The Cup Tie: Chapter 6

I don’t think that I would have said so at the time but having been given the slipper that Saturday was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

However, I was determined not to take the slipper gain and equally determined not to clean everyone’s boots. So, somehow, I had to plan an escape. After all I could walk out of the dressing room, across the pitch to the main gate, across the car park and back through the lanes home. But then still being naked would cause problems with this particular escape plan. My clothes and kit, along with my dad - who was going to give me a lift home, were no doubt in the bar area. I suppose I could feign an illness but then they would get the physio to check me over and I would get another slippering for try to pull a fast one. Then I could take Paul’s plimsolls out and throw them to the back of the stand. It would take some time for them to be discovered. But then Paul wouldn’t take too kindly to that and I’m sure he’d find something else to whack me with. Something that would be far more painful. In my mind I kept going back to these options to see if I could make one foolproof. I tried to think of other ideas. But while all of this was going round in my head I had filled the bucket with water, laid out the newspaper on the floor and banged Rob’s boots together to get the worst of the mud off. I was standing there with one of Rob’s boots on my left hand and the brush in my right hand. I guessed that Rob was the ringleader and so I’d better clean his boots first. I tried to do good job before moving onto the next pair. It had taken about 5 minutes to clean Rob’s boots and there were 18 pairs to clean. A quick calculations revealed I would be there for the next hour and a half. The thinking behind me cleaning Rob’s boots first lead me to clean Paul’s next and then Andy’s.

I had cleaned Simon’s boots and, I think, Richard - our Goalkeeper’s - boots, and I was in the middle of cleaning another pair before Rob returned. Rob gave a smug nod of approval. “The slipper got through to you in the end”, he said and then, after a pause, added, “After all it should do. You’ve got your brain in your backside”. Rob then picked up one of Andy’s boots - we all knew who’s boots were who’s - and after checking the sole showed me a spot of mud at the base of one of the studs. It couldn’t have measured more than two millimetres by one millimetre but as Rob said if he could see it then so should I. And if I could see it I should have cleaned it off. He said I should think my self lucky that I would get the chance to clean it off and that he wasn’t going to slipper me there and then.

I looked at the clock, in the dressing room, and briefly calculated that I wouldn’t be leaving the ground until about 7.30. I told Rob that I was hoping to meet Sam, my girlfriend, that evening and was hoping not to be late. Rob then asked me if having sex with Sam was a better experience than cleaning the boots. I didn’t reply and so Rob asked me again and again I didn’t reply. I was then threatened with the slipper if I didn’t reply or I got “the answer wrong”. I told Rob it was better cleaning his boots.

When Rob left I went back to check on all the boots I had already cleaned. That was going to add more time to task. I re-estimated that my time of completing this job would be closer to 8 O’Clock. I then thought of all the lads in the bar having a laugh and celebrating a win and they were doing that without me while I cleaned their muddy boots. There were probably all having a laugh when there were told about my slippering. I thought about not being able to meet up with Sam as arranged. I then felt myself starting to cry.

My situation was then made worse by the return of our reserve team. The team playing away travelled by the club’s minibus from our home ground. Most times most of the players would drop into the bar and first and reserve team players would swap stories about the day’s matches. To cut a long story short, there were nine players who wanted my “boot cleaning service” and one of these had two pairs to clean. Another calculation was needed and it looked as if I’d be there until 9 O’Clock.. The worse thing was that two of these players were Joe and Adam. So what was the problem here? Well, at school we had this ritual called a ‘Bog Wash’ and every boy would be subjected to it, at least, once during their school career. Basically, the victim had his head held down the toilet while it was flushed. The shoe or trainer on the back of your head holding it in place was, invariably, on the foot of a boy in a year above you. And when you administered a Bog Wash the head below your shoe or trainer belonged to a boy in a year below you. It was regarded as a bit of a disgrace if you allowed other boys in your year to bog wash you. But the real shame and humiliation was reserved for those handful of boys who allowed boys from a year below them to give them a bog wash. At 17, Joe was the same age as me but at 16 Adam was younger. Adam had been at the same school as me. Also, he lived nearby to me and one of our dads would give us both a lift to matches and training. I can’t say that I enjoyed cleaning the older players’ boots but had somehow come to accept that that was what I was having to do. It was the natural order of things just like getting a bog wash from the older boys.

Rob, meanwhile, from time to time, would walk down the corridor from the bar make me a visit just to check my progress. He must have noticed that I was leaving Joe’s and Adam’s boots to the end and guessed that I was doing so in the hope that for some reason a stop would be called to my ordeal and I wouldn’t have cleaned the two younger players’ boots. His assumption was right. But then Rob, like the other lads - even Andy, was a product of the state education system too.

With me having just three pairs left to clean, Rob made another visit. This time with Joe and Adam in tow. The two were to stay as I cleaned their boots. Rob gave them instructions as to how the dressing was to be tidied up and I had to follow the orders given to me by Joe and Adam. If I was lippy or disobeyed either of them I would be slippered. This time it would be 8 strokes apiece from the gang of four and the same from Joe and Adam. Adam was going to milk this moment for all he could get. “Alright slave”, with the emphasis on ‘slave’, “I want those boots spotless”, as I picked up Joe’s boots to clean them. This was real humiliation. As I cleaned both pairs of boots the two of them giggled and made remarks about my backside that was still red. Adam was still rubbing it in with comments like, “Just think, one day you’ll be able to boast to all you mates about the time you cleaned my boots”. It was too much and I told Adam to “Fuck off”. Adam turned to Joe and said, “I think that’s the slipper”. I finished cleaning Adam’s boots and Adam then ordered me to tidy up. I gathered up the sheets of newspaper, with the mud on them and folded the sheets up and put them in the bin. I then had to pick up the litter, That was usually left by players on match days. When I had done that Adam dropped his boots on the floor and told me to drop to my knees and kiss them. I was reluctant to do that but Adam, despite the fact that I had already been promised the slipper for swearing, reminded me of what would happen if I disobeyed him. But then I had forgotten this too so I dropped and kissed Adam’s boots. Adam then told me that Joe and he were going back to the clubhouse bar. He would tell Rob about me saying “Fuck off” and I could expect to get the slipper for it. Joe and Adam then left me. I expected to see Rob, and the others, shortly. But it wasn’t to be.