Mark settled down next to Dave and his stuffed backpack, huddling against the bitter wind. He felt the muck of the playing field give way like a cushion as he sat. It would stain and soak through his thin trousers, but it was still better than standing. On the pitch, the ball veered as the wind caught it, throwing off the players’ shots and whipping their cheeks red.
Dave reached into the backpack and pulled out a packet of crisps.
“Want some?” he asked. “Got smoky bacon, ready salted and cheese and onion.”
“Yeah, smoky bacon please.”
As Dave passed him the packet, Mark asked, “Why’d you always bring so many crisps? Even you can’t eat them all in one match.”
Dave looked weary,“Well, it’s not like we’re ever actually going to be subbed on, is it? So, got to make a good impression with the crowd somehow, so I bring them all crisps.”
Mark looked at the crowd – the two P.E. teachers, a bored caretaker, three parents and a younger sibling just waiting to go home.
“It works too. They like crisps more than goals.”

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