Unseen Academicals

ball now? He glanced at the little crib-sheet of numbers he had managed to jot down. Ah, right. United had broken into the UU side of the field and there was Andy Shank, an unpleasant man by all accounts and…surely that wasn’t a normal footballing procedure. Other players had lined up around him. So he was running in the middle of a group of bodyguards. Even the other team members themselves did not seem to know what was going on, but Mr Shack nevertheless managed a creditable strike at the goal, which was expertly snatched out of the air by…Mister Nutt. He glanced at his crib-sheet, ah yes, the orc, and added in his notebook: ‘who is clearly adept at grasping big round objects’. But then he felt ashamed and crossed it out. Despite where we are lying, he said to himself, we are not the gutter press.

    The orc.
    Nutt danced back and forth outside his goal, trying to find someone who looked in a position to be able to do something with a ball.
    ‘Can’t hang around all day, Orc,’ said Andy, staying in front of him. ‘Got to let it go soon, Orc. Not much help for you now, is there, Orc? They say you’ve got claws. Show us your claws, Orc. That will bust your ball.’
    ‘I believe that you are a man with unresolved issues, sir.’
    ‘What?’
    Nutt dropkicked the ball over Andy’s head and somewhere in the mob that fought for it there was a crunch, which was followed by a yell, which was followed by the whistle and the whistle was followed by the chant. It began somewhere in the region of Mrs Atkinson, but spread oh so quickly: ‘Orc! Orc! Orc! Orc! Orc! Orc! Orc!’
    Ridcully got to his feet, standing unsteadily. ‘The buggers have got me, Henry,’ he yelled, in a voice that could hardly be heard over the chant. ‘Kneecap! Bloody kneecap!’
    ‘Who did it?’ the referee demanded.
    ‘How should I know? It’s a bloody mess, just like the old game! And can’t you get them to stop that bloody chant? That’s not the sort of thing we want to hear.’
    Archchancellor Henry raised his megaphone. ‘Mister Hoggett?’
    The captain of United pushed his way through the rabble, looking very sheepish.
    ‘Can’t you control your fans?’
    Hoggett shrugged. ‘Sorry about that, sir, but what can you do?’
    Henry looked around the Hippo. What could anyone do? It was the mob. The Shove. No one was in charge. It hadn’t an arse to kick, a wrist to be slapped or even an address. It was just there and it was shouting because everybody else was.
    ‘Well, then can you at least control your team?’ he said. To his surprise Mr Hoggett looked down.
    ‘Not entirely, sir. Sorry about that, sir, it’s how things are.’
    ‘One more incident of this kind and I will cancel the match. I suggest you leave the field of play, Mustrum. Who is the substitute captain?’
    ‘Me!’ said Ridcully, ‘but under the circumstances I appoint Mister Nobbs as my deputy.’
    ‘Not Nobby Nobbs?’ exclaimed the former Dean.
    ‘No relation,’ said Bledlow Nobbs very quickly.
    ‘Well, that was a good choice at least,’ said Trev, sighing. ‘Nobbsy is a clogger at heart.’
    ‘But it’s not supposed to be about clogging,’ said Glenda. ‘And you know what?’ she added, raising her voice against the steel roar of the crowd. ‘Whatever the old Dean thinks he can’t stop the game, now. This place would just blow up!’
    ‘You think so?’ said Trev.
    ‘Listen,’ said Glenda. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. You ought to get out of here.’
    ‘Me? Not a chance.’
    ‘But you could make yourself useful and get Juliet out. Get her as far as Vimesy and his lot. I bet they’re waiting right outside the gates. Do it right now while you can still get down the steps. Won’t get a chance once they start to play again.’
    As he left, Glenda walked unheeded down the touchline, to the little area where Dr Lawn was standing guard over his patients.
    ‘You know that little bag you brought with you, sir?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I think you’re going to need a bigger bag. How’s Professor Macarona?’
    The professor was lying on his back, staring at the sky and wearing an expression of bland happiness. ‘Sorted him out easily enough,’ said the doctor. ‘He won’t be playing again any time soon. I’ve given him a little something to make him happy. Correction, I have given him a big something to make him happy.’
    ‘And the Librarian?’
    ‘Well, I got a couple of lads to help me turn him upside down and he’s been