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In retrospect, it was a dumb dare that should have not gone as far as it has.
Isaac blames Zorro, who’s drunk ass thought it would be funny to confuse the team by speaking solely French with him and Richard during a team celebration. They’d won a match they had been projected to lose, so Isaac had invited the team over to his place for a small celebration. Nothing crazy, after all, still had practice tomorrow.
It had been a simple, fun, and enjoyable joke between the two French speakers. Richard in particular was happy to speak his native tongue for the rest of the night. In fact, everyone was enjoying it as they all tried to recognize the few French words they’d picked up from them over the years.
But then it never stopped, and then it became a competition. For the rest of the night, Zorro and Richard seemed to have this unspoken bet that whoever spoke English first would have to pay the other 100 pounds.
Really, that much money didn’t matter to professional footballers, who made enough money and could spend that much in less than an hour. No, it was the competitive spirit inside of them that made them play for the rest of the night, challenging each other. That, and Colin’s bet.
“I bet you can’t go without speaking English for tomorrow's practice either, boyo.”
After that, the team made a series of shocked noises as they all took in Colin’s challenge.
“Bon, eh bien, je parie que vous ne savez pas parler gallois!” Richard said quite loudly. He got loud when he drank.
“Huh?”
“I don’t know, but I think he just said Welsh in French,” said Dixon, who they learned took a good amount of French back in school.
Colin tilted his head, confused, then it seemed to finally dawn on him. “Wait, are you challenging me to speak Welsh?”
Richard crossed his arms and nodded, a smug smile on his face as he and Zorro shared a nod.
The team all turned their attention onto them, whatever conversation they had been having no longer deemed important as the competitive spirit in all of them perked up. Isaac, at the time, had also been extremely intrigued.
“Okay, bring it,” Colin said. “But prepare to lose 100 pounds.”
“Hmmm,” Jan questioned from where he sat. “Are you sure, Colin?”.
Everyone reacted again, Bumbercatch rubbing his hands together and the drama escalated. Ever the instigator, that one.
“Oh, you think I can’t?” Colin asked Jan, crossing his arms.
“I’m just saying I don’t hear you speak Welsh that often compared to their French,” Jan replied.
Isaac knew Jan was probably just telling the truth, like usual, but he also felt he was instigating as well. There was a smug look on his face.
“What, you think you can do better?” Colin asked.
“Speaking Welsh? I’m Dutch,” Jan said, seeming almost offended Colin would insinuate he was anything else.
“What? No, speaking Dutch.”
“Oh,” Jan said, taking a pause as he thought. “Yes, I do.”
A chorus of “OOOH’S” and “DAMNs” erupted in Isaac's living room, and he couldn’t help but smile at the friendly competition. He noticed some of the lads shaking hands with others, cash being counted, as well as intense conversations being had that made Isaac think of them as those fancy people who watch tennis matches.
However, the captain in Isaac also felt it was necessary to make this dare that was happening more enjoyable for his team. Even he had to admit he was interested to see who had the most willpower in a competition like this. He grinned as he walked forward, using his arms to push some of his teammates out of the way. He took a step on his very expensive coffee table (he was a footballer, he could afford it) and addressed the room.
“Friends! Teammates! Frenchman,” he said, pointing at Richard who nodded happily as Jan pat him on the shoulder. “I see we’re starting a little friendly competition among us!”
The lads, all surrounding him now, cheered and clapped. Isaac silenced them with a small wave of his hand.
“I propose we increase the stakes, make it a real challenge.”
Again, they all reacted. Isaac grinned at his ability to get them all excited about something, and being able to get them to listen. It makes him believe Roy didn’t make a mistake choosing him as a captain.
“What you got for us, Captain!” Jamie yelled from the back of the room.
“Glad you asked Tarrt! I suggest instead of just those three, everyone in this room who speaks another language is challenged to only speak that language! AND!”
He took a pause, everyone’s attention is on him. “Every participant puts in 150 pounds, and the winner takes all.”
Conversation was made throughout the room, lads were whistling, and others clapped their hands, ready for the challenge.
“Ich bin Kapitän!” Moe yelled from the back of the room, Dani’s eyes lighting up at the word ‘Kapitän’.
Isaac clapped his hand and pointed at Moe. “Love the enthusiasm, Bumbercatch.”
“Oi, what about those of us who only speak English,” Jamie yelled from the back of the room, some of the other English-speaking players nodding along with them.
The lads all muttered again, Isaac hearing Jan mutter something about “Englishman” but electing to ignore the rest of whatever he was saying.
Still, Isaac was stumped. He thought about it for a moment, as did the others in the room.
Then, Colin spoke up. “How about you just don’t talk, I know that’ll probably be just as difficult for you, Jamie.”
