Forward Is A Pace (Short)

[EvilDave]

I played the pioneer with Padraig. Polished up the English parts just like I’d practised, leant on the local connections. I was vague on my background, big on the Buffaloes, and landed the position with ease.

The contract wasn’t confident, but they had no need to be. The pay was good but funds were non-existent, the squad was lacking but expenses were covered. He’d called it a rebuilding job, and that seemed pretty generous – the Rapids were looking for a repeat miracle, and it would have to be fortuitous.

Holly would have loved it – she was always optimistic. I could picture her laughing at the suits and all the multi-coloured boots, hurling abuse at our rivals. She’d never learned the rules, but her passion was contagious – we’d made a thrilling team. There were occasional fights, massive nights, and we were never short of a substance.

Holly was my partner in crime, but we were too smart to get caught. We were quiet in the crowds, did our deals in sleepy towns, and got out before things got messy. She was five years older and eight times wiser, so we learned how to manage our limits.

But when I was coaching in Seattle she went south to friends in Portland, and those friends were not so subtle. They were run out of the bar, jumped straight into a car, and that had been a bad idea. Their driver lost control, the streetlights weren’t so friendly, and when I knew what had happened as soon as the call came through.

Four years we’d been together, and in a minute it was over. Holly wasn’t the first friend I’d lost, but she was the one that meant the most. I was broken, foggy, surrounded by silence and empty rooms. I moved on at the end of the year with nowhere to go to and no particular care. I needed out of Seattle and out of my head, and Boulder seemed a good place to get lost.

[EvilDave]

You can get anything in Boulder – highs, lows, and things you’ve never heard of. I chose anything that came in a bottle, and was happy that way. Less happy, more like numb, but it was nearly OK.

A few months later a friend showed up, trainers in hand and pack on his back. We ran through rivers, ran up mountains, ran ‘til sunset. Brock went home but I was hooked, and my bottles were replaced with soft flasks, my snacks with energy gels. Boulder is the place to run, and it was all I did. Mile after mile, day after day. My metronome, my therapy.

As the miles passed, I got good. My diet improved, the weight fell off, and the Rockies proved a perfect training ground. I ran local races, won some small ones, and started travelling to run. 50km, 100 miles, it was all the same – I was built to endure, started to enjoy, and one addiction was replaced by another.

But the world of ultra-running is unregulated, and why have one when two will do nicely? I told myself it was different this time, that it’d stay recreational, and maybe I was right. I still needed money though.

So I talked my way into college, and a whole new team. CU Boulder’s men ‘soccer’ program was strictly social, but over in Denver the women had the Buffaloes. They had a gap, I had experience, and it looked good for both of us. I talked a good game, they paid a good wage, and I was in from the ground up.

Coaching had always been the go-to gig. Before he ran off, my English father was football mad, and impressionable me soaked it up. I couldn't play, but what I picked up watching Premier League put me streets ahead of my St Paul peers tactically, and it was a natural progression from there to the summer camps that parents so love sending their kids to. I still stood out, and so moved on.

I bounced around the Upper Midwest, starting with kids and ending up in college. You win more than you lose and people take notice, and within five years I’d crossed the country, landing in Seattle at Washington State. Turns out a winning record and a couple of guys in the draft is all you need to set up a new program in Boulder.

Four years on, the Rapids wanted a reboot. My team was still winning, that put me in the running, and after talking to Padraig, the money was flowing. That’s Padraig Smith, the Rapids’ GM – he was a money man, but an Irishman, and we hit it off as fellow outsiders. He was strictly business with an eye for the bottom line, and I sealed it all with the promise of high times.

[EvilDave]

We wanted the same things, we shared a vision, and now we shared a purpose. Paddy wheeled and dealed while I set out the cones, he made the moves and my face went in the papers. The crowds were small – I guess Colorado never really took to soccer – but the noise was loud as the wins came in.

I was still running – not as much, but plenty – and that was my plan for the Rapids. When skills are sketchy fitness wins out, and that was the plan to keep us in with a shout. No laps of a track, but hikes of long trails, and my men could keep going forever. We outworked and outpaced, outthought and outlasted, and the late goals were our reward.

It took a while to get going but the points started flowing – a little late for the top but enough to hold steady. The Sounders and Galaxy stormed off atop the pack, but we were more than good enough not to drop too far back. We went toe-to-toe with Timbers in a bid to win bronze medals, and turned up for the playoffs with some metal round our necks.

Kansas City was a blowout with three goals in 15 minutes, and we rode out the backlash to round it out with two late on. Seattle were the next in line - back to an old stomping ground of mine. Holly’s ghost was everywhere.

I felt her in the hotel room, in the hallways and the reflections of the buildings. I felt her at sunset, and as I ran up Tiger Mountain in the dawn. She was there in the silence, there in the crowds. At Lumen Field, I swear she was across from me in the dugout.

It may have been Holly’s touch, but the method didn’t matter. Our huff and puff couldn’t grab us a goal, and the hosts’ one was enough. They’d go to LA for the Conference game, we went home to lick our wounds.

We came back after winter with our team a little weaker – Denver didn’t draw like LA or New York, so Padraig had to try and be clever. We’d gone shopping in El Salvador, Paraguay and Ecuador, we’d lost a couple of veterans. We were faster and fitter, we were young and naïve – it made for decent entertainment.

But our consistency slipped, and my frustrations grew. I spent more time on the trails and less on the training pitch, and there was dissent in the ranks. Our Paraguayan phenom got homesick and sad, our long-serving captain got hurt, and things turned bad. We only needed 7^th to book tickets to post-season, and scraped in an unconvincing 6^th.

But we upset Dallas and got revenge up in Seattle, Holly’s ghost was there again but seemed a whole lot calmer. We played for the West at fellow upstarts Houston, and the ragtag Rapids somehow came through.

We’d gone from rank outsiders to the game for all the marbles, and we were going to Chicago with everything to play for. What we both lacked in flair we made up for in production, and for once the presentation was fixed firmly on the action. No fading European stars or sideline celebrities – just a Windy City shootout for the purists.

With the lights, the cameras, the hype and speculation, the outcome on the field was far from classic. We were well-drilled teams, we were giving no quarter, and the thrill-a-minute seekers left dejected. It was settled by a spot-kick late into the game, and the ribbons on the trophy were Chicago’s.

[EvilDave]

I don’t quite remember what came next, but it wasn’t a run on the Lakefront. I stayed in town after to see some old friends, and things got blurry and heavy. Four days later I flew back to Denver, and came over all unsteady.

My deal was up and the Rapids wanted more, but we’d already blown past expectations. I didn’t need the money, I still wanted to run, and I didn’t need budget frustrations. Feeling Holly at peace had me looking for new starts – somewhere fresh, somewhere for beginnings.

I wanted to calm down, to be and to settle. To know, to be known, and to follow a passion. I’d woken in Chicago with a girl on my shoulder – I missed being wanted. I ran up mountains in Seattle – I missed feeling free. Coaching was something that paid for addictions, but the cost of living didn’t scare me anymore.

I apologised to Padraig as I shook his hand goodbye, and jumped on a flight up north. Back up to Washington, back to the Cascades, and when I got there I’d work out what for.

[EvilDave]

Here ends another EvilDave tale - I hadn't intended to leave a week between the final two posts, but alas I was away on holiday. I felt like trying something in a somewhat different style, and I still don't know whether it worked or not, but hopefully some of you have enjoyed the brief ride!