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justzawe · 3 years

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‘Fresh Meat’ at 10: “We were basically dirty, smelly ‘Friends’”

A decade on from freshers, TV's top students remember their raucous heyday

By Beth Webb

23rd September 2021

“I’m choking up thinking about it. I suppose you never properly mark these things until you look back on them.” Charlotte Ritchie is eating toast and chatting over the phone about Fresh Meat, the milestone uni comedy from Peep Show creators Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong, in which she co-starred for four and a half years. A decade ago this week, Channel 4 first introduced the world to Ritchie’s character Oregon (AKA Melissa), and her housemates Vod (Zawe Ashton), JP (Jack Whitehall), Josie (Kimberley Nixon), Howard (Greg McHugh) and Kingsley (Joe Thomas), a motley crew of students whose paths would have probably never crossed outside of their shambolic house share, but during the show’s four series became best of friends.

Speaking with the cast today, it quickly becomes apparent that their real-life relationships are as steadfast now as their characters’ were back then. During our afternoon Zoom session, Ashton shows NME their group WhatsApp photo: a collage of faces in which Nixon sits yearbook-style pretty, while Whitehall is pulling a comically wretched expression. “They’re always the first five people that I write down on any sort of events list,” she says fondly. “It remains one of the most joyful experiences of my life,” Whitehall concurs at the start of our phone call.

Fresh Meat was first conceived by Bain and Armstrong in the late ‘90s, a few years before they came up with Peep Show, inspired by their time together at Manchester uni. “We were drawn to writing the show because university is an intense time in your life,” Bain tells NME. “I felt like I was very young but in some ways quite mature, and learning about life. It could also be quite tough and lonely at times.”

The show began with the arrival of these six polar opposites at their shabby house share: punkish Vod, bohemian Oregon, toff JP, mother hen Josie, nerdy Howard and fedora-sporting Kingsley. However, the stereotypes quickly vanished, and Fresh Meat morphed into a painfully funny, emotionally rich ensemble show about the highs (young love, weekday benders) and rocky lows (debt, drug abuse) of student life.

The collective energy of the cast (“we were basically like dirty, smelly Friends,” quips Ashton) paired with Bain and Armstrong’s cripplingly self-aware, heartfelt writing garnered a multigenerational audience of millions and multiple accolades (including Best TV Show at the 2012 and 2013 NME Awards). “There’s a tenderness to the show as well as the comedy,” says Bain, who is audibly touched when he learns of Ashton and co’s lasting love of Fresh Meat. “It meant that these characters could do terrible, terrible things, and you’d still like them. That was a large part of why Fresh Meat works. I have nothing but fond memories thinking back about it today.”

The casting process began in the months leading up to the shoot, which, true to Bain and Armstrong’s uni experience, took place in Manchester. “I think I auditioned seven times,” says Nixon over the phone from the very house where she learned she got the part. “Six of them were for Oregon, which is bizarre because Oregon is obviously Charlotte.”

Ashton, who auditioned six times for Vod, already knew Nixon as they shared an agent, although their friendship, it turned out, would take a little work. “I found out years later that she thought I was a douchebag,” she laughs. “She would say, ‘I would see you at photoshoots with your yoga mat eating a croissant, and I just thought you were a douchebag.’” Ashton would later read a poem at Nixon’s wedding.

Ritchie, fresh out of uni, had her final audition at the readthrough. “They wanted to see how I fit into the overall group; I don’t think I’ve ever felt more sick,” she remembers. Meanwhile Thomas, Whitehall and McHugh boarded the show amid burgeoning comedy careers, although Thomas, who joined Fresh Meat just ahead of The Inbetweeners Movie dropping, had some initial reservations about playing someone “not a million miles away” from Simon Cooper on the classic high school sitcom. “That was my only qualm, that they were a bit too similar,” he says of Fresh Meat‘s Kingsley during a long and animated afternoon phone chat. “On the other hand, though, I just didn’t care because Sam and Jesse are such good writers. It would’ve been ridiculous to turn down.”

Once the core cast was set, their student transformations could begin. For some, stepping into character was a more drastic process than others. “I put a lot of work into Howard as a performance, with the way that he walked and moved,” says McHugh, who has the oddball geology undergraduate’s sheep jumper framed in his home. “I look back now and I’m really proud of it.”