Jaime made a point to look offended as Moe laughed into his shoulder. The ruckus started up again as they all started claiming they were gonna win, that no WAY they all could go without English for more than five minutes.
Isaac silenced them again by whistling. “Okay, so, the the first person to speak English, either on purpose or accident, is out.”
“How about you, Capitan?” Dani asked.
“I’ll hold the money, and besides, at least one of us should be able to speak as a judge. I’ll be watching all of you,” he finished, making a point to glare around the room so they knew he meant business.
“Hold on, hold on,” Sam began. “Does this mean we can’t speak English, like, at all? Even when we’re not together.”
“Yes.”
“Even when we’re at an appointment?” Dixon piped up.
“Find a piece of paper.”
“What if we’re on the phone?” Dani asked.
“Don’t answer.”
“With our partners?” Winchester tried.
“Silence, or another language.”
“Michael’s gonna kill me…” Isaac heard Colin say under his breath.
“What if we’re pulled over by a cop?” Reynolds said next.
“I usually just pretend I don’t speak English.” Everyone looked at Jan, who was sitting on a chair and managed to find Isaac’s cat, which was currently sleeping on his lap. He looked up at everyone. “It works around 60% of the time.”
“Don’t get pulled over in the first place,” Isaac said. “We’ll officially start tomorrow. For now, let’s drink responsibly” Isaac added. “And then the competition begins!”
The lads all cheered, Isaac, feeling proud of himself to be in charge of a friendly competition between the entire team. It would be fun, and he knew that it would probably be over by the end of tomorrow anyways. Someone would slip up, he doubted Jamie could keep his mouth closed for more than ten minutes, and he was sure someone would inevitably need to speak English.
Oh, how wrong he didn’t know he was.
-
The next day at practice. Everything went swimmingly, or at least how Isaac expected.
Richard and Zorro spent most of the time together of course, as did Sam and Tommy, who were both speaking Yoruba. But besides them, no one else could speak the same language or talk at all. Isaac had to admit, it was slightly off to hear that much silence in the locker room.
“Hey, bruv,” Isaac greeted when he came up to Colin.
“Hei, boyo,” he replied.
And like that, chaos erupted.
The lads were immediately pointing and Colin, those who were speaking other than English immediately yelled exclamations that Isaac could not understand.
“Colin ti jade! O si sọ English!”
“Aanvoerder, hij sprak Engels! Hij ligt er uit nu, toch?”
“¡Él perdió! ¡Él perdió!”
Chaos, just chaos, and Isaac understood none of it.
“Quiet!” Isaac yelled. Everyone did. He turned to Colin, not happy to do this to him. “I’m sorry bruv, you’re out.”
There was clapping and laughing from the others. Colin just looked aghast.
“Beth?” he said, which based on context clues probably meant “What”. Then Colin’s eyes widened, “Ooooooh. Na, Na, mae boyo yn gymraeg.”
They all looked at him blankly, but Colin simply stared back. He sighed, rolling his eyes, the flapped his hands in the air like it was helping them all understand him.
“Boyo! BoYo! BOYO!”
Then it clicked. “Ohhhhh. Boyo is Welsh.”
Then a chorus of “oooohs” which seemed to be a part of the universal language of the world, thank god.
“Wait,” Isaac started, slightly confused. “Why does it sound like English then.”
“Because the English invaded Wales, almost eradicating the language along with it. ‘Boyo’ is part of Welsh slang, therefore, it’s Welsh.”
They all turned to find Beard leaning against the door frame, arms crossed as he stared at them. Like that, they were all deer in the headlights. It’s not like what they were doing was bad or anything, but standing here with Beard staring at them, all caught off guard, it felt like they were. Well, except Colin, who seemed to be happy with what Beard just said.
“Diolch!”
“Croeso,” he replied without once looking at Colin.
Hold on.
“Coach, you speak Welsh?” Isaac asked.
Coach sighed, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking further into the locker room.
“I spent a month in Wales a few years back when I decided to go off the grid for a little while. Picked up a few words here and there.” He looked at everyone. “So…you’re all betting you can go without English, huh?”
A beat passed where no one said anything.
“Ja,” said Jan from his place in the locker room.
Beard made a face, arms crossed again, then nodded as he approved.
“Cool.” then he turned, looking behind him, then around. Isaac followed his gaze but didn't find anything. “Don’t tell Roy.”
He turned to leave, but Isaac stopped him, curious about what he meant.
“Woah, why shouldn’t we tell Roy?”
Beard snorted, sighing as he tsked. “Oh Isaac…You think the head coach, Roy Kent, will be okay with the fact his players are competing in a game that effectively stops them from communicating, when they play a game professionally, where they have to communicate.” He tsked again, placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “I’ll pray for you.”
