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formula-what · 4 years ago

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Brocedes time line for a very patient anon

Lewis quotes in orange, Nico quotes in pink, everyone else is blue.

okay first some background knowledge:

Nico is rich as fuck. only child, born in Germany, brought up in Monaco. son of world champion Keke Rosberg

Lewis was born on a council estate in Stevenage and his dad had to work multiple jobs for him to start karting

Honestly I think the difference in their backgrounds is one of the things that pushed them together, they were both isolated from the rest of the kids, but I’m keeping this purely facts rather than speculation.

2000

They’re both 15 years old and are karting teammates for MBB (Mercedes Benz McLaren) in Formula A

Robert Kubica: “there was always competition. But they didn’t fight. It was friendly competition. There was always laughing afterwards.” // “they would even have races to eat pizza”

They often shared hotel rooms at the races which was a “scene of many wrestling matches between them”

Dino Chiesa (their karting boss) – “many times I was called by reception about some problem in the room. It might be noise, or they might have broken something. They would never sleep so they were always tired the next morning”

“they both liked ice cream so much, particularly vanilla. During the night they wanted to eat ice cream always, so I had to go out everywhere to find some and keep them happy”

Lewis would often persuade Nico to buy him sweets

They would have competitions over LITERALLY EVERYTHING

Lewis: “we always had great competition whether on the racetrack or computer games or playing football”

“probably the first bit of competition we had was when Nico used to ride a unicycle everywhere so I thought, ‘I’ve got to learn how to ride this unicycle. Ive got to be better than him.’ I spent all my time outside the go-kart learning to ride this unicycle”

Apparently it only took Lewis 2 hours to teach himself how to do it

In maybe 2013 ish (when they were still friends) Lewis reflected with– “I have never laughed so much than when we were racing together. Nico was kicking everyone’s butt at that time. We had so great races together and built a great relationship”

“we were just arriving and enjoying go-karts and eating pizzas every weekend, fighting all the time and just having fun, whereas now it’s all business.”

many times they would talk about what they would do when they got to f1, made plans hoping to be teammates and become world champions together.

“Nico would say ‘when I’m in formula one’ and for me it was always ‘if I ever get to formula one’. Because obviously Nico’s dad was a formula 1 driver- he knew he was going to make it.”

Nico joined f1 in 2006 with williams, Lewis 2007 with McLaren. And man I WISH I knew what went down with this two when Lewis nearly one his rookie season (missing out by one point to mr fernando alonso) and then WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP in his SECOND SEASON (again by one point thank you mr alonso)

2008 Australia

Nicos gets his first podium, and ofc Lewis is there (he won it) and they are jumping around in the cool down room. Just, two kids who are literally living the one thing they have spent their whole lives dreaming about together. Lewis won the championship that year and oh wow I can only imagine their celebrations together.

2013

They’re teammates in Mercedes!!!

Nico: “every other day there are moments or things that pop up and I can smirk and thing, ‘that’s exactly the same as it was 15 years ago’”

2013 Malaysian Grand Prix gets an honourable mention. This is the race with red bulls good old multi 21 but merc also had their own team orders, stopping nico from fighting for his first merc podium, but Lewis disagreed with it so it didn’t really spark that much tension between them- more the team.

2014

the start of the turbo-hybrid era so y’all know this was good in terms of performance.

2014 Bahrain Grand Prix

They were both fighting for the win and had a collision which prompted a “mock fight” in parc ferme after the race (which I really hope there’s a video of).

Turns out, Nico won because he had used engine modes banned by Mercedes to get a power advantage in the closing laps. which kinda pissed Lewis off

2014 Spanish Grand Prix

Lewis’ fourth win in a row and took lead in the championship. They were fighting till literally the last second and Lewis crossed the line 0.6 seconds ahead of Nico, who says he could have passed him with one more lap.

Lewis defended using the same banned engine modes that Nico had used in Bahrain. Yeah.

2014 Monaco Grand Prix

This is IT. This is peak petty bitch. This is the one people still cry about.

It’s the end of Q3, both of them are out on a lap, Nico ahead of lewis. Nico’s already on provisional pole but Lewis is pretty close.

And then,, Nico just,, parks his car?? He says he made a mistake but the guy doesn’t even crash he straight up just,, rolls to a stop into a slip road. So the yellow flags come out forcing Lewis to abort a lap that was in the makings of pole.

The stewards say it was a-okay but Lewis was convinced it was intentional (and let’s be honest, yeah it probably was) and he even claimed that merc’s data proved it. (low key surprised he didn’t just tweet out the telemetry but I guess he got a stern telling off from mclaren last time)

But *this* is when Lewis tells the world that they aren’t friends anymore. An iconic interview.

Nico then wins the race too, ending Lewis’s four win streak and putting Nico in the lead of the championship.

2014 Hungarian Grand Prix

Lewis has an engine failure in quali meaning he starts from the pit lane, but he does good to make his way up the pack but THEN there’s a safety car which puts him ahead of Nico but on a different strategy.

Nico asks if Lewis can let him past as he needs to pit again before the end of the race, which will give him the place back anyways. Lewis straight up refuses, he’s on a role here. He started from last, and Nico started from pole, why should he slow down to let his title rival through.

Mercedes strongly suggest that his blocking fucked up Nicos race but Niki Lauda is on Lewis’ side so he doesn’t get punished (We stan a supportive father figure) even though he did blatantly refuse to be a team player.

And guys, this is the last race before the summer break so you know Nico was left seething for four weeks.

2014 Belgian Grand Prix

Second lap, Nico attempts a clumsy move and there’s contact, giving Hamilton a puncture and knocking him out of the race.

There’s a lot of controversy but basically it turns out he crashed with him intentionally, not backing out of the corner to “prove a point”. Nico ended up finishing second but was punished by the team, forced to apologise, and even booed on the podium.

2014 Abu Dhabi

For some reason it ran for double points?? The first time in History??? But idk???

Lewis had a perfect start and went on to win it and take the title, Nico had a problem and was told to retire the car but he kept going anyway and finished 14th. Nico went into the cool down room to congratulate Lewis on the championship win, which. cute.

Lewis claimed his second championship. Which not only was huge because of the inter team rivalry, but also because of the large gap between his first win. This guy had lost out on winning the championship in his ROOKIE season by ONE POINT, and then WON it in his SECOND season, and then there was like a FIVE YEAR gap before he won it again.

2015

Damnnn this car was fiiiinneeeeeee.

They do more laps in testing than any other car AND do it on a single power unit. And then. Australia. They take a one-two THIRTY FOUR seconds ahead of the third place Ferrari.

2015 Chinese Grand Prix

Nico is second in a one-two but claims that Lewis kept backing him up into Seb, trying to compromise his race (and help out his boyfriend).

Lewis gave zero shits: "It's not my job to look after Nico's race, it's my job to manage the car and bring the car home as healthy and as fast as possible. That's what I did."

2015 U.S. Grand Prix

If Lewis wins here he could also claim the title with three races to spare (you have to remember back then the title fight often went up to the last race so this was pretty cool)

Lewis very aggressively forced Rosberg wide at Turn 1 to claim the lead, and then there was some sexy fighting between the Mercs and Redbull all race. Nico led in the closing stages but made a mistake, running deep into a corner and letting Lewis past with only a handful of laps to go.

Nico finished P2 and had not only lost the race but the championship title. Nico was fuming, saying Lewis’ move at the start was “one step too far”.

This is the infamous cap throw in the cool down room. Lewis throws Nico his P2 hat, Nico straight up yeets it back at him. I tear up just thinking about it. They grow up so fast.

2016

Nico had came so close to winning and I guess this was just, the last straw. All or nothing. This year he literally gave it everything he had. Lewis and him stopped speaking, Nico gave up literally the rest of his life and even stopped sleeping in the same bed as his wife and taking care of his kids, instead spending every moment trying to get into Lewis’ head. Honestly, I think he might be the only one that could beat Lewis. Just because he knew him *so well*. He literally threw away like 16 years of friendship. But also it’s like, he had to be world champion. He *had to*. His dad was champion and his whole life he’s been preparing to win it too. Tough luck that he raced in the same era as Mr. Best Driver The Sport Has Ever Seen.

Nico won the last few races of 2015, and the first four races of 2016. Lewis had a couple car problems and Nico had a good lead on him in the championship.

2016 Spanish Grand Prix

Gentlemen. A short view back to the past. Nico had made a switch error on the formation lap causing the car to go into the wrong engine mode. So he was running a lot slower than Lewis, who was fighting to claim back the lead.

Nico closed the door to keep him back, and Lewis lost control on the grass, and spins into Nico and taking them both out of the race in the first lap. This is probably one of the most iconic crashes. I’m pretty sure there’s a clip of this somewhere in black and white with the titanic music over the top.

Niki Lauda blamed this one on Lewis (I guess even a supportive dad has to be critical sometimes) "Lewis is too aggressive. It is stupid, we could've won this race".

2016 Austrian Grand Prix

Nico had been struggling with a brake issue all race but was still on the way to win it. But in the last lap Lewis had caught him up and gone in for the overtake.

Typical Nico not taking any shit, refusing to be the guy that backs out and they collide. Lewis took the win and a damaged Nico dropped to fourth. From first. In the last lap.

Both of them blamed each other and tired dad team boss Toto Wolff threatened team orders in future races.

The stewards blamed Nico for the incident, issuing him two penalty points for failing to allow "racing room" and causing a collision.

2016 Abu Dhabi

In the final laps of the race, Lewis ignored team-orders from his race engineer and the technical director.

He deliberately slowed and backed Nico into the pack hoping they overtake him, and there would be enough of a points difference to win the title.

Nico finished second and won the title by five points.

And then,,, Nico announced a surprise retirement during the FIA prize giving ceremony.

Lewis’ response:

"This is the first time he's won in 18 years, hence why it was not a surprise that he decided to stop.” (We stan a petty king)

“But he's also got a family to focus on and probably wants to have more children. Formula One takes up so much of your time."

“In terms of missing the rivalry, of course because we started karting when we were 13 and we would always talk about being champions. When I joined this team, Nico was there, which was something we spoke about when we were kids. So it's going to be very, very strange, and, for sure, it will be sad to not have him in the team next year."

And now they are kind of on speaking terms but not really, they are both pretty private but I think they are at the ‘awkward small talk when we run into each other at the supermarket’ stage of the break up.

