Free Exposed at the Back by Guy; Arild; Puzey Stavrum

‘Play’.
    Steinar saw a short summary of his own career: his years at Årvoll, being coached by Ståle Jakobsen, goals in the Amsterdam Arena, and then VG ’s front page headline: ‘HUNG UP HIS BOOTS AT HALF-TIME.’ There then followed speculation about Steinar’s relationship with Arild Golden, but the main topic of the documentary was Golden’s vast finances and how Golden Boys had used dirty tricks to try and take the same kind of control over the African market as it had in the Nordic market. Steinar felt his stomach in knots, uncertain of what was to come, but he was really just on the margins of the story as one of many Norwegian pros who’d gone abroad and come up against a wall. Then Steinar saw Vlad Vidić in the background again. Perhaps Benedikte saw his reaction. She stopped the video and pointed.
    ‘Do you know who this man is?’
    ‘No,’ said Steinar.
    Had he answered too quickly? It was true, anyway, Steinar really didn’t know who the man was. He only knew what he was good for.
    They watched the rest of the footage in silence. If Benedikte and TV2 didn’t know who Vlad Vidić was, with all their resources, how was he supposed to find out?
    The documentary finished and Benedikte switched off the computer.
    ‘Are these claims true, that Golden was your agent, and that he cheated you out of money?’
    ‘I didn’t have an agent. I used my coach from Årvoll, Ståle Jakobsen, who we just saw on the video, and negotiated together with him.’
    ‘I thought you had to have an agent?’
    ‘Not back then. It’s a new requirement that’s been introduced for some reason.’
    ‘Why did you quit?’ asked Benedikte.
    ‘Why didn’t they finish the documentary?’ Steinar retorted.
    ‘It was stopped after the scandal surrounding the documentary on the national skiing team. That one had gone to great lengths to accuse Norwegian skiing of being bottom of the class when it came to doping, but then it turned out that the evidence didn’t hold up. TV2 didn’t have the energy for another story about sports personalities straight away. It was too much trouble.’
    ‘Why didn’t the evidence hold up?’
    ‘I don’t know the details,’ said Benedikte. ‘We Norwegians are best in the world at double standards in terms of sport. If a Finnish skier wins, she’s got to be doping, but we wouldn’t hesitate to let the same skier take up Norwegian citizenship and let her puff on asthma medicine at 2,000 metres above sea level if it gave us a Norwegian relay victory or a European handball gold medal. It’s career suicide to criticise these things. Imagine if star skiers like Petter Northug or Marit Bjørgen were exposed as dopers. If we wanted to show something about that, we’d need a video of them injecting themselves and we’d need a Supreme Court judge acting as cameraman.’
    Steinar looked at his watch. It was almost 2 o’clock. He was relieved that the documentary had never been finished, but it was also nearly seven hours since he’d eaten breakfast.
    ‘Why did you quit?’ Benedikte asked again.
    ‘Can’t we get something to eat?’ asked Steinar. He looked at Benedikte. She was strikingly beautiful. Part of him wanted to disclose everything to her, but she was asking about his closest secret. And he didn’t know her well enough. Not yet.
    Steinar let Benedikte choose a place, so she took him down to the Baltazar Restaurant. Shadows lay on the red bricks on the ground and across the walls outside the entrance to the restaurant behind Oslo Cathedral. It was an enjoyable place to eat outdoors, but Steinar insisted that they sit inside, where the dark interior meant Steinar could let his shirt hang freely. Benedikte also relaxed for a moment, or so it seemed. Steinar looked at a wine bottle up on a shelf. They’d used it as a candle holder, and white wax had congealed on the label. They ordered one without wax.
    The waiter asked who would like to taste the wine, and gestures were exchanged