CHAPTER 17
I watched from a safe distance, dressed in a hoodie, baseball cap, sunglasses and baggy sweatpants, as the last of the protesters dispersed in boisterous fashion.
Nobody, not even DeShaun, was aware of what I'd planned.
I left it twenty minutes before entering Lady Macbeth Park, sneaking my way to where the away fans were. I figured I'd probably face less hostility from them if I was recognised.
I tried not to look too much around, but my eyes kept wandering to where the work had been due to begin on the new stand. The recent bad weather had been an issue, yet I was concerned they still hadn't broken ground on the foundations.
Bonnyrigg Rose Athletic sliced through the Broxburgh defence again, allowing their forward a one-on-one shot with the goalkeeper.
Alasdair McInnes went to ground too soon and watched hopelessly as the ball was chipped over his head.
We were 3-0 down with less than half an hour gone, and I'd to listen to the away support around me sing and rejoice in their lead.
Kyle and Drew discussed something, yet no word was given to any of the substitutes to warm-up.
I was horrified. We didn't stand a chance of making the play-offs if we lost. Anything less than a win wouldn't cut it.
The half-time whistle blew and the ground erupted with a chorus of boos.
Spirits weren't even raised when a season-high league attendance of 1,355 was announced.
As the teams reappeared for the second half, my own bewilderment to see DeShaun still on the bench was echoed by elements of the home support.
“Give him a chance,” I whispered to no one.
Broxburgh kicked-off, striving to fight back. Yet Bonnyrigg stopped every attack and sought to win every ball as if their lives depended on it.
The calls for DeShaun loudened.
Kyle ignored them.
As did Drew.
Who the hell was he anyway, and why did I still have a nagging feeling I knew him from somewhere other than the club at Hogmanay?
Callum Entwistle went down in pain from a rough challenge on 60 minutes.
The home support yelled at the referee for a red card. Those around me argued it wasn't even a foul.
I held my breath.
The referee pulled out a straight red to the defender and signalled for a free-kick on the edge of Bonnyrigg's 18-yard box.
Entwistle was still down, as Hilary Duncan ran on to check on him. After thirty seconds or so, they motioned to the bench that the forward would have to go off.
DeShaun was already warming up when Drew turned to look for him.
Some members of the crowd booed him, while others cheered until the cheers overwhelmingly drowned out the boos..
I knew my man and I needed a win – on so many levels – now more than ever before.
Entwistle was helped off the pitch. DeShaun ran on, raising his arms to the crowd for more support and slapping the arms of his team-mates, as if to rile them into renewed life.
I dug my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.
The free-kick still had to be taken, and it was DeShaun who was stepping up.
He covered his mouth to have a discussion with Euan Donaldson. Donaldson adopted the same tactic to reply.
I watched, worried they were about to swap duties, when Donaldson suddenly back-heeled the ball, DeShaun swung a powerful boot at it and it sailed around the wall and towards the goal.
The 'keeper was diving for it.
Yet the ball smashed off the inside of the post and into the net to claw a goal back for Broxburgh.
DeShaun grabbed the ball from the net and ran back to the centre of the pitch, taking a few fist bumps from his team-mates. But his demeanour showed he cared more about getting back in the game than back in their good books.
Bonnyrigg tried to keep possession from the restart, clearly rattled and fearful of letting DeShaun within a whisker of another touch.
They were proving successful for the first few minutes.
DeShaun hadn't received a single pass since the goal.
Fellow substitute Douglas Barton timed a tackle in our own half, winning the ball, and squared it to full-back-cum-winger Fergus Graham, who went on a surging run down the left flank.
My own anticipation grew in unison with the home crowd as Donaldson and DeShaun looked to take defenders away from each other, while Graham drilled the ball into the middle of the park.
Donaldson selflessly stepped over the ball, dummying the defenders, and left it for DeShaun to crack a powerful strike at goal.
The goalkeeper tipped it around the post for a corner, with 20 minutes remaining.