#this got a lot longer than it should have been #long post

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

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The Great Drive: James Hunt and Niki Lauda at Fuji, 1976

I feel really sorry for Niki. I feel sorry for everybody that the race had to be run in such ridiculous circumstances because the conditions were dangerous and I fully appreciate Niki’s decision. After an accident like he had, what else could he do? Quite honestly, I wanted to win the championship and I felt I deserved it. But I also felt Niki deserved to win the championship – and I just wish we could have shared it.

- James Hunt on winning the Japanese Grand Prix 1976 to become F1 World Champion

James Hunt’s epic title battle with Niki Lauda, during what many see as the definitive F1 season, was topped off by a thrilling race in the land of the rising sun. It became an instant classic, one of F1’s Great Drives.

With everything to lose, in treacherous conditions, and with late drama, James Hunt's drive in the 1976 Japanese Grand Prix was one of the greatest of all time.

James Hunt delivered his greatest drive in spite of himself. It wasn’t just the peak moment of his career, but also a defining drive for F1.

The British gentleman racer conquering the world’s best in far away lands – Hunt embodied it.

Despite this, the Brit’s landmark drive came in the midst of late night escapades, mechanical disasters, psychological warfare and F1 politics.

As the ‘76 season approached its climax in North America and Asia, it seemed all might be lost for the McLaren team and its lead driver. Hunt had been duelling with Ferrari’s Niki Lauda throughout the year, but losing his British Grand Prix win to disqualification (announced by the FIA at Round 14 in Canada) seemed to have derailed his season for good.

McLaren team manager at the time Alastair Caldwell describes the state of affairs as they approached the North American leg of the season: “We abandoned the idea of winning the world championship. I let him misbehave in Canada and in Watkins Glen. On both occasions we were pissed on race eve, both of us in a bar after midnight getting rotten – me on alcohol and him on women, because he was always very successful with women.

“James met a girl – the leader of the band at the motel in Montreal – and so he came to the race dishevelled, in the same clothes as he’d been wearing the previous night – and he won the race!

“Even then we still thought we were out of it. Then we won Watkins Glen too! So suddenly we became serious again.”

Lauda had scored 4 points to Hunt’s 18 in this period. With the championship fight back on, the rejuvenated team and driver looked at the season finale in a new light. The championship fight was back on, and as a result, McLaren prepared for the Japanese GP with renewed vigour.

James Hunt had been in Japan a fortnight, ostensibly to test at a circuit new to him. Delays at customs, car problems and bad weather had severely restricted his running, but at least now he was totally orientated and, in his inimitable fashion, ‘relaxed’. That meant when he wasn’t strutting his stuff on the hotel’s squash court, he was billing and cooing with its latest migratory flock of pretty air stewardesses to bed. It beat jogging.

Lauda arrived later, low-key and at a low ebb. The spirit that held the demons at bay during his remarkable Monza comeback had evaporated in Canada and America. Now running on empty, he was full of doubts. While Ferrari team manager Daniele Audetto attempted to whip up retro oppo to McLaren’s ‘illegal’ testing, his star driver looked the other way and wished it over: Lauda was sick of Enzo and his minions, of a season in its 10th month and of press intrusion.

McLaren’s earlier preparations were in sharp contrast to the rest of the field who arrived just for the race weekend itself. According to Caldwell, “The others all turned up on the Thursday, including Niki, you can see them all get off the plane knackered and then trying to find where this new racetrack was.”

It wasn’t just through testing and acclimatisation that Hunt and McLaren stole a march. Caldwell thought he might use interactions with the press to his advantage: “Just for a laugh we spread a rumour. A journalist said to me ‘what’s the track like?’ I said ‘It’s is good but it’s got a lot of loose gravel on it.’”

Enjoying the effect the track surface story had on the rest of the field’s preparations, Caldwell thought he’d develop the rumour into a full-blown design feature.

“Because we were bored and had nothing else to do, the mechanics made mesh covers for all the air intakes on the car, to “protect” the brake ducts and air intake.

“Then Niki (Lauda) came down to our garage, which he always did – he spent more time in our garage then Ferrari’s. He would joke with us and do mechanic’s repartee.

“Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start.”

“Niki had come to see what we’d done with the cars as he was also a spy. So I told the mechanics, ‘just by mistake’, to take the covers off the cars so you could see the mesh covers on all the intakes. They did this and then they put it back on in a hurry while I ‘looked displeased’.

“And so then Niki broke off the conversation, trotted back to Ferrari and said ‘f**king hell, McLaren have put vents near these grilles over everything in the car, we got to do the same.’

“The whole Ferrari organisation went out to find these grilles, find where they came from and make them for their three cars. Then we put our three cars in the pit road and took all the grilles off the T-Car. Niki came down and said ‘You f**king bastards!’ They came down the pitroad and Ferrari had this shit all over their car – these grilles all over the radiators.

“He had to tear back and tell them to take them all off. Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start, there’s all this psychological warfare.”

Niki was plastered across front pages because of his near-death experience on the track; James was on them because of the life he led off it. Their battle and clashing personalities, though they were good friends, had made the world championship a global news shit-fight. Hunt, outgoing but often lonely in a crowd, pretended to be okay with it. Lauda didn’t.

Friday’s practice sessions provided blessed relief, therefore, even though both men suffered understeer on the stickier Goodyears made available to its faster teams because of the rare presence of Bridgestone and Dunlop on one-off Japanese entries. The title rivals finished the day one-hundredth apart on a provisional third row.

Each improved on Saturday – Hunt to second, Lauda to third – and James, a notoriously slow starter who, by his own estimation, needed to win the race in order to become world champion, was in a much-improved mood. Niki’s never budged.

Then it rained. And rained. And rained some more.

The storm that swept in from China a day later than forecast was the last thing Lauda needed: another element beyond his control. Mist shrouded the snow cone of Mount Fuji, which supposedly bestowed good fortune – when visible – and Niki felt hemmed in by circumstance.

The mind-games might well have been in vain, for the monsoon weather which rolled in on Sunday looked like putting the race in jeopardy. If the Grand Prix was cancelled, Lauda would be handed the World Championship.

Not that Hunt was enamoured with the situation. He spoke privately with Lauda and agreed an attempt to have the race postponed – albeit not before he stressed that he would take the start if necessary and race as hard as Niki forced him to.

The Grand Prix Drivers Association had been formed to have some influence on such matters, to stop the interests of teams, the governing body and sponsors taking precedence over drivers’ well being. Hunt and Lauda were both members and convened prior to the race start in an effort to have it stopped.

“They were adamant the race wasn’t going to be held. Bernie (Ecclestone, Brabham team boss) and I were in the race control tower trying to convince them to hold the race.” says Caldwell “And James kept on saying ‘No no, we’re not going to race’. I tried to explain to him that no race meant no World Championship. He replied “No, no, no, it’s totally unsuitable, we can’t race”.

Alistair Caldwell, McLaren Team boss, resorted to more imaginative tactics to swing the mood towards starting the race.

“I was going down (to the pits) getting my car mechanics to start the engines every half an hour, which would make all the other teams start doing it – they didn’t know why. The engines were making this noise ‘woop, woop, woop’”.

The engineer then turned his attention to activating the spectators.

“I was trying to get some enthusiasm from the passive Japanese crowd, they’d been there for hours doing nothing. They weren’t even talking, just sitting in the rain – miserable.

“I said to our tyre man Lance Gibbs ‘Do you think you could get the crowd going?’ So he got up on the pitwall with his ACME Thunderer whistle, which had been given to the boys to use as a horn, for when they pushed the race cars around the paddock.

“He went ‘beep beep’ and hundreds of spectators did the same – got them doing a concert. We then did the business of slow clapping, when it gets to the end, people can’t keep up, they lose co-ordination and you get a huge noise.

“I went back to the tower and the geriatric Japanese officials and said, ‘Look, you’ve got a riot on your hands’ Bernie was there and he said ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta hold the race. Otherwise you’ll have trouble’. So they said ‘Ok we’ll have the race.’”

With the decision made, the cars finally lined up to start at 4pm. The deliberations had been going on so long that the light was now beginning to fade, reducing the limited visibility even further.

Hunt, nervously retching and hacking more than ever, was so distracted that he took a leak in full view of the spectators. Cue polite applause. Ominously, he then walked a plank laid across a puddle and stepped aboard his McLaren M23. He tipped his helmet back against its roll-hoop and closed his eyes in contemplation. Lauda, crushed by all that had gone before, hunched forward in his 312 T2’s cockpit. Both knew that fate was about to be sorely tempted.

Hunt made a blinding start and held a huge lead by the end of the opening lap. As the rest pecked hesitantly in his rooster-tails, he was out of sight, both physically and metaphorically.

Meanwhile, Lauda, unable to blink because of his burn injuries, was drowning in the pack and questioning his sanity. He formulated an answer by lap two. The Ferrari – “a paper boat in a storm” – rolled into the pitlane and drew up at its garage. Measured. The team descended while designer Mauro Forghieri craned into its cockpit to ascertain the problem.

After just 1 lap, Lauda had seen enough. Deeming the conditions too dangerous, and having already nearly lost his life at Nürburgring that year, the Austrian decided it simply wasn’t worth carrying on. He pulled his Ferrari into the pits and walked away from the 1976 World Championship. Lauda, the reigning world champion, had the skill but not the will to continue. It was “murder” out there – and life was for living.

Hunt, as drivers without a world title feel compelled to, pressed on and kept his date with destiny. Hunt being Hunt, of course, he almost missed it. Not until his post-race red mist lifted could he be persuaded that he hadn’t.

With Lauda out the race, Hunt’s task was now a little more straightforward. He simply had to finish third, and the title was his.

The McLaren driver pressed on and by lap 10 his lead had doubled to over 8sec. Meanwhile, interesting movements were afoot further back in the pack.

Local hero Kazuyoshi Hoshino, driving a privately-entered Tyrrell 007, had made his up to third, from 21st on the grid!

More worrying for Hunt was that March’s Vittorio Brambilla had overtaken Andretti and was beginning to hunt him down. By lap 20, Brambilla had closed right up behind the Hunt.

On the next lap, the March driver decided to go for it. Brambilla, known for an erratic driving style, conformed to type on this occasion by inadvertently out-braking himself as he dived down the inside of the McLaren.

Hunt had been wary of Brambilla and was monitoring the situation constantly. In a moment of brilliant anticipation, he allowed the March to spin in front of him, performing the cutback and before carrying on as if almost nothing had happened.

