F-The Final

I awoke in darkness, lifted my watch from the bedside cabinet and
pressed the
button to activate the backlight. It was six fifteen in the morning,
only an
hour and a quarter since the last time I checked. I had spent the whole
night
like this, nervously twisting and turning, sleeping fitfully. Today was
a big
day for me. I had reached the final, and my nerves had my insides
churning like
a maelstrom.

Since I had started entering tournaments ten years before I had only
reached the
final on four occasions, the last time three years before when I had
sustained
an injury that had kept me out of the tournaments ever since.

But this year I decided I was ready to make a comeback. I had made it
through
the qualifiers without a problem, then entered the tournament. I hadn't
lost my
skill, with only the semi final giving me any real problems, but I
scraped
through and made it to the final, which was to take place at twelve
noon that
day.

I lay back down on the hotel bed in the darkness telling myself to get
some more
sleep, I needed my rest, but it was no use. I was too nervous, too
wired. The
hell with it, I thought as I swung my legs out of bed, if I'm not going
to get
any sleep I may as well use the time to practise.

When I sat up my eyes fell on the mini bar. I could imagine all the
small
bottles arranged inside: Vodka, Whisky, Gin, Brandy. They could calm me
down,
make it easier to get through the day, maybe even help me get some
sleep.

"No!" I said, as I jumped to my feet, "I don't need it. It won't
help."

I turned my back on the bar and my need for alcohol then pulled my
suitcase from
beneath the bed, unpacked my gear and began to practise.

My heart hammered in my chest, my palms were sweating and my mouth was
dry as I
stood outside the hall listening to my introduction. I glanced across
at Eddie
Fletcher as we waited. He held a roll up cigarette in a claw like grip
between
the tips of his thumb and forefinger and sucked his cheeks in as he
pulled a
long, deep drag. I could hear the echoing words of the announcer inside
the hall
but it sounded like jibberish to me. I couldn't make out any words
until I heard
my name called and I walked forward. As I stepped through the double
doors into
the hall I heard Eddie's muttered voice behind me.

"You've no chance son."

I ignored his jibe and applause erupted as I entered the hall with one
hand
aloft, smiling and waving to the crowd as I walked to the centre of the
room.
I'd forgotten how much I missed the feeling of walking out in front of
the
audience, of being the centre of everyone's attention, despite the
almost
overwhelming pressure it applied, and I imagined how much greater it
would feel
at the end of the game when I stood victorious.

This was my year, I had decided. This year I would win.

When I reached the table the announcer introduced the reigning champion
and out
walked Eddie Fletcher both arms raised as if he had already won. The
volume and
intensity of the applause increased tenfold as he slowly made his way
to the
table, waving to the crowd, basking in the adoration.

Eddie had been the reigning champion for the last ten years, no one
could touch
him. It was he who had beaten me on the four occasions I had made it to
the
final, including the one three years before when I had been injured, a
match he
had won by default as I was unable to play a rematch.

Eventually he reached the table and stood opposite me, but didn't make
eye
contact. He continued to turn and wave at the crowd, grinning. This was
his way
of psyching me out. The crowd loved him, this was his home ground, and
he acted
like I was so insignificant I barely registered. I knew he was playing
mind
games with me but still a knot twisted in my stomach and I had to fight
the urge
to bite my nails. I felt a solitary bead of sweat drip down my
forehead. I
breathed slowly in and out, concentrating intensely, trying to slow
down my
heart. I was okay, I told myself, I could do this.

Not only could I do this, but I could win. You're going down, I thought
as I
stared across at my opponent.

"Take your positions gentlemen." said the referee, and Eddie and myself
moved to
opposite ends of the six feet by three feet, felt covered table.

It was only then that our eyes met across the table. Eddie was in his
fifties
and had a sharp angular face with hooded eyes. His mouth was a small
thin white
line, like a paper cut, and his thinning jet black hair was smeared
with grease
and slicked back. His black eyes stared at me across the table and the
corners
of his mouth curled up into a smug smile. I kept on my best poker face
and
stared back, fighting the urge to vomit. Our little moment was broken
when the
announcer once again came across the tannoy and announced the start of
the
match.

"Let the 2001 Tiddlywinks Championship Final begin!"

