Read Online Exposed at the Back by Guy; Arild; Puzey Stavrum - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Guy; Arild; Puzey Stavrum
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waiving any rights to future payments. The sum might be between 1,500 and 8,000 dollars. A lot of money in some parts of Africa, but peanuts when transfer fees might be in the tens of millions, and when the academy or club was formally entitled to 5 per cent.
In some cases these contracts were signed by people who couldn’t read. In other cases, the money vanished after direct threats were made, money that, by rights, should have gone back to Africa. At least, that was the idea when FIFA laid out the rules. Benedikte noticed the man looking at her as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
Under the chestnut tree by the entrance, with the best view of the stage, sat Per Diesen with his teammate and best friend, Marius Bjartmann, on a grey rattan sofa. Benedikte had heard the organiser asking if they’d like to perform their radio hit ‘ Bleed for the Team ’. The pair had turned down the offer.
Bjartmann had made his mark late as a footballer. He’d never played in a national youth side. Actually, to tell the truth, he’d never even been close to making his regional team. Bjartmann was one of those footballers who had to become a first-team player before managers saw their real worth. Bjartmann was no prolific dribbler; he was a defender. The kind of footballer who shouldn’t get the ball at all. A footballer who was only good at getting in the way. ‘Red Marius’ was his nickname, playing on both the colour of his hair and all the times he’d been sent off over the years.
He was a perfect foil and partner for Diesen. They were verydifferent, and the complexity of their partnership caught the public imagination. They appeared as guests on late-night talk shows and breakfast shows. They turned up at fashion shows, film premieres and restaurant openings. They were everywhere. When their single, written by that year’s main X Factor judge, Jørn Engen, reached number one in the charts, the gossip reached fever-pitch among opposing teams’ supporters. This dynamic duo was the gayest thing in football since Elton John became chairman at Watford. Golden wasn’t so keen on that. There were no indications that big sports brands like Adidas or Nike were planning on using homosexuality in their advertising campaigns. It would be a good idea to get Diesen and Sabrina to hook up.
Diesen stood up and went to the bar, waving modestly to Benedikte, who noticed that he was unusually good-looking at close quarters. Diesen was about to order when Sabrina cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone.
‘I want to dedicate this song to my good friend Arild Golden. I think it’s fitting for this sad occasion.’ Sabrina closed her eyes, having timed her introduction perfectly with the playback, and let the first lines of the Monroes’ classic ‘ Cheerio ’ drift out over the assembled audience and down the hillside to the seemingly permanent building site at Bjørvika, while she mimed along with just the right amount of sensuality. ‘Cheerio, cheerio, bye-bye, cheerio-o, it’s too late to try.’
Benedikte just hoped that the line ‘I will never know the reason why’ was not the one that would stick.
After the song, Diesen ordered drinks from the bar. The bartender mixed them but refused to take any money. Diesen went back to his table. He put one of the glasses down in front of Bjartmann and held up the other as a kind of toast.
‘What the hell are you doing, bringing us two cosmos? Holding the glasses by the stem?’ said Bjartmann, far too loudly. He looked round at the neighbouring tables, realising that the scene he was making wasn’t appropriate, and gave Diesen a sign to sit down. Bjartmann leant forward and carried on whispering as he gesticulated wildly.
Somebody tapped Benedikte on the shoulder. She turned around. It was a journalist, whose name she couldn’t remember, from Se og Hør .
‘Have you heard the latest rumours?’
‘That they’re gay?’ asked Benedikte.
‘No, that’s a
In some cases these contracts were signed by people who couldn’t read. In other cases, the money vanished after direct threats were made, money that, by rights, should have gone back to Africa. At least, that was the idea when FIFA laid out the rules. Benedikte noticed the man looking at her as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
Under the chestnut tree by the entrance, with the best view of the stage, sat Per Diesen with his teammate and best friend, Marius Bjartmann, on a grey rattan sofa. Benedikte had heard the organiser asking if they’d like to perform their radio hit ‘ Bleed for the Team ’. The pair had turned down the offer.
Bjartmann had made his mark late as a footballer. He’d never played in a national youth side. Actually, to tell the truth, he’d never even been close to making his regional team. Bjartmann was one of those footballers who had to become a first-team player before managers saw their real worth. Bjartmann was no prolific dribbler; he was a defender. The kind of footballer who shouldn’t get the ball at all. A footballer who was only good at getting in the way. ‘Red Marius’ was his nickname, playing on both the colour of his hair and all the times he’d been sent off over the years.
He was a perfect foil and partner for Diesen. They were verydifferent, and the complexity of their partnership caught the public imagination. They appeared as guests on late-night talk shows and breakfast shows. They turned up at fashion shows, film premieres and restaurant openings. They were everywhere. When their single, written by that year’s main X Factor judge, Jørn Engen, reached number one in the charts, the gossip reached fever-pitch among opposing teams’ supporters. This dynamic duo was the gayest thing in football since Elton John became chairman at Watford. Golden wasn’t so keen on that. There were no indications that big sports brands like Adidas or Nike were planning on using homosexuality in their advertising campaigns. It would be a good idea to get Diesen and Sabrina to hook up.
Diesen stood up and went to the bar, waving modestly to Benedikte, who noticed that he was unusually good-looking at close quarters. Diesen was about to order when Sabrina cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone.
‘I want to dedicate this song to my good friend Arild Golden. I think it’s fitting for this sad occasion.’ Sabrina closed her eyes, having timed her introduction perfectly with the playback, and let the first lines of the Monroes’ classic ‘ Cheerio ’ drift out over the assembled audience and down the hillside to the seemingly permanent building site at Bjørvika, while she mimed along with just the right amount of sensuality. ‘Cheerio, cheerio, bye-bye, cheerio-o, it’s too late to try.’
Benedikte just hoped that the line ‘I will never know the reason why’ was not the one that would stick.
After the song, Diesen ordered drinks from the bar. The bartender mixed them but refused to take any money. Diesen went back to his table. He put one of the glasses down in front of Bjartmann and held up the other as a kind of toast.
‘What the hell are you doing, bringing us two cosmos? Holding the glasses by the stem?’ said Bjartmann, far too loudly. He looked round at the neighbouring tables, realising that the scene he was making wasn’t appropriate, and gave Diesen a sign to sit down. Bjartmann leant forward and carried on whispering as he gesticulated wildly.
Somebody tapped Benedikte on the shoulder. She turned around. It was a journalist, whose name she couldn’t remember, from Se og Hør .
‘Have you heard the latest rumours?’
‘That they’re gay?’ asked Benedikte.
‘No, that’s a
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