Brambilla dropped to fourth, the danger to Hunt being over for now. Andretti at this point was gradually dropping back through the pack. It was Hunt’s team-mate Jochen Mass who was behind him now, with a McLaren 1-2 now looking very much on the cards.

Seeking to control the race from here on in, the team’s new concern was the drying line which was now appearing on the track. Caldwell put out a pit board sign telling his drivers to cool their wet weather tyres – this was done by searching for wet sections of the track, the water preventing the rubber from overheating.

To his team manager’s frustration, Hunt didn’t appear to be heeding the warnings: “As soon as Mass saw the sign, he pulled over in the water right in front of us. Then on the next lap he came down the right hand side of the track, splashing through the puddles, which cools the tires down, (while) James didn’t react.

“The next lap we gave it to Hunt again, the next lap again, he still didn’t do it. So we took away the pitboard, just gave him the ‘cool tyres’ sign and he still didn’t react. So then everyone in the team started pointing at it (the sign). Everybody in the team pointed, Teddy (Mayer, McLaren Managing Director) and everyone else and he still did nothing.”

Hunt carried on down the dry line, running his tyres way above their recommended temperature, seemingly oblivious to the warnings.

If Hunt wasn’t going to heed the warnings, then Andretti was: “Because we were emphasising this so much, Andretti saw it and started to cool his tyres. So he started running through the puddles. He didn’t have to stop (as a result).

“But James just resolutely drove down the middle of the dry track, and we could never bring him in, because he was never that far ahead. It was never possible to tactically stop him because there’s a big long pitroad at Fuji.”

Jochen Mass, benefitting from his team’s tyre advice, now began to reel in his team-mate. If he got past, he would have no trouble driving off into the distance to take the win.

However, the German’s diligence came to naught, as he spun off and out of contention on lap 36. This would have a huge bearing on the race later.

For now, Hunt was again in the clear. Another challenger, Shadow’s Tom Pryce, moved into second, but he too retired as his Cosworth engine expired on lap 46.

As the grand prix wore on, Hunt remained in a seemingly trance-like state as he stuck to his line, the situation became critical.

Whilst yet another to danger to Hunt had abated, the McLaren driver was now deciding whether to play the percentages. He could either pit to replace his worn tyres – and lose track position – or try and stick it out at the risk of losing so much grip he would be overtaken anyway.

Hunt took the second option. He could afford to drop to third, and this is indeed what happened. On lap 61, he was overtaken not only by Tyrrell’s Patrick Depailler, but also the resurgent Lotus of Andretti.

If Hunt managed to hold position, he would be world champion. For the next 7 laps, the plan appeared to be working. Then, on lap 68, disaster struck.

The McLaren driver suffered not one, but two deflated tyres – both on the left-hand side of the car. They were, as Caldwell puts it, “worn down to the air”. Hunt managed to drag his car round for half a lap before scraping into the pits.

F1 jacks at the time were not designed to lift a car with puncture at the front and rear of the car. While the jack was used to lift the rear of the car, TV shots show Caldwell and other team members lifting the other end of the car themselves to replace the front-left tyre.

It was a long pitstop, and once out, Hunt found himself back in fifth place. There were four laps left and Hunt was two places down on where he needed to be.

Two more laps passed and the Englishman was no further up the order. It looked as if he may have lost his championship chance.

Then, with two laps left of the race to go, Hunt started the fight back. At the exit of T1 he managed to get past the Surtees of Alan Jones. One more place and the championship was his.

Next up was the Ferrari of Clay Regazzoni. It turned out there were some Scuderia politics at play which would work to Hunt’s advantage.

Caldwell filled in the back story: “Ferrari’s reaction to Niki’s crash was to sack Regazzoni (for 1977). He had already been sacked (by Fuji).

“So he was pissed off at Ferrari. When James came charging along, he just stepped out of the way and let him by.”

After benefitting from Regazzoni’s apparent generosity, Hunt was suddenly back in the golden position, the third place he needed to clinch the championship.

The McLaren man just had to keep it on the road for two more laps and he’d take the title. The tension mounted, both in the team pit and back in the UK, where his family were watching the live television feed at 3am.

Despite two nerve-wracking final laps, the Englishman duly brought his McLaren home in third place. He was the new F1 World Champion.

Photographs show Hunt angrily remonstrating with his team as he climbed from the car. He hadn’t realised he’d got the job done.

Caldwell himself had mixed emotions about the whole affair, “He didn’t look at the board and when he came into the pits he started shouting at us, because he didn’t know what happened. He was incredibly annoying on the day. He did drive magnificently, he kept it on the road – that’s one point of view. From my point of view it was the most frustrating day – I could’ve hit him with a baseball bat! He could have won the race, just strolled the world championship. All he had to do was read this pitboard and drive in the water, which is what Andretti did, so he didn’t wear the tyres out and could paddle across the line with the same ones.”

In spite of Hunt seemingly making a championship-losing decision, he had still managed to pull it off.

However, such was Caldwell’s consternation, the two didn’t discuss afterwards.

I was so angry about it. We flew back to England and I wasn’t talking to him on the plane. He was pissed as a newt anyway – we were all pissed as a newt and totally exhausted. He just went to sleep.”

The two never discussed the reasons behind the events, but it didn’t change the result. Three years after making his F1 debut, Hunt was the world champion.

Ten weeks later Hunt arrived in Argentina to begin his title defence feeling underwhelmed and under-prepared. A few celebratory cigs and tins with his friend Britain’s newly crowned 500cc motorcycle world champion, Barry Sheene, at Fuji and a riotous return flight had been followed by a disorientating whirl of meetings, interviews and engagements. The race-by-race title chase had been thrilling: a sequence of one-day stands. Making it official had cooled the relationship. The love affair was over.

Though both men would retire summarily during the 1979 season, Hunt did so because he felt frightened and disillusioned, whereas Lauda did so because he felt nothing, which frightened him.

Niki, though, had a system – plus a plan to run his own airline – and ultimately would return to the F1 cockpit and be successful. James, whose theories were sometimes somewhat scrambled, would not. He bred budgies instead. You do what you have to do.

Lauda’s decision to stop at Fuji ensured that he would be able to continue. Hunt’s decision to continue ensured that he would have to stop sooner rather than later. One racing mind wiped clean, the other cluttered – and racing.

In spite of his career’s decline, Hunt’s endeavours had captured the imagination of the wider world in a way no racing driver had done before.Hunt knew that life was for living, too. Tragically, however, he had just discovered how best to when fate too soon snatched it from him.

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tetsuroyaoyaoya · 4 years ago

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It was night by the time you arrived in Nakano, even with the express transport of Kenma’s fancy company helicopter, but you simply didn't have time to stop and admire how the colours of the vibrant neon signs reflection on you skin as you walked through the district.

Despite being just outside of the centre of Tokyo and only a few train stops from your apartment, you had never visited the place before, and the fact that you were wasting your opportunity to do exactly that by searching for Semi was really putting a dampener on your mood.

Kuroo had transferred the data from the ~ totally legal ~ software on your computer that he used to hack into and track the boy onto your phone instead, which you were now using to navigate the streets. Although, it wasn’t easy as you had hoped, seen as said streets were crammed to the brim with as many shops and stalls as possible, and the cluster of signs didn't make it any easier to pinpoint the studio either.

That was, until, you noticed a familiar tuft of silver hair duck into one of the buildings not too far away, and you had to rush to catch up with him before the door closed and locked you out. You just managed to catch it, the frame being centimetres from crushing your fingers.

Of course, your faux counterpart had already disappeared by the time you made it inside, but you pulled yourself up the stairs as quickly as you could manage, hoping to reach him before you lost him completely.

“Oi! Coward!” Being the only one in the hallway, Semi paused, turning his head slowly. He swallowed heavily when your image entered his peripheral, and finally decided to turn and face you fully. Even though it had only been a day or so since you saw him last, he looked so much different than you were used to, and you could almost feel your anger towards him dissipate right then and there.

The bags under his eyes were the things you noticed first, only being made even more prominent by how pale he seemed. You were hoping that it was just the light, but it concerned you none the less. His shoulders were slumped and his back was slightly hunched, as if he was curling in on himself. All in all, he looked exhausted, and you couldn't find it in you to dig into him as you had planned to.

Instead, you merely stared at him for a few moments, until he sighed, turning back and continuing on to his destination.

He was expecting you to follow, of course, and you did, all the way to the end of the hall before stopping at a door that Semi already had his keys in. He quickly unlocked it before stepping aside to let you in first. You were hesitant, but made your way inside, walking forward far enough to allow the man to slip in after you and close the door.

The ‘studio’ Semi owned was more like a studio apartment than an actual music studio, but he had clearly adapted it for his purposes. The only thing missing was a bed, in its place was a whole bunch or recording equipment that you probably couldn’t even name, let alone use.

The walls were covered in soundproofing blocks, but you guessed that was more for the acoustics than the actual noise, seen as there didn't seem to be many actual residents in this particular apartment block.

Semi placed a bag that you didn't even realise he was holding onto the kitchenette counter, before squeezing passed you to get further into the apartment. His hands landed on your hips as he brushed around you, but his touch was gone before you even processed it was there, leaving you with just the faint tingle where his fingers had rested.

You followed him with your eyes for a moment, unsure of what to do with yourself since he hadn’t actually spoken to you yet or given you any indication that he even wanted you there.

You wandered over to him as he sat on the floor and began to shuffle through some papers, slipping your shoes off before you walked out of the entryway. Peeking over his shoulder, you realised the papers were actually sheet music - heavily scribbled-on sheet music.

“Ah yes, because you ran away from Miyagi to write a song, I forgot.” He gave you the side-eye, but you merely plopped yourself down on the sofa behind him, still being able to see what he was doing from this angle.

“It’s important.” You scoffed, sitting back and crossing your legs.

“More important than your fans? Than your band? Than-” Me?

You hoped he hadn't noticed your slip up, and continued to glare at his back. He stayed silent for a moment, still engrossed in his sheet music. He reached for his guitar, pulling it over his lap and running his fingers over the strings a few times, making sure each one was in tune.

“So... what? I came all the way to Tokyo and you have nothing to say to me?” He chuckled lowly, ceasing his strumming.

“I never asked you to come and find me.” You patience was wearing thin, and no matter how sorry you felt for him, you had come to Tokyo for a reason, and the anger you held was still burning uncontrollably at the forefront of his mind.

“You disappeared with no warning! We were worried about you!” Even with his back turned to you, you could tell he rolled his eyes, his hair swaying with the slight shake of his head.

