by Frank Bogna
We shook hands with the Slippery Snakes and thanked Mr C for the great coaching job. This was our first win at a carnival. We had finally won some silverware.
Hammo went ballistic, running all over the field doing cartwheels and ‘woohooing’ to the crowd. He caught Giorgio in the corner of his eye and ran over to make an apology.
‘Sorry Giorgio, I said stupid things,’ I heard him almost whispering.
Next, he ran over to me.
‘Oarrghhh. Sammy. Unreal. We’ve won something. It’s just as good as the premiership. Sorry I said stupid things. I never want to leave the team.’
‘That last tic tic of yours to Bella was awesome.’
Aarrgghh. You think so Hammo?
Was I that good?
‘Yes, Sammy,’ added Mr C from behind me. ‘We might be able to keep you on the team yet,’ he added.
Aaarrgggh, now I was blushing.
Lefty and I sneaked over for a quick look and the medals and trophies. They were pretty fancy.
Gawking at them sparkling on the presentation table, they sure looked like they were made of real silver and gold. My legs went a bit wobbly just thinking about the cool looking silverware.
Just before the presentation, we nominated Bella to accept the trophy on behalf of the team. She had a sensational day.
I got to stand the closest to the trophy, with the medals shining brightly around our necks while the grown-ups took some photos. It was pretty fancy.
Our trip home was delayed
Guess why?
We had to wash Ruff, and wash him and wash him some more, and then let him dry before leaving. All that washing helped, but he still had a pong about him, so it was a window down trip all the way home.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep, I relived all of the game highlights. The passes, the tackles, the crosses were all vivid …like I had a television tucked away inside my eyelids and I could press the rewind button over and over.
I had a medal on my cabinet. I never had one of those before. Mooshy United never did anything.
Things were not so ordinary again.
But…but, but … winning a carnival doesn’t mean that you can win every game, as we were about to find out.
We are the Soccerheads.
7. Kids from outer space
This is the shortest story I’m going to write, because I am writing about the shortest game of my life. The game was over in a flash.
Bang!
Gone!
Fresh from our victory at the Roosters carnival, word had spread of our talents. A visiting team from interstate, the Dynamo Dragons were playing against teams in our league as part of a tour.
Our club president Mr Musso dreamed up the idea of suggesting to the local soccer association that we should play them the following week at our club grounds.
He must have thought we were really good because we won the carnival.
Big mistake.
Some of the Soccerheads let the carnival win get to their heads. Izzy told me that a few of them travelling home together after the carnival were singing a song about being champions …repeatedly.
Maybe some of the Soccerheads were thinking we were invincible.
Big mistake.
My schoolteacher Miss Sparkle would call it an ‘error of judgement.’ The tag of champions didn’t last very long.
We left the change room, all geared up and ready. Clean jerseys, taped up shins pads, slicked back hair (thanks to all the mirrors in there and some gel Hammo uses).
‘This gel makes me run faster,’ said Hammo as he combed it through his hair.
‘Here, let me have some,’ said Lefty, as if it would help his game.
We went to the dugout, and put our gear down on the bench. We looked ready ….but we were far from ready.
Hammo, Buck and I strolled to centre circle and watched the kids from outer space, the Dynamo Dragons go through their warm up. Shock horror. We shouldn’t have looked.
I had never seen kids with so much ball control; trap, turn, pass, even off their chests … and their juggling was out of this world. They were playing Ping-Pong with the soccer ball!
Their warm up kicks were all one touches. They didn’t miss once!
‘What the heck,’ sighed Hammo.
‘Ooaagghhh, we’re in deep t-t-t-trouble,’ spluttered Buck.
At our team huddle before the game, a gelled up Lefty led the ritual with something about being champions, definitely an error of judgement.
First half.
The game had barely started and we couldn’t even wake up to what was happening in time to do something about it.
The ball was glued to their boots; not the glue that comes off after ten minutes in art lessons.
Real glue.
Superglue that grips anything it touches.
They trapped and latched onto the ball, never letting it go until they were ready for a pass or a shot at goal.
Worse still, all of them were good. Not just some players. All of them!
We couldn’t get anywhere near that ball.
It was a blur whenever they had it.
Yes, a blur.
‘Oagghh this sucks. I can’t even see the ball,’ cried out Hammo as he was beaten again for the fifth time in five minutes.
‘Mr Musso’s got some explaining to do and so does Mr C,’ he mumbled to me under his breath.
These Dragons would feign a kick and take it the other way, or do a drag back and swap the play to the other side of the field in a flash. One of them used a tricky stop, spin and flick over the boot manoeuvre that had us gobsmacked.
You may remember the tik, tik, tik that Mr C had taught us. These kids were using it too, but ten times as well; ten times as skilful, and ten times as smart. No! That’s wrong, we Soccerheads are pretty smart, but these Dragons definitely used their brains.
We could only defend, defend and defend. Any ball we moved into midfield was gobbled up and we were on the defence again.
Giorgio had never shuffled so much across goal. Now he was complaining of too much running in the goal box! He started getting vocal.
