by Rob Childs
“Got a mate at last, have you, Saddo?” laughed Katie. “Bet it won’t be for long.”
“You look a right pair,” Emma cackled. “Little Saddo and the giant beanpole!”
The girls went on their way giggling, and Ollie sensed that Sadiq was hurt by their remarks.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t call you Saddo.”
Sadiq flashed him a grateful smile.
“Names never really bother me,” Ollie told him. “Y’know, sticks and stones and all that. I got called all sorts of things at my old school.”
Sadiq nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re OK, you are!”
The three boys arranged to have a kickabout together in the park after school. Sadiq enjoyed showing off his ball-juggling skills. He normally practised alone in his garden, and could keep the ball in the air far more times than either Ollie or Simon.
“I’m better with my head than my feet,” confessed Ollie, as he lost control yet again.
“And I’m better with my hands!” Simon laughed.
“OK, then,” said Ollie. “Let’s see how good you are in goal.”
Simon pointed towards the trees. “My brothers use those two over there as a goal,” he told them. “They’re about the right distance apart.”
“I’ll hit crosses for OK to try and score a few headers,” said Sadiq.
“He’ll have to get them past me first,” Simon replied, grinning.
“No trouble!” laughed Ollie.
Actually he had plenty of trouble, until Sadiq found his range and his crosses with both left and right feet became more accurate. Ollie spent more time fetching the stray ball than heading it.
“We need your Tilly here as a ball-girl,” he joked. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Left her at home so she wouldn’t get in the way,” Simon said. “But she didn’t like me going without her. I could still hear her yelping when I was up the road.”
When Ollie did manage to get his head to the ball and hit the target, Simon made a number of decent saves. It must have been about their tenth effort before he was beaten as the ball flew beyond his reach.
“Over the bar,” he claimed.
“Rubbish!” retorted Ollie. “Right in the top corner, that would’ve been.”
Simon continued to save more headers than he let in but, as the two attackers developed more of an understanding, their success rate increased. Ollie began to time his runs better and meet Sadiq’s crosses with more power.
“Goooaaalll!” he whooped again, as the ball zipped past Simon’s dive.
Woof!
The ball-girl had arrived, her lead trailing behind her through the long grass, closely followed by a furious Jake.
“She jerked the lead right out of my hand,” he cried.
Tilly nosed the ball back to Simon, who was still lying on the ground, then tried to lick his face. He knelt up and fussed her.
“Good girl!”
“She’s not a good girl,” Jake complained. “She nearly pulled my arm off.”
“Why are you here, anyway?” asked Simon. “Come to do some talent-spotting?”
“As if!” Jake retorted. “Daft dog’s been making so much noise since you went that Mum told me to take her out. Knew I’d find you here, so she’s all yours now.”
Ollie came over to fuss Tilly. “You can join in, if you want, Jake,” he offered.
“Nah! I’m off to see my mates,” he said, making it clear that he didn’t include any of the present trio in that company. “Smart header, though, that last one, Timber.”
It was a nickname that several boys had been using since Ollie’s fall in the classroom, and Ollie wondered whether it might even have been Jake who had tripped him. For the moment, he was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve gotta put my height to some good use, eh?”
“Suppose so,” Jake replied. “Surprised to see you here, Saddo.”
Sadiq responded with a casual shrug.
“Sadiq’s good,” Simon told his brother. “As you’ll see on Wednesday.”
“At the practice?”
“Yeah, we’re all coming.”
Jake laughed. “Can’t wait till I tell Nails,” he said. “The Skip will flip!”
Colour Clash
Nails, as expected, was back at school, like Mr Smith, in time for the Wednesday soccer session. They found that the number of players had suddenly increased.
“Been hearin’ a few things ’bout you, Timber,” Nails said, by way of a greeting.
“Thought you might,” said Ollie and grinned. “Good things, I hope.”
“Not too bad,” Nails admitted. “I’ll see for myself soon.”
