Matty in the Goal

by Stuart A. P. Murray

  When the workouts with Bobako had first begun, Matty had just wanted to shoot on goal. Then, playing goalie became more interesting and more fun. A lot of soccer knowledge and under-standing was necessary to be a good goalie.

  “You have to know what the attackers are trying to do,” Bobako said. “Sometimes you have to outsmart them.”

  It was fascinating to learn how a goalie should play in different game situations. Of course, best of all was just making a good save. Once Matty did it, he wanted to do it again and again. He wanted to be a human shield, just like Bobako. He even wanted the shot to be a good one so he could save it triumphantly.

  Soon, Matty only focused on goalkeeping, and he enjoyed every minute of it. The wind sprints, the laps, the push-ups, and the sit-ups were no fun, but they got Matty into good shape.

  Bobako made him drill again and again. He taught him how to scoop up a rolling ball, keeping both legs together so the ball didn’t get through. Matty learned how to punch a high ball clear of the goalmouth and how to dive for low shots going into the corners of the goal.

  And how to anticipate a shot: To go when you know!

  Bobako taught him how to stop a hard shot, catching it perfectly, so that it didn’t hurt at all. That was amazing. The better Matty became, the fewer bumps and bruises he got.

  Diving saves became easier, no matter how far Matty flew across the goalmouth. During one practice, while Bobako laughed and clapped after one especially good save, Matty got up to see Kathy Lee watching him.

  Kathy waved, her blond hair shining in the sunlight. Then she turned away. It was as if she’d been there for a while.

  “Watch the ball into your hands,” Bobako said as he shot lightly. “Do that, and even the Rovers won’t easily score on you!”

  “Who are the Rovers?” Matty asked, snaring the ball and tossing it back on a bounce for Bobako to kick. Kathy had crossed the street by now.

  “Aha,” Bobako replied, snapping a shot that Matty saved, almost without thinking about it. “The Rovers are the kids that you’ll be playing against next weekend.”

  “You know them?” Matty asked.

  “Yes, yes, I know them very well,” Bobako smiled, as if something amused him. “I work at their camp, as a summer job.”

  He chipped the ball high, and Matty leaped to tap it over the crossbar safely.

  As Matty went around the goal to get the ball, he asked, “Are the Rovers that good?”

  “Aha,” Bobako said, standing with his hands on his hips, thinking a moment. “Yes, they are quite good. They beat everybody they play, even older kids.”

  Matty tossed the ball, and Bobako took another powerful shot.

  “The problem is that they think they are the greatest,” Bobako said. “It is going to their heads, if you know what I mean.”

  Matty returned the ball, listening intently.

  “They are too proud. They need a lesson in humility.”

  Matty saved the ball, then flipped it to Bobako, who trapped it with his foot.

  “Anybody on their team as good as Gibb?” Matty asked. He didn’t believe that was actually possible.

  “You’ll see when you’re in goal against them,” Bobako winked. “And you better be ready to stop them. Are you?”

  He paused, foot on the ball, gazing at Matty.

  “I don’t know.” Matty was far better now than he’d been a few weeks ago. “But … I’d like to see how I do against Gibb in practice.”

  “Okay,” Bobako smiled and pushed the ball forward. “Here, goalie, stop this one.”

  He began to shoot, and Matty guessed—anticipated—diving quickly to his left.

  But the ball didn’t come.

  Instead, as Matty landed on the ground, he heard Bobako laugh, and he knew the shot had been a fake. He bounced up as fast as he could, scrambling to get to the other side of the goal. He anticipated that Bobako would send the ball there next.

  But the ball remained at Bobako’s feet, and he chuckled even louder. Matty pulled up, feeling a little dumb until Bobako spoke.

  “Good, very good,” he said, nodding. “You have what you need to be a goalkeeper, Matty. Although there is much more for you to learn if you want to play like a champion.”

  Suddenly, Bobako toed the ball. Before Matty could react, the ball was in the back of the net. Bobako laughed, and Matty did, too. Indeed, there was an awful lot to learn about goalkeeping. But he really wanted to learn it. Matty dug the ball out of the net.

