Jarrod Black: Chasing Pack

Chapter 8

DownpourJarrod subconsciously wanted to show the coaching team just how fit and ready he was for the evening game, putting in extra effort and making sure he stuck to his marking task in the defensive drill. Bristol Rovers were blessed with an outstanding midfielder from Jamaica, Chilton Richards, a towering presence in the centre who had terrorised teams in the early stages of the season to help put his team top of the table. Gary and Des were working out who was going to be given the marking job: Jarrod or Peter. Jarrod was in two minds—on one hand he wanted to prove a point and be considered as the man for the job, on the other hand it would be a bruising ninety minutes.

Training was cut short by a heavy downpour, but the sun was almost out again by the time they had run for cover. The squad assembled in the changing rooms, unsure as to whether or not they would be continuing. Gary and Des walked in, and Gary closed the door. He strode over to the whiteboard and started to rub off the previous scribblings.

“Right, lads,” he said, using the ‘r’ to clear his throat and get everyone’s attention. “While we’re in here, let’s run through tonight’s starting line-up. Wes in goal.”

He started to write with the only working pen, first putting up the formation in dots, a conservative 4-4-2 with a diamond in midfield, then filling in the names against each dot.

“Right back, Steva, in the middle, Raynor and Freddie, Basa at left back,” he said, jotting the names down as he said them and then turning to Sam Basaan as if to reinforce something they had talked through together previously.

“Out wide in the midfield four, Connor,” he said pointing with the pen. “And Deano. And in the middle, holding in front of the back four, will be Oz, with Peter following the big lad around in front.”

Jarrod hadn’t heard that nickname for a while and smiled, looking at Peter who looked a little worried about the task ahead, but managing a raise of the eyebrows at Jarrod.

“Up front, A.B.,” Gary continued, pointing again with the pen at Anton. “And Will.”

Des then took the pen and started to write the names of the substitutes while Gary turned and addressed the team.

“Now, we know that Rovers are a pacy team,” he started. “Give yourself a chance, stay on your feet and don’t dive in. Steva, you were outstanding last week, I’m counting on you today for another big performance against their left winger. He’s fast, but you’re faster.”

Jarrod was analysing Gary’s delivery, thinking back to sessions he had been in at St George’s Park and forward to what he would say in a similar situation. It was good to hear Gary talking up one of the young prospects, although Jarrod may have preferred to make it a little less public. The pressure might be on young Steven Horton now, and a poor performance might derail his impressive start to first-team life.

Conversely, it was clear that Gary and Sam had talked about Sam’s role today, and that wasn’t deemed for the ears of the whole squad. It was fascinating, all this psychology, and Jarrod had become more and more aware of it now that he had studied it as part of the A Licence.

The players were ready to go back out for training, but Gary instructed them that they were done for the session, and they were due back for a late lunch at 3:00 p.m. The two hours’ gap that they had now was one that frustrated Jarrod in the early days, but as he got older and his life got busier as the years passed, he was appreciative of the time to be able to run errands and make phone calls. Today would be no different, and he installed himself in the deserted breakout area of the Arena, a space that doubled as a corporate lounge on match days. Out came the phone.

There was a missed call from that London number again, and just as he was heading to check the voicemail, the phone vibrated, and a call came in. Jarrod was startled and instinctively answered it, cursing that his reflexes had kicked in ahead of his brain. This was a number he didn’t know.

“Jarrod speaking,” he said in his politest manner.

“Jarrod, yes, Jarrod, oh, hi,” came the rather flustered response. “Robert Biscotti here from Zion Films, I was hoping to grab five minutes of your time. You may have spoken with my co-producer Stevie Mosseman already.”

“Ah, yes,” said Jarrod, remembering that he should have returned that call from last night and immediately feeling guilty for being so short on the phone. “Your colleague caught me at a bad time last night.”

“Understood,” said Robert. “Now, I don’t know how much Stevie discussed with you, but you may have heard the news that a new Harlowe Croft is being lined up. It’s all over the television today.”

“Yes, I must admit, since last night I’ve noticed it everywhere.”

“So, if I was to offer you the role right now and put you on the spot, what would your first reaction be?”

“I’d say I wouldn’t believe you,” said Jarrod. He had been plagued with junk calls early in his career, people trying to take advantage of him or bait him into agreeing to something that he didn’t want or need. “Who gave you my number?”

“Ah, yes, I do apologise,” said Robert in a theatrical tone. “My good friend Duddy may or may not have left his little black book open at the right page when I met up with him last week at the studios.”

“You know Duddy?” exclaimed Jarrod incredulously, before acknowledging that Duddy knew everyone. “Of course you do …”

“We’ve known Duddy Freiberg for years,” said Robert confidently. “He’s a football agent, but he’s also a very shrewd agent in the film industry. He loves movies. Has he not mentioned that to you?”

“I had no idea,” said Jarrod, starting to warm to Robert.

“Now, the movie is going to be shot on location,” said Robert. “Either in the States or in your old stomping ground in Australia …”

“Oh …?” said Jarrod as if he was divulging his interest.

“… and we’re confident that it will be Australia,” continued Robert, seizing on the crumb of interest. “Your name was thrown around a lot. Who do we know who would fit the look of Harlowe Croft, would be at home in Australia and can act?”

“I can act?” asked Jarrod.

“You can. It doesn’t take much to see from your post-match interviews and press conferences that you hold yourself well, like Harlowe Croft. Plus, your advertising debut …”

“You are kidding now.”

“No, it’s clear that you have what it takes.”

“Well, I’m blown away,” said Jarrod after a moment of silence.

“Think about it. Let’s assume that Duddy will be your managing agent. Shooting for the movie is due to begin in April next year, hopefully only just overlapping with the end of your football season by a week or two.”

Jarrod was silent for a moment while he processed what he had just heard.

“When do you need to know?” asked Jarrod. “I mean, that’s a big call.”

“Sure, we’ll give you a day or two before we need to cast the net if you’re turning down the opportunity. I’d urge you to think it through, and when you have, just let Duddy know that you’re ready to talk again.”

“If I need to discuss anything, should I give you a call?” asked Jarrod.

“Yes, this is my direct number,” replied Robert. “Save it in your phone. Contact me any time, day or night. This is a key decision in the whole process, and we’d like to have it resolved as soon as we possibly can.”

That cemented the importance of the call and added an element of urgency.

“Thanks, er, Robert, was it?” stumbled Jarrod.

“Robert Biscotti, Zion Films,” repeated Robert patiently and with a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “We’ll hear from you soon.”

That call prompted a quick Google search on Jarrod’s phone. Sure enough, the first entry for Robert Biscotti, even before he had finished typing the surname, was his entry on the Zion Films ‘Our People’ page. There were links to movie review pages, biographies on other websites. This was definitely a man with a lot of clout. Jarrod saved his number in his contacts list and typed in ‘Harlowe Croft next movie’ before he was interrupted by a door opening in the corridor and a cheery whistle, unmistakably the trademark whistle of coach Des Davis.