Overtime

"

1.

"Come on, don't be a victim of fate." Jonas gathered his things and stood in the locker room door. "Are you coming, or are you going to wait here until they give up?

" "They won't wait forever. I'm not the hero of the evening this time. I'm just a little touch at the end of the season." I smiled ironically.

"Oh, you're used to being the center of attention.

" "You know that's not what I mean!

" "I know... You never meant that, it just kind of..." I knew him too well to believe he was jealous. He said this with a sneer in his voice, feeling like a fish out of water with the microphone under his nose.

"Listen, Rado... I don't want you to regret it later. Do as you please, but you owe them something.

" "To the journalists?!

No! To the guys, to the people... They were with you. If you leave without a word, you'll be unfair to them."

Jonas was one of those rare people who was always right without being annoying. I held out my hand for him to help me up.

"But if they start asking stupid questions, I'll stop being nice!

" "Sure. Because you're usually sweet as honey to them...

I'd be immodest to think all these journalists were here for me, but I guess I was the star of the show; my interview was the last item on the agenda, and they could have easily left early... Unfortunately, I had to answer some rather unwise questions. The club's press spokesman, who was hosting the conference, seemed to lose control of the mess at times.

"The decision to end a sporting career is usually very difficult. How was it in your case?" A short, blond man broke through first. I didn't know him. But he wasn't exactly intelligent. The idiot—what do you think—I woke up one fine morning and said, 'I'm bored with this job, I'm not going to training anymore.'

" "You have to ask the doctors who made it if it was difficult for them!

" "Okay, but when you heard it... What did you feel?" What were you thinking?

What was I thinking?

"I'd rather be sentenced to death."

That was true, but the blond guy must have completely lost his capacity for empathy, if he ever had any, in the rat race, because he clearly couldn't grasp it.

"Are you kidding? How am I supposed to understand that?

If I wanted to explain the obvious to people, I'd have become a teacher, like my father, at least I wouldn't have had to retire at thirty-two. Oh well, I'll enlighten him, maybe he'll back off.

"You can appeal the sentence, but even then it takes years to execute it! "

The man digested my words—it was obvious he was having trouble thinking—so another question came to the fore.

"Let's leave this painful topic aside... What are you planning to do now?"

"As soon as I've satisfied your curiosity, I'll limp home and grab something to make that damn leg hurt less...

" "I meant what do you plan to do next? How do you see your future after saying goodbye to football?"

I knew perfectly well what he meant, but since he wouldn't let me get out of it diplomatically...

" "I haven't answered that question myself yet, so I won't answer you either.

" "Are you thinking about staying in the sport...

" "Next question." "I only know how to play football, but the whole world doesn't need to know that.

" "I'd like to return to your distinguished career...

" "Me too.

" "Excuse me?

" "I'd like to return to my career too. But the doctor says it's impossible!" I was being snarky. I had the right to at least that.

"Well, yes... I'd like to talk about your most important match. Now, looking at this as a closed chapter, do you remember any match in particular, and why this one?

" "No."

"No, what?

" "I don't remember any match in particular." "Patience is a noble virtue.

" "Are they all equally important to you?"

"It's equally unimportant. That's over, Mr. Editor, and that's over. Let's not dwell on history." "The next match was always the most important thing to me. And I always told myself I hadn't played my best yet. Well, I won't play again.

" "For many years, you were one of the best players in your position in the country. How is it that you didn't play for the national team?

I knew someone would ask about it sooner or later. They had one last chance to get it out of me. But no, gentlemen, you won't hear it from me.

" "First of all, your information is inaccurate. You haven't prepared." I took the liberty of pointing that out to him; he shouldn't imagine he was God knows who. He blushed and lowered his head as his teammates burst out laughing. I could have had some satisfaction. "Five years ago, I started and played 75 minutes against the Welsh national team." It was an official friendly match, and the fact that both teams played severely weakened neither changes that nor excuses your ignorance. I had nothing more to add. What happened in the locker room afterwards was none of their business. I know you want to know why only that one match…

Exactly…

And I know journalists have their own sensational theory on the subject (close to the truth) but it looks a bit different. You said… thank you for the compliment… that I'm one of the best goalkeepers in the country. Well, it's hard to make the national team, even if you're the best in a fairly average league, when there are players playing for the best clubs in Europe. I suspect the coach simply shares that opinion.

You had many offers from such clubs…

Yes.

But you never accepted any.

"That's right.

" "Why?

You'd never understand. Just like my manager, the club's management, even most of the guys. Every year they tried everything to sell me. I have to admit, when I was younger, such a move was truly tempting. But the risk of failure was so great that I didn't try it.

" "I was happy here. I saw no reason to leave.

" "And the money?

" "I earned a good living, Mr. Editor. Enough to live on, and I don't have to worry about the future.

" "You'd be playing with and against the best players in the world.

" "Those I played with here are also perfectly capable." "Let's end this topic. Let's end this conference!" "You know, if I had been told clearly that I wasn't needed here, if someone whose opinion mattered in this matter had made it clear there was no place for me at the club, I would have left immediately."

I've seen more than once how relieved the chairman was when I refused.

"There was always a place, right? That's obvious. You're a living legend."

"You said it.

'Legend!' A legend, man, is Pele, Platini, van Basten...

" "It wouldn't be easy to find someone to replace you either.

" "Robert was never inferior to me in terms of skill, which I think he's proven perfectly in recent weeks!" I admitted reluctantly.

I gently nudged the spokesman to silence the clown. He nodded.

"Next question.

" "When you were a boy, did you ever dream of getting this far?" The young woman smiled so disarmingly that I forgot the irony.

"When I was little, playing football was just for fun, but to be honest, I knew even then it would be my profession." "How much did it cost me to convince my parents to do this?" My mother would wring her hands, washing the perpetually grass-soiled clothes, and my father would fly into a rage when I ran to the pitch instead of doing my homework. He certainly wasn't pleased that he had to give his own son a double in front of the whole class.

"I'd like to know how you think your teammates will fare in the new season. Let's be honest, they finished this one... you finished below expectations.

Thanks for changing the subject.

" "Indeed. We owe the fans an apology, especially for those last few games.

" "You didn't participate in them anymore."

"Yes, but as a team member, I also feel responsible for them. As for the new season... I think it's too early to talk about it. But I'm convinced it will be better. The team will definitely be strengthened by new players, and I think we'll be fighting for the championship again." "Even if I thought otherwise, I couldn't say it, but we really were capable of more. What happened in the last few rounds was unbelievable. I didn't witness it, and I didn't understand how we could have lost the title.

I looked around the room, hoping they'd leave me alone for today. I met Jonas's eyes. He seemed amused by my speech, but a bit absent. He was probably exhausted. This match was exceptionally difficult, then the official thank-yous and farewells to the fans. Now to the media. He was waiting to take me home.

