The Price to Pay

by Alys Abruzzo

  

I kicked the ball past the last defender on the right of the field and moved with it, at top speed, towards the goal. For, what felt like, the twentieth time in the game I was tackled illegally from behind by the other, bulky defender. I was dumped to the ground as my 'sporting' opponent kicked my legs away. The small crowd of our supporters roared 'foul!'. For the first time in the game the referee was too close to the incident to ignore it. He blew his whistle and called for a free kick.

Sion helped me up and asked me if I felt OK to take the kick. I rubbed the latest bruise on my leg and nodded. I wasn't going to miss this for the world. I placed the ball on the ground. Our opponents were wasting as much time as possible on setting up the defensive wall. They didn't want to concede a goal now as a drawn game would give them the league title. Eventually all was set. I looked at all the players' positions and knew that my kick would have to be perfect to be successful. I ran up and kicked the ball with the inside of my boot, the vicious swerve I gave it took it round the defensive wall and past the despairing reach of the goalkeeper into the top corner. Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I turned round to look at Sion, but strangely instead of Sion the face of Ryan Giggs* beamed back at me and the small crowd in the sports field had turned into 70,000 in Old Trafford. I basked in the adulation but the cheers somehow turned into jeers and the shout of 'Celyn's a girl' started to ring through the crowd.

The ringing increased in volume and became some classic Welsh rock 'Nid diwedd y gān yw'r geiniog', thumping around the stadium.

I opened an eye and looked at my CD/alarm clock. I reached over and fumbled with the music off switch. By the time I had managed to locate it, well hidden on the clock's side, I had been forced to open a second eye and all hopes of returning to my dream of sporting achievement had disappeared. I cursed the clock manufacturers for their cunning design, which had once again succeeded. The clock read 8am. I lay on my back and thought back to that fateful game and remembered how the joy of the final result had so soon after turned into the pain and anguish that had started me on my unexpected journey.

I sat up in my bed and the jiggle of my breasts at this sudden movement reminded me of where I had come so far in my journey while the cool morning air on my bare legs reminded me of my mother's wish to clothe me in completely female clothing. I would have to persuade her that girls could wear PJ's as well as night dresses. I grabbed my dressing gown and after locating my (pink!) slippers walked downstairs to the kitchen for some breakfast.

I sat at the table eating my cornflakes and glanced at the main stories in the Guardian newspaper, that had thumped onto the carpet as I reached downstairs. I thought back to the night before and sitting in the same chair opposite Sion at the breakfast table. It had taken almost an hour, after his initial shock at seeing my female form, to explain everything to him. In the end he told me that he thought I was very brave and that he would like to help in any way possible. I had then put on a blouse and skirt, the only type of casual clothes that I possessed, and we had played Wii Sports. When my parents had finally arrived, my father had taken Sion and bike home while I had had to explain to my Mum how I was wearing these clothes in the company of Sion. Somehow or other we had ended up watching Titanic for the nth time on cable sharing a box of paper tissues between us - female hormones!

The phone rang.

"Are you ready?", was Sion's first sentence.

"And good morning to you Sion", I replied in a jokey, sarcastic voice

"Are you ready?", he repeated, with a little more urgency.

"I think the job of Polly Parrot has now been filled. Ready for what Sion?"

"Are you ready to go?"

"You've lost me completely Sion, ready to go where?"

"To the game! The final of the youth cricket cup, we promised we'd play now that our exams are over", he replied with with a tone of frustration.

"Oh ssuuuuugggggaaaarrrr! What time do we have to be there?"

"25 minutes, I'm leaving now I'll be with you in 10"

I ran upstairs, zipped myself into my superflat sports bra, then the addition of a tight T shirt and loose cricket sweater concealed my upper half. I pulled my jock strap on and stuffed the prosthetic inside, no time to put it on properly. Hair into an untidy male pony tail and having put on my cricket trousers, socks and shoes in record time I made it to the door just as Sion knocked.

"Hi", I said slightly out of breath from the rush downstairs.

"Nail Varnish!!"

"Do you want some nail varnish Sion, you surprise me"

"No you dipstick", said Sion in exasperation, "you are still wearing it from yesterday and as you hopefully realise it's not the usual Aberllwyd youth cricket team kit"

I ran back into my bedroom and in record time had removed the bulk of the offending colour, well at least enough to pass anything but the closest inspection.

We arrived at the ground, via various bike short cuts, just as the coach was finishing his team talk.

