Chapter 4 Amateur Match

Director Harris is not an abbreviation for “Director Zhao”; on both his ID card and household registration, his name is written exactly as those two characters—Director Harris.

That’s his actual name: Director Harris.

When Director Harris’s father named him, he held the simple, traditional Chinese parental hope that “a son will become a dragon” and the belief that “you become what you’re named.” So he gave his son this name, hoping that one day his boy would become a bureau director.

But this child, born into an ordinary farming family, was clearly not cut out to be an official. He struggled academically from a young age and eventually ended up on the path of playing soccer.

That’s also how he became teammates with Brian Clark at the soccer academy.

Even though he calls Brian Clark “Brother Zheng,” he’s actually a few months older than Brian Clark...

Now, Director Harris was standing outside the entrance of David Young’s soccer training center, waiting for Brian Clark to come out.

Brian Clark was inside, leading the kids in their pre-training warm-up.

David Young noticed Director Harris peeking around at the door.

Like Brian Clark, Director Harris was also his student, but the difference in talent between the two was worlds apart.

He knew what Director Harris was up to with Brian Clark these days. To be honest, he didn’t like this sort of thing at all, and Director Harris probably knew how he felt, which is why he always waited outside for Brian Clark and never dared to come in.

Actually, David Young treated Brian Clark and Director Harris differently. If he was unhappy with Brian Clark, he’d scold him directly, but he’d never once yelled at Director Harris—he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He always felt that Director Harris’s current situation was partly his own responsibility. If Director Harris hadn’t learned soccer from him back then, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up like this...

Brian Clark finished leading the warm-up, greeted David Young, and walked straight out of the training center without even changing his clothes. David Young grunted behind him, then shouted at the kids, “You need a break after just warming up? Get up, all of you!”

When Brian Clark saw Director Harris, he greeted him, “Old Zhao, you’re waiting outside again. How many times have I told you, the old man won’t bite you.”

Director Harris shook his head. “I’m still scared of him…”

“What’s there to be scared of?” Brian Clark curled his lip.

Director Harris laughed. “Of course you’re not scared. Back then, everyone on the team knew you were his godson! Ha! Let’s go, the match starts in an hour. Let’s get there early and make a good impression on the bosses…”

With that, he turned and walked toward a battered Wuling Rongguang van parked by the roadside. The headlights and side mirrors were held together with clear tape. Who knows how many owners this little junker—looking like it came straight out of Iraq—had already had. Anyway, rumor had it that Director Harris bought it for two thousand yuan. He usually used it for hauling goods, and whenever Brian Clark had a match, it became his “private car.”

As Director Harris turned to walk to the car, Brian Clark’s gaze fell on his right knee. If you paid a little attention, you could see that his walking posture was a bit odd—the way he put weight on his right leg was different from his left, and his body wasn’t very coordinated.

Brian Clark pulled his eyes away from Director Harris’s right knee and looked down at his own left foot.

...

Sitting in the passenger seat of the “divine vehicle,” Brian Clark listened as Director Harris drove and briefed him on the upcoming match:

“…The two companies are basically rivals, so there’s always been bad blood. Last month, the company that hired you sent their team to the other city for a match and lost 1:5. They got mocked for half a month and couldn’t swallow their pride, so they arranged a rematch. This time it’s on their home turf, and of course they want revenge, so they came to you.”

Brian Clark sounded a bit distracted. “Oh.”

“But this time, the opponents are pretty strong for an amateur team. They were runners-up in their city’s amateur league. There are a few guys on their team who’ve played professional soccer, or at least in pro club youth squads…”

“Oh?”

“Actually, the team that hired you today also has two guys who used to play in China League Two, but judging by that 1:5 score, the other side’s guys are clearly stronger. But hey, the tougher the opponent, the more money we get, right? Heh heh!” Director Harris laughed happily.

For this match, the employer was paying a three-thousand-yuan appearance fee, and promised a seven-thousand-yuan bonus if they helped the team win. Usually, when Director Harris took Brian Clark to these kinds of exhibition matches, earning five or six hundred per game was already pretty good. That’s why he was so excited—his voice was shaking when he called Brian Clark last night.

While Director Harris was dreaming about that ten thousand yuan, Brian Clark, sitting beside him, was already leaning back in his seat and yawning.

...

Forty minutes later, Brian Clark and Director Harris arrived at the match location—a university soccer field on the outskirts of the city. Here, Brian Clark also met his “patron” for this match, Mr. Dong, the boss of a private company called “Hongguang.”

As soon as Boss Dong saw Brian Clark, he shook his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, so much! Come on, let’s get a photo with our soccer star!”

The secretary on the other side immediately raised his phone.

Brian Clark skillfully gave a thumbs-up, showing off two neat rows of eight teeth in a wide grin—the perfect, standard smile captured in the photo.

Scenes like this—he’d lost count of how many times he’d handled them in the past six months. He was already a pro at it.