| |
I quickly get to grips with the basics. If a grop is broken and a penalty awarded too far out for a shot, the team opts to keep possession and the opposing team has to fall back fifteen paces.
Occasionally a player will shoot from a standing position, but the height of the whorl – the target on the tree – and the lightness of the grop work against that, and those shots are rarely successful.
The most common way of scoring, other than from a penalty, involves getting close enough to a tree for a chucker to throw one of his teammates into the air, and for that person to shoot from above the heads of their opponents. The person who gets thrown is called a hummingbird if it’s from open play, or a condor if it’s from a penalty. (The general term is bird.)
Scoring from a penalty is called a soar. Scoring from the air in open play is called a hover. And scoring from the ground is called a fluke.
There are many other terms, for plays and the players, but I don’t focus on those, afraid my brain might go into meltdown if I cram it with too much technical jargon.
Although the Merged started brightly, the SubMerged soon take control. They’re a proper squad, whereas the home team is made up of volunteers from various zones, most of whom have never played together before.
The SubMerged go six-two up and you can sense the expectations of the crowd dwindling away. They carry on cheering, but they can see this isn’t going to be a closely fought contest.
“How long does it go on for?” I ask.
“Twenty-six points,” Kurtis says. “That’s higher than normal for a friendly, but our people wanted plenty of time to analyse crowd patterns.”
Cal elaborates. “Matches are played up to a certain score. This first half will end when a team scores its thirteenth point. There’ll be a short break, then they’ll swap halves and carry on until one of them gets to twenty-six.”
The Merged team drags the score back to 6-3, but the SubMerged score almost instantly from the restart. One of the Merged players doesn’t get up after that. She snapped a bone in her leg in the last play, and even the skilled medics can’t instantly cure that. She’s carried from the pitch to a warm round of applause.
As the woman’s being taken off, the captain jogs to the sideline opposite ours and calls to the crowd.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
“Looking for a replacement,” Kurtis says.
“Don’t they have substitutes?”
“We do,” he says, “but this was a last-minute thing for the Merged team. They’ll have to rely on help from the crowd.”
“How will a replacement be chosen?” I ask.
Cal shrugs. “The captain will ask for help, those who are eager to take part will state their case, and he’ll make a judgement call. It can be tricky, since sometimes people make wild claims. I’ve seen men as big as me swear that they’re a bird.”
“What about you?” I ask. “You used to play grop.”
“A long time ago,” he says.
“But you’re still in good shape, right?”
“I like to think so,” he smiles.
“Were you a chucker?”
“Sometimes,” he nods, “but mostly a blocker.”
“Will you volunteer if that position opens up?”
Cal tugs his moustache. “It’s been ages,” he mutters, “and I never enjoyed playing in front of large crowds.”
“But it’s against the SubMerged,” I remind him. “You’d get to tackle them.”
Cal stops tugging and his eyes light up. “Oh.” He looks out at the sea of players and smiles wolfishly.
“You’ll do it if the chance arises?” I press.
“If they’ll have me,” he says.
I beam at the gigantic Cal, then turn my attention back to the game. I’m still cheering for the Merged, but secretly I’m hoping the SubMerged will force one of our blockers from the field, because Cal’s built like a wrecking machine and I want to sic him on them. I’m sure he’d crack heads and snap bones like twigs, and that would wipe the smug grin from duke-to-be Kurtis’ pasty face!
It’s surely only coincidence, but play soon draws to a halt near where we’re standing. The SubMerged are up ten-four and the Merged captain looks dejected, but while he’s standing close to us, he casts an eye over the crowd, spots the huge Cal and cocks his head. Beside me, Cal gives a slight nod. The captain lets his gaze wander again but Cal’s smiling and I get the sense that a secret message passed between the two men.
Play resumes. The Merged have control of the grop, but then a pass is intercepted. The SubMerged break and two of their birds run into open space to shoot and score.
“Nearly half-time,” Kurtis beams. “I’ll get hotcats when play pauses.”
“Hotcats?” I blink.
“Our equivalent of hotdogs,” Inex whispers. “You can’t watch grop without tucking into a hotcat.”
While I’m wondering what a hotcat looks and tastes like, one of the larger Merged players goes down and groans, signalling for assistance.
A medic hurries to the injured player, who points at his ankle. The medic treats it, but the player grimaces when he gets up and tells the captain he can’t continue. The captain heads for the area where I’m standing with Inez, Kurtis... and Cal.
“We need a blocker,” the captain shouts. “Any volunteers?”
Several bulky men and women roar their willingness to get involved. The captain nods as if weighing up his options, but then Cal raises a hand, and I know there was never any doubt about who he was going to pick.
“I’ve found my man,” the captain says, waving Cal forward.
“Wait a minute,” the SubMerged captain huffs, striding towards Cal. “Have you been remoulded?”
“No,” Cal says. “Test me if you want. If I’m lying, you can throw me into a river of blood without any resistance.”
The SubMerged captain scowls. “No need to bite my head off. The size of you... Anyone in my position would have asked.”
“Maybe,” Cal says, cracking his knuckles. “Just don’t ask again.”
Cal sets off with the Merged captain, furiously discussing tactics.
“What was that about?” I ask Inez.
“Players used to get remoulded,” she says, “longer legs, extra muscles in their arms and so on. It added to the spectacle, but then it got ridiculous — you had giants who could score from their own endline. The gropmeisters banned performance-enhancing remoulds, but occasionally a cheat will try to pass as normal.”
“How can you know if a person’s genuine or not?” I ask.
“The gropmeisters can run checks,” she says.
I lower my voice so that Kurtis can’t hear. “Cal’s a plant. The captain caught his eye before the last score. I don’t think that blocker was really injured.”
“I know,” Inez chuckles.
“Isn’t that cheating too?” I ask.
Inez sniffs. “It’s not entirely in keeping with the spirit of grop, but it’s not illegal. The SubMerged won’t complain.”
As she’s saying that, Cal finishes chatting with the captain, who sends nine of his players to the sidelines, leaving them with a squad of just seven players.
The SubMerged captain is caught off guard. He had the right to determine the numbers, since his team scored the last point, but didn’t bother to make any changes. He’s not sure how to react. He talks it over with his teammates, then sends eight players off. Once they’re gone, the Merged captain lobs the grop into the air.
“GROP!” we all roar.
And the fightback begins.