The Match Nobody Filmed

Hemi checks the phone on its little tripod. “Don’t touch anything until the end,” he tells Celia. “Even if I fall over.” She folds her arms. “Especially if you fall over.” He grins and runs onto the pitch. This is the last match before the club chooses clips for its season evening. Hemi has played all winter, but somehow the camera always misses his best moments.

For twenty minutes, nothing much happens. Celia keeps the phone aimed at the play, shifting the tripod when the teams change ends at half-time. The coach has checked that everyone involved has agreed to the club recording. Then a dog slips its lead beside the spectator rail. Celia catches the lead before it reaches the pitch. By the time she turns back, the ball is already in the net.

Hemi comes running over at the final whistle. “Tell me you got that.” Celia looks at the recording. For several seconds it shows grey sky and the top of the rail. “I got a dog,” she says. Hemi’s smile disappears. He has scored from outside the box, just as he hoped, and there is no film of it. Celia offers to explain, but he walks towards the changing room.

In the clubhouse, Mr Webb asks why Hemi is quiet. “There’s nothing to show for it,” Hemi mutters. The coach points to the match sheet. Hemi’s name is there beside the goal. “There’s that.” “You know what I mean.” Mr Webb does, but says nothing more. Across the room, Celia is returning the tripod to its bag. Hemi realises he has not thanked her for standing outside all afternoon.

He goes over. “Sorry. I was annoyed.” “I noticed.” She explains about the dog, and he looks towards the field. It could easily have run in front of a player. Celia opens her notebook. While the teams rested, she had sketched the pitch and marked a few passes to help her follow the game. There is a little arrow where Hemi received the ball before his shot.

“That pass was from Arlo,” Hemi says. Celia adds the name. “And before him?” He thinks. The goalkeeper rolled it out, then two players moved it down the left. They ask the others, who disagree about one touch until Mr Webb checks his notes. Soon five people are bent over Celia’s sketch. Hemi had remembered the shot perfectly. He had almost forgotten how the ball reached him.

For the season evening, Celia suggests showing the sketch beside the match photographs. They could tell the story of the goal without pretending to have filmed it. Hemi asks his teammates to help. One draws the first pass, another adds a run that pulled a defender away. Celia makes a clean copy, keeping the original beside her. Nobody can draw a convincing football boot, so the players become simple dots.

At the club evening, Hemi stands beside the picture. He describes the ball moving across the field, pausing while his teammates add their parts. When he reaches the shot, someone asks where the video is. Celia points to a photograph of the dog, which its owner has agreed they can use. Everyone laughs. Hemi laughs too. Then he points back to the first pass and finishes the story.

They are stacking chairs when Celia asks whether he still wants her to film next season. “If you want to,” he says. “I can take a turn when I’m not playing.” She hands him the tripod bag. “You can practise carrying this.” On the way out, he stops by their picture. His goal is a small arrow at the end of a long line. He leaves the whole drawing on the board.