Ashton, meanwhile, underwent the most significant change in appearance, from her freshly shaved, dyed head to the punked up outfits: leather jacket, dummy necklace and graffitied, acid wash jeans. She saved several items of clothing from Vod’s wardrobe, including the jacket, although it nearly landed her in some serious hot water afterwards. “I took it on holiday with me, and on the way to the security check area [in the airport], I was checking my pockets and found a massive hole in one that had seven bags of fake weed in it.”

Next came a five-month stint over the summer in Manchester, where the cast lived and worked in the same building for 12-hour days. They quickly became inseparable, even after the cameras stopped rolling. “We got a bit obsessed with each other,” Nixon says.

That summer would be a formative one for all involved. There were “wholesome” breakfasts and girls’ nights out (or in). Evenings were spent having dinner along Canal Street or going to gigs in the city’s Northern Quarter. On hangover days, Whitehall would sneak off to a quiet corner for a quick nap – even when he was meant to be filming.

For our interview, Ritchie has found the diary that she kept and reads aloud an entry: “Had my dinner with Kim and Zawe, Greg came in after a bit. I watched Joe in The Inbetweeners… weird. Last night Jack and Joe kept having their autographs asked for. We were wondering if that might happen to us. It would be really nice in some ways, but also I might cringe out. Also, my friends would rip the piss out of me.”

Perhaps the heaviest night of that summer fell on Ashton’s birthday when an honest attempt to go home to bed turned into an all-nighter at an early hours club called the Coconut Shy. “I have this brilliant memory of Joe drinking some colourful cocktail and us dancing in this basement to reggae music,” she says. The next day, the gang were shooting in a real hospital for an especially sombre sequence in which Vod is recovering from an accidental overdose. “We had a break where they were changing the camera setups, and an actually ill person asked if I was OK,” says Ashton gleefully. “It was hysterical.”

After the first series wrapped, everyone reluctantly parted ways, and angst about the series’ premiere began to set in. Now they felt that they owed the show being a success to themselves and each other. Then the first episode aired, and everything changed. Ashton recalls being in Cuba, a trip she went on to consciously distance herself from the show’s release. After the plane landed, she went to an internet cafe to check her emails and opened one to the whole group from Tony Gardner, who played Professor Shales in the show (and dad Brian on My Parents Are Aliens). It said: “This is so special. Be ready for your lives to change.”

An early example of this came in the first series, when JP, high on acid and processing the news that his father is dying, has an emotional conversation with Oregon’s ailing horse. “I loved that scene. It terrified me in an exciting way,” says Whitehall. The actor, then known primarily as a rising standup, had felt especially challenged by the idea of doing something more emotionally driven. He says the reception he received for that scene was unforgettable: “It made me realise that I could get just as much satisfaction from being able to move an audience as making them laugh.”

For Ashton, the reception for Vod – which included a celebrity admirer in Noel Fielding – felt especially significant. “It felt bigger than me,” she said. “I grew up without a huge amount of people who look like me on television, certainly not in comedies. It felt joyful to belong to that.”

Channel 4 commissioned a second series in October 2011, just weeks after the first debuted. Over four summers, Ashton, Nixon, Whitehall, McHugh, Thomas and Ritchie would return to Manchester and the ever-evolving journeys of their characters. Along the way, they would celebrate key life changes together as well. McHugh remembers being on set when he got the call to say that his wife was about to have their first son. “We were in the Fresh Meat kitchen filming a big ensemble scene when my phone went off, and my wife told me she’d gone into labour,” he says. “I put the phone down, and everyone cheered because they just knew what had happened. I’ll never forget it.”

Each cast member recalls standout moments for their characters over the show’s lifespan. Both Nixon and Thomas talk warmly about their onscreen relationship, which culminates in a bittersweet breakup. “I remember being really sad because I’d got to do all these wonderful things with Joe, but also really proud of Josie because she made a good, selfless decision,” Nixon says, who lovingly describes Josie as “a runaway train” that she “got her jacket caught in and was being pulled along by.”

Ashton and Ritchie reminisce about the show’s other great partnership: their own. “I distinctly remember Zawe taking me under her wing and showing me the ropes in a way that never felt patronising. It was just so warm,” she says. “[Charlotte] is one of the funniest performers to me,” says Ashton. “I call her and Kim my comedy goddesses.”

