Thursday 18th January 2013
Morning:
Crunch hates early morning training sessions. He hates everything about the Cherry Blossom Reds, really, but he doesn't show that. But he can show he hates early morning training, because all his team-mates do, too. He's got a slight limp, at the moment, due to a foul tackle on him from last week's game, so the coach informs him he's not playing on Saturday. In some ways, that's good - he didn't fancy the long flight to the away game at San Izabella - but part of him hates sitting around doing nothing. In any case, the Coach's decision is final, so all he can do is accept it with good grace. It means no training tomorrow either, since he hasn't even got a start in the reserves.
He emerges from the shower, still wet, shares a few bantering exchanges with his team-mates, and after rigorously drying himself struggles into his clothes. Again, he's different from the others. They favor expensive Armani suits, bling, the trappings of success. He's happiest in his jeans and tee, though he does have a nicer car than he's ever owned before. He reflects on this as he reaches the car park and throws his kit in the rear seat. The bronze Mazda's a nice machine, and the tiny little sponsorship logo on the front wing is barely noticeable.
What he should do, on his free weekend, he reflects as he maneuvers in and out of the traffic on the Cherry-Blossom Freeway, is something in the fresh air. Go surfing, or kayaking. Or maybe a swim in the local lake. And go for a run, keep his fitness up. What he will do, he realizes, is lie in bed in his lodgings, reading and listening to music, and wishing he were in London, surrounded by industrial buildings and graffiti, instead of the bright, sterile atmosphere of Cherry Blossom Town.
Still, he's got time on his hands. For some reason he doesn't fathom, he takes a left instead of a right, into a part of the town he's never been to before. The road leads nowhere much, except to the University. Bored and homesick, he parks the Mazda, and leans on the fence overlooking the empty sports field, thinking of nothing in particular.