Leo Martin rushed down to take the corner, launching an out-swinger away from Bonnyrigg's defenders.
The ball dropped at the path of Blair McKay who smashed it into the box, through every body in its way, only for it to smack off the underside of the crossbar.
It bounced on the line. Their goalkeeper tipped it out of the path of the incoming Donaldson.
DeShaun flung himself at it, finding it with his forehead and sending it into the roof of the net.
The celebrations were louder than before, with the crowd leaping up and down and the players rallying behind DeShaun, rocking Lady Macbeth Park.
I was literally biting the insides of my cheeks to stop my smile giving me away to those around me.
Bonnyrigg's manager commanded his troops from the touchline, barking for tighter defending and more ambition going forward. They tested McInnes in the Broxburgh goal again. He caught the ball well, lying on it for several seconds until the crowd rallied him to his feet.
Little more than ten minutes remained.
We were playing with more confidence. DeShaun got his third touch of the match, a simple one-two with Martin which came to nothing, but it was clear the fear he'd struck into the opposition.
Drew took to the touchline, leaving Kyle alone and unanimated on the bench. The referee gave both Drew and the Bonnyrigg manager glances, aware of a brewing confrontation between the two, as the action continued to unfold on the pitch.
Campbell Shaw chested the ball down, played a nutmeg between a defender's feet and the ball was picked up for a run by Martin, with options of Donaldson and DeShaun ahead.
I didn't even realise my hands were no longer in my pockets.
Donaldson and a defender clattered into each other, yet the ref gave us the advantage as Martin picked out DeShaun.
My fingernails were between my teeth.
DeShaun had to contend with a full-back and a returning centre-back before he got to goal.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
DeShaun tried to run around the full-back, squeezing both players further from goal to the edge of the 18-yard box and allowing more to make it back.
Yet somehow he cut the ball from his preferred right foot to his left, leaving the player momentarily blind-sided as he turned to counter the swap.
DeShaun curled the ball with his left foot, sending it spiralling past the defence and towards goal.
I felt a fingernail almost break again.
Bonnyrigg's goalkeeper was at full stretch against a seemingly impossible angle.
Broxburgh's home support erupted at the equaliser – DeShaun's hat-trick.
I knocked my own sunglasses from my face as I forgot not to celebrate.
“Hey!” said an away fan.
The home masses rejoiced unaware.
I dropped to my haunches to retrieve my shades.
“That's Sasha Liu!”
“What're you doing over here?”
“Get out of here!”
I grabbed my sunglasses in my palm and tried to take off from the away supporters – but to where? I wasn't exactly welcome in the home end!
“Move!”
“Go!”
I was walking away from fifty or so away fans, but some of them were following me. I watched as an empty plastic bottle soared past my head and landed in front of me, then picked up my pace.
“Away and get lynched by your own!” snarled one of them behind me.
A marshal between the two sets of fans spotted me.
Something hit me on the back.
I turned my power walk to a sprightly run, as more items started to land around me.
Shouts and boos began to come from the home fans.
The marshal yelled back at the Broxburgh support, yet they broke past him anyway.
I stopped on the spot.
Shouts echoed behind me.
More came from ahead. “Our Queen, get over here!”
Was I hearing things?
“Come on!”
My fight or flight instinct decided for me, and I broke into a run for the Broxburgh end.
My own fans ran out to surround me and offer me a wall of a protection back to the home end.
“You're safe now!” shouted a home fan.
The marshal helped me across, then called for the Broxburgh fans to retreat.
The Bonnyrigg supporters jeered them as they obeyed.
I was relieved when the situation de-escalated without a punch thrown.
“Thank you,” I said, nodding to the Broxburgh fans who'd rushed out to rescue me.
A dozen or so thumbs up were returned to me.
Bonnyrigg were trying to waste time, playing safe balls between themselves.
Barton pushed up from our defence to try to find a break, but only left a hole for Bonnyrigg to exploit. Their forwards took the ball down to the corner flag and played it off McKay for an easy corner.
