Excerpt from my furry story "Kicks of Glory" (Slice of Life / Sports / Comedy / Drama):
A relatively young player, a twenty-eight-year-old fox, stood unimpressed and disappointed at the starting point of the elevated platform that led to the heart of the stadium, built to showcase him as the club’s newest star in grand fashion. The wine-colored uniform suited him well. It had black accents on the collar and sleeves, and the club’s emblem stood proudly on the chest. The shorts and socks matched the rich hue, while his boots were black. The attire mixed well with the rich blend of fiery reds, deep oranges, and subtle browns of his fur. The fox’s white muzzle extended from his chin to his cheeks, blending seamlessly into the russet tones along his jawline.
“And no one showed up.” The player let out a brief sigh and looked at the marten at his side, one of the members of the club’s media and communication team, dressed in a tracksuit with the team’s colors. “Is there really a point in doing all this?”
“Of course, it’s for the fans, Blake,” the marten said nonchalantly while taking some notes on his tablet. “And for the sponsors, of course.” After a brief moment, he looked at Blake and shrugged. “Alright, it’s only for the sponsors, and it’s in your contract, so just walk and wave to the cameras, okay?”
Blake sighed. “Okay.” He shook his head and started walking on the platform, exiting the tunnel as spotlights swept across the stadium, smoke machines releasing a subtle mist around the walkway. The fox waved at the cameras of the drones that flew around him, noticing that the seats in the reduced area they had opened in the stadium for his presentation were mainly filled with members of the press. He could only smile very awkwardly as he got closer to the center of the pitch, thinking about his decision to sign with the Red Tornadoes, knowing well why it wasn’t going to be easy to be welcomed by the fans—his previous club was the Silver Falls Cyclones, the staunch and hated rival of the Red Valley Tornadoes.
“We have to do something! He’s a Cyclone!” Drew Ridgeclaw told his teammates as they watched the event from the executive box of the stadium, standing up from his seat and pointing at the fox who was the center of attention. Drew was a hawk, with a sleek, golden-brown beak and piercing amber eyes. His muscular and athletic body was covered in smooth, rich brown and tightly knit feathers, with lighter shades along his chest and dark streaks running down his limbs. He wore casual clothes: a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
“Sit down, Drew.” Marcus Blackstripe, a tiger with a powerful, brawny build, warned him with a gesture. “We don’t decide who comes and who doesn’t. Besides, I don’t think he will last long here. The fans will eat him alive.” The feline was wearing jeans and a red shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.
“Come on, guys, he’s a great player!” Curtis “Sticks” Goldjaw opined, getting looks of disapproval from his teammates. “What? He’s one of the best strikers in the league!” Sticks was a ferret—short and slender, with soft, snowy fur and bright blue eyes. The tuft of fur on the top of his head was painted red. The mustelid’s attire consisted of a white sweatshirt with the club’s emblem printed large on the front and a pair of black pants.
“And a Cyclone. You forgot that small detail, Sticks,” Drew argued, looking at one of the enormous screens on each side of the stadium, studying the undesirable teammate with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.
“Just smile at the cameras, smile at the press, turn around, and go back where you came from, Blake,” the fox thought. He stopped walking upon reaching the end of the platform, right in the middle of the field. Blake just waved and smiled as planned, then his ear twitched upon hearing the hurried steps of a fan who had outrun the security guards. “At least he’s excited to see me… I think,” Blake expressed in his mind.
“We don’t want you here, ‘Cyclone’!” The young hare, dressed in the team’s official jersey and a pair of torn jeans, stopped running and threw a tomato toward the vulpine player, getting tackled a little too late by the security guards.
The tomato hit Blake right in the face, making him stagger slightly. “Nope, he was just angry at me,” the fox thought. “Like everyone else.” He cleaned as much of the tomato as he could from his face, some of it having fallen on his shirt. The flashes of the press cameras intensified. Blake just turned around and started walking back to the tunnel, head down and upset.
“Ouch,” Marcus said. “Told ya.”
Sticks sighed, shaking his head and looking at his new teammate with pity, taking a moment to glance at his other teammates, wondering if time would fix their issues with Blake’s past. “Give him a chance, guys.”
“No,” Drew said firmly and coldly.
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