Max the Golden Boot

by Joachim Masannek

  “I hope you are warmed up,” he grinned, “cuz things are about to heat up!”

  In that instant, Larry threw the ball up in the air, and before I could react, Danny was on it.

  He intercepted the ball with his head, rolled it to his feet, and dribbled away from me. All he wanted to do was show his teammates how good he was and how he could wear me down before he drove the dagger into me to finish me off.

  I didn’t have a chance. Even if I had been well-rested, which I wasn’t. Right then, my legs were heavy, like fifty-pound weights. If I could, I would have run after him like a yapping Chihuahua. But I couldn’t. So I had to think of something quick. What I came up with was not exactly nice, I’ll say that right now. But I was desperate. I ran and stood right in front of my goal. Not a soccer ball in the world would get through my legs. Now Danny had to come up with something to lure me away.

  He slowed down like a lion circling its prey.

  “Hey, Max!” he yelled. “You loser! Do something. I’m waiting. Or are you too chicken?”

  I balled my fists. Nobody said that to me and got away with it. My feet twitched. They wanted to make Danny pay. But my head held them back.

  “No! Don’t screw it up now. Don’t do anything. That’s the best strategy,” I kept telling myself over and over. And I was right.

  Danny ran back and forth in front of the goal, all the time looking for a way in. Then he tried his luck with plain old brute force. Two, three times he aimed from two yards away and kicked the ball at my legs. His fourth shot was massive but something funny happened. The ball got stuck neatly in the space between my legs. And that was its final resting place.

  I was stumped for a second, and looked up only when Danny started laughing so hard he almost peed his pants. I must have looked ridiculous standing there in front of my goal, legs all crooked, the ball stuck between my knees. “Oh boy, look at that. Max laid a soccer ball,” Danny said and everyone cracked up.

  Now what? The ball was still stuck between my legs. Danny was close. How fast could I let the ball down and kick it away from me?

  Then I had a brilliant idea.

  The Wild Soccer Bunch stopped laughing. With the ball still between my legs, I jumped up, somersaulted backwards, safely let the ball fall to the grass, then kicked it into Danny’s goal.

  Don’t ask me how I did it. Let’s just say this was why they call soccer the beautiful game. It was one of my nicest goals ever.

  Danny stopped laughing. Kevin’s face turned to stone. He stepped up to me and stared me down, pure rage in his eyes.

  “Bring it,” I whispered. “Let’s get it over with. You’ll lose like your friend.”

  Kevin twitched and balled his fists, but he couldn’t control himself as well as I could.

  “I don’t know if you’ve got what it takes to beat what’s coming next,” he seethed. He was angry and every word that came out was like he was spitting stones.

  “Zoe! You’re up!” he yelled to his teammate without taking his eyes off me. “Or are you afraid to face off against a girl? I don’t know, she may be too good for you. She beat me once.”

  I didn’t say a word. I just stood next to the girl on the field and waited for the ball. When our shoulders touched, blood shot straight up to the top of my head, all the way to the tip of my hair. Zoe was not only fearless, she was really pretty, too. When she ran off, her red-brown hair flew behind her and all I could do was watch, dumbfounded, as she grabbed the ball that Larry threw in, plucked it right out of the air and steered it toward my goal.

  I was hypnotized. When I woke up, it was almost too late. I had to hurry to straddle her shot and barricade my goal the way I had done against Danny. Now I was wide awake. Let her attack, I thought. But Zoe didn’t even think about it. She was smarter than that. Two yards before my goal she stopped and held the ball with her toes.

  “I bet you are going to lose,” she grinned.

  “Only losers make bets.” My muscles tensed.

  “Sounds like fear.”

  “Nice try,” I spat. “But I’m not moving.”

  I was defending my turf. I was too tired to run after her and my plan was to do exactly what I’d done with Danny. I would let her attack and then find a way to get the ball from her while she was trying hard to score.

  They told me Zoe was great. But they didn’t tell me she was a mind reader. She gently tipped the ball, and it slowly rolled towards me, coming to a stop between us.