I took my squidger in hand, a ten pence piece sized plastic counter,
and lined
up my first shot. I tried to forget the four rounds with six shots each
that lay
ahead of me and concentrate on my first shot. I pressed my squidger
down onto
the edge of my first wink, a smaller plastic counter about the size of
a one
pence piece, and sent it flying into the air. The wink flew towards the
cup, hit
the rim, and bounced off, landing four inches away, prompting a
sympathetic,
"Oh." from the crowd.

My heart sank and I looked across the table at my opponent. Eddie
stared at me
with a conceited grin on his face, then he shrugged, gave a little
laugh and
lowered to take his first shot. His wink hit the rim of the cup,
circled all the
way around and dropped in.

As the crowd applauded Eddie straightened up, crossed his arms, and
eyed me
smugly.

I wanted to jump the table and belt him but instead I took my next
shot. I stood
poised over the wink, staring from the wink to the cup and back
again,
concentrating intensely, feeling incredible pressure to get the shot
right after
my disappointing opener. The room was silent as I set up my shot. My
mouth and
throat were so dry I felt as if I had been drinking sand, then once I
felt
ready, I pressed my squidger.

The wink soared into the air and landed perfectly inside the cup.

I straightened and tried to conceal a huge sigh of relief, savouring
the
applause of the crowd. I grinned across at Eddie, but he shrugged,
seemingly
unfazed, then took his next shot.

It was perfect.

I played again and my wink dropped straight into the cup without
touching the
side. Eddie's next shot done the same. My fourth shot hit the inside
wall of the
cup and dropped in, as did Eddie's. Our last two shots all dropped into
the cup
without incident. At the end of the round the announcer broadcast the
score:
six-five to Eddie, and we took a small break.

One round down, three to go.

I took a seat and scanned the faces in the crowd in front of me. A sea
of
strange faces sat in the stands, chattering away to each other, or sat
staring
at Eddie and myself, or looking around the hall. Eddie walked over to
an
enormously fat woman who was sitting at the front of the crowd across
two seats
and had a word with her. I knew the woman was his wife and I wondered
how the
hell they managed to have sex as Eddie was a small man, only about five
foot six
and thinly built, then I decided I really didn't want to know as that
was a
picture I did not want in my head, so I turned my attention to the
floor at my
feet and waited for the start of the next round.

I was sitting in a room surrounded by hundreds of people and I don't
think I had
ever felt so alone. I had no friends or family in the crowd, no
supporters. My
ex girlfriend Julie had always come to watch me play, but after my
injury three
years before had put me out of the tournaments I had become depressed.
I started
to drink heavily and it wasn't long before I was drinking every day,
almost from
the moment I got out of bed.

My behaviour became erratic. I was moody and withdrawn, difficult to
live with
and I wanted to do nothing but lie on the couch all day long
watching
television. I neglected Julie and took her for granted, then six months
earlier,
she told me she'd had enough and she was leaving.

I pleaded with her to stay but she was having none of it and walked out
on me,
telling me I was not the man she fell in love with.

I was devastated. When she had been there for me in the previous two
and a half
years she annoyed me and I couldn't be bothered with her, but when she
left I
missed her terribly. I loved her with all my heart but while I had been
drunk
and depressed I had forgotten that fact, brushed over it on my way to
my next
drink.

I sank even deeper into depression, even contemplated suicide, then I
decided I
had to change my life. I would kick the drink, enter competitions
again,
rediscover the man Julie had fallen in love with and win her
back.

I had called her a week before the 2001 Tiddlywinks Championship was
due to
start and told her that I was entering, that I hadn't had a drink in
three
months and would she be interested in coming to see me play?

She told me no.

It was too late for us, she had said. She had moved on and I should
too.

Once again I was devastated, a broken man. I'd felt sure she would come
back to
me, felt sure that deep down she loved me as much as I loved her. But
it
appeared I was wrong.

I found myself walking the streets that night and every bar and off
licence I
walked past seemed to beckon me in. I even went as far as entering an
off
licence and when I was asked what I would like to purchase, I hesitated
for a
moment, staring at the bottles of whiskey and vodka lining the
shelves.