Sadiq seemed to be trying to get out of the practice by claiming he had forgotten to bring his kit.
“You can borrow some,” Ollie told him.
“You’re twice my size!”
“Not off me,” Ollie laughed. “I’m sure others will help out.”
“Nobody will lend me anything.”
“Course they will. You’ve only got to ask.”
Sadiq was right. Everyone refused – until Nails heard about it. The captain might no longer have been the tallest boy in the school, but he still had the loudest voice and also the hardest fists. Sadiq soon had so many offers of kit plus spare boots, that he could have worn a different outfit every day of the week.
Mr Smith began the session with some warm-up exercises and encouraged the players to practise their ball skills either in pairs or small groups. Ollie and Sadiq teamed up, passing a ball between them until Sadiq could no longer resist doing some of his juggling tricks using his feet, knees, head and even his shoulders to keep the ball off the ground.
Everyone stopped to stare at him. He looked like a puppet dancing on a string in a multicoloured costume. He was wearing a green and yellow striped shirt, blue shorts, purple and white hooped socks and a pair of red boots.
“He’s like a circus act!” cackled Nails. “That crazy kid must be colour blind.”
When he finally did lose control of the ball, Sadiq was surprised to hear all the applause, and at first he didn’t realise that they were clapping him. He looked embarrassed.
“Yeah, great, but don’t go doin’ that kind of fancy stuff in a match,” Nails warned him. “You’ll get clattered!”
In the five-a-side games that followed, using cones for goals, Ollie and Sadiq continued to impress with their contrasting skills and how well they linked up. Opponents found it hard to win the ball off Sadiq and no one could beat Ollie in the air – at least, not without fouling him first, which Nails kept doing.
Simon showed good technique, too, handling the ball cleanly, but his best and most satisfying moment came when he dived at Jake’s feet and grabbed the ball, sending his brother toppling to the ground.
Mr Smith decided there and then to play all three newcomers in the school’s last league fixture of the season, away against Whitecross Juniors, a game which the Reds needed to win to avoid the threat of relegation. He knew it might be a risk, but it was one he considered worth taking.
‘Can’t do much worse than we have already in the league,’ he mused. ‘We’ve lost most of the matches.’
The headteacher gathered all the players around him at the end of the session.
“I’m going to make a few changes for Saturday,” he told them, “but I want to sleep on it first. I’ll put the squad up on the sports noticeboard tomorrow.”
The boys and girls went their separate ways into the changing-rooms, wondering exactly who might be in or out of the team.
“Bet Saddo and the beanpole will be picked,” Emma muttered, sorting out her things for the shower.
Katie nodded. “’Fraid so. Have to admit, they both played pretty well today.”
“Saddo might even take your place on the wing,” Emma teased her friend.
“No way!” Katie retorted, and slapped her towel onto the bench. �
�He’ll be in big trouble if he does. I’ll kill him!”
Next door, not many of the boys were bothering to go into the showers and some had gone straight home still wearing their dirty kit. Nails pulled on his tracksuit and stuffed his school clothes into a bag.
“Poor old Smiffy will be havin’ nightmares, if he’s thinkin’ of puttin’ our kid in goal,” he laughed. “What do you reckon he’ll do, Anil?”
It was a cruel question to the goalkeeper, who knew that other people would be listening. Nails tended to dominate any room he was in – even the classroom at times, if the teacher let him get away with it.
“Anything he wants, man,” Anil replied with a shrug. “Not up to me, is it?”
“Did he say anythin’ to you?”
Anil shook his head. “Never does. What about you?”
“Nah, but he must be gettin’ desperate to go messin’ around with the team now, right at the end of the season. . .”
Jake spoke up – perhaps the only one who could get away with interrupting Nails while he was in full flow.
“Probably wants to try out a few things before the Final, like.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Nails conceded reluctantly, “but it’s stupid when we need the points. We don’t wanna end up gettin’ relegated.”