The show ends with the group sitting on a hilltop, gazing out across the city together, before bidding farewell. “I remember there were a lot of tears on that day,” says Whitehall, who has a photo of the scene in his office. “It was unusual because usually, you can’t wait to be done with a series, but this certainly wasn’t the case.”

Since Fresh Meat wrapped in 2016, members of the cast have catapulted to stardom. Whitehall broke Hollywood opposite The Rock and Emily Blunt in Jungle Cruise, while Ashton i set to make her MCU debut in The Marvels next year. Bain and Armstrong have gone on to tackle some of the most prolific shows in America, including Veep and Succession.

Yet their friendship endures. When asked if they would reprise their roles, even just for one last time, everyone, Bain included, said that they would. “Unless the others all said no, in which case I am totally unavailable,” Whitehall jokes. It may be that there is still a story left to tell for this unruly group of wayward graduates, but if not, they will always have the memories of those Manchester summers and a time in their lives like no other. (x)

#zawe ashton #fresh meat #vod nordstrom #interview #article #nme magazine

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insideabunker · 6 years

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The Games: Chapter 5

"A mere five days since the opening ceremony here at the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics, and already athletes from around the world have astounded us with seemingly superhuman feats of strength and skill."

The television screen flickered and gleamed, illuminating the faces in the darkened lounge in an ethereal blue glow. From ever couch and chair, athletes watched as the clips flashed past on the screen, searching for their faces among the event highlights.

"There I am!" A 16-year-old from Quebec pointed eagerly at the screen where a clip played of a tiny snowboarder, flying over the side of a halfpipe as he grabbed the front of his board and spun in the air.

"There's been no shortage of heartbreak either, with several heavily favored athletes going home empty-handed in their final Olympics."

A scruffy Luger in the front row of couches sighed, watching himself cross the finish line a tenth of a second shy of a medal. A shaggy-haired skier just behind him placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Your run was still a beauty Sammy. No shame in that."

"Here at the Coastal Cluster in Gangneung, South Korea, all attention seems focused on the highly anticipated preliminary matchup between the U.S. and Canadian women's hockey teams."

In an armchair in the back of the room, Lexa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Try as she might, it had been impossible to drown out the media's furor over the upcoming game. All week long, the predictions and opinions of commentators had been buzzing in her ears like a million tiny mosquitos, refusing to be silenced and impossible to swat away.

"The two powerhouses meet tomorrow, in a contest which is sure to incite pure pandemonium among spectators. Both teams are overflowing with talent and likely candidates for Olympic medals. Who will leave PyeongChang with Gold, however, is perhaps the most hotly contested subject of this Olympics. For predictions on that subject, we turn to longtime Olympic hockey commentator Liam McHugh. Liam, welcome to the show."

"Thank you, Jim. It's nice to be here again."

"Liam, I'd like to get right down to it. What do you think the significance of this preliminary game is?"

"Well, Jim, I suspect that it will set a precedent for the level of play we're going to see going forward into the medal rounds. Among the competitors in PyeongChang, there's a sense that any team looking to win gold needs to go through the U.S. or Canada. Frankly, no two teams go at it harder than these two, so if they kick it up a few notches during this game, I suspect that’s where the effort will stay throughout the medal round. It should make for some very exciting hockey.

"What do you think the chances are that we'll see a repeat of the U.S. vs. Canada final from Sochi?"

"I'd say the odds are pretty good. Since women's hockey was introduced in 1998, there has only been one Olympics in which the U.S. and Canada haven't ended up fighting one another for the gold medal."

"That was Turin?"

"Yes, in 2006. Now, when you look at this on an international play level, ranking aside, it's construable that either team is the most dominant women's program in the world. Canada has a slight lead regarding numbers, ten IIHF titles to the United States eight, but of those World Championships, the United States has won the past four.

"Liam, it sounds like there's a but in there."

"But... As far as Olympic Hockey goes there is no question; Canada's been the reigning powerhouse for some time. In twenty years of Women's Olympic Ice Hockey, Canada has won gold in four out of the five games. The U.S. hasn't stood at the top of the medals podium since 1998, and frankly, if they lose tomorrow's game, it isn’t likely they will this year either.

"You don't think that a preliminary defeat will get the American's fired up even harder?"

