Unseen Academicals

little moment, aren’t you? Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
    ‘Gentlemen, would you please form up your teams for the singing of the National Anthem. Mister Stibbons, I believe you have found me a megaphone, thank you very much.’ He raised the horn to his lips and shouted through it, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, be upstanding for the National Anthem.’
    The singing of the National Anthem was always a ragged affair, the good people of Ankh-Morpork feeling that it was unpatriotic to sing songs about how patriotic you were, taking the view that someone singing a song about how patriotic they were was either up to something or a Head of State. *
    An additional problem today lay in the acoustics of the arena, which were rather too good, coupled with the fact that the speed of sound at one end of the stadium was slightly off beat compared with the other end, a drawback exacerbated when both sides tried to recover the gap.
    These acoustical anomalies did not count for much if you were standing next to Mustrum Ridcully, as the Archchancellor was one of those gentlemen who will sing it beautifully, correctly enunciated and very, very loudly.
    ‘“When dragons belch and hippos flee, my thoughts, Ankh-Morpork, are of thee,”’ he began.
    Trev noticed, to his surprise, that Nutt was standing stiffly to attention. His own mouth operating on automatic, he looked along the massed rank of Ankh-Morpork United. About fifty-fifty, he thought. Half of them decent old cloggers and half of them Andy and his chums. His gaze lighted on Andy just as he thought that and Andy flashed him a little smile and pointed a finger briefly. But I’m not playing, Trev thought, because of my old mum. He glanced down at the palm of his hand, no star there, he was sure of that. Anyway, he thought, staring at the opponents, when it all goes bad the referee is a wizard, after all.
    ‘“Let others boast of martial dash, for we have boldly fought with cash,”’ roared the crowd at various pitches and speeds.
    I mean, Trev thought, he wouldn’t switch off his own magic, would he?
    ‘“We own all your helmets, we own all your shoes.”’
    I mean, he really wouldn’t do that, would he? The only person who could stop it if it all went wrong wouldn’t have made a mistake like that?
    ‘“We own all your generals–touch us and you’ll lose.”’
    Yes, he has done! He has done just that!
    ‘“Morporkia! Morporkia! Morporkia owns the day,”’ Trev shouted to quell his own rising panic. He has done that, we all saw him! He’s kept his own staff inside the field where you can’t do magic. He looked at Andy and Andy nodded. Yes, he had worked it out as well.
    ‘“We can rule you wholesale. Touch us and you’ll pay.”’
    It is considered in the Sto Plains that only scoundrels know the second verse of their national anthem, since anyone spending time memorizing that would be up to no good purpose. The Ankh-Morpork national anthem, therefore, had a second verse that was deliberately written as ner ner ners and the occasional coherent word desperately trying to stay afloat, on the basis that this is how it would sound in any case. Trev listened to it with even more agony than usual.
    But everyone joined in cheerful unison for the last line, which everybody knew, ‘“We can rule you wholesale, credit where it’s due.”’
    Glenda, one arm as far across her bosom as it would go, risked a look at what would still probably be called the Royal Box, just as Vetinari raised the gold-ish coloured urn and a cheer went up. Ankh-Morpork was not particularly keen on cheering the Patrician but it would cheer money any day of the week. Yet it seemed to Glenda that there was some strange harmonic to the cheer, coming up from under the ground itself, as if the place was one huge mouth…Then the feeling went away. And the day came back.
    ‘Gentlemen? Team players to their places,’ said the Archchancellor of Brazeneck, haughtily.
    ‘Er, can I have a word with you, sir?’ said Trev, sidling up as quickly as possible.
    ‘Ah, yes. Dave Likely’s boy,’ said the former Dean. ‘We are about to play football, Mister Likely, I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
    ‘Yes, sir, well, er, but…’
    ‘Do you know of any good reason why I should hold up the game?’ the referee demanded.
    Trev gave up.
    Henry produced a coin from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Mustrum?’ he said.
    ‘Heads,’ said the Archchancellor, and he turned out to be wrong.
    ‘Very well,