"Thought you two were not honouring us with your presence", he commented acidly despite our fulsome apologies

Neither of us had played for weeks because of our school exams. This was the final game of the youth season, the team for 16-17 year olds. If we could beat the team from Cwm Gwyddon then we would win the youth title, the first time for many years. Our opponents were in the same situation so this was a crucial game for both sides. Today's game was scheduled for 30 overs each team**.

The game ebbed and flowed. First our opening batsmen started brightly scoring well but then the two big, clearly overage players in my opinion, players started bowling fast, hard and dirty. We quickly lost wickets and the scoring rate slowed. Sion revived our scoring for a while before he was hit in the chest by a vicious delivery by gorrila 2, I had nicknamed them gorilla 1 and 2. Soon it was my turn to bat and there were only 3 of us left to try and achieve a reasonable score. Gorilla 1 looked at me in contempt as I walked to face his bowling. I was by 3-4 inches shorter than everyone else on the pitch. He thundered down to bowl and sent down one to hit me in the head. He was about to yell in triumph until, at the last moment, I stepped inside the flight and steered the ball over the boundary for a score of 6. That enraged him and then followed a series of powerful deliveries that I either blocked, if they were on target, or used the pace he had put on the ball to steer to scoring shots.

Our final team score of 165 was respectable and I was happy with my personal mark of 55.

Our opponents got off to a good start scoring quickly, with gorilla 1 and 2 laying waste to our bowling. in desperation the team captain, a tall 17 year old called Alun, handed me the ball.

"See what you can do Celyn", he said.

The confident opening batsmen looked at my small stature and grinned at each other. They were expecting some big hits from my bowling. I ran in gently and tossed a ball up high, inviting a big hit from gorilla 1 . He swung mightily and only succeeded in moving a mass of air as the furious backspin I had put on the ball caused it to swerve past his bat and to gently knock over one of his stumps. He gave me a look of utter disgust and stomped off. After his dismissal our bowlers regained confidence and together we managed to slow their scoring, and get them out on regular intervals, so that with one over left they needed 7 runs but were down to their last pair of batsmen. First ball, Sion, our fastest bowler, steamed in and almost hit the wicket but the delivery was too fast for our wicket keeper and we conceded 4 runs as the ball ran all the way to the boundary. I walked over to where Sion was waiting to bowl his next ball.

"A slower one, leg side, try it Sion", I whispered.

He looked at me and nodded. he waited until I had taken an unusual field position. He thundered in and appeared to put a huge effort in his delivery but at the last moment he slightly slow his arm movement and the ball was slower. The batsman took a might swipe at what appeared an inviting ball but only succeeded in hitting it high in the air in the direction where I had been waiting.

I looked up in the sky at the hard cricket ball plummeting towards me. I prepared my hands to take the all important match deciding catch. Disaster. As I steadied my feet, to receive the little cherry coloured bomb, a loose stud on my right boot snapped off and I stumbled and then landed on my back.

The ball hurtled towards me oblivious of my misfortune. With exquisite timing the ball slammed into my groin area just as my bum hit the grass. The sound of two impacts merged. I felt pain in my posterior and also a brief sharp pain in my groin area, but luckily the prosthetic had taken most of the impact. There was a clear noise of something tearing in the nether regions.

"Howzat?", I shouted in cricket lingo, grabbing the cricket ball from my groin and holding it aloft. I heard other team mates repeating the refrain. I beamed at them all. Something about their expression surprised me. Reality dawned. I took the only action possible, grabbed my groin and began to writhe on the floor, moaning in apparent pain.. It was an Oscar winning performance.......
Later after my apparent discomfort had been eased we had our raucous victory celebrations.

"Well done Celyn", the coach effused while the two of us were collecting our food from the buffet.

"55 runs, 5 wickets and the winning catch, you must have a tough jock strap though". He grinned at me.

"I've been thinking, I know that you should have another year with the youth team but I would really like you to train with the seniors next year. What do you think?"

I was completely speechless. I had never heard of a sixteen year old being asked to train with the adults. What an honour. His next sentence punctured my dream.

"By next year you will surely have bulked up and with your skills, would have a good chance of making the team"

I fought to hold the tears back as he mentioned the impossible scenario. I muttered something about having to rush home, jumped on my bike and rode home in dejection.

My mother was sorting through some clothes when I got home.

"Hi Mum had a good day? What are you doing?", I asked

"Hi Celyn", my Mum enthused, "Dad and I have booked a 2 week holiday in Cyprus for us 3 and I'm packing some new summer dresses and bikinis that I have bought for you"

I looked at her in disgust, my feelings of dejection at my situation deepened.

"It's not a holiday for me to spend two weeks in summer dresses and bikinis!", I yelled at my mother.

  

  

  

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