" "What would you comment on the rumors that are circulating in the community that the decisive match was deliberately... so to speak, 'skipped'?"

"Excuse me?" I didn't know anything about that, I didn't think there were any doubts about the fairness of that confrontation. The matter was supposed to be about first place in the league, and it was decided, but to our detriment. It's impossible for anyone to have done anything wrong…

"The club has already issued an official statement, addressed the insinuations made by a few unserious people, and we have nothing more to add," the host interjected. The reporter tried to protest, to add something, so our spokesman decided, to my delight, to end the press conference. I tried to digest the latest revelations.

"That's all for today, thank you." He turned to the yawning coach, the presidents, and a few players who had given interviews before me and were probably eager to go home, forget about last season as quickly as possible, and start preparing for their vacation. "Would you gentlemen like to add anything in conclusion?

I did. We have to seize the opportunity; in a month, no one will remember me; who will care what I have to say?

" "Mr. Novak?"

"I'd also like to thank everyone. And especially my teammates, officials, and fans for the farewell they gave me. When I entered the locker room today after the match, a real reception awaited me. Then the fans gave me a second one. It was truly incredible. I'll never forget it." I took out the jersey the fans had given me. "I wore this jersey with pride for over fifteen years. You were my family, this stadium was my home." Much later, I realized how pathetic that "speech" sounded. But that's exactly how I felt. Emotion clogged my throat. I wanted to say something more, to apologize for all the missed goals, the stupidly dropped points. So that they wouldn't remember me negatively. But I just added, "I'll miss this terribly."

And that's it. It's over. If I come back here, it'll only be as a spectator. I can throw away my cleats and gloves. I don't have to get up for training in the morning...

I felt terrible. Not because of my knee. On the way, Jonas tried to start a conversation a few times, but I couldn't even answer him. He finally gave up and drove in silence. You wouldn't understand this, man.

2.

I had to pack. Dr. Anders called first thing in the morning, didn't wake me up—I hadn't slept all night anyway—and said he'd arranged a place for me in an excellent rehabilitation center. He believed that the trip, the change of scenery, would do me good.

But I didn't want to go anywhere. I wanted to lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling until the end of time. Maybe it would collapse... The ceiling, the world, or both...

Such desires had accompanied me ever since. I'd been lying in the dirty beige hospital room for a long time, and since I'd grown tired of admiring the structure that made my leg a modern sculpture, I relished the view from the window. Unfortunately, from a horizontal position, all I could see was a gray, overcast sky, which wasn't exactly reassuring. The doctor came and, with as much gentleness as he could muster after a day of hard work, announced that

I would never return to the pitch. I took it calmly. I was stuffed with painkillers, and I would have just as calmly accepted the news that my leg would have to be amputated... even all of my limbs.

I didn't delude myself that I would play football for the rest of my life. Many of my teammates have ended their careers, some, like me, prematurely. They are alive and well. They don't feel sorry for themselves; they're happy to have more time for their families, to do other things, and they remember football as a pleasant adventure... I thought that when it happened to me, I'd be able to find my way. My greatest fear was "football retirement" at some third-division club. I wanted to call myself "stop" the moment I felt I'd achieved everything I could. But that moment hadn't come yet.

I have no plans, and I still can't imagine a life different from the one I've had so far.

Sometimes in the evenings, I'd go to the small pitch where I grew up. There was always some kid who, instead of rushing home for dinner, preferred to try and score a goal against Rado Novak himself. I'd stand in goal, and he'd kick the ball with all his might until he scored. I gave it everything I had, as if it were a World Cup-deciding penalty. He'd be upset if I'd conceded something on purpose. It was a matter of honor. I longed for that kind of rest. It would be so useful. It was the best way to forget about my problems for a while. Now, even though this pitch was two streets away, it might as well be in Portugal.

The more I took various painkillers, the more my leg ached. The pain from my knee radiated throughout my body. When I forgot myself and instinctively stood on it, it seared me so that for a moment I didn't know where I was. Without crutches, I wouldn't have made it a meter.

But now I didn't even have anything to take. That night, I threw every pharmaceutical I could find in the house into the toilet. Even aspirin and throat syrup. They were too tempting… Of course, if I really wanted to do it, I would have found a tool. I even had a gun in the house. Admittedly, it was unattainable in my situation, as it was hidden in the attic, accessible by a ladder… Anyway, that night, I didn't give up.

Finally, I hobbled to the bathroom for a toothbrush and randomly grabbed some clothes from the closet. The clinic where Dr. Anders wanted to place me was renowned not only for its excellent medical care. Her patients were wealthy men who had broken their legs or arms falling off horses or skiing in the Alps. It was inappropriate to be seen in such company in a bathrobe. I even considered bringing a more elegant suit…

I forgot I still had it. It was crumpled at the bottom, in the corner. I was convinced I'd thrown it into the basket right after returning from training camp.

My national team jersey… Short-sleeved – it was a very warm day, with the number 1 on the back. I wore number 22 for my club. I stood in the middle of the pitch, listening to the anthem echoing through the large, nearly empty stadium, and I tried to imagine it filled with an enthusiastic crowd.

The match, considering the setting and the stakes, or rather the lack thereof, was quite good. We won 2-1. My substitute scored, I had about three saves, and a lot of work up front. The Welsh were playing quite aggressively.

I think the coach was pleased. All the "new" players wanted to show off, so they fought with great commitment.

After the match, in the locker room, I broke Jan Zachs' nose. No one held a grudge against me. They appreciated the fact that I held back so as not to do it on the pitch, in front of the journalists. It was stupid, unnecessary, and above all, not worth the consequences, the most painful of which, and not the only one, was the coach's promise that I would never wear that jersey again. Zachs too, but that's poor consolation.

Coach Zanierew shook me from my memories. I was expecting this visit. Yesterday, he didn't even honor me with a greeting, he didn't even check on me at the hospital beforehand. He explained himself right away; it was clearly bothering him.

"I wanted to come, but I chickened out. I wouldn't have known what to say." I understood. The coach had known me for a long time. He was my friend even before he became my coach.

"It doesn't matter." I wasn't in the mood for socializing anyway. Would you like something to drink?

"Water," he replied instinctively, but seeing me reach for my crutches with a grimace of pain, he motioned for me to stay where I was. "I'll get some myself.

He was gone for a few minutes.

" "Did you draw that water from the well?" I asked, surprised.

"You didn't have a single clean glass." He smiled, but then turned serious. "I came here not only to ask how you're feeling, although I can see it's not the best.

" "I'll be fine, coach, I can play," I joked.

"I know you're a tough guy, Rado. We'll manage somehow.

" "I think so too..." I sighed. "I'm just worried about how you'll manage without me.

" "Don't worry about that. Coach will sort everything out and the team will run like a Swiss watch again!

" "I never had any doubts about that, but after my injury, that watch seemed to have gone haywire." I suddenly remembered yesterday's press conference. "What was that about? Was something really wrong?"

