Over the Wall

by Michael Panckridge

  We worked hard for half an hour before he called us back in.

  ‘Okay, you think you’ve got it, everyone?’ We nodded. The guy in the black jacket had wandered away.

  ‘You reckon we’ll score, Mr Zucker?’ I asked. ‘I mean, we have to win the game.’

  ‘I fancy our chances in a penalty shootout, Mitch, don’t you?’

  So that was his plan. Go for a scoreless draw, then win it in a shootout. But that wouldn’t necessarily work, either. To win the overall trophy, the results from both squads were equally important. It could well all come down to goal difference. But the Reds were sitting third on their ladder, and with us in second it was looking like we’d need a win for both teams if we wanted to improve our ladder positions enough to get our hands on the soccer trophy.

  The Hoods’ school was a dump. The pitch had bare patches of earth, big cracks, a few prickly weeds and even some stones.

  The place was alive with scruffy kids, yelling and screaming support for the Hoods. It was noisy and messy.

  ‘This is their plan,’ Mr Zucker was explaining to us. ‘They have been doing this for years. It’s because of the state of their grounds that our school hasn’t had a football or soccer visit to Wetherhood Street in the past few years, so this is new for all of you. Come in close.’

  A few of our teachers, including Mr T and Mr Bronsen, were helping out, and keeping other people away from our huddle down near the far goals.

  ‘The plan from yesterday, you all remember it? Yes?’ Mr Zucker asked.

  We nodded nervously. Even Fisk had a few drops of sweat on his brow.

  ‘Well, forget it!’ Mr Zucker shouted at us. ‘We play the way we’ve played all season! Shane, Alex, and Mitch, play high and forward. Jules, you’re in goal. Travis Fisk and Jimmy Paisley, look for the long ball through. Stay on your feet at all times. Got that?’

  Mr Zucker was breathing fire. I had never seen him so alive and passionate.

  ‘You remember the man in the black jacket last night? He saw it all, but he hasn’t heard this. I want three goals in the first fifteen minutes. Blast them off the pitch. Silence this crowd. Take control of the game. Do that for me, hey? Do that for your school.’

  We drew in closer. We linked arms. My hand ended up on Fisk’s shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice – or care.

  ‘SANDHURST!’ we yelled.

  We played the best soccer we’d ever played in that first half. All my fears about the Hoods getting their revenge, either for losing the football or for the little game with Fisk a few weeks ago, didn’t look like they were going to amount to anything.

  The only thing that bothered me was the referee. I’d seen him somewhere before, I was sure of it.

  In the first twenty-five minutes they didn’t get a look in. Shane, Alex and I had loads of space, as the Hoods stacked their midfield to try and counter our un-stacked (as it turned out) back line. It was amazing that it took so long for them to realise what was happening.

  Our first goal was a beautiful one-two by Alex and me, after a great pass from Fisk. He assisted the next goal, too, with a corner kick that dropped perfectly for Shane, who headed it into the goals. The third goal came after Paisley knocked through a little ball for me to run on to. I dodged around two Hoods, then shot out a pass to Alex on the right. I kept on running, sprinting for the left goalpost as he shot.

  Alex’s kick was heading just wide. At the very last second, still racing towards the goal line, I stretched out my left leg. As I slid across the bumpy ground, the ball caught my instep and dribbled into the net, just inside the post.

  The stones from near the line and beyond made their mark. I was making a habit of bleeding from the leg in important games. I was called off to get it patched up. The crowd of Hoods supporters had gone very quiet, and the Sandhurst faithful were at last finding their voice.

  Mr Zucker looked as determined as ever, but there was no smile yet.

  ‘It’s going well,’ I whispered to Mr Bronsen, our cricket coach.

  He smiled at me. ‘This game’s not over yet, Mitchell,’ he said, shaking his head.

  Three – nil. Something pretty major was going to have to happen to change things.

  And it did. Just a few minutes before half-time, Leech found a way to bring the Hoods back into the game. He took a swipe at Fisk while tackling him from behind. He missed, but Fisk didn’t with his reply – a sharp elbow up near the head.

  The referee’s whistle screamed and the crowd came to life. Hoods players and officials rushed from everywhere. I took a few steps forward, but Mr Zucker called me back. The referee yanked a red card from his pocket and flashed it triumphantly to the crowd, whose anger turned to cheers. Leech rose to his feet, and the crowd’s applause grew. He was the new hero.

  Fisk trudged off. The Hoods had smelt blood. Even if it was their own, it fired them up. Half-time couldn’t come soon enough.

  I looked at my own blood, seeping through the bandage around my knee.

  ‘Get up and move!’ Mr Zucker yelled at me. ‘I don’t want that stiffening up.’