“Sure. Like you care.” You gaped at him in disbelief, but he merely continued to strum his guitar, adjusting the pegs as he saw fit to tune the instrument.

There was clearly no getting through to him, at least not today. You stood, taking in the way he didn't even look as you walked towards the door.

“And I never asked to fall in love with you, but here we are.” Without waiting for a reaction, you left, slamming the door behind you. Unbeknownst to you, Semi sat frozen on the floor, hand mid-strum, the vibrations of the strings creating a low hum throughout the room, a sound worse than silence at that moment.

And he stayed there, until a few moments later when there was a sharp knock at the door.

Thinking it was you, he was on his feet faster than he thought possible, his guitar having been carelessly thrown to the floor.

“Y/N-” Semi stopped as he laid eyes on the figure on the other side of the door. It was definitely not you, and most definitely anyone he ever thought he’d see there.

“Kuroo?”

TWENTY-ONE - COWARD

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* updates every monday *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Just a reminder for anyone that didn't see - no update on the 28th!!

I'll still be active so feel free to send in asks, questions, or maybe even requests that I'll try to get to at some point.

Enjoy the holidays and have a great time!! Hopefully everyone starts off the new year at least a little better than this one’s been <3

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#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #hq smau #smau #semi #semi eita #semieita #semi x reader #semi eita x reader #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa x reader #shiratorizawa smau

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audreyandherocs · 3 years ago

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Thea's Cave: Chapter 6

“I’m so sorry” Wilbur groaned in his hands, his elbows resting against the table. Thea just snickered quietly while sliding Wilbur’s his plate of breakfast. Tommy and Tubbo already digging in without shame.

“It’s fineeee, next time I’ll put you in the blue bed” noted Thea and found it highly entertaining at hearing Wilbur groan once more. Thea snorted, pushing Wilbur’s plate towards him a bit more, a silent message for him to eat.

As soon the boys had finished eating, Wilbur immediately grabbed Tommy and Tubbo, quickly giving their goodbyes and thanks before rushing out of the door. Thea stared out the open door, listening to Tommy’s yelling fading.

Her wolves looked at her, cocking their heads as she hummed and finished off her breakfast.

Now they were gone, she could get back to her original plans.

After tending to her farm, Thea grabbed her materials before making her way out. She walked until she was a far distance away before making her fireworks, before loading into a crossbow. She took a few shots, her ears filled with the sound of explosions before popping into the distance.

Thea hummed, doing some more experimentation when she heard footsteps behind her just as the last firework went off. She turned, lowering her crossbow as she did, before noticing Fundy and Niki.

“Oh hello!” greeted Thea, “Don’t worry, I’m just experiencing fireworks for the first time and wanted to try them out.”

“Oh, oh” sighed out Niki before she gave a nervous smile. “We were looking for someone and heard it and thought-“

Thea let out an ‘ah’ and nodded. “Fair enough. My name is Thea.”

“Oh! You’re Thea?” said Niki as she and Fundy approached the girl, who put away her crossbow.

“That’s me” she nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too! My name is Niki and this is Fundy.”

Thea waved at them, “nice to meet you both….so who were you looking for? If it’s Wilbur or Tommy, they left a while ago.”

“Oh, we were looking for you!” said Fundy.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we heard from Tommy and the others that someone new arrived and set up a place just outside of L’manburg. It was strange seeing Tommy being pulled away and he wasn’t exactly-“

“low-key?”

“Yeah”

Thea snorted but smiled, “Yeah, should’ve expected it. Placed a bed away in my home and everything.”

“You don’t mind that?” asked Niki, tentatively.

Thea shrugged, “Not particularly? Then again, I’m probably starved off anything so it’ll be a while before I go back to my introverted ways.”

“Uh…what do you mean by that?”

Thea let out a breath and nervously chuckled. “Probably should take this to my home before I unload my story.”

Niki and Fundy gave her a confused look before following her to her home. As they did and were served tea and snacks, The moment they took their first sip and bite, Thea waited until they had swallowed before she explained.

Like every other time, Niki and Fundy yelled in shock and stared at her in disbelief. Thea had a tired yet amused look on her face with the hint of exasperation.

“Wait, wait, so how much do you know? Like world-wise?” asked Fundy.

Thea sipped her tea. “Enough to know how to survive but man, so much has changed. It’s fun to learn but it’s like being a fish in a pond. You’ve spent your entire time there and then you’re suddenly released into the ocean and there’s so much to deal with. I’m just…swimming.”

“Oh, are you alright?” asked Niki, concerned.

Thea shrugged, thin forming with a stressed line. “I mean, I’m here? I haven’t exactly had time to take it all in yet. Now I have a place, I will but like…it’s just…hm I don’t how to say it.”

“Well, if you need anything, we’ll be happy to help!” said Niki cheerfully.

Thea smiled, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, what are you going to do next?” asked Fundy.

“Long term or like today?”

“Uh, both?”

“Long term, try to see if I can understand more of my circumstances. Short term, uh, I guess get better gear and clothes in general?”

“Better gear?”

Thea gave a defeated laugh, “I’ve been using iron armor but like I really want diamond but I haven’t been able to not enough diamonds. Not sure if I should save it for armor or use it for tools.”

“HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?”

Thea threw her hands in the air, “I WANT DIAMONDS, I NEVER HAD DIAMOND GEAR DAMNIT-”

“YOU DEFEATED A DRAGON!”

“WITH MY BROTHERS! EVEN THEN, now that I think about it we were all wearing iron armor mostly. We had some diamond gear but like we were sharing it.”

Fundy screamed and Niki just laughed as Thea looked utterly torn between laughing to exasperated at her own circumstances.

“What were you talking about, with the clothes?” asked Niki between giggles.

Thea pulled at her sleeve, “Oh, these are my only clothes.”

There was a hush silence that fell as Niki and Fundy jumped out of their seats and Thea just stared at them wide-eyed, “Ah.”

The day went on as Niki had taken Thea’s measurements and asked question after question on clothing items. Then Fundy dragged Thea to a mine and were looking for diamonds.

Fundy looked at his communicator as it pinged a message from Niki.

“Oh, Niki says she has some clothes for you to try out.”

“Oh nice!” grunted Thea as she broke another stone pickaxe and drew out another one, continuing to mine. They had managed to find some diamond, which Thea made Fundy to take half as payment.

“She also wanted to know your communicator cords-“

“Tommy did mention that but I don’t have one” commented Thea, yelling back.

She faintly heard Fundy let out a scream as it bounced off the tunnels. Thea snorted as she checked her inventory.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE A COMMUNICATOR?”

Thea peered out of the tunnel and rose an eyebrow, gesturing to her entire self.

“Oh right-“

“Anyways, I think we got enough diamond for the day, at least enough to make a chest plate or a couple of tools.”

“You can have it all you know? I’m fine taking just a few.”

“Nah, diamond armor is important.”

“I mean, diamonds yeah but nothing beat netherite.”

“….netherite?”

Fundy’s ears and tail were slowly lowered as the fox realized the implication of his words.

“You don’t know what netherite is.”

“Nooooo? Fundy, I discovered there were other types of wood existed. If that is not the an indication of my knowledge, then I don’t know-“

Fundy sighed before he slowly explained and watched Thea’s eyes bulge.

“WHAT?!”

“Thank you for having us for dinner” said Niki as the three were gathered at Thea’s table.

“Please, it’s the least I could do” replied back Thea, as she served some cooked mutton with honey glazed carrots with a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Besides, I can’t wait to try out the cookies!” referring to the cookies that Niki offered to teach.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a meal like that” said Fundy as he took a bite of the mutton, his tail wagging. “Or with other people either.”

“I find that concerning” Thea grimaced, sipping her soup.

“It’s nice! We should have this again!” cheered Niki as she scooped her mash potatoes.

Thea hummed, cutting her mutton. “Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo were here for last night’s dinner and breakfast. You two are like the 2nd group to share a meal with, at this rate I might be a social eater.”

“Wait, Wilbur was here?” asked Fundy, wide-eyed.

Thea hummed. “Passed out and everything a bit after dinner. Had to carry him up to bed and then the boys slept over, and of course, couldn’t let them leave without breakfast-“

“Oh, that’s good. He hasn’t been…himself lately.”

Thea’s eyes sharpened, noticing Fundy’s and Niki’s eyes shifting to look at each other; a knowledge that these two knew and one that Thea wasn’t privy to. She took a bite of her mutton. “I can see that. I did tell him he was welcome to come over if needed. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to give him the option either.”

Fundy and Niki gave her a bewildered look, the former’s ears drooping slightly in worry. “Uh, what do you mean by that?”

Thea smiled as she raised her glass, sipping it without a word.

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

Thea cackled and it shattered the incoming tense atmosphere. Dinner went off smoothly and with plates of cookies and milk for dessert. They gathered around Thea’s fireplace, the three getting to know each other while also Thea learned more around.

“So, there’s that many people here?”

Fundy nodded, chewing another cookie. “Yeah, but everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. The election is the only thing that has been drawing people together.”

“This election is starting to sound pretty serious” commented Thea, noting her stomach twisting at the idea of it. The need for order and harmony was good for the people, but based on what she was hearing about the election, it was starting to sound more for a reach for power.

“And you two are running?”

“Yup! Coconut 2020! Be sure to vote for us!”

Thea gave a polite smile, hiding the fact she wasn’t going to vote at all. She didn’t think she could anyway plus…

“I’ll think about it” she commented. Not fully elaborating that Wilbur and Tommy also asked her to vote for them and now there would be a conflict of interest based on people she knew; not on their policies.

Fundy’s ears drooped in disappointment but Niki nodded, seemingly understanding her choice. Thea looked outside and noted how late it was, hearing monsters hiding just outside of their perimeter.

“It’s late, you guys want to stay the night?” asked Thea, getting up to either escort the two out or set up the beds, depending their decision.

“Oh, I need to go! I have to open my bakery in the morning” said Niki as she got up. Fundy too, “I need to go and do some things too.”

Thea nodded as her wolves gathered at the door. “I’ll see you guys out.”

“You don’t have to!”

“You sure?” asked Thea, leaning against the doorway as the other two stood outside.

“We’ll be fine. Thank you though!”

Thea nodded and smiled. “Nice to meeting you two. Thanks for everything and the impromptu help…” she laughed nervously.

“It’s fine, it was fun!”