"I don't know, Rado." I'd like to believe we were simply the underdogs. I didn't grab anyone's hand; I have to trust my boys. But we lost at home, leading 2-0 and playing with a one-man advantage for more than half the match. That rarely happens.

" "Probably."

We sat in silence for a moment. He wasn't worried about the defeat or the lost title. The knowledge that one of "his boys" had let him down nagged at him. He reached for a glass of water, gulped down half a glass, and stood up.

"I have to go to the club.

" "It's late. I thought you were probably coming back from there.

" "No, I've rescheduled classes for noon. Nobody wants to get up in the morning to run around the pitch anyway, since it's almost summer break.

" "I would go for a run... But you had something to do.

" "Yes. I think you should talk to Jonas. I'll send him over.

" "Jonas?

" "I'll tell him to come over this afternoon.

" "But what's the matter?" I shouted, because the coach was already in the hallway. He came back:

"Talk to him. You're friends.

" "Zanerew asked me to check on you," Jonas explained at the outset, probably so I wouldn't imagine he was visiting for pleasure. He looked around and saw a travel bag. Surprised, he asked, "Are you leaving?

" "I'm leaving," I confirmed, because it was no secret, but seeing that Jonas wasn't in the mood for jokes, I quickly explained where and why.

"That's good," he sighed. "For how long?

" "I don't know, at most a month. I'll send you a card. Maybe you could come in?" I finally suggested, as we were still standing in the crowded hallway.

"Just for a moment, but thanks."

We sat down, me with a sigh of relief, him somewhat reluctantly.

"Is something wrong? You look a bit out of place." Truth be told, he looked like the living dead, but I wasn't one for showering compliments.

"I don't feel very well," he smiled faintly. "We were blowing off the end of the season yesterday.

" "It's nice of you to invite old Rado.

" "Sorry. It just sort of happened after I dropped you off. "

"It doesn't matter, I was just dreaming of

a lie-in anyway." "But I could have called and asked. By the way, you're not in shape either, are you?"

"No, I'm fresh and alert as a spring morning.

" "You're a lucky guy. My head hurts so much I'd shoot it off if I knew it would help.

" "You could also shoot my leg off, by the way.

" "Could you give me some pills?

" "Sorry. I don't have

any." "What do you mean? You're taking something for that leg.

" "I threw it away. Can you handle it without it?

" "No, of course, I just thought...

" "And Dr. Anders would have given you a fine for taking some medication without his knowledge! Listen, what was the coach talking about? He wanted me to talk to you.

" "I have no idea." "Strange, but he looked like he knew perfectly well.

"Something happened, but you don't want to talk about it.

" "No, not really. I have a problem...

" "Dude, you can count on me.

" "I have to deal with this myself.

" "But what's going on? Is it serious?

" "No, it's nothing. I just... "

The doorbell interrupted him.

"Open up," I said.

Dr. Anders, our club doctor, was such a loud man that I knew immediately who had arrived.

"Rado, Rado, Rado, get going, boy, I'm not driving at night," he boomed from the doorway. He gestured for Jonas to carry his luggage to the car. "Don't you have anything else?" he asked, surprised. "I'm not taking you on vacation where you'll only need swimsuits and sunglasses.

" "I brought everything. If they have a laundry room, they can keep me there until Christmas.

" "Do they have a laundry room?" Boy, nurses with figures you've never dreamed of will bring you everything spotlessly clean and smelling of your favorite mouthwash, even at midnight, if you wish! Come on, maybe you'll make it in time for dinner!

It was very kind of the doctor not only to arrange this clinic for me but to even offer to drive me there himself. I just didn't know how I'd manage the three-hour drive with his loud company.

I quickly said goodbye to Jonas. I gave him the keys:

"Come on, stop by sometime and see if everything's alright. By the way, you have a place if you want to meet a nice lady secretly from Lena." He grimaced at the joke. I knew he loved his beautiful wife more than anything. "If anything happens, call me. We'll talk when I get back. Even if I forgot something, it was too late. The doctor 's

Renault was already taking us to the mountains.

It was probably the most beautiful place I'd ever been, and I'd traveled almost all of Europe. When we arrived, the sun was just setting. It reflected in the lake and painted the peaks gold. The landscape was like the most kitschy postcard, only real.

The hospital looked like a luxury hotel, both inside and out. It had an orthopedic ward for athletes, as one of the discreet signs announced, but the doctor, for my own good—"You could use some peace and quiet, boy"—settled me in a different one. It resembled a retirement home, as I didn't encounter a patient younger than my father. As I discovered the next day, they also provided entertainment for the over-60s. My grandparents played chess, Chinese checkers, or basked in the sun on the terrace. Since my own activities were also limited, I quickly adapted.

After a week, I felt right at home. The procedures were painful and arduous, and it was too early to think about improvement, but when they weren't torturing my unfortunate knee, I was truly resting.

I immediately found common ground with Mr. Astrid, with whom I shared the table at meals, who turned out to be a breeder of giant schnauzers by profession and a passionate fan, and with Mr. Walery, a painter.

With the former, we discussed football in the evenings, and with the latter, I regularly lost a game of chess after dinner.

"Yes," Mr. Walery began one afternoon, "you're a true sportsman. My late grandfather used to say that in sports, as in life, you have to know how to lose. "

I smiled politely.

"I'm afraid it hasn't always been so easy for me in life.

" "Oh, yes, it's not easy," the old man sighed, checking me in as he did so. "And in sports?"

I desperately scuttled out of reach of his knight.

"Defeat is part of this profession. But sometimes it's hard to accept it.

" "Especially when you lose by your own choice," Mr. Astrid joined us and joined the conversation. "Your game perfectly illustrates the saying 'rain or shine.' If you move that tower, it's game over.

" "You're right.

" "Is this injury a failure in your life?" the painter asked.

"Even a defeat.

" "But it's beyond your control.

" "A bit. If I had had surgery earlier, I could have avoided it.

" "Why then?

Why? If I were clairvoyant and knew my knee wouldn't last the rest of the season, I would have risked taking a few months off. But I wasn't blessed with a sixth sense... And instead, I was gifted with stubbornness.

" "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to talk about it," Mr. Walery withdrew, seeing I was silent. I shook myself out of my reverie.

"No, why? You're not the first to ask that."

- So? - ​​Mr. Astrid was also interested.

"I just wanted to play. Help my teammates, not disappoint the fans..."

The old men looked a little uncertain. They didn't seem to fully understand what I meant.

"Well, it's not the end of the world, is it? Checkmate.

" "Is that what you think? For me, it was probably the end of the world. How would you feel if you couldn't paint?

" "If I couldn't paint?

" "If, for example, you lost your hands in an accident," Mr. Astrid suggested.

"I would learn to paint with my feet or my mouth. Lots of people do that. "

I thought about it.

"What if you lost your sight?

" "I would sculpt." The artist laughed.