  “You’re scared!” she purred. “Too bad, I thought you were wild.”

  She looked at me, and I resisted her gaze for all of twenty seconds.

  “Okay, you asked for it. The bet is on,” I hissed and stormed the ball.

  But Zoe reacted lighting fast.

  All I had was hindsight.

  Her right leg straddled forward and her toes pushed the ball through my legs and straight between the cones.

  I couldn’t believe it. Me. Max. The winner. The future number 9 on the U.S. national team. I had lost to a girl. Exhausted and defeated, I sank to my knees.

  Kevin and Danny Drop Out

  Half an hour after I lost to Zoe, I still hadn’t moved. I just sat there on the grass, watching what happened in front of Larry’s hot dog stand.

  The Wild Soccer Bunch had gathered for a team meeting to discuss what to do with me, but the discussion turned into a fight rather quickly.

  “Vote? Why?” Kevin protested. “How often do I have to tell you? There are 12 of us already, and anyone who joins is one too many.”

  “Right,” Danny agreed. “If Max joins the team, one of you will be benched.”

  “One of us?” Tyler asked, his eyebrows raised in mock astonishment. “That’s a joke. Max should be a striker. He will play for Kevin or for you!”

  “I agree, and if you ask me, he’s the best striker I’ve seen in a long while,” Zoe added courageously.

  Danny blushed.

  “Really? He just lost against you! Do you want to have a boy on the team who loses to a girl?”

  Zoe glared at him.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, we are,” Kevin came to Danny’s rescue.

  “Okay. You all heard it,” Zoe announced. “If that’s true, then Danny and Kevin should leave the team too. Or did you forget? My birthday tournament? I beat you both.”

  It was pin-drop quiet. Kevin and Danny looked at Larry, but as usual, he didn’t say a word. He was so different from Buckman, SC Lawndale’s coach. As far as Buckman was concerned, we were nothing but tiny robots he could program to play the way he wanted us to play. Larry, on the other hand, listened closely and took everyone seriously. No matter what you said, he listened. Everyone on the team had the right to voice his or her own opinion. This time, as usual, he waited for the next person to speak. And when nobody did, he got up, walked to his hot dog stand, and came back with lemonade for everyone. Everyone but me.

  “I think Zoe is right,” Tyler said finally. “Max is really good, and he’d be a great addition to the team.”

  “True,” Diego added. “And sending him away because we’re afraid to be benched is just plain wrong.”

  “You have got to be kidding!” Kevin was amused. “You think I’m afraid of this guy?”

  “Not of this guy,” Fabio said dryly, “Just what he can do.”

  “Okay. I get it,” Kevin got up. “You all think he is better than we are? Better than Danny and me?”

  He steamed with rage. So did Danny as he stood next to him, trying to create a united front.

  “If this is how you feel, why don’t you play him instead of us?” Danny suggested.

  “Exactly,” Kevin added. “If he joins, we leave.”

  BAM.

  The comment smacked into everyone like a sledgehammer. Silence filled the air. Everyone was stunned, including me.

  I didn’t want this. Nobody wanted this. What would become of the Wild Soccer Bunch without Kevin and Danny? They were the Golden Twins, the Twister
Duo, the heart of the team, and the wildest ones of all. They were the ones who led the Wild Soccer Bunch to this place. To their place. Without Kevin the star striker, they would never have won against Mickey the bulldozer when he wanted to take away their soccer field. Without great ideas from Danny—their fastest right-winger—the Wild Soccer Bunch would have been grounded and buried alive under a mountain of homework. They never would have gotten the money for their jerseys, which they had needed to play against the Furies. And they never would have gotten Fabio the wizard to play for them.

  I didn’t learn about all that until much later, but it was in the air that night. I could sense it, and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want to be responsible for breaking up the Wild Soccer Bunch. So after some quick thinking, I stood up, walked to my soccer bag, put on my street shoes, buried myself into my oversized biker jacket which I got from my grandfather, and trotted off. Eyes fixed on my feet, I walked past Larry’s hot dog stand and aimed for the gate of the Devil’s Pit.