"I doubt it, Jim. So far the United States managed a two-point victory over Finland and beat the Olympic Athletes from Russia, handily, six to one. As for Canada, they've had shutouts in their first two, thanks to this new goalie of theirs. But, neither one has been put through the paces the way you'd want building up to a contest like tomorrow's matchup. I think the shift in play from low to high gear is going to come as a wake-up call for both teams, and if the U.S. loses, it would significantly bolster team Canada's considerable confidence going into the medal round. That doesn't mean that Team USA is guaranteed a loss in the medal round, but it would create a significant psychological obstacle.

"So what you're saying is, the American girls have a game to win if they want to stay competitive."

"Well, at the very least they need to make it a close one. If Canada forces another scoreless game, it's going to make their seemingly unbeatable defense that much more of a challenge from here on out. The U.S. could overcome a loss tomorrow if, at the very least, they manage to break Lexa Woods' shutout streak. In my opinion, everything hinges on that."

"Speaking of Lexa Woods, we managed to get a brief interview with the phenom yesterday after Canada's victory over Finland."

The picture changed again, and Lexa cringed as she saw herself onscreen, goalie mask tucked under her arm, her brow pouring sweat, her face red and splotchy from overexertion, her hair a tangled mess of brown rat's nests. She squinted into the camera light, awkwardly attempting to push matted, sweaty locks out of her eyes with the back of her arm.

"So, two shutouts so far. How does that feel?"

"Um... Good, I guess."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really. I transitioned to the national team from the OHL, so I'm used to a style of play that's a bit more fast paced if I'm being honest; certainly more physical. I think that gives me an advantage that makes shutouts more likely at this level."

"And I'm sure that your team's defensemen have contributed significantly to that success. Wouldn't you say?" The reporter subtly attempted to lead the goalie towards a more egalitarian breakdown of team Canada's success, smiling as she held the mic closer.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, they've definitely contributed."

Lexa cringed as she listened to herself, realizing that she sounded more than a little cocksure. She was confident that if any of her teammates were watching, she'd catch hell later.

"What an ass." Lexa heard a speed skater a few rows up whisper to the curler next to him. She scowled, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up a bit further to hide her face. People could talk about her if they liked. She was more than used to it.

A body settled into the next chair over, nudging her in the side as an arm extended, offering her a bag full of popcorn.

"Echo's been pretty strong on the back-check. You couldn't have been a little more generous about her performance?" Lincoln smirked, leaning in and cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

"I panicked! You know I'm terrible at interviews."

Under his breath, Lincoln let out a low "Humph," in agreement. "Well, I hope your terrible interview demeanor doesn't get you in hot water with your teammates."

Lexa shrunk down in her chair, crossing her arms as she cast a sullen glance in Lincoln's direction. "I doubt they could dislike me any more than they already do. They're all off together watching the Men's halfpipe qualifiers."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because they got tickets and didn't tell me." She crossed her arms, sinking even further into the armchair.

"So... things not going so well, eh?" Lincoln bit his lip hesitantly. Never quite sure how to handle his childhood friend when she was in the mood to sulk and feel sorry for herself.

Lexa frowned. "Obviously not." She furrowed her brow, seething at the frustratingly amused look on Lincoln's face. "How did you get in here anyway? I thought you were supposed to be at your hotel with Dante?"

Lincoln held up an all-access visitors pass, turning his attention back to the flat screen, where commentators were still discussing the game.

"Well Jim, I think the primary difference is the team dynamics. Canada has been relying heavily on the individual skills of their players, but all of those players are extraordinarily good at what they do, and nearly all are Olympic veterans. Team USA has fewer seasoned players, but on the other hand, they play seamlessly together. Their system and team dynamics are terrific, their coaching staff is outstanding, and their current on-ice leadership is, in my opinion, phenomenal.

"Speaking of that leadership, we were able to catch Team USA's Captain, Clarke Griffin, earlier today for a quick interview."

Clarke appeared on screen, looking frustratingly natural on camera as she stood outside the dorms of the Olympic Village in the falling snow. She rubbed her irritatingly well-formed button nose, bright red from the chill of the frigid air, with the back of a mitten-clad hand, cupping her face politely as she let out an absurdly dainty sneeze. The whole scene only made her seem even more infuriatingly charming than she already did.

"So, how do you feel going into your game with the Canadian team?"