Thea squinted her eyes, humming under her breath at which part of fun was Fundy talking about but she didn’t comment on it. She watched the two walk back to their homes and Thea didn’t miss the white glint in the shadows. Her finger itched for the crossbow but didn’t as whatever was there disappeared.

Thinking it was a skeleton, Thea walked back into her home and went to the basement, moving onto her next order of business.

She grabbed her pickaxe and begun to hum as she mined and mined. As she dug, only coming up to deposit materials and for food. At some point, the deeper she got, she built a little room in the mines, creating a bed inside with furnaces and chests for materials, she didn’t know how useful it would be in the future.

<Next>

#dsmp fanfiction #dsmp fic #dsmp sona #dsmp oc #dsmp fanfic #dream smp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #minecraft fic #minecraft oc #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #niki nihachu #fundy

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sherlockmonkeesstartrek · 6 years ago

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If You Could Only See Me (Part 1)

(Posted this on ‘Some Small Fics’, but decided to put it on here instead.)

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Based on the Hollies, mentions the Beatles

Finished: Yes!!!

Summary: Niki grew up with a boy named John in Liverpool. Spending much of her life with him and his band, in 1966 she fell in love with the front man of another band.

Or… Did she?

Chapter 1: The Present

The first thing I become aware of is a cut down my bottom lip. I don’t remember when I got it. My lips haven’t been broken, though it’s cold enough to make them all chapped. It doesn’t hurt. I gnaw on it slightly, but nothing. All I feel is the sensation of skin missing, broken in one place. I run my tongue over it, tasting the tender inside flesh.

I don’t recall it bleeding, nor anyone biting it. Aww, that would be hot. I’d run my tongue over it and know exactly who’d done it to me, who’d made me bleed. Alas, things like that haven’t really happened for a while. Allan’s been decidedly vanilla, if he’s been at all interested in that, and I’ve been ok with it. We’re just too tired at the moment. This week has been non-stop. We were on tour. We only got back yesterday in the early hours of the morning and yet we both had to work once we’d gotten a bit of sleep. Today, we’ve nothing to do, and though it might be nice to finally be intimate, since I’ve missed that a lot, I can’t even bring myself to sit up, never mind wake him and make out. Even if I were to wait for him to wake up, I’d probably fall back to sleep and forget. Really, it’s bad at the moment, not between us, just together, we’re hopeless.

That doesn’t stop me from dreaming, however. As I turn onto my stomach, my eyes shut tight, my bones creaking, I think about having him. I ache for it, I do, almost as much as I ache for sleep. I think about him having me, pushing me up against the cold walls of the shower while a hot spray cleans us both, yet I am content in the prospect of being turned on my side, my leg hooked over Allan’s and him lazily fucking me like that. I feel his body over me, a leg up by my butt, an arm over my shoulders, his nose buried in my neck. His warm breath spreads over the base of my skull.

You know what? I’m perfectly happy to just fall back to sleep now, imagining all the wonderful ways Allan could have me. I imagine that he already has and we are drifting off in the wake of a post-climax glow.

Content, I shuffle onto my side, careful not to move Allan too much. He is deep in a well-earned sleep. I would hate to be the one to wake him. I cannot, however, ignore my urge to press a kiss on his cheek. I pry open my sleep-lined eyes to make sure I’m aiming for the right place, and the sight that greets me causes my brain to falter. It’s quite sunny and bright. I must’ve slept for much of the morning. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but even before they have, the blurry, unfocused view presents something very wrong.

Fair hair in place of dark brown. Facial hair where I know there to be none. A mouth like that of a hamster’s and a thin, pointed nose and a long face, all of which I recognise, but not as Allan. No. I find myself in bed, about to kiss the cheek of his best friend. My eyes dart around. I realise I’m not even at home. What the hell!

Groggily, I sit up. My stomach turns. Am I that girl? Am I such an awful person to have unconsciously slept with my boyfriend’s best friend? I am well aware of the fact that I’m not a particularly ‘good’ person. I’ve had my fair share of selfish, rude and generally awful acts, and not all of which I can attribute to the fact that I live in an era now where certain things are more accepted than others- after all, I’ve been surrounded by rock stars all my life, bad behaviour taught or learnt, I’ve always been around it. This, however, I don’t remember at all. I’ve always been loyal and faithful. I’d never sleep with anyone other than Allan (unless he said I could, of course) least of all with Graham fucking Nash. Of all people!

Was I drunk? Was I high? I seriously consider it, though I don’t drink nor take drugs. I don’t even remember being anywhere I could’ve got spiked at. I was at home last night. And Graham hates me as much as I do him. Why would he even try to spike me? Perhaps he didn’t, and the night was just so awful, I blocked it from my memory. But what, what in the world would have persuaded me into Graham Nash’s bed? Why am I even at his house?

Oh, this is all too weird. I feel sick to my stomach with shame and guilt, though I’m sure I didn’t knowingly sleep with Graham. No one is going to look at this situation and see where I am coming from. Everyone will think me a liar.

While I try to think up some way out of this awful circumstance, I consider the big bedroom, the double bed. Actually, I’ve got to say, this doesn’t look anything like Graham’s place. Are we at a hotel? The leaking, built in wardrobes and messy cluttered beside tables tell me no. Are we at a friend’s place? The fact that I see trinkets belonging to Graham, as well as several clothes I’ve seen him wear, I guess that is a no too. Weird. More than weird. The nauseous feeling doubles. Nothing, nothing is right.

On the bedside table closest to me, I’m shocked to find my usual assortment of necklaces and bracelets I hardly ever wear. They’re all presents I keep in the draws of a small mirror jewellery box I’d had since I was a young girl. That sits at the very back of the table. In front, my two slender watches are dumped, one with a gold face that my sister gave me, the other with a grey, leather strap from my dad. They curl around each other like intertwining snakes, the grey one on top, as it was the last one I wore. In front of those are my two current notebooks. One is a hardback with gold polka dots on its cover, while the other is leather bound with engraved silver letters reading ‘notes.’ Both mine, both half full of meaningless scrawls written in my special black and silver fountain pen which sits atop the leather bound one, diagonal with the lid off. My wallet and keys are piled beside a lamp with a pearlescent white shade.

Not everything is mine, though. Attached to my keyring is a key I don’t recognise. It doesn’t open any door I’ve ever had to unlock. And there is a ring on top of my jewellery box. It has a twisted effect on it that makes it look similar to rope. I was never gifted anything even remotely like that, and I’d never buy myself a ring. I don’t wear them.

This is so uncomfortable. So unsettling. Why the hell is all my stuff here? Why would I have brought it? Even if it was just one of these things, why would I have had the impulse to bring it with me?

It gets even worse when cast my gaze to the floor. I had hoped to see a set of clothes I’d taken off last night- because it becomes apparent to me very quickly that I am not actually clad in anything apart from the bedsheets right now- which would make a speedy exit more possible. Unfortunately, I am faced with several day’s worth of my own clothes, dumped on the floor. I may be untidy, but I rarely leave that much lying around. And I certainly don’t leave my things all over someone else’s bloody floor. The clothes that aren’t mine, mixed in all the mess, I know to be Graham’s, about a week’s worth.

My tired, overwhelmed mind asks, ‘did I say here all week?’ I shake that thought away. I know what I’ve been doing all week. The band has been on tour and I went with them. Technically, Graham’s stuff shouldn’t be here either, unless he leaves his stuff all over the floors when he goes away. But that opens up even more questions I don’t have the capacity to even consider.

I have to prevent myself from screaming in confusion as I look up at the wall. A calendar hangs on a single, bent pin pushed into the wall paper. It shows a lovely sunset over some American horizon, as well as telling me that it’s September 1967, the same month, year, even day- since someone has ticked the days past- as when I went to sleep. Just… what?

As I stare helplessly at it, I feel something crawl up my back. The mattress behind me dips and a pair of arms wrap around me, lips brushing the back of my ear.

“You know we don’t have to get up yet, Luv.” Graham’s distinctive voice tells me that this is no dream. It’s as real as it can get. I feel his breath hitting the back of my neck, his words vibrating into my skin. He called me ‘luv.’ I shiver.

“No.” I mutter, “I do.” I go to toss the duvet off my body, when I remember that I’m still naked. No way Graham is going to get to see any more than he has already. I reach down beside and grasp a thick, grey jumper to cover my nakedness. As I put it on, I push Graham’s hands off of me. I see the surprise in his expression, but he still tries to be cool.

“Oh, at least don’t get dressed.” He groans. I shoot him a filthy look as I pull the duvet from me and kick my legs off the bed. Before I stand, I see a mixture of confusion and concern in his eyes. It looks very uncharacteristic for him, really unsettling. It’s like he genuinely doesn’t get why I’m suddenly so angry, like he doesn’t remember who I am, not only to him, but to his best fuckingfriend. Why, why would I ever be so friendly to him the morning after I’d cheated on the man I loved with him?

My legs feel weak as I stumble around the bed in search for a bathroom. Upon getting to my feet, a great pressure as heavy as an elephant weighs down on my bladder. I need to pee, yet have no recollection of where the loo is.

From behind me, Graham pipes up, “What are you…” I hear the swipe of the duvet being dragged off him too. The floor creaks a little as he stands up and his bare footfalls pad across it, heading towards me, “Are you ok?” With him trying to follow, I quicken my search, finally catching glimpse of tiles glinting in the low light feeding in through an ajar door. I push it open and leap in. The lock on it looks ancient and squeaks stiffly as I try to put up a wall between me and him. After putting all my weight behind it, I manage to pull it closed, finally feeling safe.

That is until I flick the light on and turn around. On a shelf on the wall, shower products are lined up. Many are brands I use, including a perfume I (try to) wear every day. My toothbrush stands in a translucent red cup beside the sink, with another one crossing over it.

As much as I need to pee, I also need to have a good scream. I don’t, I just knot my fingers in my hair and pull. I must be going fucking crazy.

But so is Graham. He calls in a half joking, half concerned tone, “Will you open up, Luv? I need to piss!”

“Fucking wait!” I squeal furiously. I cannot believe he’d think I’d ever open the door. Having sex is one thing. Doing your fucking business in front of someone is entirely another, something most people never do. Even angrier, I add, “And stop calling me ‘luv.’”

