Football Academy: the Real Thing

by Tom Palmer

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE REAL THING

  Tom Palmer is a football fan and a writer. He never did well at school. But once he got into reading about football – in newspapers, magazines and books – he decided he wanted to be a football writer more than anything. As well as the Football Academy series, he is the author of the Football Detective series, also for Puffin Books.

  Tom lives in a Yorkshire town called Todmorden with his wife and daughter. The best stadium he’s visited is Real Madrid’s Santiago Bernabéu.

  Find out more about Tom on his website tompalmer.co.uk

  Books by Tom Palmer

  Football Academy series:

  BOYS UNITED

  STRIKING OUT

  THE REAL THING

  READING THE GAME

  For older readers

  FOOTBALL DETECTIVE: FOUL PLAY

  FOOTBALL DETECTIVE: DEAD BALL

  TOM PALMER

  THE REAL THING

  Illustrated by

  Brian Williamson

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank,

  Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published 2009

  Text copyright © Tom Palmer, 2009

  Illustrations copyright © Brian Williamson, 2009

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  ISBN: 978-0-14-193115-9

  CONTENTS

  The Real Thing

  Tough

  Ready to Go

  Phoning Home

  At the Airport

  Fear of Flying

  Warsaw Airport

  Faces

  Game One

  One Down, Two to Go

  Real v Milan

  Hero

  Home from Home

  Phoning England

  Milan

  Punched

  Banned

  The Clown

  Unreal

  Attack

  Last Night

  Finally

  Medals

  For Jim Sells and Ralph Newbrook,

  the ultimate strike partnership

  The Real Thing

  ‘What is that?’

  Ryan was standing in the doorway of the dressing room, his bag over his shoulder. His friend Ben was standing next to him. Although Ryan was talking to Tomasz, United’s goalkeeper, he really wanted the whole room to hear.

  ‘A football shirt,’ Tomasz said in a quiet but firm voice.

  Eight other boys watched and listened; they were sitting on the benches around the edge of the dressing room. Most of them were still in their normal clothes.

  ‘No, this is a football shirt,’ Ryan said, pulling his jumper off, displaying the latest Real Madrid top. It was white with purple trim.

  Tomasz’s top was white with black trim. The club badge read ‘Legia Warsaw’. It was the team he had always supported. And it was the team he missed since he had moved to England with his parents over a year ago.

  ‘Nice top,’ Ben said, looking Ryan up and down.

  ‘And who are Legia Warsaw?’ Ryan said, ignoring his friend.

  ‘My team,’ Tomasz said calmly.

  ‘Never heard of them,’ Ryan said. ‘Are they Polish by any chance?’

  A couple of the boys sitting down laughed.

  James – one of the team’s central defenders – had been listening to the conversation from the corner of the dressing room. He stood up and walked towards Ryan and Ben. He was the team’s steadiest influence. He was also the son of a former England international.

  ‘Leave it,’ James said.

  Ben stepped back. He always did what James said, even more than he did what Ryan said.

  Ryan was about to say something to James but Steve, the team manager, came in. Whatever it was he had to say would have to wait.

  ‘Right, lads,’ Steve announced.

  Steve had been the manager of United’s under-twelves for three years. The team he coached were all on schoolboy contracts at United’s famous Academy, a huge complex of buildings and football pitches on the outskirts of the town. The team included some of the best young players of their age group. Some were from that town, others from further away. The cream of them – those who worked hard – would become professional footballers one day.

  Tomasz sat back, relieved. He’d been saved from another load of hassle from Ryan. Ryan: team captain. Ryan: team bully. Tomasz could think about the game now.

  Today United were playing Newcastle at home – a friendly against another Premiership under-twelve side.

  Steve went on: ‘This lot are a good team. They’ve won every game they’ve played this season. They pass the ball around really nicely.’ Steve looked at Ryan. ‘A bit like your precious Real Madrid.’

  Ryan grinned.

  Steve was famous for his deep voice. If you heard it coming across a football pitch, you listened to it. And if he was doing a team talk you took in every word – and did lots of nodding.

  ‘So what we need today is teamwork,’ Steve continued. ‘If anyone’s playing at fifty per cent today we’ll be exposed. But as long as we play together, as a team, and look after each other, we’ll be all right.’

  The boys nodded and started to get changed.

  This season they’d played seven games, winning four, drawing one and losing two. A good start.

  But Newcastle at home was going to be the hardest game yet.

  Tough

  After ten minutes of the game, it was still nil–nil. United had done well. Newcastle could pass the ball, but they’d not got behind Ryan and his defence.