"Both?" The second old man persisted.

"And your hands and your eyes?

" "I don't think you could sculpt with your feet.

" "Well, yes. Honestly, I can't imagine such a situation...

" "That's exactly how I feel. I'll never do what I love again."

"But you can do many other things," Mr. Valery spoke slowly. "Blind, armless, I'd be a cripple. I couldn't do anything, not just paint. You just can't kick a ball. Believe me, an old man, it's NOT the end of the world.

" "But I can't do anything else...

" "It seems that way to you now."

The conversation was turning to serious topics, but until then we'd conducted it with humor. Mr. Astrid, who claimed to be nursing not only a sore hip but also strained nerves here, began listing various professions in which I could specialize, while Mr. Valery arranged pieces on the chessboard, occasionally throwing in his own suggestion, and pondered deeply.

"You don't have any children?" he asked suddenly.

"No.

" "Or a wife?" he asked.

This was hardly cause for shame.

"That's very bad." You've found yourself at a very sharp, so to speak, crossroads in life, and it's unfortunate that there's no one to support you, no one you'd want to live for…

"I'm coping," I replied, a little too sharply.

"Oh yes, you're strong, I have no doubt about that. But there was only one thing you cared about, and now you've lost it. Stronger people than you have broken down if they were alone. Please think about it." He stood up and apologized: "I have treatments, gentlemen, you'll forgive me." His words also moved the other old man.

"My wife and I couldn't have children. We treat our dogs like children. You should get a dog," he sighed loudly, then picked up the black king and began to examine it closely. "Maybe a game? I'm not that good at chess…

" "Excellent." I was pleased both with the news and with the change of subject. "Winning would lift my spirits.

The rehabilitation took longer than I expected." The doctor assured me that everything was going great and I had no reason not to believe her, but it looked

I was expecting to spend more time at the clinic. No one came to visit me; Dr. Anders called a few times, and I tried to contact Jonas, but the beautiful nurses scowled (which didn't diminish their beauty) at anyone who asked for a phone. Of course, cell phones were confiscated immediately, as they could interfere with medical equipment. Despite this, I had no shortage of news from the "outside world."

I was very surprised when, one sunny Monday, while I was by the lake reading the sports press, I was informed I had visitors. I was even more surprised to see them, as I didn't know either of the two men. This was cleared up as soon as they introduced themselves, sharing their names and ranks. To this day, I've been lucky enough not to have had to deal with the police. It took me a moment to realize the reason for their visit. I probably wasn't original in my reaction either:

"That's impossible," I said. "Impossible."

But the older policeman wasn't exactly tactless, because he wouldn't let me get used to it.

"Are you the owner of..." he gave the complicated name and type of weapon. I wasn't at all sure he meant my uncle's gun, which had been lying in the attic for ages, not bothering anyone. Besides, my uncle wasn't bothering anyone either, as it had been lying just as peacefully in the cemetery for just as long.

"I have a gun," I admitted, just in case, because although I was still in shock, I had no reason to lie to the law. "Are you saying someone killed Jonas with it?" I found myself in an unpleasant situation. In one moment, I was supposed to accept my friend's death, the fact that someone had killed him, that someone had used my..." "Do you think it was me?"

They both looked at me strangely, as if the thought had only just occurred to them.

"And where were you and what were you doing yesterday, around nine o'clock in the evening?

" "What do you mean, 'where was I?' Here. I've been here for a month."

"You weren't on a little trip, let's say... to a sports center near Milan? In Italy," he explained immediately, not suspecting me, a dim-witted footballer, obviously familiar with geography. I knew the center because we usually trained there for the season. Jonas was killed at the camp...

" "Of course. It's just a stone's throw from Italy, I slipped away for an hour to kill a friend. "

The younger one spoke for the first time. He probably didn't catch the irony.

"You could have driven, even flown. If you wanted...

" "Sir, you probably didn't notice me coming in. Maybe I'll demonstrate..." I got nervous and tried to get up, but his friend stopped me.

"I understand what you're getting at. You're not, let's say... mobile at the moment...

" "I'm not. And even if I were able to drive, which I don't rule out, I'm taking medication that..."

"Please calm down. We know that. You don't have to tell us how far the nearest airport is from here. Let's establish one thing right away: you're not a suspect.

" "So why...

" "My colleague got carried away. We're almost convinced, although the investigation is ongoing, that Mr. Jonas Jager committed suicide. He used an antique weapon in your possession, completely legally, and that's the only reason we're here. And perhaps, as his close friend—or so I've been told—you could help us determine Mr. Jager's motives... Unfortunately, we haven't found any suicide note...

" "Jonas committed suicide?" "That's impossible." "That was impossible. I knew him for a dozen years, and he was the last person I would have expected that of. He was full of optimism, always able to find a solution to any problem..." "It had to be murder!

" "There's no indication of that yet. There are no suspects.

" "Could you tell me how it happened?"

According to the "preliminary investigation results," Jonas had been at a training camp with his teammates, medical staff, training staff, and team management two days earlier. His behavior hadn't raised any suspicions, although several witnesses testified that he had appeared depressed for some time. In any case, Jonas, safe and sound, and undoubtedly alive, attended an afternoon training session with the team, had dinner with everyone, after which everyone had a day off, and, along with most of the players, watched a Steven Seagal action movie in the recreation room. Around 8 p.m., he suggested that Adam Robert, the goalkeeper, should attend an evening set-piece training session, which he agreed to, so they headed to the nearby training pitch. Robert stated that they had trained together for about thirty minutes, then returned to the training camp, a fact confirmed by witnesses who saw him there around a quarter to nine. When asked why Jonas hadn't returned with him, he replied that he wanted to go for a walk. A few minutes after nine, those at the center heard a gunshot, and moments later, a security guard arrived with the tragic news that a man was lying shot dead on the pitch. While the guard called the police, the club doctor, Dr. Stefan Anders, and most of those present in the recreation room immediately rushed to the scene of the accident (or crime), but Jonas, lying in a pool of blood, was already dead, as confirmed by the doctor. The ambulance and police arrived about fifteen minutes later. An immediate investigation began. Everyone present at the center has alibis; without the knowledge of the guard and the porter on duty at the gate, no one would be able to get in.

While both men could have murdered Jonas, the police quickly ruled them out as suspects. The immediate cause of death was a gunshot to the head, fired from a pistol found on the body, belonging to Radomir Novak, a former club player, a friend of the victim and most of the witnesses.

I explained to the police how the weapon, a souvenir from World War I, came into my possession and how my colleagues knew about it. This was consistent with the information the police had.

"Maybe you shouldn't have kept it in plain sight, so to speak, or bragged about it to your drunken friends. You certainly shouldn't have stored it unnecessarily with the ammunition...

" My uncle had ammunition for every item in his collection. He was very proud of it, by the way. As for me, I wasn't exactly thrilled with such a fifteenth birthday present; I wasn't playing soldiers by then... I didn't think the pistol could even be functional anymore.