Giorgio never gets vocal.
‘Tooo much rrrrunning … what are you defenders doing … come on there. I am heeerrrre in the goal all on my own,’ he shrieked as he took another the goal kick.
Hammo, Rado and I were doing our best but they were just too good. One goal after another.
Bang!
Thump!
Thud!
Whoosh!
Vooomp!
Bing!
Trickle trickle!
As the goals were slotted away against us, they got cheekier and cheekier. The ‘trickle, trickle’ was a ball dribbled around Buck, Hammo and me, and then tapped slowly BETWEEN Giorgio’s legs. It was unbelievable. Man oh man they were good! The half time score was 0-7. Embarrassment plus!
We gathered for a team talk, sitting under the shade of a nearby tree.
Buck stated the obvious.
‘These kids are from outer space. No kids play like that anywhere.’
‘No, no,’ interjected Rado, ‘some play like that in Croatia.’ Buck frowned at Rado as if he was from outer space.
‘You are doing fine,’ Mr C reassured us. How could he say that when we were getting such a beating?
A thumping!
I sat there pulling tuffs of grass out. Lifting my head a little and looking sideways, everyone else held their head low, looking at the ground. Everyone.
The gel wasn’t working.
Mr C continued.
‘They’re a better team than you. They might practice more and maybe play in a harder competition. Try to learn from what they’re doing and just enjoy the game.’
Learn, yes.
Enjoy? You gotta be kidding me Mr C. That was not going to happen.
You can’t enjoy a flogging.
Mr C continued with some alternative tactics.
‘Let’s
change the formation to five, four, and one up front. We’ll have Sunwell stay out front on his own. Try moving the ball out wide more and use some longer balls. We don’t have the skills against them to keep it for too long.’
We needed some propping up, something to pick us up. We weren’t used to getting beaten like this.
One of us had to say something to the others.
Should I?
Would anyone listen to me?
What would the weakest link know?
I hadn’t been thrown off the team, so I must be doing OK.
I lifted my head. Looking left, looking right, everyone’s head was still low. Lower than a lizard’s gizzards.
Ok, here goes.
I got the wobbly legs and quivery voice thing going.
‘C-C-Come on Unicorns. Let’s just show these Dragons that we don’t g-g-give up. We have to dig in here. We’re not p-p-pushovers.’
Giorgio and Rado nodded.
Hammo looked at me all like it was all useless talk, like we were getting flogged and should get flogged some more.
The others just looked into outer space.
That’s it, I said to myself.
I’ve gotta do something myself.
Second half.
We dug in and started working out their tricks … get a sliding boot in to a tackle, move the ball out wide.
Two more goals.
Bang.
Voomp.
Then it happened. My ears started twitching. Oh, oh. They only twitch when something really big is about to happen.
My legs went all wobbly.
Aaarrgggh.
In the dying minutes of the game, I went a bit nutso. No, no not like Hammo. Just my own version of nutso.
‘Hammo, when I get the ball, go up with me. They won’t expect it.’
‘Gotcha,’ he replied eagerly. Any excuse to go forward … Hammo will be in it.
Two defenders going up forward with the ball? Now that’s nutso.
I received a goal kick from Giorgio, turned and just kept going.
The wobbly thing disappeared.
Dribble, dribble dribble.
They weren’t expecting it from a right back, and I’d played pretty ordinary all game.
Suddenly, I was over the half way line. It was pretty fancy. Hammo was running just behind me the whole time, and seeing a tiny, weeny gap between their midfielders and defence hollered.
‘Through ya left Sammy,’ I tapped it through and he unleashed his ammo.
Bang. One goal to us.
Aarrgghhh. I had to do that one more often.
‘Sammy, that was awesome!’ sang out Izzy. I blushed big time at that one.
The final score was 1-9.
Mr C shook his head at Hammo and me as we walked off the field.
‘You boys. That was a crazy goal….. Well done. Sammy, you’re improving every week.’
Aarrgghh, I was getting better. Please keep me on the team Mr C. Please.
His final words after the game had us all thinking about not getting ahead of ourselves.
‘Never think that you are the best. There is always someone better than you out there.’
After the game, Hammo, Rado and I got talking to a couple of their players.
‘We train three times a week and play futsal in the off season,’ their number seven explained.
‘Just like in Croatia,’ Rado jumped in, maybe bringing back some memories.
Number seven continued. ‘Our coach got us to play futsal. It helps your control a lot, and we’re a much better team now.’
Wow, futsal. That indoor soccer game.
Pretty fancy.
That was the plan.
Hammo and I decided to do some investigating into setting that up for our team.
‘You know Sammy,’ said Hammo as we walked off the pitch to get our gear.
‘You’re getting a lot better.’
‘Really?’ I asked. One good pass wasn’t enough.
‘We made that run just when we needed to get that goal. Ya helped the whole team.’
Hammo paused a bit.
‘Ya helped me score that goal Sammy, ya know. I thought we were pushovers, until you did that one thing. That pass to me was awesome,’
Aargghh. I felt super awesome, like I really did something for the team.
