The man and the boy arrived at the cottage. It was dark, and they had no food. Their tattered shoes flapped as they climbed the stairs to their seats.
Are you ready?
You always ask that.
Okay. Stay by me.
They watched as the young man in white ran past the men in black shirts. They chased him but they couldn’t catch him. He passed the ball inside and the american shot past the man in the red shirt. He had a beard and scruffy hair, and his shirt looked like it was stuffed with blankets. He fell to the floor, but he couldn’t stop the ball. Three minutes later, he was beaten again by the young man in the white shirt. It was another goal.
Papa, are we winning?
Is that because we are the good guys?
Will we go through?
Then it was the second half. The men in the black shirts kept the ball. They scored a goal. The man checked the score from Holland. They had to win. But the players did not understand. They gave the ball away and a man in a black shirt took it to the other end and scored. It was the end of the game. The men in white shirts all fell to the ground.
Papa, did we lose?
Oh. Are we going through?
No. No, we aren’t.
Oh. Are we still the good guys?
I dont know.