He falls silent. I pee in peace, though I can feel his bloody presence on the other side of that door. I can practically hear his brain struggling to find something else to say. To calm myself and try to piece together what that fuck is going on here, I recall the day previous.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, Allan and I had gotten home and fell asleep on the sofa. Neither one of us, once the acceptable morning hours came, wanted to wake, yet we heaved each other up with false words of encouragement and kisses. We almost made out when we shared a shower, but once more we were too tired and to concerned about the rest of the day for it to turn too interesting. I went to work dressed in the few clean clothes that awaited me at home after the tour, was hungry as soon as I got there as I’d skipped breakfast and I didn’t end up eating until lunchtime. When I came home, Allan was making dinner. We sat in front of the TV and promised each other we’d do nothing tomorrow, since we really had nothing on. Before conking out once more on the sofa, I persuaded Allan it was best we actually got into bed, so we dragged each other up the stairs, took off some, but not all, of our clothes, and lost consciousness almost as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

I didn’t go out. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Graham, or any of the band, since those early hours of the morning we came back from the tour. I certainly didn’t turn up at his… or whoever’s house, nor did I bring all my stuff with me to throw all over the floor… or set up on the bedside table… or stand on the shelf of the bathroom. This doesn’t make any sense at all.

Ok, if it weren’t for all my shit being here, I could explain this whole situation away, chalk it up to my first experience with sleepwalking or- more likely- an awful lack of any judgement. Even though the implications of that is pretty bad, I’d take having to get down on my knees and beg Allan to take me back despite me having slept with his best friend over… whatever I can call this fucking mess.

I dread heading out of the small, cool room into the oddly cosy bedroom, where Graham stands in wait for me, but I do, without hesitation. I’ve decided, I’ve got to see Allan. I have to explain to him what happened, even if I don’t know myself. I just feel like everything will fall into it’s right place if I see him. He’s always been the sensible one, the shy, sane one out of us two. Even if he’ll kill me, I’ve got to see him.

As I walk passed Graham, he caresses my cheek tenderly. Something else that I don’t get right now is why he’s being so… nice. Has he fallen for me? Poor boy has slept with me once and cares about me now? How sad. I brush him off as I look for a pair of trousers; I won’t bother with underwear. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

“Are you ok?” He asks again, his voice now displaying an undercurrent of frustration. I don’t answer, which doesn’t shut him up as I had hoped, “Bad dream?”

A wash of defensiveness rushes over me. Had I the ability to form coherent sentences I would’ve retorted, asked why the fuck he’d think I’d ever tell him if I’d had a restless night. He should assume as much. I have been in his bed after all.

Then he adds, “You used to get them when you were a kid, didn’t you?”

And I can’t hold myself much longer.

“What?” I spit. He looks wholly bewildered at my reaction, unable himself to think of an answer. I turn back to pulling on a pair of leggings just as he pulls be back into conversation.

“Niki, seriously, are you ok? You’re scaring me.” “I’m scaring you?” I parrot, furiously, then calm a little, “Look, whatever happened last night, can we forget about it. I’ve got to…”

He cuts in, “What happened? Are you sure you didn’t have a bad dream?”

“No, I fucking didn’t!” I cry. I’m getting nowhere! I want to get the fuck out.

Still stunned, he tries to calm me by suggesting, “Look, let’s just get up… have some breakfast, ok? I’ll cook.”

It’s in that moment, I realise he’s not going to get it, he won’t leave me alone. I don’t know what’s got him so clingy, but I have to take a different approach to this. Without saying anything, I nod in agreement and slowly sit on the bed as though I’ve calmed. He then tells me he’s just going to pee, giving me a small kiss before he goes. He doesn’t close the door properly- fucking gross- but he can’t see me, so I dart with nimble, silent movements, picking up a pair of socks off the floor as I make for the corridor outside of the room. I hurry down the stairs so quick I almost trip over my own movements.

Luckily, the front door is right at the bottom of the stairs. Unluckily, I’m stumped once again by what I see. There are two other doors, one leading into a living room, the other into a kitchen. More trinkets, more clothes, more décor meet my eyes. In the space between them, the tiny hallway at the bottom of the stairs, several coats hang on metal hooks. Some I know to be mine, one I wear practically daily, a blue trench coat with deep pockets big enough to hold A5 notebooks, which hangs in front of all the others. I pick that coat up, pull it on, then look despairingly below the others. There is a messy rack of shoes, again, a mixture of Graham’s and mine. I choose a pair of boots I can slip on and walk in without doing them up.

Suddenly, I hear Graham’s footsteps pound down the stairs. I peer over my shoulder, panicked. He stands three steps from the bottom floor, pulling on a flowy beige shirt, decorated with a series of hippy bead applique around the neck line. Other than that, he’s naked. Like a kid- and for the first time in my adult life- I shy away from the sight, instead looking desperately at the door.

“Niki, come on, it’s Sunday. Where the fuck are you going?”

Worked up, panicked and desperate, I clear my tear-clogged throat to reply, “To see Allan,” before swiftly pulling up the latch of the front door and squeezing through the tiny crack I open it to. There are a small set of three steps I almost hurl myself down, but I manage to grasp hold of a banister and safely get down onto the pavement.

Shit. I didn’t quite think this far. I’m faced with a street I don’t know, a set of houses I’ve never seen, no informative street signs and no sense of direction. I don’t even know if I’m in London! I mean, I assume I am. I look around at the other buildings surrounding and… I guess I am. But I’m hopeless. I’ve no idea where I am, I’ve no idea where Allan is, I’ve no idea where my home is. Basically, I’m lost, running from someone I think I’ve slept with. Graham will no doubt be following me out any second, so I have to be gone, but I don’t know where. Fuck!

I thrust my hands into my pockets and speed walk in a direction that looks as though it might lead to a main road. If I can get a taxi, I might be able to try and work out where the hell I am and go from there.

Then, as I’m hurrying along the quiet street, my fingers clasp around something in my pocket. I can feel coins, a tissue, and then something hard, like cardboard, with a dip in the middle. The dip seems to be made up of sections, many, thin section. I recognise it just by its feel. It may only be that old address book I got given a while back, but it feels like a lifesaver. I’m so glad that, not only do I always have it on me, I always have a pen too. I write down the details of all my friends in it, anyone important that I’ve met, anyone I want to stay in contact with. I also have mine and Allan’s home address in there, because I’m awful at remembering it. For once, I’m so glad I can be absentminded and write everything down. I pull the book out and flick through it’s pages.

Allan is there! My god, I could cry. I don’t, because I’m on a mission, but I could. I really could just sit down on the side of the road and bawl my eyes out. To stop myself, I walk a little quicker and glance, every so often, at a different page of my book. There are names in there that I do not know, people I’ve never met before. By Allan’s name, there is a someone called Jen with no address, no number, no last name. On the ‘E’ page, Eric Haydock is written in my handwriting. He was the old bassist for the Hollies before Bern, before I’d met the band. I was never acquainted with him, so why was he in my book, with a number scrawled there too? That’s not too weird, I guess. Of all the things that has happened today, finding a name in a book is hardly even shocking. What is annoying, however, is the feeling that I’m missing people. I can’t think who. It’s like they’ve been wiped from my book, so they’re wiped from my memory too.

It takes me a while to find somewhere I can hail a cab. One pulls up and the driver, a rough-spoken man, seems to know the address as I read it out to him. He knows the street.

“’s not too far from here.” He says and pulls out onto the road. The amount of traffic is minimal. People don’t usually go out on Sundays. I’m thankful, though I also half wish the journey would’ve taken longer. As soon as I’d done my part of speaking, placed my mission in someone else’s hand for the moment, a tear runs down my cheek. Once the first one is out, a whole stream follows. I bawl helplessly into my hands, unable to organise my thoughts, unable to see a clear course of action. It dawns on me, as does everything else, that seeing Allan may solve nothing. I don’t know what could possibly happen.

Mostly, I wish the journey was longer, so I’d have enough time to dry my tears before I go and see Allan. It is, however, not too short so that I don’t get to take in the surroundings. This is London, of course. The black cab gave it away. It’s a part I’m not properly familiar with, but at least I’m somewhere, a city, that I know. That narrows the number of unknowns down. Not too much, still too much to count, but I’ll take anything, anything that makes me feel more comfortable.

We end up down a street that looks pretty much the same as the one I’d escaped from. The driver helps me find which house exactly is Allan’s- I lean over to the front of the cab and show my address book to him, while he points out homes in hope that I can read the number beside the front doors. I then get out and find myself alone, standing on the doorstep of a nice looking home, beside a car in the driveway. I get that feeling, as if it ever left, that something is very wrong, but I’m still full of hope. I knock on the door.

Allan opens it pretty quickly. God, I almost cry when I see him, his dark, curly hair, his narrowed brown eyes adjusting to the light from outside, the half-smile on his lips. Without thinking twice, without even looking at him twice- I don’t need to, he looks so normal, which is such a pleasant change for me- I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. I manage not to cry.

“Erm… hey Niki.” He mumbles, awkwardly. Almost instantly, that feeling of normality, the comfort of familiarity fades away. His arms hang loosely around my waist and he parts the embrace really quickly. He has yet to kiss me or even invite me in. “Are you ok?”

“Yes…” I say automatically, before my brain kicks in, “No… I’ve really no idea, Luv. I just need to see you and…” tears threaten again, so I bite my lip.

Allan seems like he doesn’t know what to do. It’s very unsettling. He knows me… or knew me, so well. Unsteadily, he steps aside and gestures, “Come in.”

How can he be as confused as I am? I hate it. As I walk through the dark hallway, I glimpse him to make sure he is my Allan. He’s dressed in a button up shirt he probably slept in and a pair of dark, soft-looking trousers with an elasticated waist that he no doubt pulled on to answer the door. He rarely wears much in bed, or, at least, he never did with me. As he shuts the door, I notice faint lines in his hair, which looks to me like he’s brushed it a little. He must’ve been awake before I turned up, yet it’s early on a Sunday. What reason would he have to be up?

He slips in front of me and guides me into what appears to be the only lit room, a joint kitchen/living space. A low, orange light beats down over in the living area, where two brown sofas are positioned at 90-degree angles from each other. The windows are all covered with brown blackout blinds, but floral curtains are already drawn letting in a little sunlight from outside. The rest of the room is mostly in darkness until Allan stands in the door way and lets me walk in. He flicks on the rest of the lights.

“Sorry.” I hear him say, “Jen’s not up yet.”

Jen? That girl in my address book. That’s why she didn’t have an address or number attached to her name. She lives here? With my Allan? My heart thumps like Bobby Elliot banging his drums on stage of a Hollies concert. Still, I don’t have much time to connect all the dots. Allan continues talking.