  ‘They’re not so good,’ Ryan said to Ben after the ball had gone out for a throw-in.

  Ben laughed. ‘Easy,’ he said.

  James went to take the throw-in, standing close to the halfway line.

  Ryan ran casually to trap the ball, but a Newcastle player came out of nowhere, beating him to it. Ryan tried to take his legs, but he was too quick.

  Once he had the ball, the Newcastle player – a huge blond boy – took two strides and passed the ball to a team-mate. Then he was running. His team-mate looked up, saw his run, and fed the ball back to him. Suddenly the blond player was in
the penalty area, already past United’s two central defenders, Ryan and James.

  Tomasz had no chance.

  The striker clipped the ball over him as he ran out to close down the angles.

  As the Newcastle players wheeled away to celebrate, Ryan could hear Steve shouting his name. He tried not to listen, but couldn’t avoid his deep booming voice.

  ‘Ryan… concentrate… teamwork.’

  He could also hear his mum shouting. Again.

  Ryan’s mum was difficult – forever shouting at him, the referee and other players, telling them what to do. He could just imagine what she’d be saying. He shut the voices out and jogged over to Tomasz.

  ‘You’re not playing for Legia Whatever-they’re-called now, Tomasz,’ Ryan said. ‘You should have closed the striker down. There was time to.’ He was angry. His thoughts short and sharp.

  Tomasz said nothing. He knew Ryan was at fault for the goal. He should have been marking the blond striker more closely.

  The next time Newcastle attacked, Tomasz felt his confidence draining away. This team they were playing were passing the ball so quickly. And they were all so huge and strong. United didn’t have a chance. He didn’t have a chance.

  Again the United defence were cut in two. Again Tomasz was left one-on-one with the blond striker. And again, seconds later, he was picking the ball out of the back of the net.

  By half-time it was three–nil to Newcastle.

  Steve was not impressed.

  ‘There’s something wrong here,’ he said. ‘Newcastle are good, yes, but not that much better than us. We need teamwork.’ He sighed. ‘Look at how they are passing and moving. Anticipating each other’s space and runs. We can do that. We’ve been doing it all season.’

  Steve looked at his team, sitting in a circle round him. He’d never seen them look like this. Confused was the first word that came into his head.

  ‘First, it’s possession,’ he said. ‘The more time we have the ball, the less they have it. Defenders? Pass it out – don’t hoof it.’

  Steve looked at Tomasz.

  The keeper was afraid of what he was going to say. He’d never conceded three goals in a half before in his life. In Poland or in England. He felt like he didn’t have any confidence, that every attack was going to end with him beaten.

  ‘Tomasz needs protecting,’ Steve said. ‘The three goals… he had no chance. He was exposed.’ Steve paused, then went on. ‘I need defenders defending. Deep, if necessary. Midfielders overlapping back if a defender is committed to an attack. Agreed?’

  There were nods of agreement. A couple of the lads said, ‘Yes, Steve.’

  Ryan sat and listened. He hadn’t dared look at his mum since the second goal went in. She was lurking fifty metres away, but under strict orders from Steve not to come any closer during the match or the half-time team talk. He dreaded what she would say to him in the car on the way home.

  ‘Right then,’ Steve said, catching Ryan’s eye. ‘Let’s get out there. We can win the half. That’s your target now.’

  As the rest of the boys ran back on to the pitch, Steve called Ryan over. ‘I need you to set an example, Ryan,’ he said. ‘Concentrate. And teamwork. Yeah?’

  Ryan nodded. And running on to the pitch, he wondered whether Steve had meant to criticize him – or ask him to lead the team more like a captain was meant to.

  Ready to Go

  ‘Does anyone have anything else to add?’ Steve said, after going through the Newcastle game with the players.

  It had been hard. Not like any after-match chat they’d had before.

  And that was because they’d lost five–one.

  Tomasz had kept quiet throughout the chat. He was feeling something like shame. But a bit of anger too. He’d been the keeper who had let all five goals in. But it was how Ryan had made him feel that really hurt. The way he went on and on at him.

  ‘But let’s say no more about the game,’ Steve said. ‘Overall, the second half was much better. Far closer. We almost matched them. And they’ve thrashed most teams they’ve played this year.’

  Tomasz looked around the room. Most of his team-mates had their heads down, looking at the floor or their kitbags. It was the worst result of the season. A season that was supposed to be getting better, Tomasz thought.

  ‘Come on, lads,’ Steve said, a laugh in his voice. ‘We’ve talked it through and gone over what we can learn from the game today. And… we’ve got a European tournament to worry about now.’