  He was looking forward to the Cannons’ next practice in a couple days.

  Chapter Seven

  Play a Man’s Game

  On his way to the soccer field one sunny afternoon, Matty rode his bike past Gibb’s house. It was a nice street. The houses were old and set back on big lawns shaded by ancient maple trees.

  Gibb’s place had belonged to the Moore family for a hundred years at least. Matty’s family had moved into Glenvale about ten years ago, and they were still considered outsiders. Sometimes, Matty wished his family had its roots here like Gibb’s family, so that he belonged somewhere.

  As Matty pedaled by, Gibb was on his lawn, throwing a football with his father. Mr. Moore was a stocky man, a lot like Gibb, but with short legs. He threw the football as if he fired it out of a cannon. It zipped into his son’s hands.

  “Down and in!” Mr. Moore slapped the football and dropped back. “Go!”

  Gibb burst along the side of the house, threw a head fake and cut to the middle. The ball was there and in his hands as if he didn’t even have to look at it. He gave a couple of swivels with his hips and spiked the ball as his father shouted approval.

  Matty didn’t want to interrupt, and waved as he rode past. He stopped when Gibb called to him and trotted over, carrying the football.

  “Hey, Wells, I hear you’ve been practicing in goal with that African guy.”

  Gibb wasn’t even a little bit breathless from the sprint he’d just done. At a call from his father, who was cutting and racing for the open lawn, Gibb rifled a spiral into his dad’s hands.

  “Yeah, Bobako’s awesome,” Matty said. “He knows everything there is to know about goalie.”

  “Kathy saw you there,” Gibb cocked his head and grinned in a tight sort of way. “She says you’re looking good. That true?”

  Matty blushed, and Gibb snickered. Just then, Mr. Moore jogged over and invited Matty to play some catch.

  “Come on, Mikey, you can’t always be running around in those soccer shorts all the time. Come on, play a man’s game!” Mr. Moore said.

  He slapped the football, and Gibb took off, calling for a long one up the middle. He made a perfect catch.

  Matty liked that they had asked him to play. Mr. Moore was a nice man. He didn’t mean to insult you when he said certain things or messed up your name. Matty laid down his bike and went out for a pass. Gibb threw it lightly, too short for Matty to catch it.

  “Hum that ball, Gibb!” Mr. Moore yelled. “Hum it, boy! Don’t underthrow like that.”

  “Okay, Pop,” Gibb answered. “I didn’t want to throw it too hard.”

  “Oh, right,” Mr. Moore said, turning to Matty. “Hey, Mikey, hit me!”

  Mr. Moore faked and cut across the lawn, Gibb in pursuit. Matty reared back and heaved the ball. It surprised him that the ball went so far, though it was no great spiral. Bobako’s throwing lessons had helped, even with a football.

  Gibb intercepted it and wound up to throw to Matty. The ball came in like a missile, but it was way too high.

  “Sorry!” Gibb yelled.

  Matty went up for it, stretching his arms to the limit. He pulled the ball down—actually, pretty easily. That surprised them all, especially Matty.

  “Heck of a catch, Mikey!” Mr. Moore yelled.

  Matty couldn’t help but smile. Nobody had ever said that to him before, especially not a football nut like Mr. Moore. After a few more throws, Mr. Moore complimented him again.

  “You have pretty good
hands, Mike, almost as good as Gibb’s.”

  Gibb seemed annoyed. He started throwing the ball back and forth with his father. Whenever Mr. Moore tried to throw it to Matty, Gibb intercepted the ball. Once he crashed into Matty. It seemed like he did it on purpose. Gibb was so competitive. Matty got the idea that Gibb wanted him to leave, which he soon did.

  As Matty left, Mr. Moore said something that Matty knew wasn’t meant to be as cutting as it sounded.

  “Any time you want some football lessons, Mikey,” he shouted, zipping the ball to Gibb, “come on over, and we’ll make an athlete outta you in no time! S’long!”

  Chapter Eight

  The Coach of the Rovers

  Matty’s dad and mom invited Bobako over for dinner on Wednesday night, after their last workout. Bobako said he didn’t have much time to coach in the evenings anymore.

