by Tom Palmer
It didn’t matter so much that his dad didn’t come to the matches like the other dads did. It was enough that he had his parents’ support. It would be nice to see them at the sidelines, of course. But he couldn’t have everything, could he?
He eyed the goal.
The referee blew his whistle.
This to equalize against Liverpool. And keep their recent unbeaten record of the last few games.
He ran up to the ball and hit it low on the right side, putting some curve on it. He wanted to send it round the wall and into the other side of the goal to where the keeper was standing.
It worked like a dream. Round the wall, no problem. Then dipping into the goal.
But the keeper spotted it and raced across his line, diving, stretching for the ball.
The ball hit the ground and bounced up… over the keeper’s hand and into the net.
Craig was the first to come over to Yunis.
‘Brilliant, mate. Brilliant.’
Jake too. Then Ryan and Sam and James and Chi.
Yunis looked over to the sidelines and saw Steve looking at him, but pointing across the pitch to the opposite side. Yunis thought he meant that they’d over‐celebrated the goal. But then he noticed Steve was actually gesturing that Yunis should look in that direction.
Yunis stared at the mums and dads as he was jogging back to take up his position for the restart.
What was there to look at?
There was Ryan’s mum, her arms folded. Probably annoyed Ryan hadn’t been able to take the free kick himself.
There was Jake’s dad. Smiling, as usual.
And there was his dad.
Yunis stopped running. Stopped dead still. His dad was clapping. And when he saw his son looking at him, bewildered, he raised his hand. A wave. A wave that meant the world to Yunis.
‘Come on, son,’ the referee said. ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’
Yunis waved back, to see his dad turn and start talking to James’s dad. He wondered if his dad knew he was talking to his hero from twenty years ago.
Proud
The game ended one–one. A fair result.
But Yunis wouldn’t have cared if they’d won, drawn or lost. He just wanted to talk to his dad. Thank him, maybe. Something.
But he couldn’t see him.
His heart dropped in his chest. Had he imagined his dad standing on the touchline?
Then he felt an arm around him.
At first, he thought it was Steve. But Steve was walking ahead of him, talking to Ben and Ryan.
Yunis looked up.
It was his dad.
‘That goal you scored, Yunis.’
‘Yeah?’
‘That was great. Really great. I never knew you were so good…’ Dad stopped speaking.
Yunis could have said, ‘That’s because you haven’t been to watch me.’ But he didn’t. He didn’t need to make his dad feel bad. There was no point now.
His dad walked, still with his arm round him, all the way back to the dressing rooms.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you know who you were talking to at the side of the pitch?’
‘James’s dad?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just Mum told me about how you used to go to United. And how Cyril Cunningham was one of your h– favourite players.’
‘Heroes.’
‘Yes, heroes.’
‘I did. Steve Cooper introduced us. We talked.’
‘What did he say? Was it good to talk to him?’
‘It was very good, Yunis,’ Dad said. ‘And do you really want to know what he said to me?’
‘Course I do.’
‘He said that my son is one of the best strikers he’s seen at under‐twelves level. And that I should be very proud. That my son could have a great future.’
Yunis said nothing for a minute. Then turned to his dad.
‘And are you?’
‘What?’
‘Are you proud?’
‘Yes. I’m proud, Yunis. I’m proud you’ve done all this. Without any support from me. And I hope, if you’ll let me support from now on, that you can keep going.’
Yunis beamed.
This was a good day. A very good day.
‘And Yunis,’ Dad said.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve given Mr Cooper a cheque. I’d like you to go to Poland. If you want to.’
‘You’re joking?’ Yunis said.
‘Do I joke?’ Dad said.
Yunis stopped and thought. Did his dad joke?
No.
‘No,’ Yunis said reluctantly. He didn’t want his dad to think he was being critical. But he wanted to be honest too.
‘Maybe I should start then,’ his dad said.
And the two of them walked, side by side, to the dressing rooms, just like all the other boys and their parents.
Sunday 6 November
United 1 Liverpool 1
Goal: Yunis
Bookings: none
Under‐twelves manager’s marks out of ten for each player:
Tomasz 7
Connor 8
James 8
Ryan 7
Craig 7
Chi 8
Sam 6
Will 6
Jake 6
Yunis 8
Ben 6
Thank Yous
The Football Academy series came about thanks to the imagination and hard work of Sarah Hughes, Alison Dougal and Helen Levene at Puffin, working with David Luxton at Luxton Harris Literary Agency. Thanks are due to all four for giving me this opportunity. Thanks also to Wendy Tse for all her hard work with the fine detail, and to everyone at Puffin for all they do, including Reetu Kabra, Adele Minchin, Louise Heskett, Sarah Kettle and Tom Sanderson and the rights team. Thanks also to Brian Williamson for the great cover image and illustrations.
I needed a lot of help to make sure the academy at ‘United’ was as close to an English football club’s academy as possible. Burnley Football Club let me come to training and matches at their Gawthorpe Hall training ground to watch the under‐twelves. Vince Overson and Jeff Taylor gave me lots of time at Burnley and I am extremely grateful. I was also given excellent advice by Kit Carson and Steve Cooper.
Ralph Newbrook at the Football Foundation, also a former youth player for Cambridge United, gave me loads of advice and read the finished manuscript. He – more than anyone – has helped me make this book and series more realistic. Thank you, Ralph!
Huge thanks to my writing group in Leeds – James Nash and Sophie Hannah.
Mostly though, thank you to my wife, Rebecca, and daughter, Iris, for putting up with the irregular hours an author keeps. I have to go away a lot – either to do events or in my head, working on the stories – and you are ever‐supporting.
Tough
After ten minutes of the game, it was still nil–nil. United had done well. Rangers 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 Rangers 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 Rangers 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 Rangers 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 What ever they recalled 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.
