“Good choice,” Theo said, before he could refrain from the sarcasm about what was his own stupid team. He ought to be pleased, probably, if there were people out there who still supported the Cannons for any reason at all - if their place dipped any lower in the next few leagues Theodore fully expected them all to jump ship.

Lucky his father was God-knew-where these days. Hopefully they didn’t have English newspapers there.

Covering his tracks - not especially well, but hoping to skim past the sarcasm as if it hadn’t happened - Theo snorted more sympathetically at the story. “Rotten luck,” he remarked more sincerely now, although privately it sounded like it was fortunate he hadn’t made it onto the actual team, where injuries abounded for every player, not just Theo! “Shame the time-tampering didn’t meddle with events back then for you,” he half-joked, supposing the fellow might be playing nowadays if things had worked out a little better. On that topic: “Would have been nice to live un-impaled, myself. But who knows, maybe the Cannons’ chances have turned better in this timeline,” he mused, trying to sound hopeful for the sake of a supporter.

(It would have been nice for the Cannons if, in the new timeline, they’d gotten a better sponsor.)

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