  “My job at the camp is almost finished, and I will be going back to college before classes begin,” Bobako said.

  The table conversation was full of laughter, with Bobako telling stories from his homeland. They were folktales of lions and elephants. Sometimes, Bobako described goalies playing like lions, and lions leaping like goalies. Matty and his family loved to hear Bobako’s stories.

  Bobako spoke several languages, including English, French, and Lingala, the language of Bobako’s people in the DRC. Bobako had become good friends with Mr. and Mrs. Wells and with little Amy. She wanted to go to Africa and see the things Bobako told them about.

  As Mrs. Wells served fruit and ice cream for dessert, Matty’s father said, “Bobako, we want to thank you for all that you’ve taught Matty about playing goalkeeper.”

  “Aha,” Bobako said, with one of his winks at Matty. “If he works hard, one day he will play goalie like a champion.”

  “Not with the Canyon Cannons I won’t,” Matty replied glumly. “Nobody ever gets a chance to shoot against me.”

  Bobako had a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Matty’s parents.

  “You have improved so much, Matty, that even the Rovers will not find it easy to score against you,” Bobako said.

  Matty’s mother said, “That sure would be something, wouldn’t it, Matty, to play well against the Rovers?”

  “You just might be tested,” his father said. “You’ll have to make some saves.”

  Amy piped up. “Yeah, then you wouldn’t just be a goalpost with a uniform.”

  “Goalpost with a uniform?” Bobako laughed and shook his head slowly. “No, no, dear sister, Matty won’t be mistaken for a goalpost. He’s a goalkeeper now.”

  Matty felt self-conscious, especially when Amy stared at him like she was lost in space. His parents and Bobako sat there grinning.

  Finally, Mr. Wells said, “The Rovers will be quite a test of what you’ve learned, Matty.”

  “They usually score eight or nine goals a game,” Mrs. Wells said. “And they’re very fast.”

  “Don’t get upset if they shoot from long range,” Mr. Wells said. “They’re going to be tougher than anybody you’ve faced so far.”

  “You shouldn’t lose confidence, is what your father means,” Mrs. Wells said.

  Mr. Wells added, “I hear their attacking midfielder is really tough, real strong dribbling up the middle, almost impossible to stop, and has a good left foot. …”

  By now, Matty was staring at his parents. How had they learned all this soccer talk? They had never been able to talk like this before.

  When they realized he was looking at them with a puzzled expression, they became quiet and looked at Bobako. He said nothing.

  “How do you both know so much about the Rovers?” Matty asked. “Dad? Do you really know what an attacking midfielder is?”

  Mr. Wells smiled and sat back.

  “I guess I do now.” He looked at Bobako and nodded. “Time to tell him?”

  “Tell me what?” Matty asked, forgetting his dessert.

  Amy shoveled hers away, but her glance darted around the table as she waited to hear more.

  Bobako laid his spoon down.

  “Well, Matty, you see. …” Smiling, he said, “I am the coach of the Rovers.”

  “You?” Matty was astonished. “You’re their coach?”

  His parents were cringing a little, as if they didn’t know what Matty would think.

  “At first, I just wanted to give your team a better chance by teaching you something,” Bobako said. “But you worked so hard that I taught you more than I had planned to.”

  “But why did you want me to be a better goalie?” Matty asked.

  “Because I want the Cannons to have a chance against the Rovers,” Bobako said. “As I told you, the Rovers need to learn some humility.”

  Amy whispered to her mother, “What is hum … humil … didy?”

  “They need to stop thinking they’re the best all the time,” Mrs. Wells said.

  “They’re like Gibb?” Amy asked. “A whole team of Gibbs?”

  “Sort of,” her father said.

  Bobako added, “Except that they are Gibbs from Germany, Sweden, England, Scotland, Iran, Turkey, Brazil, Mexico, and Senegal.”

  Amy asked her brother, “Are you better than Gibb now?”

  Matty shook his head.

  “I can’t shoot and dribble like him.”

  “But you’ll be able to stop him much of the time,” Bobako said. “And you’ll handle most of the Rovers, too.”

