The reason for all this fuss is that we’ve been drawn to play against Shanklin Bay North School, the biggest of the big city schools. The game’s in Shanklin Bay, a city on the east coast. It’s a five-hour drive — in our special team bus — on the Trans-Canada Highway.
There are a bunch of supporters travelling with us: Shay’s granddad, Mr. Walker, Steve’s dad, Conrad, and Ma, as well as Ms. Watkins and some other teachers, plus lots of students and parents. They’re all wearing something blue. Mr. Cunningham’s here, too. He’s talking to Miss Little. She asked him to have a coaching session with us when she heard we were drawn against Shanklin Bay. He showed us some ways we might try and close down the Shanklin Bay forwards, who he says have scored more goals than any other school in the province, and who are all tipped for places in the next Provincial summer games. He talked about angles and space, too. Shay and Brian and Steve understood. We tried. Brian’s become a model student now. He hasn’t been sent out of class for two weeks. Ms. Watkins keeps looking at him suspiciously, wondering what he’s up to.
After the coaching session, Miss Little asked Mr. Cunningham to be on the sidelines with her at Shanklin Bay, to help her.
Mr. Cunningham said to us, gruffly, “It’s up to you. I gave up on you. That was wrong of me and I’m sorry. Maybe you want to give up on me.”
We said he could come back if he promised not to explode.
He said he’d try.
The twins arrive. We hear them giggling before they even get out of their mom’s minivan. Now we’re all here.
“Let’s get on board, everyone,” Miss Little says.
Shay’s granddad says, “One minute, please, Miss Little.”
He nods to Conrad, who goes to the Sutton’s Flowers van and gets a huge bouquet of flowers. He gives it to Miss Little. He gets a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and reads, “This is from all the players and their parents, in appreciation of everything you’ve done for the team.”
Everyone claps as Miss Little says, “Thank you, children. Thank you, parents.” When she tells us to get on board again, we all stand back and make her get on first, and as she walks through the crowd we all applaud again. She smiles and sort of bites her lip. I see her chin trembling.
And off we go. We’re chatty on the way, but the talking gradually stops as we approach Shanklin Bay, and as we drive into the city we grow more and more nervous. We gawk at the high buildings, which seem to be made mostly of pink and blue glass, and at the huge malls, which the Brunswick Valley mall could fit in ten times over, with Portage Street thrown in, too. We stare at the container ships in Shanklin Bay port, and at the oil refinery in the distance, with its burn-off flaring in the sky. It’s Saturday afternoon and the streets are crowded with more people and traffic than we get in Brunswick Valley in a year. We fall silent as we approach the soccer field.
Our mouths drop open when we see it.
We’re not playing at Shanklin Bay North School. We’re playing on the Shanklin Bay Marauders’ field, the city team that plays in the Maritime League. They let the school use their field for important games. We knew this — but we didn’t know what it would be like. We’re used to playing on our bumpy back field, surrounded by woods, with a scattering of people watching — sometimes. The Marauders’ soccer field is not just a field. It’s a whole stadium. We can’t even see the field from outside. All we can see is a high fence surrounding it. We’ve never seen anything like it.
Our bus stops at the entrance, where people are lined up to get in. A crowd of cheerleaders rush out from the stadium and line up on each side of the bus door. They’re wearing the Shanklin Bay colours of green and purple, and they’re holding green and purple pompoms. As we get off the bus and file between them, they wave their pompoms and chant, “Brunswick Valley — welcome here. Come inside as we all cheer: Brunswick Valley — yeah!”
We feel like superstars.
We follow the Shanklin Bay cheerleaders to our dressing rooms. After changing into our new uniforms, we all go to the bathroom at least once. I don’t know if I’m hot or cold because I’m sweating at the same time as my teeth are chattering. Shay says he’s the same.
Miss Little and Mr. Cunningham are waiting for us outside our changing rooms. We follow them along a hallway and into a sort of tunnel. It’s quite dim, but we see light ahead. We go up a ramp. We hear a band playing. Suddenly — whoa! We’re in the biggest soccer stadium we’ve ever seen. We have to stop and take a breath before we can walk out into it. There are stands above and to each side of the tunnel and they’re packed with spectators. There are still more people standing around the field and sitting in the bleachers on the other side. There must be more people here than there are in the whole of Brunswick Valley.
The band, in green and purple uniforms, marches off. We march onto the field to polite applause.
The grass is smooth and shiny green. It’s cut to make stripes.
“Get your slippers on, guys,” I say. “We’re playing on a carpet.”