And like that, Coach closed the door in Isaac's face. He went to look through the window, which Coach closed a second later with the blind.
Isaac found himself faced with another problem. A team who can’t effectively communicate, and a coach who will make them run until they throw up 5 times worth their body weight if he finds out they participated in it. And as Captain, Isaac suspected he would be Roy's main victim.
The smart thing to do would be to stop the game right now. No one wins money, no ones loses their pride, and all is well.
But Isaac was not captain for stopping good ol’ competition. He's the captain because he threw a chair at a TV.
“Okay, new rule!” Isaac announced. He pointed at each and every one of his team, really needing them to know he meant it when he said, “Roy. Cannot. Know.”
The fear in everyone’s eyes was clear. The last thing anyone wanted was their head coach yelling at them for betting their pride and 2700 pounds. Isaac shivered at the thought.
“Don’t fuck this up,” he said, pointing at Jaime. “And keep you’re mouth shut if he asks,” he said, pointing at Jan this time.
Both looked offended but nodded as they accepted the ridicule a second later.
“Get out there lads.”
The team shuffled outside, and Isaac sighed placing his hands on his hips, the corner of his eye-catching the jigsawed together Believe sign. He thought what would Ted think about this. He considered the fact he might somehow find a way to make it about uniting as a team, talking about all the different walks of life they’ve come from, ect, ect.
In the moment, however, all Isaac was trying to do is Believe Roy won’t kill him when he inevitably finds out.
Day 1
Jamie was having a hard time not talking.
“Hier! Hier! Ik sta vrij!”
But Jamie didn’t understand a lick of what Jan was saying. In fact, he got so distracted trying to figure out what he said that he full-on stopped running, only to be crashed into by Dixon a second later, who had been on him in their starter vs reserves game.
When he crashed onto the ground, he groaned as Dixon came up to him. He held his hand out, which Jamie took as he hauled them up.
They both stood for an awkward moment since neither could say anything, not even able to speak in another language. After a moment, Jamie simply gave him a thumbs up.
“TARRT!”
Both men jumped when the voice of their coach reached all the way across the field. Immediately, Jamie froze.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuckity, fucking fuck.
“Get your ass over here, Tartt!”
Dixon gave Jamie an apologetic look before backing away slowly, the rest of the team all staring at them. Some were wide-eyed, others gave him a signal he assumed meant “stay strong” or something. Dani was the only one to come up to him though.
“Buena suerte, Jaime,” he said with a smile and a pat on the back.
The walk over to Roy felt long, and when he was finally there, Roy was glaring, hard.
“Wanna tell me why the fuck you stopped in the middle of a game?”
Jamie opened his mouth, pausing when Roy said, “And if you don’t have a good reason you better not say a fucking word.”
Thank god.
Jaime closed his mouth and shrugged, scratching at his hair under his hairband as he did his best to stay silent.
Roy just looked at him oddly, raising an eyebrow.
“Stop acting weird and run around the field. Don’t fucking stop again.”
Jaime smiled, giving Roy a thumbs up, which seemed to be his main form of communication now.
Jamie happily ran around the field knowing he wasn’t the first one out of the competition as well as spoiling the game to Roy.
God, it was tough, but Jamie would not lose 150 pounds and his pride at the same time. He would fucking win this if it’s the last thing he did.
-
Roy didn’t think too much about it, cause so far nothing about that day was unusual. In fact, Roy thought the lads were listening to him better than they ever have before. No one talked back, or made a dumb quip, and it was mostly just a lot of nods and thumbs up whenever someone made a suggestion about how they played.
Actually, it was a very unusual day.
But Roy wasn’t thinking that until he tried talking to everyone.
First, it was Dani, but his speaking Spanish to people was totally normal.
When Dani said “Gracias, Capitan,” Roy went on like normal.
However, then Sam said “O drum, Roy,” he nodded back, only finding is slightly odd. It was not unheard of for Sam to mutter the occasional phrase in Yoruba, or speak it with Winchester, but he’s never greeted Roy in the language before.
Roy brushed that off too.
It was only until Jan, then Cockburn, and then Reynolds’s and Colin said something he didn’t fucking understand did he actually start getting a little irritated. Not because of the other language, but because he was starting to think something was going on that he didn’t know about, and it pissed him off.
He would have paid more attention to it if it hadn’t been for Keeley, who distracted him the second he saw her walking down the hall so he could drive her home.
He put an arm around her as they went off together.
They passed Dani on her way out, who said, “Adios, Keeley y Roy.”
Keeley waved happily while Roy just grunted and nodded, his usual response.
“What’s got you all sick and twisted?”