‘Thanks Hammo.’ I didn’t really know what else to say, but I was going crazy inside my head. Internally berserk in fact.
I didn’t feel so ordinary any more.
We are the Soccerheads.
P.S. Ruff was not at this game and just as well. We didn’t need a reminder of the score.
8.Oh no, not Lefty!
Oh no, not Lefty.
At our last training session of the year, Lefty broke the news to Hammo and I, and soon enough everyone else knew.
‘Hey Sammy and Hammo, I have to tell you something. It’s not good.’
‘Your left foot started working?’ kidded Hammo.
‘Mr C gave you the number eleven shirt?’ I added, meaning he would have to cross with his left foot.
Lefty started getting a little misty in the eyes. ‘Noaaahhhh. I’m leaving the team.’
Oh, that was a bombshell. We weren’t expecting that one.
‘Dad has got another job all the way up North.’ His eyes were beginning to get all misty.
We all turned gloomy when we heard the news. He’s one team member that wants to be in the middle of everything, and often jumps into a conversation without getting that it might be a joke. He’s a funny dude and plays hard and fair. Oh man, what a let down.
On the field, he has made so many crosses this season, crosses that Sunwell and others turned into winning goals. The team gathered around.
‘We won’t be able to replace a right winger that easily, you know,’ said Bella.
Buck made a thoughtful statement.
‘We probably won’t ever theee you again, unless you become a thoccer star on TV.’
Lefty smirked. A few of us have that dream.
Mr C walked up behind us and was quick to respond.
‘Great, but get a day job first.’ He had been talking to Mr Musso.
‘I know it’s sad news about Lefty. We will all miss you mate.’ Then Mr C fired us up for next year.
‘Now just a reminder, you’re in the competitive age group next season, and they play on a full sized field and we are allowed up to four subs. So … we need another four players.’
Another four players?
Silence. We all made the calculations as we looked sideways at each other. Where are we going to get another four players?
Then Mr C delivered some welcoming news.
‘Now, I just found out from Mr Musso that two new kids are going to join our team next year. They are from Brazil.’
‘Brrrrazeeel,’ piped up Rado, his eyes lighting up like fireworks. He was impressed.
Brazil. Hhmmm. Pretty fancy.
Mr C continued.
‘Their father’s got a transfer with his work to Urbanville. They’re twins, two sisters. Their names are…’ He paused to try to wrap his tongue around the names on his list.
‘Their names are Rafaela and Milena, and they have been mainly playing futsal in Brazil.’
Unbelievable. Hammo and I nudged elbows, and then looked each other in the eye with a gleam. Futsal hey? We remembered what those players from the Dynamo Dragons had told us.
I wondered if they were identical twins? That would be a challenge telling them apart.
We were sad in seeing Lefty leave, so our last training session was a bit of a fizzer. Mr C had some nice words to say about him at the end of the session and finished with ‘Its not easy to replace a cog in the wheel.’ We knew Lefty felt appreciated.
Mr C left us with some parting words at the end of the session.
‘We didn’t win the premiership but the carnival win was sensational. You kids have made me very proud …
you all dig in and don’t give up. I haven’t heard any arguments. You all work together and help each other.’
Well, there were plenty of arguments, Mr C. We’d just sorted them out ourselves rather than have you bud in.
He started to sniffle a bit from being emotional. We were very lucky to have him as a coach.
Just then, Mr C made me go all misty.
‘Sammy, you have been terrific for us. You’ve done really well in your position and improved a lot. You should be proud of your season.’ Aaarrgghh, you really think so Mr C?
‘Of course, there’s a spot for you on the team. A permanent spot.’
Everyone was looking at me.
‘Th..th..thanks Mr C.’
I was speechless.
My eyes got all foggy.
I looked down at the ground, not knowing where to look, and picked out a different coloured grass blade. Maybe that was me.
This had never happened before. Never at Mooshy United. Never anywhere.
‘I’m not sure that Ruff is the best influence for you, though … but he has helped in his own way,’ he ended.
Hey, we are not the Soccerheads without Ruff.
So what was in store for us next year?
Firstly, we are getting a new jersey.
Mr C showed us a sample. It was definitely more awesome.
Secondly, and sadly Lefty was leaving and we have to find some new players. We need fourteen players, but on a positive note, we had two Brazilians coming to join us.
Thirdly, we were going to play on a bigger field with a bigger ball (a size five). That will definitely require a change of tactics.
Lastly, and most importantly, we want to keep playing in our off-season.
Brainwave.
I asked Mr C if he could help organise us for futsal. We needed to play like the dragons, with zip and zing.
‘How about Futsal Mr C? Can you help us get a team organised?’ I asked.
Everyone followed.
‘Pleeeaase help us. Pleeeaase,’ they all said in a collective chorus
Rado continued with ‘We would like to stay in prrractice.’
Yes, they followed me.
Unreal.
‘Good idea,’ replied Mr C. ‘I will look into it and call your Mums and Dads.’
We could hardly wait.
Things will never be so ordinary again.
See you next season in my next book. We are the Soccerheads.
Sammy.