  Roger stood in my way. He looked at me through his thick glasses. His eyes were as big as Donald Duck’s! To tell you the truth, he looked weird. But I could tell he was courageous.

  “You can’t blackmail us!” Roger shouted, and threw a determined glance at Kevin and Danny. Then he pulled out two lemonades from behind his back, opened them and handed one to me. At first I was confused.

  He toasted and smiled broadly, “All is well!” and when I still didn’t get it, he added seriously in a whisper: “As long as you’re wild!”

  “As long as you’re wild!” I repeated, laughing, and poured the lemonade over my head.

  I heard people clapping. The sweet liquid was all over me. A few drops got in my eyes and blinded me for a moment, but there was no doubt about it—I had done it! I had just become part of the Wild Soccer Bunch.

  Slowly they all approached me. But they didn’t hesitate, they seemed sure, and all of them cheered me, even Larry.

  “All is well!” and “As long as you’re wild!” The lemonade bottles clinked together, and nobody seemed to pay any attention to Kevin and Danny.

  They waited for a few more heartbeats. I glanced over and saw the humiliation on Kevin and Danny’s faces. They stood there deserted. They looked so miserable and all I wanted to do was go over there and apologize.

  But it wouldn’t have worked. They grabbed their stuff, hopped on their bikes, and rode out of the Devil’s Pit without looking back.

  The Last Chance

  After the rest of the team got on their bikes and left, I held my very first Wild Soccer Bunch lemonade bottle in my hands. I was so happy. To show how much this empty lemonade bottle meant to me, I used my pencil to paint the label black. Black as night except for the Wild Soccer Bunch logo. I left that white. As if the bottle was a World Cup trophy, I carefully put it in my bag. I felt great. So great that I had completely forgotten that I had ditched my afterschool program, had lied to Ms. Witching, and had participated in the Wild Soccer Bunch practice against my father’s will.

  I took the subway home and got off at Pullman Middle School.

  Outside, above ground, it was dark. I didn’t recognize the streets. The driveway gates seemed like black holes spinning at me from the fog, and every noise startled me. I was terrified. I don’t know if you noticed this or not, but when I’m scared, my imagination runs wild. I create a horror movie in my head, which makes me even more frightened.

  I can’t help it. I’m sure you understand.

  Then there she was: the meanest and backstabbingest witch of the Western world. High-heeled and dangerous, she had pursued me to the ends of the earth. Or at least to the school gates. I smelled her perfume first, and then I heard her soft wheezing breath: Darth Witching, the last of the afterschool program dynasty. Did I mention my teacher is scary? She stood there waiting for me at the gates of Pullman Middle School with a terrifying look on her face.

  I ran as fast as I could. But after three steps, I slammed into a brick wall. I had run into the massive chest of Jabba the Buck. The all-powerful Buckman. He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me up to his lava-colored bald head, and was about to eat me alive. But what saved me from that death and destruction was even worse.

  As if from out of nowhere, someone slinked over like a black cat. It was Almighty Joe, the emperor over everyone and everything. He stopped Jabba the Buck in his tracks.

  “No, he’s mine!” Almighty Joe said coldly and instantly morphed into my father. Darth Witching turned out to be Ms. Witching, my afterschool teacher, and Jabba the Buck was none other than Buckman, the SC Lawndale coach.

  My father thanked them profusely. They had been looking for me for over two hours after I ditched afterschool care.

  But now that I was back, all worries were gone. Their fears, the fears of the adults that is, were over. Mine, of course, had only just begun. My father gave me plenty of time to savor my fears. We walked home in silence, and when we reached the front door, my mom opened it and looked at me with her dark eyes. I knew what she was going to say, and she said it: “Where were you? I was worried to death!”

  My father asked me to go into the living room. Both my parents sat opposite me and no one uttered a word. They just looked at me for an eternity.

  “The big question is, where to start?” my father said and scratched his head.

  I wanted to say, “at the beginning,” but I thought it unwise.