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit anxious to play one of the best teams in the world, but having said that, I am so confident in my team that it makes it hard to be too nervous. There's an old expression that I think sums my feeling up well. 'If you want to be number one, you have to train like you are number two.' That's really where our mindset has been since the Sochi games, and in particular for the past year. Every woman on team USA has given 100% and thrown everything she has into preparing for this moment. We trained to be the best, and we trained to beat the best, and I think that's what people are going to see tomorrow."

"Gotta say, she's pretty hot, ya know?"

"Do you have something useful to add?" Lexa stared at him skeptically.

"And what do you think about the hype surrounding Canada's goalie, Lexa Woods? How do you feel about going up against someone who's been playing primarily in men's leagues? Do you think that has given Canada an unfair advantage?"

Lexa bit the inside of her cheek, anxiously waiting for the subtle prejudice of the question to creep under Clarke's skin, making her come unglued on camera. She watched as the blonde paused, calm on the surface, though her irritation showed around the edges. For half a minute Clarke remained silent.

"You know." She paused briefly to tuck a few strands of golden hair behind her ear. "A lot of people have been talking about this recently, and the truth is I'm not sure it's a useful discussion to be having."

The reporter leaned in curiously. "Can you elaborate on that."

"Sure, I mean... Every time this gets brought up it seems to unravel into a discussion of physical differences and biology and what women can and can't do as well compared to men. Honestly, I wonder if we're not asking the wrong question altogether."

"What question should we be asking?"

"Well, for starters, we should be asking why women's abilities are always defined by their approximation to men's. Why do we have to appraise women's skills and talents by saying that they are "strong for a girl," or "as good as a man?" I don't think that is useful to anyone. I mean women and men are different. Obviously, we're different. In the same way that we solve problems and communicate differently, women and men play hockey differently. Different doesn't mean worse; it just means different. We play our own game. We play it with skill, and with passion and every woman here is phenomenal at what she does. If that's not enough for fans, then they're welcome to watch the men’s game instead.”

Lexa leaned forward, watching as Clarke paused again. She took a deep breath to help maintain her calm, smooth demeanor.

"More importantly, to suggest that Lexa Woods is a remarkable goalie because she's been playing with men is to more or less give men credit for her talent. That is misguided. Lexa Woods is an extraordinary goalie because she has extraordinary ability and, from what I hear, she works her ass off. That, thus far, she's been able to keep up in this new arena only means that's she's that much more versatile. Frankly, I would have suspected that a men's goalie would have struggled to adjust switching to the women's game."

"Well, Lexa Woods sure hasn't been struggling so far. In fact, she's just recorded her second NGA performance against Russia. When we spoke to her earlier today she seemed confident that she could stretch that shutout streak to three."

Clarke laughed bitterly, piquing the reporter's interest.

"Uh-oh, sounds like we've got a little bit of a rivalry in the works here."

"I mean, so far Canada has played Finland and Russia, and while both are great teams defensively, they've also lost some critical offensive players in the past few years. Moreover, Canada has defensemen like Echo Cote who, despite our history, is in my opinion, one of the best defensive players in the world. I think that she has contributed as much as Lexa Woods has to those shutouts."

Lincoln elbowed Lexa in the ribs. "See, she talks about the team as a whole. She gets it."

Lexa scowled at him, sticking out her tongue.

"As far as Team USA goes, we play effective two-way hockey, and we've got some unbelievably good young forwards. I don't think Lexa Woods has had to contend with a strong offense yet. Woods seems to favor a stand-up style of goaltending that's effective against screening and shots from the point, but I don't think she'd used to having players crashed the net as hard as we do. I guess we'll have to see how she handles herself."

Lexa frowned, pushing herself out of her chair in disgust. "We'll see alright."

Lincoln shook his head, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he watched Lexa trudge out of the room in a huff.

It was rare for a competitor's comments to bother Lexa as much as this Griffin women’s seemed to. Whatever it was about her, the American Captain certainly rattled Lexa's cage in a way few others had managed.

"Two minutes to go here in the third period and we've got a real nail-biter on our hand’s folks, with Canada leading the U.S. 1-0."

A Canadian defenseman slid the puck out to the point, where it was picked up by Echo.