Roy looked at Keeley, whose eyebrows immediately knotted together.
“Nothin’,” he lied.
Keeley looked unconvinced. “Come on, Roy, that’s not your happy grunt. That’s your ‘I’m irritated grunt,’ and not even in the endearing way like with Phoebe.”
“I don’t have different grunts,” Roy replied.
“Uh, yeah you do. And that.” She pointed at his mouth. “Was an irritated grunt.”
Roy rolled his eyes, knowing she was right, as usual.
“Nothing. I’m serious,” he added when she gave him a look. “The lads have all just…stopped talking, I guess.”
“Stopped talking?”
“I mean, they talking, just not in English.”
“Oh my God,” Keeley said, shocked. “How dare they.”
Roy rolled his eyes, smiling a bit, able to see her smile even with his eyes closed.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said as he opened the door for her, almost forgetting about the whole day when he stepped out of Richmond.
Day 2
The next day, they had a friendly game. Now, this was made extremely difficult since none of them were talking, but yesterday's practice made them understand more what everyone meant when they were asking for the ball.
In addition, by the end of the game, the team were all trending on Twitter.
At one point, Colin had been fouled when he’d done a completely legal tackle. He’d been yelling at the ref in Welsh, which resulted in a confused ref as he couldn’t exactly red-card a player when he had no idea how he was insulting him.
“Ydych chi'n dwp? Sut mae hynny'n aflan? Rwy'n tyngu pe bawn chwe modfedd yn dalach y byddwn yn cicio ass chi? Dydych chi ddim hyd yn oed yn gwybod beth rwy'n ei ddweud, Sais! HA!”
The ref simply stared in disbelief, which a photographer got on camera, which ended up on Twitter as everyone saw an angry Welshman yelling at a confused ref. Of course, no one outside the game would have guessed he was speaking Welsh unless the same thing didn’t happen to Moe.
It had been in the second half of the game, and this time it had happened closer to the stand where fans could hear them yell.
Moe had been tackled, and the ref hadn’t noticed. Moe didn’t want to let it go, and remembered what Colin had done earlier.
He’d yelled at him in fast Swiss-German that no one could keep up with. It was confusing the Ref, and it didn’t help that Jan and Dani had decided to join in and yell at him in Spanish and Dutch respectfully.
Now this, everyone heard. People recorded the videos of the three yelling at the ref in their respective languages. When Twitter got a hold of it, the entire Richmond team started trending.
Lots of #gooddaytobebilingial and #polyglot started up along with the Richmind tag, as well as the players themselves.
Videos and memes of the game were made, and people suddenly started learning fun new curse words in other languages overnight. Parents weren’t too happy about that.
But the only person who seemed confused was the very Roy Kent, who watched as his team all spoke in random languages, which somehow managed to get the other team a yellow card as the ref folded and finally listened to his players. That, or he just wanted to stop being yelled at in three different languages.
“What the fuck?” Roy said to Nate and Beard.
Nate just shrugged, looking confused but happy with the outcome, and Beard didn’t say a thing. Roy put that as regular Beard behavior.
In all honesty, he couldn’t be too pissed when it successfully got the other team a yellow card, which perhaps is the reason they got the goal and won the game.
-
Still, that same day, when all the guys were heading home, the camaraderie was strong.
They were laughing as they reenacted what they’d yelled at the refs, sharing some new words along the way.
“Neuken.” Jan explained to Dani, who sorta just looked at him oddly as Isaac watched them try to communicate from beside Dani. “Neuken!” he said, putting up the bird at the same time.
Dani’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Ahhh, ‘mierda’!”
They both laughed in celebration when someone from the back yelled out a word in another language as well. It was Colin, and Isaac recognized the word ‘fuck’ immediately, already hearing it often during their late-night Fifa games.
“Ffyc!” Colin exclaimed, Dani and Jan reacting happily.
The others all laughed, the universal language of cursing angrily being something they were all familiar with. Footballers heard it all.
“Merde!”
“Fokii!”
“Kurva!”
“Cnag!”
Laughter filled the bus at the relative elementary humor they found themselves all participating in. When they’d all looked towards Jamie, they’d paused a moment, perhaps hoping he’d break the rules and lose.
Jamie simply grinned, nodding his head and raising his pointer and middle finger at the team.
Ah, yes, the English “fuck you”.
Everyone lost it after that, and Isaac once again felt this wasn’t such a horrible idea after all.
In the back of the bus, watching and wondering, was Roy. He didn’t do anything, didn’t try and ask why they were all appearing to be cursing in random languages. Hell, part of Roy was glad he was learning to cure in other languages. Maybe he would owe Pheobe less money if…
No, but he was still fucking confused. He was left to wonder and starting to get a little pissed that it seemed no one on his team besides Isaac was talking to him, at least in a language he could understand.