" "It was in perfect condition.

" "And that party took place some time ago. There were several people from today's group there.

" "Four. Five with Jonas Jager. Nobody blames you for anything. I also assume that practically everyone has been your guest since then and could have taken the weapon.

I felt guilty, nonetheless.

" "I guess so." If Jonas really did take her, he didn't even have to do it surreptitiously. He had my keys. I gave them to him when I left.

"So if she wasn't lost before then, that explains a lot." He looked at me pointedly, but I couldn't help him. Meanwhile, the second policeman, who had clearly been offended and hadn't said anything more, had set a plate of sandwiches on the table.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," the older one explained.

"You know..." I interrupted him while chewing. "Jonas had some problems even before I left. We didn't have time to talk.

" "Do you think he was already thinking about it then? Even if he had, there was nothing you could have done.

" "I don't know."

4.

I felt awful. The knowledge that I wouldn't see Jonas when I got back was depressing. The taxi driver, who recognized me immediately, chattered about football the whole way, but he didn't mind me not bringing up the subject. I could have come back later, for the funeral, but Lena asked, "Come back..."

So I went back. I didn't even look into the house. I hugged her for a long time, much longer than was appropriate for a friend, but still shorter than the relationship we once shared would have justified. She didn't notice. She probably couldn't think of anything else but her dead husband. Her beautiful eyes were red from crying, and I had no doubt she hadn't put down her handkerchief for a single moment in those three days.

"Why, Rado, why did he do it?" She repeated the question I'd been searching for an answer to unsuccessfully since yesterday. "He left me. How will I cope without him?"

I couldn't think of anything to comfort her; I couldn't think of anything to say or do to make her suffer even for a moment less. Fortunately, she finally calmed down.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even ask how you were feeling."

"Okay. I'll make us something to drink and we'll talk, okay?"

She smiled, but it was a very faint smile.

"Exactly. And you'll bring it on your head. I'll do it. Would you like tea?

" "Water will do.

" She brought two teas. She didn't sit next to me, but in the armchair opposite.

"It's my fault," she whispered. I stared at her for a long moment, silent. She repeated, "It's my fault."

"No. You can't think like that." I've never known anyone who loved Lena the way Jonas loved her. I was sure that when he made his decision, he wasn't thinking about her. Otherwise, he would never have hurt her so much. What made him forget for a moment the woman who was his whole world? What could have driven him to suicide? If I had known, I could have eased both of our consciences.

"I have to go. I just stopped by so you'd know I was here, and if you needed me...

" "Stay."

"It's late."

"Please, stay..."

I woke up very early, but she was already awake. She was sitting on the bed, her head bowed so that I could only see her bare back and shoulders against the curtained window. That evening we talked for a long time about Jonas. We remembered him as one would someone who died a long time ago, yet we still couldn't come to terms with his death. She said that when she first saw him that day, waiting for me outside the clubhouse, she thought he was the most beautiful man in the world. "I didn't fall out of love right away," she explained, "but I already knew I wouldn't marry you. I could only be his wife."

"Almost like that time..." she said suddenly, "when you dumped me. We slept in the same bed. You saw his things in the bathroom, you saw our wedding pictures hanging everywhere, and you said he didn't deserve us doing this to him.

I remembered.

" "They're still there," she added. "His things in the bathroom." The only thing missing was what he'd taken to camp...

I quickly dressed. I apologized to her for the night, grabbed my bag, and waited for the taxi driver in front of the house. She was probably still sitting there motionless.

I couldn't find my place in the house. I was racking my brain until the phone rang. Zanierew checked if I knew what I was doing, and I explained that the police had been there.

"Have you been home long?

" "I got back last night.

" "I called before eleven... from the bus.

" "I turned off the phone. I went to bed early," I lied.

"How are you holding up?

" "My leg hurts less."

Silence on the other end. I was already wondering if he was still there.

"Igor?

" "I didn't see him, Rado. I was in the room at the time. Apparently he looked terrible.

" "Who saw him?

" "Stefan, probably one of the masseurs, Adam, Berger, Martin, Mirko... the ones who were in the recreation room. His face was all smashed up..."

I didn't try to imagine it.

"How am I supposed to get them to prepare now?" I don't know if he meant everyone, or just the ones he mentioned. "How am I supposed to think about the season in this situation?"

"I guess you have no choice." I didn't envy him. At least I could allow myself to be sad, to reflect in peace. I had plenty of time.

"Rado, why did he do it?..."

It was a few minutes after eight, and neither Dr. Anders, nor Robert, nor even Martin Adler, who always arrived at training at ten, was picking up the phone, so he must have been home.

"We got back at night," Klaus Berger tried to justify himself, even though, as if despite his words, he was bursting with energy. "They're probably sleeping like a log. I called Martin too, so he wouldn't oversleep today.

He didn't have time to talk, but he and Adler showed up right after training. While waiting for them, I looked at photos of Jonas and me. The team before the match against Barcelona... We got a real beating." That was the first time Jonas, out of necessity, was playing in central defense. He headed a beautiful own goal at me… He had every right to be nervous. Barcelona was his beloved club, his dream club, and if they play football in heaven, Jonas probably wears a navy and burgundy jersey… That's when he bought one and decided he would always wear it under his club jersey. Unfortunately, the president didn't like it. Our colors are dominated by white, and Barca's dark jersey was too see-through. Jonas was forced to buy a lighter, away jersey (and, of course, promise never to show it in public; the then-president was the grandson of the club's founder and valued the club's colors very highly), and he always wore the "real" one to training, even when we went out for a kickabout…

A photo of us standing together with Franz Beckenbauer… Jonas spotted it on the street and asked for a photo, like any ordinary fan.

Last year's vacation, we were playing volleyball on the beach, and Lena was running around with her camera...

"So how's your health, buddy?" Martin greeted. "Klaus and I were wondering if they'd finally amputated your leg.

" "Yeah, it's hanging over the fireplace, want to see?"

We joked around, breaking the tension a bit. But the cheerful conversation had to turn to a somber topic. Telling them what they'd seen when they'd rushed to the field after the security guard alerted them became easier because they'd repeated it several times.

"I don't know what kind of problem a person has to want to solve it so badly," Berger sighed.

"Jonas was acting normal.

" "But you know, something was bothering him. And it had been for a while.

" "Yeah, I noticed. I think it was after that match... He couldn't play, and after that loss, he felt a bit guilty."

"Oh, well. You feel guilty because you couldn't score into an empty net! Neither Jonas nor anyone else could have expected Vlado to replace him like that. Besides, he was devastated himself, though we didn't blame him.

"Anyone can have a bad day..."

"Why didn't Jonas play?" I wondered. "He was at my hospital the day before and couldn't wait...

" "I don't know. He wasn't there at all.

" "Ask Zanierew.