"Côté drifts into the slot. She winds up, shoots, and..." The announcer paused as the shot whizzed through the air. "Save! It's a brilliant glove save by Raven Reyes. She saw that one coming from a mile away, ladies and gentleman."

Fog filled the air as the panting players crouched around the face-off circle, steam rising from their bodies as they waited for the puck to drop out of the referee's hand. It hit the ice with a hollow thud, and the rink once again erupted into a chaotic confusion of colliding bodies. The crunching of skates as they cut through the ice was deafening with the forwards fighting for an opening. Clarke snagged the puck and sent it gliding over to Harper who made a sharp cut behind the net, eyes trained piercingly on Octavia, already cutting towards the boards, ready for a pass. The puck sailed across the ice with precision, landing deftly on the left wing's stick just in time for her to slip past a hulking defenseman. The freshman forward flew across the neutral zone like a lightning bolt, Canada's players hot on her trail. She crossed the blue line alone, dropping low in the slot and cutting right at the last minute to try and sneak a backhand by the Canadian goalie.

The slap of vulcanized rubber hitting wood filled the arena as the puck deflected off her stick. Lexa dropped to her knees, covering it with a gloved hand as she waited for the whistle to sound. Three sharp blasts signaled a stoppage in gameplay, much to Lexa's great relief. She watched as Echo skated towards her casually, smirking at her through her face cage.

"You just gave them a face-off in our zone with a minute and a half left in the game. Wait to go, Woods."

Lexa pulled off her goalie mask and slammed it down on top of the net. She desperately grabbed at the water bottle that hung in the loose mesh, using it to wet down her sweat soaked face.

"Seriously, Côté? I wouldn't have had to force a whistle if you'd been here five seconds ago! You've been dragging ass on the back-check all night, and I can barely get help in front of the net when they've got the puck in our zone. What the hell is wrong with all of you?"

Echo narrowed her eyes at the goalie, leaning on the goal post as she bent forward, sneering. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are we not contributing enough for you?"

Lexa's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She threw her water bottle back into the netting and surged forward, pushing Echo away from the goal. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Is that why I've taken 47 shots to Reyes’ 29?"

She spat water onto the ice, inching forward as though she was ready to pummel her towering defenseman. "You're fucking letting them take shots on me to teach me a lesson?"

Echo winked at her contemptuously, turning Lexa’s face crimson.

"How's that working out for you, Woods?"

"I'll tell you when I finish this shutout!"

Before Lexa could completely lose her temper, a referee intervened, skating between the two women and eyeballing them suspiciously.

"That's enough squabbling ladies. We've got a face-off.”

Echo nodded at the man, pausing just long enough before he fell back into position to give Lexa a final derisive glare.

"Do your job Côté!" Lexa yelled at her retreating teammate, pulling her face mask back on and crouched between the pipes.

The puck dropped, and a wall of bodies smashed into each other once more, a symphony of slashing and crunching filling the air as both teams dug in and fought for ownership. Finally, Gaia managed to knock the puck back to Echo, who sailed around the goal and sent it shooting out to a forward along the boards.

The players shifted across the ice as each one pursued the puck carrier into the American zone. The forward went low, flipping around at the red line and banking a shot off the boards to her defenseman. The crack of a slap-shot rang out, followed by the ping of metal as the puck ricocheted off the goal post and went careening into the sea of players clustered in front of the net. It was knocked loose by a skate, sliding into the corner as Harper, and a Canadian forward following close behind. They crashed into one another hard, the glass rattling as their bodies struck the boards and battled for control of the disk. In a moment of panic, the Canadian forward began to lose her composure, reaching out an arm to create space and maintain her balance. Her hand grabbed the first solid object on which it found purchase, the shaft of Harper's stick, eliciting an immediate whistle blast from the referee.

"Number 21; holding the stick; two-minute penalty!" The referee held up a hand pointing to the benches with his other. A yelling match between him and the Canadian coach ensued, and in the brief downtime, Kane waved his arm, calling his players back towards the bench for a moment of strategizing.

"There's still forty seconds left, and we've got a golden opportunity here." He turned to his captain, his expression deadly serious "Griffin, you're my quarterback on this power play. How confident do you feel?"

Clarke splashed her face with water, giving him a curt nod before she lowered the cage of her helmet and answered. "We've got this, Coach."

Kane winked. "Then go get 'em, ladies."