He leaned towards Beard, who had his sunglasses covering his eyes as he sat with his arms crossed.
“Oi, you know what the fuck is going on?”
Beard loosened his sunglasses as he looked at Roy. Slowly, and annoyingly, he put his fingers to the side of his mouth, and pulled them to the other side, the universal language for silence, then went back to resting as he put his sunglasses back, on his head.
Well, that was fucking suspicious.
But Roy was tired and didn’t have the energy to yell at anyone right now. It could wait. Another day, maybe, until Roy really got really pissed off.
Day 5
Communicating was not as hard as everyone thought, actually.
During a practice game, Isaac was more worried Roy would notice something was off when he actually had the ability to stop and talk to them.
But they were doing so damn well, that he had no reason to stop them.
They’d started understanding each other's languages vaguely, such as Dani’s enthusiastic “¡aquí aquí!” which meant here, and that “Tapa koja!” meant kick it across. They learned this from when Sam and Tommy demonstrated the play for their team, which had rightly confused the others and got them a goal.
“Tapa koja?” Roy asked off the sidelines when they saw the play work.
“Means ‘cross it’,” Beard explained, then shrugged. “New word they could use on the pitch. Not many premier players speak Yoruba.”
Roy growled, unable to argue with the logic. He watched them put the play into practice again as the other team remained puzzled. They all lifted Sam after he made the goal, all chanting “Tapa koja” in unison. Everyone except Jamie and Dixon, which Roy found odd.
He once again brushed it off but was still starting to get real pissed at what the hell his team was doing without his knowledge.
-
That same day, they found themselves at a karaoke bar.
Most of the team was there. It had been last minute, sort of a celebration for fooling Roy for longer than Isaac has guessed they could. After the last Karaoke night they had during the first season with Ted, now everyone wanted to go up and show off their vocals. Or at least what passed as vocals.
It had first been Richard and Zorro, who sang together in French which there arms around each others shoulder, swaying as they belted out their duet. Of course, nearly none of them knew what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was enjoying it.
The next one up was Bumbercatch, who sang a rap song in German that was way more impressive than it should have been. He had good rhythm, and it was added to the list of random shit Moe seemed to be good at.
Very drunk and very happy, Colin and Reynolds were next. They sand ‘Since You’ve been gone’ by Kelly Clarkson, but twitch the English words splayed on the screen while singing in Welsh and Irish-Gailec. Of course, it made no sense, and everything was jumbled, but everyone had a good laugh and they swayed with each other singing in the language that almost none of them have ever heard them speak. The best part about it, but was both seemed absolutely delighted to be able to.
A few other lads went after that; Roberts sang something in Shona, Kukok did a ballad Czech, and Sam and Tommy ended the night with a Yoruba version of some Disney song. And to everyone’s surprise, Sam had a lovely singing voice that had gotten a standing ovation and many wolf-whistles from the English-only speaking lads.
Fuck, Isaac didn’t even remember a moment he even spoke. He didn’t need to. Even though none of them were talking technically, he still felt like they were still closer than ever. They just found other ways. It was shown in the way Jan and Richard still leaned into each and spoke their respectful language, not really understanding each other but still communicating. It showed in the way players like Tartt and Goodman played some kind of drunk charades with Sam and Dani, making them laugh harder than Isaac’s ever seen before. It showed in the way they all laughed and drunkenly cried and talked and still had some understanding of what they were saying and meant without actually knowing.
It made Isaac proud to see his team like this. Because he started this. And they were as close as ever.
Day 7
Roy was starting at the locker room, finding the silence unnerving. When they’d usually be talking and joking about the day's practice as they all got ready to go home, instead they were all doing their own thing. Some spoke the occasional phrase or gesture, but nothing beyond that.
It’s been like this for a whole week. The first few days, Roy ignored it. On the fourth, he was getting confused, and on the fifth, he was irritated enough to growl and grunt for most of his responses to people. Today, the seventh, was when he was done being confused.
He stood abruptly from his chair, Beard and Nate’s heads turning as they followed him as he walked.
He flung the door open, the team jumping out of their skin like cats as he called their attention.
“Listen up you pricks!”
The players all immediately gave Roy their attention. When Roy didn’t say anything, they all shifted uncomfortably.
Well, that’s fucking suspicious, Roy thought.
He walked forward, more slowly than necessary, but he enjoyed having them all on the edge of their seats.
He made a point to look each player in the eye, making his pace painfully slow as all their eyes followed him. He ended up passing Sam, Isaac, and Richard, each giving him a worried look when he looked each in the eye. He only stopped when he found himself in front of the one player he knew wouldn’t lie to him.