“Take a seat. You want something to drink?”

Allan hasn’t sounded this much like he was playing host since that first night he asked me round to his place. That was early 66. He was so stupidly shy, and sweet. So nervous. Probably because he knew I was taken, technically, by John Lennon.

John. The Beatles. That’s who was missing in my address book. That’s who I’d forgotten. My John, my Paul and George and Ringo. The boys I’d grown up with. How could I? How could they be written out of my history? My whole existence, my past, I could feel it slip away and nothing replaced it. I have no idea who I am.

Allan’s voice steals me away from my sudden crisis, “Niki?”

I realise I haven’t answered him.

“Erm, no thanks.” I say, taking a seat on the sofa by the arm. He’s very awkward and cautious and quiet as he perches on the other end, facing me. I try to smile at him. The best he can do back is half grin.

“I… um… just got a call from Graham.” He tells me. He sounds oddly calm about it.

“Oh God,” I groan in embarrassment and shame, “What did he say?”

His eyes dart away from mine, “He said you weren’t feeling yourself. And… you wanted to see me?” He sounds confused about the latter.

“Why would I not?”

“Well, Graham…”

Before he can continue, I roll my eyes in frustration and snap, “I’m sorry, but last time I checked, Graham wasn’t my fucking keeper.” Allan looks taken aback. It must be the first time I’ve ever spoken to him like that. We’ve rarely ever fought, and I’ve rarely ever been so angry. He has, but he hardly ever has taken it out on me. I feel bad. Quietly, I add, “You were,” in an attempt to remind him of us. But he takes a moment to reply.

“I don’t… understand.”

This is all very wrong. I can’t keep my cool much longer. I throw my head into my hands and mutter to myself, “Of course, you don’t, just like Graham suddenly actually cares about me and I fucking…” My voice trails off and my eyes begin to squeeze tears from the corners. I must look insane, but Allan is too polite, too caring to butt in. Calmly and fondly, he shuffles up closer, still a bit uptight, and he places a hand over my own.

“Graham… loves you.” He chuckles, lightly, though warily in case I take it the wrong way. I manage not to explode at him.

“You did.” I insist helplessly.

He doesn’t get it, of course. This whole day is so fucked up, I can’t take it anymore. I cannot stand the way he smiles softly at me, patronisingly as though I’m a kid talking nonsense.

“Of course, I do.” He says, “But in a different way. Come on,” He laughs, “Graham would kill me if I loved you like that!”

“Since when!” I growl.

Still calm, Allan responds, “Since 1950. For, like, 17 years.”

“But…” I feel my whole past being rewritten, “I only met you guys last year. I was… with the… Beatles”

Embarrassment washes over me, pinks my cheeks and laughs at me as Allan, very kindly, explains that I never met the Beatles, not properly. I’d seen them once or twice at the studio, they all had, the whole band. The only one who’d properly talked to them was Graham. That was before the whole ‘If I Needed Someone’ situation. Now the bands refused to talk to each other, and I refused to talk to them too. I didn’t know them, I didn’t have their numbers or addresses, I’d never been withJohn Lennon. Four wonderful men, huge parts of my life, my teenage years, my childhood in Liverpool, the early 60s in Studio 2. All gone, explained away. And Allan had not only summed up my entire new, confusing, alien life in around five minutes, but he isn’t as big a part of it as his best friend is. The man I had practically hated, or at the very least, tolerated on the rare occasion, was now my boyfriend, my partner, had been since we’d been old enough to understand the word.

Meanwhile, Allan was married.

A medium-heighted, wide-smiling girl with dyed blonde hair came padding slowly down the stairs, her steps so soft we hardly heard her. Jen leans prettily in the doorway and waves hello, blowing a kiss at Allan before she sees me.

“Hello Niki!” She cheerily exclaims, “I didn’t know you were coming round.”

I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge her. My eyes darted from her to down to Allan for an explanation. Then I caught sight of a glinting gold band around his ring finger.

My heart stopped beating.

“Is Graham here too?” She innocently asks. I see Allan shake his head furiously, telling her to change the subject, but the damage is already done, I’m already hurt, just by her presence, not even by her words.

“No, just Niki. Will you get some tea?” Allan deflects the question and Jen, smiling, walks over to the kitchen area. While her back is turned, he tries to ask if I want to go into another room, but he can’t even catch my gaze. I’m staring at him, not seeing. Tears burn the back of my throat.

I have to leave.

Without a word, I get up. I wrap my coat around me, hands thrust into the pockets, and I head for the door.

“Niki.” Allan calls after me. I hear Jen turn around and ask what the matter is. Allan doesn’t answer her. He follows me into the hallway. I pull open the door and don’t look back, I can’t stand to, I can’t stand this Allan, this version of him who doesn’t know me as he should. This whole world is fucked. My life is now fucked.

I hop out into the street, turning my coat collars up to hide my tear stained cheeks. I’ve no idea where I am, not only physically, but mentally too.

Why, if this is my life, do I remember another as though it were real? Why, if this is not my life, do others think that it is and why has everything changed overnight? And why, if this is a dream, have I not woken up by now? Why, when I can feel very real pain right now? My chest aches, my lungs burn, my head throbs with all these questions swimming inside it. And what can I do now? I don’t have Allan to talk to. I can’t imagine unloading all this onto Graham. I don’t have the Beatles, nor Bri- Brian Epstein- who I adored. Who, who can I look to for a slice of normality?

I open my address book while standing across the road from a telephone box. I’ve walked a few blocks from Allan’s home and I’ve decided I need someone I can vent all my frustration onto, someone who could also pick me up, perhaps. A friend whose relationship with me could not have changed over the course of this switch. I file through the names in my book. They go back as far as Allan and Graham’s childhood in Salford, most I’d heard in passing conversations, almost always from Allan’s mouth, his friends, even some of his family. Being written in would suggest that I knew them too. Others, I really have no idea who they are. I skip over them. The pages fall to the ‘H’ section and there is scrawled an answer to who I could call.

Tony Hicks.

God, that boy would listen. I’m sure of it. He’ll listen to me, even if only because he is too polite and sweet to tell me to shut up. He’s kind, a good laugh, a good friend, as well as being a fucking epic guitarist. I hurry across the road, dip into my coat pockets to find some money and dial his number as I get into the phone box.

He picks up in a few rings, though it feels like forever between the last number I press and the sound of his voice. I don’t bother with pleasantries, I’m too desperate, too excited.

After he says hello, I ramble into, “Tony, it’s Niki. Do me a favour. I really need to come and talk to you, ok?”

“Ok…” He sceptically replies. He’s quiet. I think he’s been asleep. I feel bad for waking him, if I did.

“Please, if Graham or Allan phone, don’t pick up! They think I’m insane, and I might be, but I have to talk to someone.” I sound so desperate, my tone choked and hurried. I think he picks up on it. He sounds a little more awake when he speaks again, as though the fear in my voice has jogged his brain into gear.

“Are you ok?”

God, if I hear that question one more time! No, I’m not ok, I’m not. I know he’s trying to be nice. I know that everyone is, but it’s a dumb fucking question, because everyone expects you just to say yes, and if you don’t, if you say no, you look like you’re just grasping for attention. Still, maybe I want attention at the moment, just someone to listen.

“No,” I admit, “Just… please. I’ll be over soon.”

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you. That means I won’t be here if the others call.”

I sigh. It’s the first time I’ve felt content since this morning, before I turned around and realised I was locked in a hug with Graham Nash. I could cry from the relief. This may not bring my life back, it may not change anything, but Tony’ll listen to me and help straighten things out, even if he too thinks I’m crazy.

“Ok,” I say, “Ok thank you.” Then I tell him the name of the street, “It’s near Allan’s. I’ll explain once you get here.”

“OK. See you in a minute.”

I’ve no way of telling the time- I didn’t bring either of my watches. I forgot underwear, never mind a watch. It’s cold out. Bracing September air blows past me. Everything seems to hang in it, every uncertainty. I won’t know when Tony shows up; I don’t know which car is his. I don’t know what he’ll look like, who he might be with. God, he could be married for all I know.

I just let time tick by, not thinking of how slow or fast, hardly thinking at all. I watch every car that passes, every person as I stand rigidly against the wall of someone’s home. My arms are crossed over my chest, my legs crossed at the ankles. I find myself rocking to keep me warm, like a madman. A song plays in my head, ‘If I Needed Someone.’ I always liked both versions of the song. I always thought the Hollies did a good job of it, almost as good as the Beatles. I remember when they were recording Rubber Soul, I’d beg the three boys, John, George and Paul, to do the beginning of Nowhere Man for me. It was the first time I’d consciously listened to people do a three-part harmony until I started listening to the Hollies. But none of this happened.

As I say, I’ve no idea how long I stand there. Perhaps half an hour. It’s of no really matter, however, and regardless of everything, a car pulls up to the pavement down the road a bit and, though I’m several yards away, I can tell that the man stepping from it is the young-looking Tony Hicks. I practically run at him, bawling into his shoulder.

“Hey,” He croons, “What’s up?”

“Oh God,” I cry when I manage to make coherent sentences, “I’m no idea, I think I’m going crazy.”

“I highly doubt that.”

#the hollies #the beatles #based on #don't judge me #Allan Clarke #graham nash #tony hicks #Don't ask me why I hate graham #I don't know

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365footballorg-blog · 6 years ago

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Armchair Analyst: Your guide to Heineken Rivalry Week – Part II

August 24, 201812:27PM EDT

Part I, which ran on Wednesday ahead of the first three games of Heineken Rivalry Week, is HERE.

My colleague Bobby Warshaw and I had a discussion in the wake of the 1-1 draw in the New York Derby HERE.

And then we talked about Columbus’s 1-1 draw at Chicago, and, um, another 1-1 draw in the Texas Derby HERE.

I prefer open, high-scoring soccer, but I have to admit it’d be kind of dope if every game this week ended in a 1-1 draw. It’d be the soccer equivalent of flipping a nickel and having it land on its edge.

Let’s dive in:

Friday Doubleheader

Orlando City vs. Atlanta United 8 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

These two fanbases are vocal about their dislike of each other, and there’s been some memorable tifo, and no MLS team is closer to Orlando than Atlanta, and no MLS team is closer to Atlanta than Orlando. All the accoutrements of a good, long-standing rivalry are here.