  “Imagine,” Mr. Wells said, “a whole team of Gibbs coming at you all at once!”

  “A whole team!” Amy declared, ice cream dripping down her chin. “Good thing there’s only one ball.”

  As the others chuckled, Matty gazed at the white tablecloth. He had practice tomorrow with the Cannons. His heart pounded thinking that Bobako had so much confidence in him. Did he have that much confidence in himself?

  “I did not mean for the Rovers to lose when they play you, Matty,” Bobako said. “But the way you have improved, I’m sure they’ll have a hard time scoring.”

  “Even their striker?” Mr. Wells asked. “Can anybody stop him?”

  “Even him,” Bobako laughed. “For the Rovers, it may indeed be a lesson in hum—”

  He winked at Amy.

  “Humildidy,” she said.

  Matty was lost in his own thoughts. Tomorrow at the Cannons practice he would see how much he’d learned about goalkeeping. His hands hung at the sides of his chair, and he opened and closed them. He was soon going to face a whole team of Gibb Moores.

  But first, one Gibb at practice. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

  Chapter Nine

  A Penalty Kick

  The next day, at the Cannons practice, Matty was impressive. He dived at shots and saved them. He jumped to clutch the ball out of the air, and he slid at the feet of attackers to sweep the ball away with his legs.

  Even Gibb couldn’t score against him, and Gibb began to get angry about it. Coach Gray was amazed and cheered for Matty.

  “Atta boy, Matt!” and “Great save, goalie!”

  After an especially good stop, a tingle of excitement ran through Matty. He was really having fun, and the goal didn’t seem so huge anymore. He felt great.

  Kathy Lee and her girlfriends were on the sideline, and all practice long they had been cheering for Matty. Sometimes, they actually screamed with excitement when he made a save, especially against Gibb. Being goalie sure could get you a lot of attention.

  Matty felt extra happy because before practice started, Gibb had invited him to his birthday party on Saturday afternoon. Gibb had never invited Matty before. Usually it was just the cool guys at Gibb’s parties.

  There would be girls at the party, too, and that made Matty a little nervous. But maybe it would be interesting for once to go to a party with girls. Kathy probably talked Gibb into inviting him, just to be nice.

  Standing there, watching the ball bouncing around at the far end of the field, Matty wished Gibb would get it down here again and take a super shot. M
atty knew he could stop it. Nobody had scored against him all practice, and it was almost time to go home. He would love to make one more good save. Gibb’s face got twisted with anger every time Matty made a save.

  “Nothing makes a shooter more upset than the goalkeeper making his best shot look like an easy save,” Bobako once said. “Usually, he will try twice as hard to score next time and that will throw him off.”

  Bobako had said that trying too hard could mess up a shooter’s timing. After a while, he’ll be so psyched out that he won’t be able to score.

  That was happening to Gibb. He ran around the field like a madman, trying to dribble all the way down to Matty on his own. Because he wouldn’t pass the ball, he kept losing it. Gibb had never played so hard, or so lousy. In fact, Kathy must have felt sorry for him.

  She started cheering, “Go, Gibb!” But that made him all the more desperate to break Matty’s shutout.

  When Coach Gray shouted, “One minute!” Gibb yelled for his teammates to push harder. Tommy Schmidt booted the ball down to Matty’s end, and Gibb got control of it. Matty stood ready as Gibb charged through the middle and released a rocket from his right foot. But the shot never reached Matty. It hit Mike Lee’s hand.

  Because Mike was on Matty’s team, and the hand ball happened in the penalty area in front of the goal, Coach Gray blew his whistle.

  “Penalty kick!” the coach called out. “Gibb, take it.”

  This would be a free kick against Matty, from just twelve paces out. It was only Gibb and Matty, nobody else. It should be an easy score, the end to Matty’s shutout.

  Gibb placed the ball down on the white mark, and Matty stood in the center of the goal, feeling nervous. He tried to relax, but he realized that in all his practice with Bobako, he had not learned how to stop a penalty kick.

  Of course, the goalie never had much chance to save a penalty. But a great goalie might stop it. Saving a penalty could win a big game someday.