Despite being shorter than Jan, Roy managed to make the Dutchman nervous. He could tell.
Roy probably should have felt bad, using the most honest guy in the room to try and get them to admit whatever the fuck has been going on the past few days, but he had a bigger thing to deal with than a group of adult men acting like children. So, he let his bad feelings pass as he stared down Jan.
“So, Jan,” he said, watching and Jan swallowed nervously. “Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”
Roy could feel the tension, and the eyes of the other players on himself and Jan. He’s sure they were all nodding their heads ‘no’ and making faces at Jan to get him to stay silent.
Roy just stared the Dutchman down.
“We hebben een weddenschap gesloten dat niemand van ons Engels mag spreken.”
Roy sighed as everyone else in the room seemed to take a breath. He closed his eye, then opened them.
“In English, Maas. Now.”
Jan stuttered, looking at Richard for some help.
“No, not him. Me, Maas.”
He turned his head to Roy, for the first time since Roy met him, speechless. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on, and I won’t make you and the whole team run the field straight for the next five practices.
Jan’s eyes widened at the threat, and the entire team shuffles at the prospect of running for hours upon hours, which Roy knew they hated more than any other kind of drill exercise he could come up with. It always put a smile on Roy’s face.
“Jan. Don’t make me ask again.”
A beat. And another, and damn the Dutchman, because he didn’t say a word, in Dutch or English otherwise.
“He’s bluffing,” came a voice from behind Roy.
Roy turned his head slowly, to find none other than the AFC Richmond captain standing as he made the claim.
Roy turned his attention to Isaac, not seeing how Jan took a deep breath he’d been holding during the interaction.
Isaac didn’t budge, however. He stood tall, and in any other scenario Roy would be proud of the captain he chose, but he could only be pissed as it became more clear they were all hiding something from him, including said captain.
“Isaac,” Roy growled, causing Nate to physically shiver from where he stood with Beard under the believe sign. “You mind saying something since you seem to be the only person on my team speaking a language I can understand?”
He walked the distance between the two, almost impressed as Isaac nearly didn’t falter once. Nearly. He saw the way he shuffled his fist nervously.
“Sorry Coach, but whatever it is they’re doing, It’s on me, and I’ll take the blame. But I cannot in good conscience tell you what. Yet.”
“...Excuse me.”
Silence as Roy’s anger began to reach a boiling point, and then a sound Roy never thought he would be glad to hear was made, pulled him out of it.
“It’s not his fault!” cried Jamie from the other side of the locker room.
And like that, the tension was broken. All the fear Roy caused was gone as all the players began either aggressively pointing at Jamie or yelling at him in a language Roy did not understand.
“O padanu! Jamie padanu!” was the last thing Roy heard, sounding like it came from Sam, before he screamed ‘whistle!’ and they all shut up.
“Will everyone shut up so Tartt can tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Everyone looked at Jamie, who looked like a deer in headlights with how wide his eyes have gone since he spoke for what seemed like the first time in days. Jamie coughed into his hand, taking a sip of water offered to him by Bumbercatch. Roy waited impatiently for Jamie to make light of the fucking weird situation he found everyone in.
“Well, Coach,” Jamie started, voice sounding hoarse. “You see…a few days ago we sorta made this bet that no one in this room could go without speaking English. So we've all been….not talking…I guess, for…” he paused, counting numbers on his fingers. “A week now?”
The room nodded and muttered, agreeing with the number.
“But like, we didn’t think it would go as far as it has, we all bet money and the winner gets 2700 pounds. So for a while, we’ve just been managing along I guess. But like, I think we learned a lot about it each, like Sam has a beautiful singing voice.”
They all began muttering again in agreement, Isaac patting Sam on the back as he looked down sheepishly.
“But the point is,” Jamie continued. “We haven’t been not communicating, you feel meh? What's that body-science thing you talked about, Isaac.”
“Kinesics.”
“Yes, that.” He paused, and by god, Roy thought that Jamie thought he was actually getting somewhere. “So, like, really, I think we should be rewarded for our hard work.”
The entire room groaned, someone throwing a towel at Jamie as it landed on his head. Roy was almost entertained. Almost.
Then he thought about it. An entire week. He finally noticed how Jamie and some of the other English lads have not said a word to anyone. Then he thought about how everyone else have been speaking in a tongue no one around could understand. He thought about the game, the confusion it caused how they still managed to play a practice match and not make it completely shit. Fuck.
“So you’re telling me you haven’t said a word in an entire week?” Roy asked, pointing at Jamie.
“Yeah, and it’s been hard. You know I had sex two days ago and couldn’t even say her name.”
