Still happy faces on their grass stained knees
Still happy faces, on their grass stained knees
Man Utd gen, la la la nothing happened this weekend
heartequals: i love you and i'm sorry your team lost
just remember
there are still happy faces
on their grass stained knees
Heaven by C.R. Avery
There's still happy faces
on my knees
Still happy faces on their grass stained knees
Pat started it, sent a text to David because he was still there every time David felt like making a sad face and feeling sorry for himself.
“Still happy faces,” Pat wrote, and David smiled despite himself. He navigated back to his recent calls and pressed okay.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, for ignoring your calls earlier. Do you have time to talk?”
It was really nice to hear Iker’s voice.
“How is everyone?” Iker asked, and David knew he didn’t mean it as a stupid question. “I don’t know,” he said, and opening up twitter he went to send a message to Phil. He was making tentative friendships over language barriers and despite the lingering self doubt that still held him back. Phil had been easier than some quiet and steady, without the terrifying hero status that so many of the team had.
(“I can’t talk to Giggs,” David had said, frightened out of his wits that first week, on the bus, trying to avoid even walking past those Gods of Football. Iker hadn’t even laughed at him for that one.)
He went round in circles, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to in a language that wasn’t his own. In the end, frustrated, he forwarded on Pat’s words.
“Still happy faces, Phil.”
Phil didn’t know quite where that had come from, but he appreciated the sentiment.
He tipped his head back on the sofa and sighed, his phone held loosely in his hand. Still happy faces, somewhere.
It was turning from a sense of horror to something more dull.
His mother brought him a cup of tea, and Phil sat up.
“Thanks mum,” he said. He looked at his phone. The tea was making him feel a bit better.
He put in Danny’s number.
“Still happy faces, mate.”
Tom picked up the phone and waved it at Danny’s face-down, lifeless body.
“Danny mate,” he said. “Hey.”
Danny did not respond. Tom sighed. This was probably, definitely, the worst day of his life. Although, every day in his career that he had got injured and been struck down with the awful possibility that this one could be the one, those days had been pretty terrible. He was still there though, still fit and well and playing, mostly, so they couldn’t have been that bad.
And this day, well it could have been worse. He could not be playing for United. He could have never been signed up. He would rather be here, suffering, than out there.
It could have been a lot worse: he could have been born a City fan.
He laughed, and that made Danny look at him, finally. He gave Tom a look of utter betrayal. “I hope you’re delirious,” he said. “I really hope.”
Tom shook his head and when he told Danny what was so funny, Danny gave a grudging smile. “Alright,” he said, “that is a good thing.”
“You’ve got a text,” Tom says, “can I read it?”
Danny waves a hand at him.
“'Still happy faces, mate',” Tom reads. “It’s from Phil.”
Danny stares at the wall for a long time.
Then he gives a big sigh, and Tom feels some of the weight in the room lift up off them.
“I’m going to send it to Chica,” he said, “okay?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah good,” he said. “Yeah. Give him my best.”
Hernandez smiled more than he thought he ever could again.
“Still happy faces Chica, still the best, love you mate Tom and Danny.”
He knew he was in the right place.
“Chica’s text me,” Wayne said. “Me too,” said Rio. They looked at each other, and grinned, ruefully.
“I fucking hate them,” Wayne said. “Yeah,” said Rio. But they both felt a little better for it.
“Chica’s text me,” Giggs said, looking down at his phone. Gary grunted. Giggs poked his phone. He was a bit bemused by the text. “Still happy faces Giggsy!”
Still... what? He frowned.
“He’s a good lad really,” he said to Gary. “They all are.”
“Yeah,” Gary said. He felt old. He reckoned Ryan did too.
“They’ll be alright,” Giggs said, and looked at Gary. Gary ate some potatoes.
“Yeah,” he said, buoyed by this thought. “Yeah they will be.”
Valencia smiled. “What are you on about?” He texted back.
Five seconds later the phone rang.
“I don’t know,” Hernandez said. “Tom and Danny said it.”
“They did not.”
“They did! It’s probably a weird English phrase.”
“Like keep your chin up,” Valencia said, and they laughed. The first time Hernandez heard that, and for a while after, he had thought it was about chin-ups.
“You okay?”
Valencia quietened down. He had almost forgotten.
“No,” he said. “No. But this helps.”
“Chica says: still happy faces. Dunno what it means, but it’s something good.”
Vidic thought maybe he was missing something. “Thanks Rio,” he wrote back.
“Still happy faces,” he said to Luka, and Luka stared solemnly back. He reached out his arms. “Okay,” Vidic said, and picked him up. “But if I do my back in...”
Luka stared at him.
“Not that it would matter,” Vidic tried, but he couldn’t keep it up. He wanted too badly to get on the pitch and show the world who would stay, who would still be there come May.
“Still happy faces, Luka,” he said, and Luka smiled.
“Still happy faces? What does still happy faces mean?”
Anderson hit call.
“Tony,” he said, “Tony what does this mean?”
“It means keep your chin up-”
“-my chin-up? What are you talking about chin-ups?”
Valencia sighed.
“Stay happy, Ando, it means stay happy.”
There was a long pause.
“Oh. Oh okay.”
“So you okay?”
There was another long pause.
“Not really Tony, but I will be, right.”
“Right,” Tony said, because he would be.
He called Pat. He sounded surprisingly cheerful.
“Pat, Tony just told me something about happy faces, or something. How’s it going?”
Pat grinned.
“No wait,” Ando said. “I have to call Fletch, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay,” Pat said. “Send him my love.”