With a few slaps on the shoulders for good luck, the American players departed the bench. They glided back over to the face-off circle and hunkered down, staring back and forth at each other intently, their tension palpable as the referee skated into position.

The moment the puck hit the ice the world fell shock silent, every spectator in the stands holding their breath in anticipation, the only sound in the rink the voice of the announcer as he called the play by play.

"Back to the corner and it's Griffin and Côté fighting for the puck. Griffin with control now. A pass to McIntyre on the point. McIntyre drifts high in the slot and takes a shot and... Oh! It rebounds off of Anderson, but the Canadians can't get it back on the pine. The puck is picked up by Blake. Blake back to Cooper at the left point. Cooper passes to McIntyre. McIntyre winds up and... She fakes! McIntyre fakes, and now the American women seem to be shifting positions. McIntyre transitions to the left point with right winger Johnson moving to the right point from low in the zone. A pass to Johnson with three seconds left. Johnson glides to the top of the face-off circle and... She shoots!"

At that moment, Lexa felt as though the world had shifted into slow motion. Through the screen of players lingering in front of the net, she watched as Johnson wound back and swung her stick forward with all the force of a wrecking ball. She heard the crack of the slap-shot reverberated through the arena, saw the puck cutting through the air as it flew at her, a perfect spinning disk, high and to the right. She raised her blocker reflexively, deflecting the puck, and sending it floating high over her left shoulder and out of sight. Suddenly everything sped up. There was a flash of an arm catching the puck mid arm, a split second of a swinging stick, and the ding of metal as the puck grazed the crossbar and sailed into the net. Only then was the silence of the rink finally broken, shattered by the horrifying sound of a goal horn going off.

"And they score! The Americans score! Oh, my goodness! What was that!? American captain Clarke Griffin scores in the craziest rebound return I think I've ever seen, folks."

Lexa could only stare, shocked, as a startled Clarke was enveloped in her teammates' embraces, their faces brimming with gleeful revelry. Standing in front of the referee yelling, Echo looked like a volcano ready to erupt. She gestured wildly, pointing this way and that as she yelled something about high sticking and touching the puck. Over the loudspeakers, an announcer said that they were going to a video review, his voice mumbled as though he were an adult in a Peanuts cartoon.

The world finally came back into focus, and Lexa turned her eyes to a nearby monitor, where the final moments of the game were being played back from every available angle. She watched in horror as the puck rebounded off her block and was knocked out of the air by Clarke's outstretched hand. In the millisecond it took for the puck to drop to the level of her mid-torso, Clarke had grabbed her stick, swung it, and made direct contact with the black blob on the screen, knocking it past Lexa's glove side and into the goal as though it were a baseball. Over and over again, Lexa watched the incredible scene; her jaw slacks with awe as she realized that Clarke's stick had indeed been below the level of the crossbar, making the shot a legitimate one.

The referee waved his arms declaring the goal fair. The commentator excitedly announced that the game was going into overtime. The fans exploded into a mixed chorus of cheers and booing. Lexa could only stare at Clarke, wholly unable to process the impossible feat she had just witnessed the too-small American center perform. Through the sea of bodies crowding her, Clarke stared back, smiling defiantly.

Next Chapter ->

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*For those wanting clarification on what Clarke’ s goal would look like, or if you are wondering whether or not this kind of “baseball goal” is something that actually happens in hockey, here is a link to a video of the real-life play that inspired it.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBcKHrTyG0I

#The 100 #the100 fanfiction #the100fanfic #the 100 fan fiction #clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fan fiction #clexaau #clexahockeyau #clexahockeyfic #clarke griffin #clarke x lexa #Lexa Woods

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mrtcoool · 4 years

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Mat McHugh - Lagoon https://ift.tt/376enLk

#Last.fm Recently Listened tracks for mrtcoool

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smallbeerpress · 7 years

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Today it’s #GivingTuesday in the USA and I’m donating to various causes (1, 2, etc.) and since I am teaching there next summer (woohoo! with Kelly Link, and Christopher Barzak, Holly Black, Mat Johnson, and Kij Johnson are also teaching!) I thought I’d post some docs about going to Clarion I just came across when I was moving boxes (always so many boxes!) in our office.