“Wait, how did you get her to have sex with you then?” Isaac asked.
Jamie simply scoffed. “Come on.”
“Wait,” Roy interrupted, not really wanting to hear the rest of this. “You all have been doing this shit outside this Richmond stadium?”
They all nodded. Others say yes in their language.
Roy was at this point more impressed than angry. They technically haven’t played a game yet, but they’ve proved this stupid dare wasn't affecting their game. And if it’s true and all of them followed the rules of this ridiculous game, then all of them, every single one, has stood by his word and not spoken English for seven days in a country called fucking England.
“What the fuck is wrong with you all?”
The lads shrugged, some just avoided Roy’s gaze.
“How the fuck did you manage to do that. It’s impressive as shit.”
Silence once again. They all looked up, sharing confused glances as if they probably weren't sure if they heard Roy right. It put a silent smile on Roy’s face.
“You serious, Coach?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” Roy continued. “I mean, you were all obvious as shit if you were trying to hide it from me, but everything else? Shit, I didn’t know you all had it in you to all follow the ridiculous rules for a week? It’s stupid, but I’m impressed.”
Again, silence.
Roy raised an eyebrow, wondering if it really was so rare of him to provide a compliment he’s gathered them all speechless.
Then Dani spoke up.
“Ay, thank you, coach!”
Then chaos. Again.
Players pointed at Dani, yelling things in languages that Roy has never heard, a jumble of words and aggressive pointing as Dani spoke English.
“Dani, of all people I didn’t expect you to fold second,” Isaac said.
“I’m sorry, Capitan, but I was just so moved by what Roy said.”
Dani put a hand to his heart as he smiled at Roy, apparently not upset at all to have lost the game they’d been playing. It said a lot about him as a man, and Roy remembered just how much his opinion mattered to these guys.
“I had to speak up,” he continued. “I don’t care about the game anymore.”
A moment of silence passes, then a groan came from the right side of the room. The whole locker room turned their heads to find Colin with his head leaning against the back of the wall. Then, he stood up, quite dramatically, and addressed the room.
“Fuck it, then. I’m out too.”
Cheers, groans, and more reactions from the room. Roy thought about it, and maybe he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.
“Bruv, so soon?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, and by the way Isaac, you’ve been using the word ‘titillating’ wrong for three days now.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did! Many times!”
The players all began nodding and muttering in agreement. Isaac looked almost offended, then thought for a second
“....oooooh.”
“Fuck it!” Zorro jumped up and slammed his gloves on the ground, the slap of the leather on the ground enough to make other players jump at his dramatic entrance. “I’m done too. I miss talking to everyone. I love you Richard but I can only talk about wine for so long.”
Richard’s mouth fell open in offense, then he waved his hand as he started mouthing off in French at Zorro. He did this for a while until he finally stopped, crossing his arms and looking away from him.
“Bro,” Zorro said. “Come on.”
Richard turned his head, glaring at Zorro. They had a short staring match that Roy was ready to interrupt until Richard sighed quite loudly.
“Fine. I’m out too, I guess.”
“Me too,” said Sam, standing up. “I’m afraid if I only talk to Tommy I’ll fear I’ll never speak English again.”
Winchester stood beside him. “Me too. And Sam doesn’t curse as much in Yoruba. I miss it.”
It was only a domino effect after that. The English speakers started speaking up again, many offered water as their sore throats finally were put to use, and the others finally spoke in English where confessions for some reason were being made about how much they actually like listening to each other talk.
Roy was shocked; all it took for them to end a game where they challenged each other's willpower was for him to compliment them. He wondered what that said about their self-confidence. Maybe he should talk to Doctor Sharon about that.
But then again, some were more stubborn than others.
In the end, it came down to Jan and Moe. Neither wanted to lose and they were probably two of the more stubborn players on the team out of all of them. Funnily enough, also the tallest and the shortest, which Roy only noticed because they were staring each other down in the middle of his damn locker room.
“Ik wil niet verliezen.”
“Dieser blonde Riese kann mich nicht schlagen.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roy said, staring up at the ceiling, willing god to strike him down so that maybe death can end this for him. “Someone just speak English and lose.”
“Nein.”
“Nee.”
“I’m going to kill them both,” Roy muttered under his breath.
“I mean,” Jamie began, and Roy couldn't explain it at the moment, but he had the funny, good feeling Jamie was going to say something fucking stupid. “Is it just me, or do German and Dutch sorta just sound like the same thing?”
Perfect.
So sometimes Jamie says things that were useful, because it was this that caused both Jan and Moe to angrily yell out “Excuse me?!” at the exact same time.
Their faces went from anger, to shock, to fear as they stared at each other. The room was silent until Jan spoke up, pointing at Moe.