" "And do you think he was worried enough about it to kill himself?" "Not that much.

" "I don't think so. But some people had doubts..." Berger was clearly searching for a way to say it. "You know, maybe someone paid him not to play.

" "If that was the case," Adler interjected, "he might have been overcome with guilt...

" "Did anyone accuse him of it openly?

" "I think they talked to Młody about it. But I said, if anyone had the slightest right to accuse anyone." I don't know if inexperience excuses such a play.

"Maybe he resented Jonas for confronting him with a fait accompli, and he wasn't looking forward to playing, especially in the starting lineup.

" "But by the way, Rado, that Zanierew has patience. The previous coach would have grounded Jonas for the rest of the season for a move like that. If he hadn't had a family funeral or both legs in casts to justify it...

" "Seriously, how's the rehabilitation going?

It was a very pleasant afternoon. Normal. Chatting with my teammates, I relaxed. For a moment, I felt part of the team again. I still missed that, even though I had bigger worries.

One of them was Lena and what happened between us tonight. This time we weren't afraid of hurting Jonas, but it was still a betrayal. When I called, I was sure she'd hang up, but she just asked if I'd like to have dinner with her."

"I made lunch and dinner for two, but I'm alone…"

5.

I didn't know if Lena, in my arms, wanted to forget Jonas or remember us. I didn't know if it brought her relief or if she was trying to punish herself because she felt guilty. Or maybe she was taking revenge on him for leaving her? And I had no idea if, whatever she wanted to achieve, she had succeeded. She acted as if nothing unusual was happening.

"There was a moment when I thought about suicide too," I confessed to her as she lay with her head on my stomach. She didn't react. "Are you asleep?

" "Mhm.

" "Then I thought Jonas would think I was a coward. A little child who, when playtime doesn't go his way, gets offended and takes away his toys…

" "He'd be right. As always.

" "I wonder if he didn't want to do it even then. When he came over, he asked me for my pills…

" "No," she replied firmly. "If he wanted to, he would."

"I think he was afraid you'd witness it. That's why he did it at camp. He would have done anything to spare you pain.

" "Well, he actually succeeded!" she shouted, standing up abruptly, throwing back the covers, and heading for the bathroom. But she quickly returned and fell asleep, cuddled up to me.

After breakfast, which we ate like an old married couple, she asked if she could take me somewhere. I decided to go to the club. I wanted to learn something from Zanierew, Młody, and Robert. I should leave it alone, what Jonas's motives meant; I couldn't bring him back. It tormented me that I'd abandoned him like that. Would I have stopped him?

I learned surprisingly little from Robert. He found it difficult to recall that evening. More from his silence than from what he said, I understood that, like all of us, he was plagued by guilt. He blamed himself for abandoning Jonas after training.

"How could you have known what he was planning?"

"I should have guessed.

" "On what basis?" He didn't have the look on his face that he intended to kill himself. "We didn't like each other, not only because we'd been fighting for the goalkeeping spot for the past season, and he, as a newcomer, was at a disadvantage from the start, although I admit he was better in some areas. He came to the club not only with a reputation as a good player, but above all as a playboy, and because he hadn't been given the chance to prove his footballing skills for a long time...

Suffice it to say, he wasn't the kind of person who commanded respect and sympathy at first sight. But now I felt sorry for him.

Vlado Ilić, known as the Young One, hadn't learned to hide his feelings in his nineteen years. Apparently, he hadn't felt the need to. The events of the last few days had clearly devastated him. So I tried to start with another matter close to my heart:

"Young One, don't take offense, but do you know something about that fateful match that the others don't?"

He turned pale and looked away.

"I don't understand."

I knew he was a very talented and intelligent man, so even if he'd managed to keep a straight face, I wouldn't have believed him. But it's okay if he doesn't want to talk about it.

"Do you think Jonas had anything to do with it?"

"You mean...?"

"Some people say the match was fixed. Sold.

" "That's not true.

" "What makes you so sure?

" "I'd rather blame myself than Jager.

Me too.

" "And you're blaming me?

" "What?

" "You're blaming yourself?" He got angry.

"I messed up, right? I know. I can't help it. I can't turn back time! I'm waiting for you to stop blaming me for this. It happened."

Just recently, we played a cup match. I don't remember why I wasn't as focused as usual. Several key players, including two defenders, had to be suspended for bookings, but the opponent wasn't demanding, and we didn't worry about that. Right away, in the fifth minute, I was surprised by a weak long-range shot. Just before halftime, I practically slotted the ball into the net myself. I didn't blame Zanierew for keeping me out for the second half. Robert didn't have much to do. We pressed them and it ended 4-2.

I was lucky. No one said a word about my performance.

"They were also joking about me being with them"—I'm not sure if Vlado was talking to me or just thinking out loud—as we went down to the locker room, they patted me on the back and laughed, "Good game." If they paid me, some decent money, to... well, to play worse, I would have done it."

I looked at him, surprised at his words.

"I'm not stupid. " I'm making good money now, but how do I know what will happen in a year, or five? How do I know I won't get injured tomorrow and be able to ignore it all!

I was about to say something, but I didn't.

"But no one expected me to play in this match, not even me." I asked Jager why he ignored us, why he didn't warn us he wouldn't be coming...

" "What did he say?

" "Nothing, that something came up, what was he supposed to say? I wasn't as close to him as you are; he didn't have to explain anything to me! Maybe he and the coach had had a fight; they hadn't been on the best of terms lately."

In Zanierew's office, I found only Dr. Anders. He was waiting for him too.

We talked for a while about my leg, which, thank God, had barely hurt since yesterday. I promised to drop by his office. After a moment of awkward silence, the doctor said,

"I'm sorry, Rado..."

I replied that I knew he couldn't have done anything, that's what the police said.

"Nobody could have done anything, and neither could you." The president himself should be kicking himself for not sending us by plane, because then Jonas wouldn't have smuggled the gun in!

"I think so...

" "Even if you were there, you wouldn't have snatched the gun from him.

" "I'd like it to turn out someone murdered him," I admitted.

Anders laughed, making the plywood partition separating the coach's workspace from the secretary's office shake.

"We wouldn't feel guilty. But I'm afraid you won't find anyone who wishes Jonas harm. Who could kill him?

" "You, for example, doctor," I joked. "Maybe he was still alive when you found him...

" "Don't say that, Rado. It's not very funny.

" "Sorry, doctor.

" "It's okay, you can make silly jokes with me, but be careful around Igor." He completely broke down.

"He called me... But Vlado mentioned that something was wrong between them.

" "Between Igor and Jonas? No, boy, that's not what this is about...

" "So what? I don't understand... "

The doctor sighed heavily.

"I have a hand in this, but it'll be better if he tells you. When he comes, tell him I'm waiting at my place." He left before I could gather my thoughts. What happened? Was there some secret, did they know something? I was lost; I had no idea what the doctor's last words were leading to.