“No, but winning the cup would be a consolation, like.”
“Not much of one. Still, we won’t be here next year, so who cares?”
Everyone knew that Nails would care very much. It would be a blow to his pride.
Nobody asked Simon, the only boy in the room who would still be at the school for the new season, whether or not he cared. He kept quiet, as usual, but the next morning he found himself the centre of attention. His name was on the teamsheet in goal, with Anil’s among the substitutes.
“You’ve made it, Si – well done!” Ollie congratulated him, slapping him playfully on the back and almost pushing his face into the noticeboard.
“So have you and Sadiq,” Simon said. “If you two score enough goals, it won’t matter too much if I let a couple in.”
“Don’t think like that,” Ollie told him. “Every goalie wants to keep a clean sheet.”
“I’m not all that fussed,” he replied, just as his brothers came along the corridor. He was glad that Nails had not heard what he’d said.
“Said you’d be in!” cried Jake.
“Yeah, you might even get to touch the ball this time, Zero!” smirked Nails.
Jake was not best pleased, though, that he had been moved into midfield to make room for Ollie at centre-forward in the headteacher’s preferred 4-3-3 formation, with Sadiq and Katie on the wings.
“That’s not right,” he complained. “I’m leading scorer.”
“Sorry,” said Ollie, as if it was his fault.
“You can still play up front,” Nails told Jake. “Y’know – push forward, like, all the time. Bet Smiffy won’t even notice.”
The selection of Ollie and Sadiq immediately increased their prestige, at least among the boys. Sadiq was secretly pleased to find himself invited to take part, for the first time, in the lunchtime kickabout on the playing field. They were both even called by their proper names.
“Can’t wait for the big game on Saturday, can you?” enthused Ollie during the afternoon art and craft session.
“It’ll come soon enough,” replied Sadiq, trying to concentrate on his painting. “No rush.”
He was doing a picture of a tropical bird and finding it tricky to get the colours of the feathers quite right.
“There – that’ll do,” he said, putting his brush into the water jar. “All done!”
Even if his life was no longer in danger from Katie, Sadiq was still a potential victim of her spite. She chose that moment to come behind his chair and lean forward to reach across the table for something. Suddenly, the jar was knocked over and the dirty water flowed over his painting and onto his trousers.
“Oops! Soz, Saddo!” she cried, as he jumped to his feet. “Clumsy old me, eh?
“Look what you’ve gone and done!” he wailed. “You did that on purpose.”
“Said I’m sorry,” she retorted. “You can easily paint another budgie.”
“Budgie?” he cried. “That was a parrot.”
Katie moved off before her giggles gave her away or Mrs Gregson could come to investigate the commotion, leaving Ollie to help Sadiq clean up the mess. Sadiq’s anger was not helped by hearing a parrot-like imitation from the other side of the room.
“Pretty Polly!” came the repeated squawk. “Who’s a pretty boy?”
Rave Save
“C’mon, Reds – big effort,” Nails urged his team, before the kick-off at Whitecross Junior School. “We’ve gotta win this. Let’s get at ’em!”
The captain was not strictly correct in stating that this was a must-win game for Redfield Primary, but Nails did not like to put his trust in mathematics. It was not exactly his favourite subject. Mr Smith had assured the players that three points for a victory would make them safe from relegation, although one point for a draw might prove enough. A defeat, however, would send them down.
Nails did not need to say anything more to their new goalkeeper. He just shook a fist at his brother as if in encouragement, but Simon knew what that really meant. It was a reminder of the threat made to him the previous night as he was getting into his pyjamas. Nails had barged into Simon’s tiny bedroom and made it quite clear what was expected of him the next morning. He’d thrown the blankets and pillow onto the floor and forced a half-naked Simon to his knees.
“Just look at the state of your bed, Zero.” He twisted Simon’s head to face it. “What do we want from you tomorrow? A clean sheet! Got it?”