Still happy faces, he thought. Still happy faces on their grass stained knees.
Man Utd gen, la la la nothing happened this weekend
heartequals: i love you and i'm sorry your team lost
just remember
there are still happy faces
on their grass stained knees
Heaven by C.R. Avery
There's still happy faces
on my knees
Still happy faces on their grass stained knees
Pat started it, sent a text to David because he was still there every time David felt like making a sad face and feeling sorry for himself.
“Still happy faces,” Pat wrote, and David smiled despite himself. He navigated back to his recent calls and pressed okay.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, for ignoring your calls earlier. Do you have time to talk?”
It was really nice to hear Iker’s voice.
“How is everyone?” Iker asked, and David knew he didn’t mean it as a stupid question. “I don’t know,” he said, and opening up twitter he went to send a message to Phil. He was making tentative friendships over language barriers and despite the lingering self doubt that still held him back. Phil had been easier than some quiet and steady, without the terrifying hero status that so many of the team had.
(“I can’t talk to Giggs,” David had said, frightened out of his wits that first week, on the bus, trying to avoid even walking past those Gods of Football. Iker hadn’t even laughed at him for that one.)
He went round in circles, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to in a language that wasn’t his own. In the end, frustrated, he forwarded on Pat’s words.
“Still happy faces, Phil.”
Phil didn’t know quite where that had come from, but he appreciated the sentiment.
He tipped his head back on the sofa and sighed, his phone held loosely in his hand. Still happy faces, somewhere.
It was turning from a sense of horror to something more dull.
His mother brought him a cup of tea, and Phil sat up.
“Thanks mum,” he said. He looked at his phone. The tea was making him feel a bit better.
He put in Danny’s number.
“Still happy faces, mate.”
Tom picked up the phone and waved it at Danny’s face-down, lifeless body.
“Danny mate,” he said. “Hey.”
Danny did not respond. Tom sighed. This was probably, definitely, the worst day of his life. Although, every day in his career that he had got injured and been struck down with the awful possibility that this one could be the one, those days had been pretty terrible. He was still there though, still fit and well and playing, mostly, so they couldn’t have been that bad.
And this day, well it could have been worse. He could not be playing for United. He could have never been signed up. He would rather be here, suffering, than out there.
It could have been a lot worse: he could have been born a City fan.
He laughed, and that made Danny look at him, finally. He gave Tom a look of utter betrayal. “I hope you’re delirious,” he said. “I really hope.”
Tom shook his head and when he told Danny what was so funny, Danny gave a grudging smile. “Alright,” he said, “that is a good thing.”
“You’ve got a text,” Tom says, “can I read it?”
Danny waves a hand at him.
“'Still happy faces, mate',” Tom reads. “It’s from Phil.”
Danny stares at the wall for a long time.
Then he gives a big sigh, and Tom feels some of the weight in the room lift up off them.
“I’m going to send it to Chica,” he said, “okay?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah good,” he said. “Yeah. Give him my best.”
Hernandez smiled more than he thought he ever could again.
“Still happy faces Chica, still the best, love you mate Tom and Danny.”
He knew he was in the right place.
“Chica’s text me,” Wayne said. “Me too,” said Rio. They looked at each other, and grinned, ruefully.
“I fucking hate them,” Wayne said. “Yeah,” said Rio. But they both felt a little better for it.
“Chica’s text me,” Giggs said, looking down at his phone. Gary grunted. Giggs poked his phone. He was a bit bemused by the text. “Still happy faces Giggsy!”
Still... what? He frowned.
“He’s a good lad really,” he said to Gary. “They all are.”
“Yeah,” Gary said. He felt old. He reckoned Ryan did too.
“They’ll be alright,” Giggs said, and looked at Gary. Gary ate some potatoes.
“Yeah,” he said, buoyed by this thought. “Yeah they will be.”
Valencia smiled. “What are you on about?” He texted back.
Five seconds later the phone rang.
“I don’t know,” Hernandez said. “Tom and Danny said it.”
“They did not.”
“They did! It’s probably a weird English phrase.”
“Like keep your chin up,” Valencia said, and they laughed. The first time Hernandez heard that, and for a while after, he had thought it was about chin-ups.
“You okay?”
Valencia quietened down. He had almost forgotten.
“No,” he said. “No. But this helps.”
“Chica says: still happy faces. Dunno what it means, but it’s something good.”
Vidic thought maybe he was missing something. “Thanks Rio,” he wrote back.
“Still happy faces,” he said to Luka, and Luka stared solemnly back. He reached out his arms. “Okay,” Vidic said, and picked him up. “But if I do my back in...”
Luka stared at him.
“Not that it would matter,” Vidic tried, but he couldn’t keep it up. He wanted too badly to get on the pitch and show the world who would stay, who would still be there come May.
“Still happy faces, Luka,” he said, and Luka smiled.
“Still happy faces? What does still happy faces mean?”
Anderson hit call.
“Tony,” he said, “Tony what does this mean?”
“It means keep your chin up-”
“-my chin-up? What are you talking about chin-ups?”
Valencia sighed.
“Stay happy, Ando, it means stay happy.”
There was a long pause.
“Oh. Oh okay.”
“So you okay?”
There was another long pause.
“Not really Tony, but I will be, right.”
“Right,” Tony said, because he would be.
He called Pat. He sounded surprisingly cheerful.
“Pat, Tony just told me something about happy faces, or something. How’s it going?”
Pat grinned.
“No wait,” Ando said. “I have to call Fletch, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay,” Pat said. “Send him my love.”
Still happy faces, he thought. Still happy faces on their grass stained knees.