What if Jonas hadn't really committed suicide, but someone... For a moment, a very brief moment, but still, I was ashamed of it, I thought of Zanierev. It occurred to me that maybe he'd done something stupid and spilled the beans to Jonas, or something. When he visited me before leaving, had he been in the kitchen, or maybe gone to the attic for a gun? I really would have slapped myself for thinking such a thing, especially when I saw my friend coming in. I'd never seen such a broken man. Compared to the pain and resignation etched on his face, the face I'd been watching in the mirror for the past few weeks expressed unadulterated joy. Klaus and Martin had claimed he was holding his own in class, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even notice me. He sat down at his desk and clutched his head.

"Rough day?"

He jumped at the sound of my voice. I repeated the doctor's message.

"Yes, I'll be right over.

I didn't have the time or inclination, even in this situation, to beat around the bush.

" ​​"You know something about Jonas, right?"

He sighed.

"It doesn't matter now.

" "But what? Apparently you two had a fight

." He seemed surprised.

"I was hoping you'd get it out of him. I asked you to talk to him.

" "I didn't have time...

" "He'd been drinking, Rado.

" "What?! I wouldn't have suspected someone like that of drowning their problems, whatever they were, in alcohol. Not Jonas. But Igor wasn't joking, nor was he referring to the orange juice.

"I noticed something wasn't right with him, I asked, and he confirmed it. He promised he'd put an end to it, but then he didn't show up for the most important match of the season. Stefan and I wanted to help him... If anyone had found out, they wouldn't have extended his contract, but Stefan said he passed the tests with flying colors and signed it.

" "Why?

" "Why what? Why did he drink? I have no idea, I thought he'd tell you. Why did we cover for him? We really believed he'd get through it." He pondered, then

added, as if off-topic. "He never really enjoyed football... Not like we did.

" "For him, it was just a job.

" "Exactly. He asked us to help him; he was worried about his wife. She meant everything to him... I should probably call her and offer some condolences."

"Lena's doing fine." Truth be told, when she said goodbye to me, she was doing just fine. I certainly wouldn't mistake her for a newly widowed wife now.

"Yes, he was always thinking only of her. He was afraid she wouldn't make it without his salary, that she didn't earn enough on her own to live as they had before, so Anders arranged for him to get those tests. We both wanted to help him get through this, secretly. No one needed to know. She couldn't help but notice; maybe she'd tell you what was bothering him.

" "You didn't say Jonas drank!" I immediately jumped at her and immediately regretted it. She was sitting on the floor, crying, helplessly wiping her tears with Jonas's club towel.

"They brought me his things." Around her were clothes pulled from the luggage... I struggled to sit down next to her. I wanted to hug her, but she pulled away. I picked up the Catalan club's jersey, which, though it was an original match jersey, a decent one, from a well-known company that dresses the greatest athletes, had faded and worn over the years. Beside it were two new pairs of shoes and a bag with old ones.

"They said that once the investigation is closed, I'll have what he had on him. If I want it. It's probably all in the blood... Besides, why do I need it now?"

The finality, the irreversibility of what had happened, seemed to hit us at that very moment. He'd been gone until now, and now we fully realized he wouldn't be. No one would wear those things again.

"If you didn't know, I didn't want you to think of him that way... That he was some kind of drunk... an alcoholic.

" "You have no idea why...

" "Because of me. I said because of me.

" "Come on. He cared about you more than anything in the world. He was afraid of losing his job, that you wouldn't want for anything.

" "Exactly. Don't you understand?" I let him down, and he didn't say a word to me, he just kept it bottled up until it killed him! I hurt him so terribly, and to spare me—MY!—he did it halfway around the world! Hysterically, she laughed and cried at the same time.

"Lena, what are you talking about?!

"About how I didn't deserve a husband like that! I wasn't worthy of him. He should have killed me! Because of me, the best man I've ever met is dead!

" "Lena?!" I reached out to grab her hand.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "You're guilty too!

" "So that's what you want? Fine, we'll end this right now, forget about it, it's not easy for me either.

" "I don't care about your feelings, get out of here!"

I didn't move.

"How can you blame yourself for something that happened after his death? That's not what he was worried about!"

She looked at me as if I were a serial killer.

"You know what he said to me when I confessed to him that I'd slept with you after we were married? You know? He said, 'I'm sorry. I believe you'll never do it again.'

I asked if he'd ever forgive me, and he said he'd forgotten about it...

"I mean...

" "Yes, I mean! You didn't have the courage, but I didn't want to cheat on him...

" "But that was six years ago!

" "Yes, six years ago. I still had some integrity back then! "

I slowly understood.

"You cheated on him! That's why!" She didn't lower her gaze. She struck a defiant pose. If I'd gotten up, I think I would have hit her. "YOU BITCHY! And of course you thought you'd get away with it again, that good old Jonas would FORGET again!

" He didn't find out from me. He didn't even try to let me know he knew. He came back later and later, drunker and drunker, sometimes he didn't come back at all, but he wouldn't tell me what was bothering him...

"Of course, it didn't occur to you that it was because of you.

" "Yes, it didn't occur to me! I'm not such a great psychologist as you. A true friend, he didn't even notice he was acting different, that he was depressed!" Are you angry that I cheated on Jonas, or do you think I cheated on you? Or maybe you're just angry because it wasn't you?!

The moment she waited for a retort, perhaps preparing to rebut it, allowed me to gather my thoughts. Or maybe he didn't know?

"Before we left, when we said goodbye, he promised that if I wanted him to, he wouldn't get in my way. That if I loved someone else, it wouldn't matter...

" "What did you say?"

Silence.

"What?! What did you say?!

"He surprised me, I was shocked..."

"So you didn't say anything? And you let him drive off with it?

" "I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't know. You thought he'd forget, that when he came back, it would be like before. You're damn right you didn't deserve him!"

She didn't react. I got up to leave.

"But you're wrong, he killed himself because of you."

She turned hopefully.

"He did it FOR you!"

A long time ago, in soccer school, we played against a younger generation. Their team had a tall striker, taller than most of my teammates. At first, we laughed at him, but then it turned out we were having a lot of trouble with him, especially in the penalty area and around the corners. I talked about him with the coach, who also coached that group. He boasted about how much fun he was having with him, how great he was playing in other positions, and that he was probably going to make a good defender out of him.

"You see, Rado, he needs to learn to stand his ground. Not to give way, not to get out of the way of anyone, not even the stronger ones. He needs to learn to stand up for himself."

Much later, when Jonas and I were already good friends, after a match in which he got a red card for a rather brutal foul, I told him about it. He laughed heartily: "Well, I've learned, haven't I?

"

Slowly limping down the sun-drenched street, I calmed myself. I was still furious with her, with myself, even a little with Jonas for giving up like that, even though she wasn't worth it, but I was slowly coming to my senses. The last thing I wanted to see right now was Adam Robert's red sports convertible, which, worse still, with its owner behind the wheel, tires screeching—as far as I knew, the speed limit on these streets was thirty—pulled to a stop beside me.