  “So many wrong decisions,” he finally said, shaking his head.

  “And all in one day,” my mom jumped in.

  “Yes, son,” my father agreed. “Today you broke your all time record for doing the most stupid things in the shortest amount of time.”

  My mother added, “What did we tell you? Did we tell you not to leave school?”

  It was a question, but she already knew the answer. I think Ms. Witching calls it “rhetorical.”

  My father snapped me out of my thoughts.

  “Not to mention that it is dangerous to go to the other side of town all by yourself,” he said.

  “And for what?” my mom asked. “Why did you go?”

  I had a feeling this one wasn’t rhetorical. I was about to answer, when my father jumped in.

  “Leaving your team for another team? Again?” my father said. “Why? You need to fight for a spot on your own team, not run away every time you have to face an obstacle!”

  “But this is another issue,” my mom said.

  “Yes. Your soccer career is another issue,” my father said.

  “This is about your decision-making process.”

  “Your mother is right,” my father agreed with my mom. “It’s about making the right decisions.”

  “Can I say something?” I asked quietly.

  “If you have something to say, then say it.”

  “Everything you said is correct.” I stammered. “But they a-accepted m-me today. It was really tough. I had to win a round against every single player on the team.”

  “That’s not an answer,” my father said sternly.

  “I’m telling you what happened, so please listen!” I begged. “Coach Buckman is very mean. I hate going to practice when he is there. Dad, didn’t you tell me that the best moments in your life were when you were playing the game? For me, even if I play well, I feel bad. If it’s not fun, then what’s the point?”

  My parents listened intently. I couldn’t remember when I was able to talk to them like that, but I had to say it and they really listened.

  “Yes, I told you that you should enjoy the game,” my father agreed and I saw a flicker in his eyes. “When you enjoy the game, you play better. But you have to deal with a lot of bad stuff if you want to become a pro: bad moments. Losses. Injuries. Bad coaches. Jealous teammates.”

  I knew this speech. I had heard it many times before. My mom sensed it too and stepped in.

  “But Joe, Max isn’t a pro. He’s just a kid,” she said.

  “He needs to act like a pro now in order to becom
e one in the future,” my father insisted.

  “I did what I had to do,” I interjected. “I w-went to Brighton Park all by m-myself. I was invited. I played against almost all of the Wild Soccer Bunch and beat them. T-they a-accepted me onto their team. Although none of them really wanted it. And now I am one of the Wild Soccer Bunch. And I am happy.”

  My parents looked at each other, and behind their serious faces, their eyes were shining. I have to believe that in that very moment, despite all the worry and anger, they were proud of me.

  “D-Dad, M-Mom! P-Please. The Wild Soccer Bunch is the best soccer t-team I ever played on. And their field has lights. Can you believe it?

  A smile spread across my father’s face. It was brief. But I saw it.

  “Still,” he said. “I have to punish you. You ditched class. You lied to your teacher. And you didn’t listen to us.”

  I sighed. “True. But I didn’t really lie. I may have tricked Ms. Witching. But I didn’t lie. You always said if you’re smaller—like me—you have to use your wits more. You have to be smarter.” I shrugged. “I was smarter. But I didn’t lie.”

  My father hid his face so I couldn’t see his smile.

  “And I couldn’t talk to you, because you wouldn’t listen to me,” I added quickly.

  “Still,” my father said. “You need to be punished. For the next three weeks, you’ll help your mother whenever she needs you. Plus you’ll clean everyone’s soccer cleats. Fair? Yours and your brothers’.”

  I swallowed hard. That was tough. But I suppose it was fair.

  I was fine with cleaning the cleats. But I wasn’t fine with my brothers laughing at me. I knew they were going to enjoy this. They’d call me their slave, their whatever else they could come up with. And they’d tell everyone in school. On the other hand, I had to admit I got off easy. I was lucky. I knew that because my dad went on to tell me about the horrors I’d have to expect if I ever disappointed him again.

  “Okay,” my father said. “But if you get kicked off this team too, you are done with soccer, once and for all.”