“He spoke English first.”
“What?” Moe said, aghast. “You’re trippin’, mate, you spoke first.”
“No no no, you spoke English first. I’m right, right everyone?”
Some people shrugged, and others agreed.
“I mean, It did sound like Moe spoke first,” Sam said sheepishly.
“Nah man, it was definitely Jan,” Zorro replied instead.
Roy coached children. Actual children. He was sure of it because soon they started arguing with each other once again, deciding who won and who got all the money. Roy watched them argue, thinking whether he should yell, have Nate blow the whistle, or something worse.
He was going to when the whiteboard in the corner of the room caught his eye. It was empty aside from the play “The Lasso Special” put up alone with the title itself.
Roy stared at it for a moment, then back to the lads.
“Tapa koja,” Roy muttered under his breath.
The only person who seemed to hear this was Beard. “What was that, coach?”
“Tapa Koja,” he said a bit louder this time, staring at Beard. He then turned towards the team. “WHISTLE!”
The team quietened down immediately. Roy grinned internally. That never got old.
“Forget about the fucking money, and forget about the bet! WILL!”
Will appeared out of nowhere, shocking Roy as his head was suddenly next to his.
“Christ, Will!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just grab the whiteboard and a bunch of expo markers.” Will nodded, running off and out of the room. “And as for the rest of you, sit your arse’s down and listen up.”
Although appearing confused, the boys listened. Jan and Moe looked a bit peefed, but they’d survive.
They all sat down, muttering amongst themselves as they waited for Will. At that time, Roy glanced at Nate and Beard, the former looking just as confused as the others, and the latter’s face remaining expressionless. Although, Roy could have sworn he saw a smile on his face at one point.
When Will came back with a frankly ridiculous number of markers, Sam was the first player Roy turned to.
“Sam,” Roy said, holding a marker out to him. “You’re up first.”
Day 8
They played Cristal Palace at their next game, and absolutely dominated.
They used the language barrier to their advantage. The day before. Roy had everyone translate certain actions into other languages. ‘Cross it’, ‘fake out’, ‘pass to me next play’, ‘pretend to pass’, ‘avoid me’, and things like that were translated into as many languages as possible for them to use. It was the first time Roy’s given them homework, but it was worth it.
They won using words the other team could not comprehend at all. It was that mixed with the confusion that threw them off, as well as a new tactic thought of by Nate ‘in the moment’ that also had them win with a whopping 5-1 game.
The celebration in the locker room had been immaculate. The boys were in high spirits, and Roy couldn’t help but smile at them.
They’d done it, almost on their own. Roy had just pathed the path and hoped they’d chosen the right choice. Moments like this he felt proud to be their coach because they’d mostly done this themselves. He just helped them get there.
And as they smiled and cheered and yelled out in their respective language, Roy found himself almost sad Ted wasn’t here to see it. Almost. He knew he was happier back in Kansas than he ever could be here at Nelson Road.
“Oi Coach, we’re heading to the club. Wanna join?” Isaac asked, some of the other boys behind him as they waited for an answer.
Roy grinned.
“Will you be there?”
Isaac chuckled. “Of course.”
“Then Fuck. No.”
Isaac laughed, pointing his finger at Roy who hid his smile behind a small grin like he usually did.
“My clubbing days are over, McAdoo. Drink for me.”
Isaac nodded, saluting Roy as he and the others all began heading out. “You got it, Coach.”
Roy cleaned up his desk after the boys left. Nate had gone off earlier, mentioning a date with Jade, and Beard had nodded at him as they shared their usual grunt that meant ‘goodbye, see you tomorrow’ with each other. They did this nearly every night, always Roy leaving last. However, Beard paused before he left, peaking his head back into the room before he left.
“Roy,” he said. Roy picked his head up, Beard looking at him. “Good job today.”
Beard slapped the door frame a couple of times before disappearing, leaving Roy sitting there, feeling the weight of the words. He sighed, leaning back against the chair. He laid there a second, deciding after a relaxing moment to grab his jacket, texting Keeley that he was on his way back now.
As he stepped outside the room, about to leave, he turned back to look at the believe sign hanging above the door. All the different pieces put together by the team, the pieces they kept without telling any of their coaches. Roy didn't even know.
He’d been afraid of fucking it all up, undoing what Ted had achieved amazingly.
He was finally starting to realize it was never Ted himself. Sure, he led them, he helped them and changed them, but in the end, it was up to them, the boys.
Roy’s job wasn’t to make them better himself but to make sure they never lost their way in achieving that themselves.
He looked again at the whiteboard covered in translations, the handwriting of each player littering the board beautifully.
Yeah, Roy wasn’t worried anymore. They’d be all right.