"A walk for your health, eh, Rado? Maybe I could drop you off somewhere?

If I wanted to walk home, I'd probably make it in the morning, so, hoping he'd noticed my reluctance, I got in, giving him my address. Thank God he didn't say anything. But I had to ask him something.

"Are you sure Jonas didn't return to the center before he… died?"

He was surprised by the question. I wasn't particularly interested in the answer; I'd found out why he died, it didn't really matter. But I started…

"He was lying in what he wore during your training, didn't he change?

" "No… Why?

" "He had a T-shirt? I mean, what?

" "Of course, a light one, probably white, cotton, what do you mean?

" "And not the Barcelona one?

" "I think…

" "You trained. Have you ever seen him train in a different one?" He even wore it under his tracksuit in winter. He thought it brought him luck, although he couldn't quite answer why he needed luck during training. But maybe it worked, because, for example, I don't remember him suffering any serious injury despite his sharp tackles and risky moves.

" "Well… no, to tell the truth, I don't remember, I wasn't paying attention… But now that you say so… He really did have that old rag… Yes, I think so, I saw him in a light one this morning…

" "So he must have changed." Lena had that T-shirt, which meant he was wearing a different one then. "I guess he took the gun then too. Were you talking about his wife?" Did he mention her, or did you say something that might remind him of her?

"Rado, what are you getting at?"

"Never mind, forget it.

We arrived, I wanted to get out, but he stopped me.

" "Wait... We... With Jonas... We didn't go to the field, we didn't go to practice at all. Jonas wanted to talk... in private...

" "With you? About what?" Before I could even say the last word, it hit me. "It's you!

" "No, I didn't kill him, what's on your mind? We were just talking, and then he asked me to leave him... He wanted to think...

" "You...

" "Are you crazy?!!" he said, frightened.

"I didn't ask her who it was, and it was you!" I spoke completely calmly, taking all my anger out on Lena; she was already out of her lover. He confessed.

"I didn't have to tell the police why we really left. It wouldn't have changed anything, and they would have asked about everything... They would have picked on her...

Another one who wanted to protect her. Even from the consequences of her own mistakes. I understood him all too well... I was one of them too.

" "When he asked, I thought he knew from her, so I didn't deny it. He wanted me to tell him how it had happened, whether I loved her. Then he patted me on the shoulder—I'd rather he punched me in the face—he said he didn't hold a grudge against me because he knew such a woman was irresistible, and that if she loved me too, he wouldn't bother us. I couldn't have known what he meant!

"You couldn't.

" "I didn't know he had a gun, maybe he had hidden it in his pocket, but it wasn't obvious... If I had known... I would have denied everything, I wouldn't have left him... He said he wanted to think... I'm not a pig!

I would have argued with that, but in that case, what was I?

" "Were you going to see her?"

"Yes... We haven't seen each other yet... I didn't want to see her. But she should know.

" "I'd rather he killed you.

" "I guess.

" "He'd definitely confess on the spot; he was the kind of man who would definitely confess and go to jail, but it would have been a relief. You know, a guy pissed me off once. Twice, on purpose, with a malicious smile, he kicked the ball in my face, even though we played on the same team. He must have had a thing for me..." "I definitely didn't sleep with his wife..." "I broke his nose." It cost me a lot, but it was a relief. "

Thanks for the ride," I got out, slamming the door. He was still standing in front of the house when I went inside. He probably figured I'd be happy to ruin his appearance, too.

Jonas never let me down, on or off the field. It happened to me more than once. I'm sure he didn't hold a grudge against me, even though he should have. He would have forgiven me for the worst things I'd done. It's good he didn't have to anymore." Now only I could forgive myself, and I knew I wouldn't.

7.

I thought I wouldn't be able to attend the season opener. Not because I couldn't bear to watch my former teammates from the stands. It wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last. I'd finally come to terms with the fact that I'd only be able to watch every match from this perspective, possibly on television. I stopped making myself out to be a "victim of fate," as Jonas used to say. I considered the radio station's offer. They wanted me to be their commentator. I was happy with the doctors' prognosis, which promised I'd be able to walk without crutches.

I was afraid I wouldn't be able to attend the match because I had no one to leave the dog with. A week ago, Mr. Astrid sent me a small schnauzer with all his supplies and warm greetings from his wife. Of course, at first, I only intended to accept the latter, especially when the black monster urinated on my shirt as a greeting, but Maradona and I quickly became friends. He had a genuine passion for goalkeeping, although he might have expressed it in a particular way. The best way to sharpen his teeth was on his gloves. I even planned to drop him off in the locker room sometime when Robert was away...

Fortunately, it turned out that even though I wasn't technically a member of the club, I still had a special affection for him there. Maradona, sitting next to the president himself in the honorary stand, behaved like a good dog, and after about fifteen minutes, unconcerned by the screams of the fans or what was happening on the pitch, fell asleep.

Before the match, a farewell ceremony was held for Jonas. Lena was presented with a commemorative jersey with his name and number, a number no one will ever wear for this team again. I was asked to say a few words. To let everyone know what a great player he was, not only as a player but also as a person and friend, I told them an old story.

"The youngest fans probably don't remember, because it happened in the distant past, when our team still had the excellent playmaker Igor Zanierew, during the not-so-glorious period of our one-year run in the second division. We were young and we thought the whole world was one big football game.

To be honest, I personally believed that until quite recently, but it's not true." The audience, expecting a rather serious speech, burst into laughter. "Igor... the coach, he probably remembers perfectly, although he'd hate to admit it." Right before the match, which he was extremely keen on, as it was his first opportunity to play against his former club, he went for a drive in his beautiful new car. It wasn't long. Truth be told, it ended where it began, in the employee parking lot next to the stadium. You can take a closer look at the spot as you leave…

The ride in the vice president's beloved Ford, which after such an unexpected meeting was fit only for scrap, ended. I don't mean the vice president, but the car, of course… "I made the fans rejoice again." The punishment must have been severe. The culprit could have easily crossed the next match off his schedule. So Jonas took the blame. He sat in the stands for the next three games, and I think he only regained the vice president's trust after his promotion." The president stood up and bowed to the crowd, letting them know who he was talking about.

Everyone's mood lifted, which was exactly what I wanted. Jonas wouldn't want us to remember him in a grave atmosphere. After a minute's silence in his memory, it was time for the long-awaited rematch of that memorable match from the end of last season. They were unlucky to have faced us in the first round. They were unlucky not to have offered Młody the right amount of money. When, in the final minute, he blasted a powerful shot from halfway down the pitch, almost tearing the net open, securing our victory, I was pleased to see Zanierew, who had been moody until then, even during my speech, run onto the pitch with joy to hug his hero. Vlado gestured to dedicate his first league goal to the man who was probably looking down on him.