Black and grey realism tattoo on a forearm showing a footballer seen from behind, wearing a number 7 shirt with the name Cantona across the back.

Footballer seen from behind on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo depicts a footballer from behind, standing with hands on hips in a shirt marked Cantona and the number 7, with white shorts, dark socks and boots. The shading is smooth and detailed, with soft grey gradients on the background and sharp highlights on the fabric and socks. The figure fills the length of the forearm, with a dark, hazy backdrop behind the subject.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The shirt had been my brother's first, then a charity shop's on Anlaby Road, then mine for eleven pounds. I wore it under my oilskins from October to March, and by February the number on the back had worn to a grey ghost. Skipper Dennis called it my lucky jersey and never asked whose name had once been printed above the seven. Lucky was a kindness he extended to anyone who turned up sober.

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We were forty miles east of Spurn when the trawl came up heavy and wrong. The rest of the crew were bent over the gantry, shouting into the wind and hauling on the warps. I stood at the stern with my hands on my hips, the way I used to stand on the touchline at Sunday league, watching the sea slop over the rail and waiting for the cod end to show. It was the only pose I had ever been any good at: waiting, and looking as if I had it under control.

The net held nothing but a mess of weed, a snarl of rope and one dead sunfish, grey as a slate roof. Dennis laughed until he coughed. 'Seven,' he said, 'you're a goalkeeper's nightmare.' He was right, and I took the joke, though the rope had cut my palm and the cold had got under the shirt.

Back at Hull fish dock that night the shirt steamed on the wheelhouse heater. Dennis's granddaughter, Ellen, stood on the quay in wellies and waved at the boat as if we had won something. I lifted one hand off my hip, and for once the wave was enough.

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