Nails slammed the door behind him as he left the room, leaving his final words ringing in Simon’s ears.
“. . .Or else!”
A convoy of cars had transported the Reds into the city suburb. Simon chose to travel with Ollie’s parents, along with Sadiq. Simon could see now why Ollie was so tall: both his mother and father were built like telegraph poles.
“I didn’t expect Ollie to be in a relegation battle as soon as he arrived at Redfield,” said his father with a chuckle. “Nor a Cup Final, too, against Princeton, of all people!”
“I’ve not been picked for that yet, Dad,” Ollie reminded him.
“Oh, I do hope so,” said his mother. “It will be lovely to see your old friends again so soon, won’t it?”
Ollie exchanged glances with Simon and Sadiq. He had already told them about the bullying he’d suffered at Princeton School, if only to help Sadiq feel a bit better. He even invented excuses to stay off school, which was why he had missed the Princes’ previous cup games.
“Um, I’m not sure they’ll be all that pleased to see me,” he muttered. “You know what some of them were like. . .”
Ollie tailed off. Although his parents were well aware of the problems for him at Princeton – which had been their main reason for moving to the village of Redfield – it was not something he wished to discuss in the car.
Ollie was glad that Simon came to his rescue by changing the subject. “Nice clean car, this, Mr Kenning,” he began. “The back seat of ours has got dog hairs all over it!”
Ollie and Sadiq had been given spare red kit to wear for their debuts, although Ollie’s shirt was rather too small for him. It was uncomfortably tight, and he could not even tuck it into his shorts. As Ollie waited for the referee’s whistle to kick off, he gave Sadiq a signal to be ready to put their little plan into action.
When Jake tapped the ball to him, Ollie clipped it out towards the right touchline for Sadiq to collect. Unfortunately, the ball went to a white shirt instead and, four quick passes later, it was spinning in the back of the Reds’ net. They were 1-0 down in record time, and Simon had still not touched the ball.
“Huh! There goes yer clean sheet, Zero,” growled Nails, after shouting abuse at Ollie for giving the ball away. “You can use yer h
ands, y’know, in goal.”
“You should’ve said,” Simon answered back. “I will do, next time, then.”
And he did. His very first touch of the ball in the school team came a couple of minutes later when he pulled off a magnificent save, hurling himself high to his right to turn the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips.
“Not bad, our kid,” conceded Nails, grinning sheepishly. “I’ll give yer that one.”
Nails headed the corner clear, but the Whites continued to dominate the game and keep Simon busy. It was quite a while before the Reds managed a shot at goal, but when they did, Katie’s tame effort skimmed well wide of the target. Neither winger had seen much of the ball, and the first time Sadiq tried to run with it, he was crowded out by defenders and lost possession.
“Pass it, Sadiq!” cried Mr Smith, pacing the touchline nearby in frustration. “Make the ball do the work.”
Unlike Redfield, the home side had little to play for apart from pride in their own performance. The Whites were safely in mid-table, having lost as many matches as they had won, but they were keen to end the season on a victory high.
Nails and Emma, at the heart of the Reds’ defence, had to remain fully alert to danger, and the other players were often needed to help out at the back, too, including the forwards. Ollie’s extra height was an asset when defending corners, and Simon was grateful when Jake cleared the ball off the line in a goalmouth scramble.
“Thanks,” he gasped. “Owe you that one.”
“Right, you can take it out of your pocket money!” Jake told him, grinning.
The Reds’ equaliser, therefore, came as a complete surprise to both teams.
They managed to gain their first corner of the match with just a few minutes to go before half-time when a shot from Ryan, playing on the right side of midfield, took a deflection for a corner. Ryan trotted forward to take the kick himself, but Sadiq was having none of that.
“Leave it to me,” he told Ryan. “You get in the box.”
Sadiq’s well-practised accuracy with the dead-ball now paid off in fine style. He lofted the ball high into the goalmouth and it sailed over the heads of everyone – except that of his intended target.