I bought twenty cigarettes then tossed them in the bin outside as I
didn't
smoke. I was sober and I would stay that way, if not to win Julie back
then for
my own state of mind. Not only that, I decided, but I would enter
the
championships and I would win, then I could rebuild a life for
myself.

The announcement for the start of round two roused me from my
recollections.

The first four winks we played all landed inside the cup. With each
successive
shot the pressure increased. We were both playing well but I was
painfully aware
that I was a shot down and with the way Eddie was playing I could not
afford to
lose another. I just had to pray he would miss a couple of shots, but
at that
point it did not look likely. I got ready to take my fifth shot. I
stood over
the wink, sweating and tense, and I felt a twinge of pain in my right
wrist. I
put down my squidger and straightened up, rubbing my wrist. The
referee
approached me and quietly asked if I was alright and I replied that I
was. I
waved my hand around, working the wrist until the pain subsided, then I
took my
shot.

My wink rolled around the cup, then flew out.

The crowd started to cheer, then moaned with disappointment. I was
crushed. Two
shots down, with little chance of scraping it back. Eddie stood
opposite me,
watching, and couldn't have looked more pleased.

He took his next shot, perfect again, then I played mine which
thankfully landed
inside the cup despite my battered confidence.

The announcer broadcast the score: twelve to ten, and I took my seat to
await
the next round.

I sat there, rubbing my wrist, hoping it would hold out until the end
of match
and gutted that it had chosen now to play up.

I had broken my wrist as a boy, when I fell out of a tree, and it had
been
intermittently painful ever since. Three years ago, in the third round
of the
final against Eddie with the score at fourteen each, I had been so
tense and was
trying so hard, that I somehow managed to sprain my wrist while
applying far too
much force to a shot.

The pain was incredible and I was unable to continue the match, so
Eddie won the
championship by forfeit. My wrist had been painful ever since, which
was why I
had been unable to play, and it was only recently that I felt I was
sufficiently
recovered to play again.

But now I wasn't so sure.

I had sustained the injury because I was so tense and because the
pressure had
got to me, so while I sat there in the hall I closed my eyes and
breathed
deeply, trying to calm myself down. If I stayed calm and relaxed I was
sure I
could make it to the end of the match without incident. There were only
two
rounds to go, only twelve shots. I could do it.

Round three.

I took my first shot, with only a small twinge of pain in my wrist. It
landed
inside the cup.

Eddie leaned over and took a moment to line up his shot, then he
pressed down
with his squidger and let his wink fly. It flew towards the cup, then
floated
over it, missing it by a millimetre.

There was a loud gasp from the crowd followed by frenzied chatter, and
Eddie
looked stunned, then he looked angry as he stood up and crossed his
arms
indignantly.

As for me it was all I could do not to jump up and down screaming.
Finally, I'd
got a break. All I had to do now was not crumble and keep the pressure
on and
hope that he would lose another couple of shots.

I took my next shot, still feeling the pressure as I was still a shot
behind. It
was perfect. I smiled, pleased with myself, my confidence returning, as
Eddie
stood opposite me looking totally disgusted.

Eddie took his next shot, his face stern as he frowned with
intense
concentration. I watched, praying he had lost his bottle, that his
confidence
was shot and he would continue making mistakes.

He made the shot to rapturous applause.

We carried on playing, every wink landing perfectly in the cup, until
on Eddie's
last shot of the round, his wink flew, hit the rim of the cup and
skipped over
it, landing on my side of the table.

"Damn!" he cried as he stood up sharply and I whispered a quiet,
"Yes."

I felt triumphant as the crowd cheered when the announcer broadcast the
score at
the end of the third round. Sixteen all. My first perfect round. All I
had to do
now was try to stay calm and keep the momentum going.

I paced up and down, working my wrist, too wound up to sit down. I
wanted
desperately for the fourth round to start. The wait was killing me as I
was on a
roll and I didn't want to lose it.

As I paced I thought I saw a familiar face in the crowd and I stopped
in my
tracks. Four rows back, in the stand behind me, sat Julie. She had come
to see
me play! My heart leapt and I smiled and waved. She returned my gesture
and
mouthed the words, "Good luck," to me. I wanted to run up into the
stand and
take her into my arms but the start of the fourth round was announced
so I gave
another short wave and returned to the table.