  All the players suddenly looked up. Frowns had turned into smiles. The boys were looking at each other, grinning. It felt like Steve had flicked a switch in the room. The happy switch.

  ‘That’s better,’ Steve said. ‘And I’m pleased to say the whole team is coming. All of you.’

  Steve looked at Yunis and smiled.

  Yunis, the team’s leading scorer, smiled back. He’d thought he wasn’t going to make it until the last minute. But his dad had come through in the end – and said he could go, after all.

  ‘Now then,’ Steve said. ‘Who’s been to Poland before?’

  Tomasz’s hand shot up.

  ‘Tell us about it, Tomasz. When did you leave Poland to come here?’

  ‘Just a year ago.’

  ‘And you played for Legia Warsaw?’

  ‘No, I played for Lodz. But I support Legia.’

  ‘I see,’ Steve said. ‘And what is it like in Poland?’

  ‘It’s good. Very friendly people.’

  ‘That’s important, Tomasz. It leads me on to what I want to say. Thank you.’

  Steve looked serious for a moment. Then he continued: ‘That’s because I want this tournament to be a good one on two levels. One, for football, of course. We’re playing some big teams. AC Milan under-twelves. Real Madrid under-twelves. And Legia Warsaw.’

  Ryan sniggered quietly.

  Tomasz looked at him, puzzled. What was he laughing at now?

  Steve glanced at Ryan. ‘Something to say, Ryan?’

  Ryan smirked. ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Good. Because the second important thing I want to say is what Tomasz highlighted. Friendliness.’ Steve shifted his feet and folded his arms. ‘All of you – and that includes me and the other adults who are coming – are going out there for some fun, to play football. But we must never forget that, first and foremost, we are representing United. Everything we do and say reflects on the good name of the club. We’re a big name in Europe – a well-respected name. And I want it to stay that way. Any trouble and I will get to the bottom of it. And I will take action.’

  All the players looked at Steve, but no one spoke.

  Steve smiled. ‘Look, you’re a good bunch. I don’t expect any trouble. And the last thing I want to do is put a dampener on the trip. I know you’re all excited. But I have to say this.’

  Connor, one of the defenders, signed from an Irish league team a year earlier, put his hand up.

  ‘Yes, Connor.’

  ‘What time do we meet? And is it here?’

  ‘Yes, it’s here,’ Steve said. ‘And if you could arrive by ten-thirty the day after tomorrow, please. The coach leaves at eleven – on the dot. If you miss the coach, you miss the tournament.’

  Tomasz could feel his arms tensing with excitement. This would be his first trip back to Poland since he and his family had left. He had just under two days to wait.

  Forty-five and a quarter hours, to be precise.

  Tomasz would make sure he was at the coach at least an hour before eleven. Or earlier.

  Sunday 13 November Newcastle 5 United 1 Goals: Yunis Bookings: Craig, Connor, James

  Under-twelves manager’s marks out of ten for each player:

  Tomasz 5

  Connor 5

  James 6

  Ryan 4

  Craig 4

  Chi 7

  Sam 6

  Will 5

  Jake 5

  Yunis 6

  Ben 5

  Phoning Home


  Tomasz sat staring straight ahead as his dad drove him down the long road that led away from the United Academy. Past the trees. Past the fenced-off football pitches.

  The training complex was in an unusual setting. It was in the grounds of a stately home. Beautiful sweeping lawns and a massive, posh – very posh – house. The road Tomasz and his dad were driving along used to be the one that horse-drawn carriages would take when visiting the owners of the old house.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ his dad said.

  ‘Am I?’ Tomasz said, happy his dad was speaking to him in Polish for once. Usually he insisted they talk English. He wondered why he’d switched.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ his dad pressed him.

  ‘Dad, we lost five–one.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But you mustn’t blame yourself. The defenders were all over the place.’

  Tomasz smiled. Not only did his dad know the right thing to say, but he knew about football too. He had always taken an interest in Tomasz’s football and came to watch most of his games – even though he was a very busy doctor at the local hospital.

  ‘Do the other boys still tease you?’ his dad said, after a pause.

  Tomasz stopped smiling. His dad had got to the heart of his worries straight away. He was good at that too.

  ‘A bit,’ Tomasz said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. But, really, he did care. About Ryan in particular. Ryan was forever having a go. Forever making him feel that he was stupid, just because his English was not perfect. He wasn’t stupid. He was just mastering the language. He’d like to see Ryan try and make sense in Polish.

  ‘A bit?’ his dad said. ‘It’s more than a bit. I can tell by your voice.’

  ‘I’m OK, Dad. And I’m looking forward to the trip. I can’t wait to go back home.’