I went to the Clarion Writing Workshop in East Lansing, Michigan, way back in the science fictional year 2000. I’ve posted a scan of an ad which listed the instructors: Suzy McKee Charnas, Sean Stewart, Tananarive Due, Samuel Delany, Gregory Frost, and Maureen F. McHugh. Some of them I’d read a lot of their work, some of them were only names to me. By the time I got to Clarion I’d read more although there are still books by probably all of them that I haven’t read them. They were a really nicely balanced group: welcoming, tough, fabulous listeners, and so so smart. And I got books signed by all of them at the Curious Books reading series, yay!

The first letter — we were still so paper-based then! Although I had email of course and when I went I took my computer with me. Although believe it or not, that computer was no laptop (since I didn’t have one), it was one of those shiny green iMacs. (Later it was stolen when our Brooklyn apartment was broken into. Boo. Most but not all of my stuff on that iMac was backed up. 15 years later I still think: ugh.)

Anyway, the first letter I received was an acknowledgement that they had received my application which consisted of 2 stories and I think a personal statement. I’m not sure, because I think that’s one of those missing files. Oops. Should have kept a backup or a paper copy. Anyway, one of those stories I really liked and later Ellen Datlow published it on Scifiction which was a pretty superb fiction site. The other story didn’t fully work but it was the second best I had so I sent it.

Then I got a letter dated April 18, 2000, telling me that in about 2 months’ time I’d be going to Clarion for 6 weeks. Eek! That letter came with some enclosures about what to expect, what to bring, that sort of thing, and one which broke down the costs: they were high then and are higher now, mostly because the university dorms don’t get any cheaper. (The food is a lot better now. It was ok. But, oh, 6 weeks was a long time. I see I had a fridge and microwave: what long forgotten foods did I cool then zap and eat while type-type-typing?)

Here are the costs (not including travel):

Tuition $917 Room & board $735 fridge $13 microwave $13 parking $13 total $1917

I think I was getting paid around $10/hour before this so $1,917 plus 6 weeks off . . . not cheap.

But!

One of the reasons Clarion is raising money today is that many of the students get scholarships. I was so happy to receive two: one from Curious Books and one from the Lenny Isaacs Memorial Scholarship. Curious Books is a great bookshop and Leonard Isaacs had helped bring the Clarion Workshop to Michigan State University when I was 2 years old in 1972 and was often its Director until his death in 1988. Seventeen years later I am still grateful for these two scholarships.

My wife, Kelly, had gone to Clarion before I met her in 1995 and later we went to East Lansing at some point on a cross-country drive and attended a Clarion reunion. It was a lot of fun and took away some of my worries that if I went all my individuality would be wiped away and I’d be a good little workshop robot. Since I’d read Kelly’s stories, I suppose I should not have worried. But I did. Kelly recommended Clarion if I wanted to bump my writing up, and I did: both want it, and bump it up. Did I or do I ever write as well as I’d like? I will leave space here for everyone including me to have a long and hearty laugh with coughing and spluttering and occasionally seeming to be coming to an end but then catching someone else’s glance and being helplessly caught up in laughter again.

I published some of the stories I wrote there in The Third Alternative, Strange Horizons, and an anthology, Sex in the System, and some of it I rated unpublishable. So: no, I still don’t write as well as I want. But in 6 weeks I wrote 6 stories (and some meh flash fiction, oh well), met many many good people, had a lot of run, and most importantly read and critiqued 100+ stories.

In the thank you letters I wrote (still have copies of those!) for the scholarships I tried to express how deeply grateful I was. I was lucky growing up in Scotland that my university education was still mostly government supported and although I had jobs from my first year to my last, worked all the holidays, and remember occasionally being very, very hungry, I came out with what now seems like comparatively very little debt. But still, $2,000 for 6 weeks away? Ouch. Who would pay the gas bill? I am lucky to have had a partner who was ok with me going away for 6 weeks — while she moved us from Boston to Brooklyn, ha! But that’s a story for another time.

Applications for Clarion 2018 open on December 1 — and the sister workshop, Clarion West, will also open soon— and by late March eighteen students will get this year’s equivalent of the letter above and into the maelstrom of uncertainty and joy and sweat and tears and happiness they will all dive. And if you can support them, even by just reblogging this and spreading the word:

please do.

#clarion #givingtuesday #Kelly Link #christopher barzak #holly black #mat johnson #Kij Johnson

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