The 90 minutes were already up, and the sighs of the home fans reflected the fact there wouldn't be much injury time to play.
The resultant corner was another attempt to run the clock down, yet Barton went out and won the ball with a crunching tackle, sending it out for a throw.
Bonnyrigg played the ball back to their own players in the middle of the park. Donaldson and DeShaun attempted to hound them to no avail, watching helplessly as the ball ended up back at the feet of their goalkeeper.
Yet both our forwards kept with their defenders, and when the goalkeeper opted to play out from the back rather than launch the ball upfield it seemed like an act without wisdom.
The ball rolled straight to the feet of their centre-back, who turned, aware of DeShaun's presence, and tried to feed it to a team-mate-
DeShaun blocked the pass, sending the ball sprawling free. Both players charged in for it, DeShaun finding it first and poking it towards goal with his toe. The defenders gave chase, with Donaldson alongside DeShaun.
The goalkeeper came out to narrow the angle of the shot, only for DeShaun to square the ball to Donaldson. There was no question of offside as the number 10 took the easy option and rolled the it into the back of the net.
The Broxburgh supporters went absolutely crazy, cheering, chanting and singing the praises of their prized player and heroic substitute, DeShaun Wilkesboro.
I watched Drew like a hawk as he shook the hand of the Bonnyrigg manager with the blowing of the full-time whistle.
He turned to Kyle, then they both punched the air to the cheers of the home crowd.
They were acting like they'd orchestrated it all, yet things would've been different if poor Callum Entwistle hadn't gone off injured.
“Our King!” sang the fans. “Our King! Our King! DeShaun is our King!”
DeShaun held the match ball aloft as he was carried on the shoulders of Blair McKay and Euan Donaldson towards the tunnel.
I watched the managers – it was hard to say which of them was really in charge now – and wondered how they could possibly leave my man out again.
“DeShaun, congratulations on your fabulous hat-trick today,” said the interviewer.
“Thanks, man,” said DeShaun, smiling in his precious, heart-warming manner.
“You must've been apprehensive when you heard the boos from your own supporters?”
“I'm just here to play soccer, that's all.”
“Do you connect the boos to your conduct off the pitch-”
“Y'know, I've kept my mouth shut on all this from day one!”
I felt my entire body tense as I watched him break rank with protocol.
“But y'all need to know Joe McDonald wasn't treating Ms Liu right,” he continued. “What he was doing to her was toxic. Not on my watch, ya hear me? Not on my watch!”
“Would you care to elaborate?” asked the interviewer.
Eddie Mayne stepped forward. “That's all you're getting,” he said, and encouraged DeShaun to leave by taking his arm.
DeShaun reluctantly retreated.
“You're a hero, mate,” Eddie said, leading him from the cameras and around the corner, out of their sight, to me. “Don't let them take that away from you now.”
DeShaun fist-bumped him. “Thanks, bro.”
Eddie left us.
I couldn't control myself, and gave DeShaun a quick peck on the lips.
“Thanks, babygirl.”
“On a personal level, I was pleased to hear you speak up for me like that, but please, please, please, speaking professionally, you have to steer clear of such outbursts in the future.”
He sighed. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Let your football do the talking, DeShaun.”
He nodded, then grinned as he leaned his lips to my ear, whispering, “I'mma let my tongue do the talking to you tonight.”
Broxburgh finished the day still in 5th, outside the play-off positions of 2nd, 3rd and 4th by 7 points with just 6 games left to play (3 away, 3 home).
The last place in the play-offs would be taken by the team who finished 9th in League One, and they'd face the team who finished 4th in League Two.
So we wanted to aim for 3rd place to avoid what'd probably be the most difficult tie en route to the final.
Winning the league was already mathematically impossible.
Frustratingly, our rivals above us had all also won today when we so desperately needed to close the 7 point gap. Could it be done with just 6 matches and 18 points remaining?
With DeShaun Wilkesboro back in the side, it seemed everyone in Broxburgh believed just a little more than before.