FOR ABOUT THE FIFTH time that morning, I groan at the article I'm reading. The Sun, a paper that continually exploits people, had written yet another article on Rebecca Welton. The article consisted of misogynistic remarks on her running of the team and how Richmond was bound to lose todays game against Crystal Palace. Rebecca was the owner of AFC Richmond, at least as of her divorce with the last owner and professional loser, Rupert Mannion. Rupert was one of those guys who believed he could act however he wanted and everyone would be okay with it since he was Gods gift to Earth.

"Why do you even read their articles if you hate them so much?" James asked from his desk. I had gone on countless rants on my hatred for The Sun.

"I have to know what I'm hating," I replied. "How can I make fun of it without knowing what I'm making fun of."

I glanced at the clock on my computer screen and saw it was already past 5:00. The Richmond game would be starting soon, and I had been hoping to watch it at my favorite pub.

"Alright, loser. I'll see you later," I stood up and smiled at James who was holding his hand over his heart in mock-hurt.

After finishing his dramatics, he smiled back at me and said, "Have fun."

As soon as I entered the hallway, Trent's voiced called after me. "Sabrina! Before you leave, what's your status on the Chelsea story?"

I thought back to the half empty page I had been staring at all day, completely unable to think of anything worthwhile to say about the game. "I'm getting there."

Trent, who's bullshit detector had long since been perfected after a long journalistic career, looked unimpressed with my attempted lying. He gave me a look that made me immediately question why I had even attempted the lie before he continued, "Well, you can scrap the story anyway. Also, check your email. I sent you back your last story with some feedback."

Relief washed over me immediately. It felt fucking fantastic that I didn't have to write that excruciatingly boring story. If I listend hard enough, I could hear the faint sounds of angel singing, rejoicing at the news.

I also lived and breathed Trent's feedback. While typically, someone pointing out a mistake of mine could make me want to curl into a ball in the corner, something about Trent Crimm actually reading and comprehending my work made it all okay.  It felt like even though every piece of criticism started as a gut punch, the idea that someone as good as Trent would take time out of their day to read my work made up for it.

"Will do, thanks," I replied before hurrying out of the building to make it in time for the game.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎︎

THE CROWN AND ANCHOR pub was one of my favorite places in the world. I had first discovered my first week living Richmond. I was fresh out of college, struggling to land a writing job, and dealing with the trails and tribulations of working retail in the mean time. I had yet to find roommates for my apartment and had literally no friends. So, instead of staying in and watching the Richmond game by myself, I ventured out and tried to find a pub.

It didn't take long for me to find The Crown and Anchor. Something about the place caused a feeling of warmth and familiarity to flood my otherwise caffeine filled body.  The flowers around the roof of the building gave it the pop of color that lacking in so many other places around there. The thing that really sold me on the place, though, was the group of people at the bar. Mae, the owner of the pub, was the strongest and most caring woman I've ever met. The three loudest Richmond fans, Baz, Paul, and Jeremy, helped me come out of my shell and kept me smiling. Though I'd never tell the three of them, they were truly great friends.

Luckily, I had worn my Richmond jersey under the shirt I wore for work. I had anticipated I'd be cutting it close, and I really was. By the time I walked into The Crown and Anchor, I only had five minutes until the game was starting.

"Lewis!" Paul cheered upon my entrance, using my last name. I waved at him. "We saved you a seat, come on."

"We didn't save her a seat. That was all you, Pauly," Baz pointed out.

"Don't mind him. He's just a little grumpy today," Jeremy put on his most patronizing voice as he said the last part. Baz shoved him and Jeremy laughed wildly.

I rolled my eyes at their fighting and squeezed in next to the three men. I turned to the bar, where Mae was already placing a water for me. I never drank while watching a game in case anything story-worthy happened. "Thank you, Mae," I said.

"Of course, love," she smiled. "Boss didn't make you work too hard today, did he?"

"Come on Mae, you know he could make her write a five page story while sprinting and she'd still think it was easy," Jeremy teased.

I laughed lightly. "I can't work too hard if I love what I'm doing."

Mae gave me a look. "Pace yourself. Don't be afraid to take a break."

"Why would I need a break?" I asked.

If Mae planned on continuing the conversation, she was cut off as the pub dissolved in chants. I looked up at the screen and saw that Ted Lasso, and who I was assuming was Coach Beard, had just walked out into the pitch.

"Wanker! Wanker! Wanker!" Echoed from both the stadium on the TV and the pub around us.

"Come on!" I yelled over it. "Give him a chance."

The cheers quieted slightly and I hoped that Coach Lasso wouldn't make me look like an idiot.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎︎

MY HOPES FOR A GOOD rest of the season were in the depths by the time the final whistle blew. A final score of 4-1 was laughable. It was a slap in the face and a kick in the balls.

The camera zoomed in on team captain Roy Kent's reaction. Baz finished cursing the bloodline of Ted Lasso for the fifth time and fans slowly filtered out of the pub.

"You got a headline for this one, Lewis?" Paul asked. He was always one to try and change a bad situation into a more fun one.

"Richmond: We're Fucking Doomed," I muttered.

Authors note:
Sorry this chapter is very filler, but the next chapter is one I'm very excited to start writing, so it'll make up for it.