We kick a few soccer balls around to warm up, but mostly we just gawk. The Shanklin Bay North team are nowhere to be seen. We look for our supporters, and find them crowded into one corner of the stands. On the field in front of them, Natasha and her cheerleaders are finishing their routine. They’ve added twirls to the cartwheels and leg kicks and splits. We hear their voices faintly: “One — two — three — four. Brunswick Valley shoot to score! Five — six — seven — eight. Play BV and meet your fate!” Natasha had worked on that chant for a long time. As they finish, they turn and point to us. The crowd applauds politely again. We wave at Natasha and the others. They skip to the sideline. There’s still no sign of our opposition.
Then, suddenly, smoke billows from each side of the tunnel, and just as I’m wondering when the fire department is going to arrive, the Shanklin Bay team trots through it onto the field.
Wow.
Do you know what a juggernaut is? We learned about it in school. It’s an overpowering force that destroys everything that gets in its way.
That’s what the Shanklin Bay team looks like coming through the artificial smoke. The stadium erupts in cheers and applause. The crowd stamps and claps and chants, “Out of our way — we’re Shanklin Bay. Blow ’em away — Shanklin Bay.”
At least it’s not, “Lo-sers. Lo-sers.”
The Shanklin Bay players, who all look twice as big as us, line up in front of their goal and take turns shooting. They kick the ball at about a hundred miles an hour. Then they line up on one side of the field and race across. They stop halfway and run the rest of the way backwards. They do stretching exercises, squatting on one leg and stretching the other one out as they press down on it with both hands.
Meanwhile their twenty cheerleaders dance and sing, “Shanklin Bay take the day. There’s no doubt — you’ll be OUT!” I guess ‘you’ means us — out of the Provincials. The cheerleaders strut backwards and forwards, swinging their pompoms. They do somersaults. To finish, they make a pyramid by standing on each other’s shoulders. It’s quite the performance — who needs a soccer game when you can watch this? — and we’re not even bothering to pretend to warm up now. We’re watching the cheerleaders, and when they jump down from the pyramid, doing more somersaults as they land, we applaud with the crowd, who are going crazy.
The referee appears on the touchline.
Miss Little waves to us and calls, “Gather round, children.”
“Any last-minute advice?” Steve asks.
Miss Little turns to Mr. Cunningham and raises her eyebrows.
“I can’t add anything to what I said the other day,” he says. “It’s your team. You got them this far. I could never have achieved that. You’re the boss. Tell them what you always tell them.”
The Shanklin Bay team is in a circle, their hands clasped together in the centre. The players ro
ar their chant, their cheerleaders and supporters joining in: “Out of our way — we’re Shanklin Bay. Blow ’em away — Shanklin Bay.”
We look at one another nervously. Shay is biting his lip. Superstrike Steve is trotting in circles. Flyin’ Brian is leaping at imaginary shots on goal. Julie is twiddling with her golden fairy-princess hair. I’m trembling so much I can feel my knees knocking together.
Miss Little beckons us closer.
“I have no last minute advice to give you, dears,” she says, “I just want you to remember everything we’ve learned together, in kindergarten and on the soccer field. And now it’s your turn to say your chant. Say it quietly with me.”
We crowd close together and join hands: “Grace and dignity, dignity and grace; doesn’t matter if you’re top, nor who sets the pace. What matters most is not who wins, but how you run the race. So conduct yourself with dignity, dignity and grace.”
We look at one another. Shay shakes hands with me. We’re not sure why we do it. The Interchangeable Twins giggle. Flyin’ Brian leaps for a final imaginary shot. Julie and Linh-Mai hug. Linh-Mai looks at Superstrike. He smiles. Linh-Mai whispers to Julie, “Steve smiled at me.” Julie touches Shay lightly on the back of the hand.
Superstrike says, “Let’s go, guys.”
As we take the field with Shanklin Bay, the crowd roars. Amid the shouts of, “Out of our way — we’re Shanklin Bay!” and “Blow ’em away — Shanklin Bay!” we hear our little band of supporters desperately trying to make themselves heard: “Brunswick Valley — all the way!”
I say to myself, “Whatever happens in the game, and whatever happens to all my friends and to me in the future, I’ll always remember now. This is the proudest moment of my life.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to Margaret and Cayleih and the students of St. George Elementary School for responding to an early draft of Miss Little’s Losers, to all at James Lorimer & Company for help and advice in developing it, and to Nancy, as always, for her patient support and perspicacious comments on outlines and drafts.
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Visit www.lorimer.ca for more!
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Little's Losers Page 9