Except… except for the fact that Orlando City have never beaten Atlanta United and while “never” is a big word to use when we’re only talking about a handful of games, for a neutral observer from 1,000 miles away, it feels like this thing has yet to really kick off. The Lions have had their chances – they played the Five Stripes particularly tough last season – but have not landed a knockout punch just yet. So it’s fair to give this one a little bit of side-eye.

And it’s fair to expect more of the same, since Orlando have taken just four of the last 45 points on offer. They’ve started defending deeper under new head coach James O’Connor, and have tried to play more compact deep in midfield and along the backline, but it’s just. not. working.

Conversely, just about everything’s working for Atlanta. I will be utterly shocked if Josef Martinez doesn’t get his record-breaking 28th goal on Friday night.

LA Galaxy vs. LAFC 10:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

It’s worth going back and reading Sam Stejskal’s look at LAFC’s so far pretty remarkable debut season. I particularly liked this quote from Bob Bradley on his midfield unit:

“I think that the understanding of those three and the way that they can make small exchanges so that there’s options to play the ball becomes important if you want to try to play from the back, if you want to try to play from one side to the other, play from outside in and all these kind of things,” Bradley told MLSsoccer.com on Wednesday. “The understanding of how players move in conjunction with each other, I think you see that in any good midfield combination. So, we work on those ideas. It’s been part of the work that I’ve tried to do with many of the teams that I’ve coached.”

Here’s how that looks in action:

Armchair Analyst: Columbus have a system. LAFC? They’ve got principles, and so far they’re devastatingly effectivehttps://t.co/pWcUlJmjJO

— Matthew Doyle (@MattDoyle76) July 1, 2018

The personnel has changed slightly for LAFC, and they’ve gone into and out of some lulls. But they’re still a team that tries to make those little combinations in the search of big, killer moments.

The Galaxy don’t have the same approach – can you think of a single time this year when they were pinging the ball around the midfield, advancing as a unit? Neither can I.

What they can do instead is rely upon the league’s best player. With all due respect to Martinez, Zlatan is Zlatan. His goals + assists per 90 is the highest in league history (minimum 1,000 minutes), and of course he’s produced a couple of memorable moments in this derby already.

Non-penalty goals plus assists per 90 minutes (min. 1,000 minutes). Surprising to see Villalba here. pic.twitter.com/85I2JTjyYF

— Ben Baer (@BenBaer89) August 20, 2018

He’ll need to produce more in this one, because the Galaxy defense has been poor.

Saturday Slate

Philadelphia Union vs. New England Revolution 7 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

Philadelphia have won three of four and four of six, and are into the U.S. Open Cup final. And it feels like, over the last two weeks with a 3-2 win at these same Revs, followed by a dominant, 2-0 win over a very good NYCFC team last weekend, a corner has been turned.

LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!

the touches from Medunjanin and @AleBedoya17 will get the oohs and ahhs (as they should), but this first time pass through the lines by @K_J_Rose is some @StephCurrySquad ish. pic.twitter.com/XR7YSLn5tC

— Adam Cann (@adamtcann) August 20, 2018

The Revs have lost five of six, have just one win in their last 10, and four in their last four months. They have dropped to seventh in the playoff race, and have conceded multiple goals in each of their last six games and eight of their last nine. They are on the road, where they haven’t won since March.

Given all of the above, it seems like the Union should be favored (and I’m sure the oddsmakers have it that way). But given all of the above, it would be VERY MLS for Philly to drop points here.

Last week was a huge test for the Union – a chance to see if they could dismantle one of the league’s best teams. They passed it with flying colors.

This is a big test as well, because it’s a chance to see if you can go out and dominate a team you should dominate. That’s how Atlanta, for example, have earned their title as favorites. That’s what great teams have done, historically speaking, in this league and every other.

It’s a different mindset and a different test, but just as important.

Toronto FC vs. Montreal Impact 8 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

This is it for Toronto: Their season is over if they don’t win this one. A loss would mean they’re 12 points out with nine to go, and even if they suddenly start playing as well as they did last year, that’s just too much of an ask.

The question is how they’ll line up. Greg Vanney’s had to tinker all season long, thanks to injuries and suspensions, and he’ll have to do so again here thanks to Jozy Altidore’s extra game, as well as fitness concerns for Chris Mavinga and Victor Vazquez.

Montreal will play a low-block 4-3-3 and try to counter. If Mavinga’s out, they might throw a wrinkle in it and use Ignacio Piatti as the outlet, pinging long diagonals from left to right. If Mavinga’s in, they’ll just do their usual thing of trying to release Piatti into space, or into 1v1s, by pinging right-to-left diagonals.

No mysteries here beyond “Which version of the Reds will show up?”

Sporting KC vs. Minnesota United 8:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

Sporting KC came off a five-game winless skid in July and turned into a woodchipper come August: They’ve won all three of their games by shutout, and the last two – 2-0 at LAFC, 3-0 over Portland – came against two of the other very good teams in the Western Conference.

One of the sparks has been forward Diego Rubio, who has six goals in 448 MLS minutes this year. That’s an unsustainably great strike rate, and the underlying numbers show it:

Using the ASA data set, Rubio’s 1.14 goals/game is deceiving. Why? Because his xGp96 is just 0.29. His overall xG for the season is 1.55 goals, but has scored 6.

I’d wager money this trend does not continue.

— Exiled_MLS (@Exiled_MLS) August 22, 2018

This is probably true, and we’ve seen Rubio go on scoring jags before (it happened near the end of last season). But it’s also worth pointing out that he’s not out there scoring 24-yard bangers through a thicket of defenders. He’s had one of those, but three of his goals have been 1v1 against the ‘keeper after some nice combo play, and another came when he was relatively undefended at the penalty spot. His goal against Minnesota two months back came from a tight angle after a nice turn.

He’s been a creature of the 18-yard-box, and it’s suited him well. More to the point: As SKC have inched closer to full health, and the ability to use the ball to combine and break teams down, those chances in and around the 18 are becoming more frequent.

Don’t load up on Rubio stock, but don’t divest yourself entirely.

As for MNUFC, they’re winless in four and have conceded 10 goals in that time. It’s a safe bet they won’t play out of the 4-3-3 again after last week’s effort, but I’m not sure it’ll matter.

Colorado Rapids vs. Real Salt Lake 9 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

Something to consider: Real Salt Lake’s Brooks Lennon is fourth among MLS defenders in chances created.

Something else to consider: Colorado’s Edgar Castillo is second.

Lennon is RSL’s right back and Castillo is Colorado’s left back, which means that these guys will be in each other’s neighborhood all night. If they’re not – if one of them gets pinned back – then that’s big trouble for that particular team, as both sides get a ton of their attacking width from the fullback slot.

I’ll admit I thought, a couple weeks back, that RSL were going to fade away. But they haven’t, and are up to fourth place in the West on total points. If they take three more here, ahead of two very winnable home games, they’d have put themselves into a very, very good spot while putting some pressure on the folks behind them.

As for the Rapids, it’s about continuing to build toward 2019, and continuing to keep the diamond. I like some of what I’ve seen of Dillon Serna so far as the No. 10, and hope that Niki Jackson gets a start as the No. 9.

San Jose Earthquakes vs. Vancouver Whitecaps 10 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

The Quakes have become much tidier in central midfield since Luis Felipe won the No. 6 spot a month back. He has moments where he doesn’t close down attackers fast enough, and other moments where he eschews the chance to hit the killer pass, but he doesn’t give the ball away and he doesn’t leave the zone in front of the backline. Between him and new center back Guram Kashia – who’s been a steady presence in the middle of the defense – San Jose are playing something close to actually decent soccer.

Being clean on the ball in midfield is the key against a Vancouver side that still just want to win a 50/50, counter and kill. Vancouver are unbeaten in four and have done it on the break or on set pieces, and that’s where this game will be won or lost.

Sunday Pair

New York Red Bulls vs. D.C. United 7 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

D.C. United are pressing more than they had been, though that might be a function of having had so many home games recently. No manager embraces home/road tactical dimorphism quite like Ben Olsen does.

Which obviously makes this game a bit of a wild card. It comes during a good run of both form and results for United, though that’s almost uniformly come at Audi Field. At the same time, it come after a lackluster Red Bulls midweek performance – though that’s at least partially mitigated by the fact that New York were playing on short rest after a cross-country flight at the end of a three-game road trip.

All these things matter.

What also matters is that Tyler Adams has been on one:

Tyler Adams doing Tyler Adams things. pic.twitter.com/thOH6Qs8et

— New York Red Bulls (@NewYorkRedBulls) August 12, 2018

He’s shown a lot of very, very good stuff on the ball over the past month, including the ability to handle a press. If D.C. really do throw numbers up, keep an eye on if they keep an eye on Adams.

Portland Timbers vs. Seattle Sounders 9:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & streaming info

Since the 2000 season – which marked the end of the old shootout era used through the first four years of MLS – only one team has had a winning streak longer than six games (Sporting KC, who had a 9-game streak from 2011 to 2012, including the first seven of the 2012 season).

Seattle are on a six-game streak, and are predictably playing really well. There are a lot of variables here, including: getting Ozzie Alonso and Kelvin Leerdam back and healthy; getting Raul Ruidiaz into the lineup; the blossoming of Harry Shipp as a reliable secondary creative option out of midfield; a rock-solid defense and goalkeeper.

The thing that’s mattered most, though, is the symbiosis between Nicolas Lodeiro and Cristian Roldan on the “3” line of the 4-2-3-1. Lodeiro is Lodeiro, one of the very best No. 10s in the league. Roldan has been a steady sidekick, able to puncture holes in packed-in backlines with clever and quick movement off the ball. Lots of good things had to happen for the Sounders to go from bottom of the league to nine-game unbeaten streak, but those two guys are at the heart of it.

For Portland, they’re on a three-game losing streak now, and in large part it’s because they’ve tried to do something different. It’s probably a safe bet that they’ll go back to the tried-and-true approach that got them a 15-game unbeaten run, including a six-game winning streak of their own earlier this season.

That means defending in a very deep block of seven and letting a few attackers do the heavy lifting when opportunity presents:

Current Timbers that have scored from the run of play this year: Samuel Armenteros, Diego Valeri, Sebastian Blanco and Alvas Powell #RCTID #MLS

— Jamie Goldberg (@Jamiebgoldberg) August 22, 2018

There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of this. And against a Seattle team that you know will want to have 55 or 60% of the ball, it’s probably the right approach.

One More Thing To Ponder

Happy weekending, everyone.

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