ✔️

issue twenty-fifth: p.s 143

The second half seemed to be a little better. Or maybe it just seemed that way because the first half had set such low standards.

Our team put up a fight. Wilder seemed to be more in control of himself and didn't commit any more fouls. However, we were still one goal down and the game was too slow, refusing to pick up the pace.

Half an hour into the second half, the energy in Northwood students had visibly died down. I was feeling pretty pessimistic myself. I could see that the players seemed exhausted and dispirited. It was something that Wilder was usually able to handle. Now, however, he seemed to be even worse than his teammates.

There didn't seem to be much hope for Northwood and to my shock, with less than a quarter of an hour to go, I heard loud yelling from somewhere in the crowd.

"Leave the team you cheating fag!"

I took in a sharp breath as the shouts were followed by many others, each yelling vile things, all targeted towards Wilder.

Both the team's players looked at the Northwood crowd, shock etched into their features. Their eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as their eyes darted from the hollering crowd to Wilder and back again. While Westcoast looked mildly surprised, our team players looked highly uncomfortable, whispering among themselves and nervously glancing at the spectators. A few of them tried to gesture for the crowd to quieten down, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. I gazed at Wilder, my heart aching. He was struggling to keep an impassive face. His eyes were determinedly fixed on the grass, his jaw was clenched hard.

I felt helpless. He was getting humiliated in front of two whole schools, teachers, even parents. Hell, his own were probably also there. And there was nothing I could do. A dark chasm seemed to split open in my heart, making it a struggle to breathe. A deep expensive void and crippling anxiety drowning me under an overwhelming deluge. 

The match began again and Wilder sprang into action, doubly aggressive as if the comments were spurring him on. But I knew it wasn't going to be anything positive and I was half afraid he was going to get himself another yellow card or even a red card, both of which would wreck the situation and make it even worse.

I sat down, hiding my face in my hands, unable to watch. After a few minutes, Cam excitedly shook my shoulders. I became aware that our side of the stadium was cheering loudly in anticipation.

"Nic! Nic! Look!"

I peeped through my fingers and saw Wilder, Mason and Baichung dashing into the opponent's half of the ground. I rose to my feet, my heart beating so furiously that it seemed to physically hurt me. They seem so sure of themselves. A blur of colours dashing through the field.

I gazed at the time and saw that we had a mere five minutes to go. I sucked in a deep breath and prayed that we could at least manage a tie.

They broke into the penalty area and my heart leapt as Wilder positioned himself in front of the goalkeeper about to score a shot. The entire stadium held its breath, my own stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots.

Just as he tried to take a shot, however, one of their defenders slid in front of him, his leg stuck out and hit Wilder's shin hard.

Wilder let out an anguished yell as he crumpled to the floor. Loud shouts of reproach thundered through the stadium as the defender kicked the ball away to a safe distance. The referee ran towards him and flashed him a red card.

My heart seized in my throat. Such a foul inside the penalty box would mean a penalty to our team. Even so, something was gnawing at my insides.

A few players circled around Wilder as our own crowd yelled insults at their red-carded player as he slowly walked away, looking infuriatingly smug and shaking his head.