Eddie took his first shot, sweat dripping from his knotted brow. The
shot was
good and greeted with applause but he looked more relieved than happy.
The
pressure was finally beginning to tell on him.

I moved in to take my shot and heard Eddie sneer, "How's the
wrist?"

I ignored him and took my shot. It landed in the cup.

"Yeah, it's alright by the looks of it." I replied, much to his
disgruntlement.

Eddie took his next shot, which landed in the cup, then I followed with
mine
which also landed in the cup. Four shots to go and we were still neck
and neck.

Eddie's third shot landed in the cup, my shot spun around the cup,
stopping my
heart for a moment, then dropped inside.

As I watched him take his fourth shot I worked my wrist as it was
becoming very
painful. I couldn't decide if there was actually something physically
wrong with
my wrist or if it was purely psychological, but it was starting to put
me off.
What if I sprained it again? I couldn't take that again, especially at
this
stage in the game, that would truly finish me off.

But I couldn't afford to think about that, I had to concentrate on the
match.
Three shots. That was all I had to make.

I stepped up after Eddie's fourth shot landed in the cup. My heart was
racing
and I was losing pounds in sweat. I was about to take the shot when I
realised
how tense and stiff I was. I took a few deep breaths, relaxed a little,
and took
my shot.

It was good.

Two shots left and Eddie's landed in the cup. If it continued this way
it would
have to go to a play off. I took my shot, watched it fly and land in
the cup.

One shot left. I prayed Eddie would miss, I wasn't sure if I had the
mental
stamina to survive a play off.

Eddie bent down, looking as stressed as I felt. In ten years he hadn't
had a
match this close. He applied pressure to his squidger and sent his wink
soaring
towards the cup, where it hit the inside rim of the cup and bounced
into the
air, came back down onto the rim and then bounced away.

"No! No!" he screamed and stormed away from the table. The crowd were
chattering
frantically, shocked by the sudden turn of events. I almost leapt into
the air.
Eddie returned to the table to watch as I stepped forward to take my
shot.

This was it. The game rested on this one shot, the final shot of the
match. I
had to make it. If the match went to a play off I would lose, I was
sure of it.
This was my only chance to be a champion.

I took my squidger and bent over the table, looking down at the
solitary piece
of plastic I had to fire at the cup. I took a moment to prepare
myself,
breathing deeply, telling myself I could do it. The hall was completely
silent
as everyone waited with baited breath for me to take my shot.

I touched my squidger to the edge of the wink and lined up my shot. I
was about
to press when Eddie suddenly cleared his throat. The referee and myself
both
glared at him and he muttered, "Sorry," and hung his head, looking
ashamed.

Once again I brought down my squidger and judged the line, studied the
distance
the same way I had with the previous twenty three shots, then I pressed
down.
The pressure sent the wink flying into the air. I watched, breathless,
as the
wink soared across the green felt table like a bird over a field. It
crossed the
distance to the cup quickly then dipped down towards it. The wink flew
over the
edge of the cup and collided with the opposite wall of the cup on the
inside,
sending the wink ricocheting straight up into the air the same way
Eddie's had.
The wink flew up vertically, turning slowly, for about five inches,
then it
dropped back down towards the cup, landing on the rim of the cup and
bouncing
off, across the top of the cup until it hit the opposite side,
rebounded back
into the air, before it finally dropped into the cup.

The crowd erupted, cheering and clapping for all they were worth, while
I jumped
up and down in glee with my hands in the air, screaming at the top of
my voice.
Eddie slumped into his chair, his head bowed, defeated.

I had waited almost all my life for this moment, since I was eight
years old I
had won a set of tiddlywinks in a Christmas cracker and I had become
obsessed
with them. The obsession had never left me, I had always loved
tiddlywinks, they
were my life, and every day from that Christmas had led to that moment
when I
became the Tiddlywinks champion.

I ran up into the stands, pushing past people as they patted me on the
back and
tried to shake my hand, and went to Julie. She was beaming, looking
almost as
happy as I was, and without a word I took her in my arms and squeezed
her
tightly. The feel of her, the smell of her, it was familiar and
comfortable and
I loved it so much and had missed it so much.

I took her hand and dragged her down onto the floor with me and she
stood by my
side as the announcer handed me my trophy and announced me the 2001
Tiddlywinks
Champion.