65. Warwick's Oopart
The goals that come too soon.
“Do you remember things out of order, Jolon?”
That was the first thing he said. When I caught him hovering around my front door again.
“Hello, Warwick.”
“Can I come in?” He asked.
I considered it a moment. It was late, and I was supposed to drive to Skegness the next morning. But why not?
“Sure. Sorry about the door. Need to fix that.”
Led him to the kitchen. Poured myself a large Rioja. Offered him one, but he only wanted water. Pussy.
Turned around with the glasses, caught him looking at my dishwasher.
“Is that a WINIA WVW-13A1ESI?” He cooed.
“Best one on the market,” I replied.
He looked it up and down a few times, clearly very impressed. Some people just get it. But come on, it’s only a fucking dishwasher, so I coughed politely to prompt him to carry on with his story.
“Rotherham three, Oldham two,” he spluttered, eyes still on the chrome finish. “A great match, but something strange happened.”
I ushered him into the living room, away from the kitchen. Spun round (didn’t spill a drop) and faced him. Eye-to-eye.
“Tell me.”
He gestured for me to sit down. Bit off, in my own gaff. But I did as I was prompted. Both settled, he started his story.
“I was in my seat, behind the goal. Had a couple of pints pre-game. First one was fine. Cold enough. Second went flat halfway down.”
“Wrong, but not weird,” I joked.
We both laughed. Him a bit too much.
“Then my phone started to buzz. I was about to dig it out my pocket when Oldham scored. First minute. Fuckers.”
If we’re having a minute-by-minute play through, thought I’d best go and get the bottle.
Before I sat back down and topped up, he carried on. “Then I checked my phone. It was a goal alert.”
Luke Hannant 1’.
“So what?” I said, waiting for more.
He looked up at me, confused. “There was no other notification on my phone. Only this one. It came through before Oldham scored! Dismissed it at first. Must have imagined it.”
“It happens,” I said.
“Yeah. But half an hour later, it happened again. Buzz.” He mimed the buzz.
Reagan Ogle 36’.
“Rotherham were back in the game. Didn’t look like conceding again. But sure enough, 36th minute, Ogle made it 2-0 to Oldham.”
I whistled and took a gulp of wine.
He shrugged. “I had a couple more pints at halftime. Decided I must be remembering it wrong. Probably from the booze.”
“The mind is a tricky place to hang out in,” I said. “Especially with booze.”
“Very wise, Jolon! You’re really smart!”
I agreed. Was about to say something, but Warwick clicked his fingers and carried on speaking.
“Back in my seat, the second half had just started. And it only bloody well happened again.”
52’ – Kian Spence.
“Oldham had a throw-in at the time, deep inside their own half. The pitch was calm. No danger anywhere near the box. Then, out of nowhere, Kian Spence smashed one in. 2-1.”
I poured myself another wine.
“What do you think of that, Jolon?”
“Did you go and look for the bookies?” I replied. Cool.
He chuckled. “I spent most of the second half looking at my phone, waiting for it to ping again. I was beginning to think it was all some weird daydream, when...”
87’ – Jake Leake (OG).
He shook his head. “You know what, I think I will have that wine.”
I went to grab another glass. And another bottle.
“I’m not as quick as you. That’s when I started wondering if I had time for a bet. Was about to get up. Find the Ladbrokes stall, when...”
90+1’ – Reece James.
FT: Rotherham 3–2 Oldham.
“The lads were still celebrating the equaliser at the time.”
“Sounds like a good game,” I offered.
He nodded. “Amazing comeback and last-minute win. But I couldn’t join in with the reverie. Just sat there staring at my phone till the stadium was empty.”
He leaned back, took a big swig of wine, and gave me his familiar crooked smile. Then he looked me right in the eye, like a god damn sniper.
“I’ve seen your diary online.”
Fucking hell. That took a turn. Caught me right off guard.
“It’s really good. Fantastic. You’re a brilliant writer.”
I bowed my head. Humble. Where is this going?
“Has anything like that ever happened to you, Jolon? Ever got a message out of order?”
OK. I said no. Told him I try not to write about real things anymore. And I don’t much care for football.
He laughed, but I wasn’t joking.
“Not just about football. More in general. Does it ever seem like things happen in the wrong order? Or they change? Do you ever feel like you’ve done something before you did it?”
I told him everyone feels like that sometimes. But he didn’t believe me. I could tell.
“It must be strange, keeping a diary when time keeps moving sideways.”
I asked what he meant.
“When did you stop writing about real things?”
Didn’t have an answer for that. How would I know?
Poured us both another large glass. We sat there, facing forward. Don’t think we spoke again till the bottle was done.
“Right, time to go.”
With that, Warwick stood up, patted my shoulder, and left.
I didn’t get up. What the fuck?
next: 66. Hello Again
previous: 64. Who the Fuck is Hugh?
This isn't quite what happened, is it Jolon.
Man! That is intense