  Fisk took my seat.

  As I started jogging, there was another roar from the crowd. Paisley had given away a free just outside the penalty box and the referee was rushing in again, all arms and legs, pointing to the penalty spot.

  ‘No way!’ I screamed. I turned to Mr Zucker. He had his arms crossed and was shaking his head slowly.

  The tall kid called Totem lined up for the spot kick.

  ‘Watch his hips, Jules,’ I murmured to myself. But Jules stayed frozen to the spot, paralysed by the crowd and the Hoods players staring at him and yelling abuse. The ball rifled past him.

  A minute later, they scored another goal, and the crowd was in a frenzy.

  3 – 2.

  ‘Time, ref!’ Mr Zucker called, pointing to his watch.

  ‘I’m playing time-on,’ he yelled back.

  ‘We’ve never played time-on,’ Mr Zucker muttered to Mr Bronsen. We held on for what seemed like ages, the Hoods dominating possession, until finally the referee blew half-time.

  ‘A thirty-eight minute half,’ Mr T muttered. ‘Did someone die out there or something?’

  Mr Zucker made plenty of changes for the second half. I was in goals, Jules playing striker. Alex went into the midfield. Mr Zucker chatted to Mr T for a moment, then turned back to us.

  There was fear in the group. You could sense it. There were Sandhurst kids who didn’t want to go back out there, and Mr Zucker knew it.

  ‘We’re down to ten men, but we’re still a goal up. The momentum for them is over. You need to start this half like you started the first. In control. But this time you have to control it all up here’ – he was pointing to his head – ‘as well as down on the pitch. Don’t grizzle, don’t grumble, and don’t groan about anything. You are a wonderful team. You are a better side than they are. Now grit your teeth, talk to each other and go out there and play the game of your life!’

  We yelled our support and jogged out to meet our fate.

  Mr Zucker was right. The Hoods had lost a bit of their momentum after the halftime break. Neither team got that close to the goals in the first twenty minutes. Even the crowd had settled down. Alex was working hard, and Paisley and Jules were also starting to dominate.

  But against the run of play, and with our defence pushing up, a little Hoods guy who had snuck out wide on his own got a long pass from their defence.

  I yelled out for the defence to get back, but we were caught out badly. He was racing towards goal, elbows flying, dribbling the ball in front of him.

  I crouched low and watched him closely. Just as he was approaching the penalty box, I screamed to try and drown out the crowd’s noise and went for him. I dived out at the ball just as he released his shot. The ball thudded into my body, and a moment later the kid was ramming a boot into me before flying over me in a dramatic dive.

  The referee blew his whistle. Relief flooding through me, I struggled
to my feet to grab the ball, which had bounced a few metres away to the right. But the referee was pointing to the penalty spot.

  ‘That was a clean save,’ I yelled at him.

  ‘Don’t you shout at me, and don’t you shout at any player, either. Penalty!’

  The referee put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a yellow card. He pointed it at me, then at the crowd. I couldn’t believe it.

  I looked towards our bench.

  ‘Do what you do best, Mitch,’ Mr Zucker called out, his face hard and determined. Shaking my head in anger and frustration, I hobbled back to the goal line. Totem was going to take the kick again.

  I looked back to the bench. Fisk was standing there staring at me. He tapped a finger at his eye, then again on his hip. Then he nodded and clenched a fist.

  I focused all my attention on Totem’s body. He placed the ball down carefully, all the time staring at me with a stupid grin on his face. He moved one pace back.

  ‘You right, goalie?’ the referee asked me.

  ‘Great,’ I replied. For an awful moment I thought he was going to pull out another card, but all he did was point at it and smile. A toothy, gold smile!

  I stared in amazement.

  There was a shout from somewhere and I looked up to see the ball flying towards me. I side-stepped and then flung myself off the ground, arms stretched to their fullest. I was airborne and parallel to the ground when the ball smashed into my right hand. I caught enough of it to make it deviate slightly from its course. Instead of finding net, the ball thudded into the post and rebounded, to my horror, straight back to Totem. I scrambled to my feet, took a few long strides forward and again flew into the air, this time straight at Totem.

  His foot and my body must have hit the ball at the same time. The power of his shot drove the ball into me and knocked the wind out of my chest. I clung onto the ball, gasping for air. I didn’t care at that moment if the referee banned me for life. I just wanted air.

  I sucked feebly at nothing; desperate, short gasps. Slowly, I started to regain a sense of calm as the choking and rasping gave way to breathing.

  Someone was trying to prise the ball from me, but I wasn’t letting go.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, give the lad the ball and let’s get on with it,’ the referee was saying.

  ‘It’s our kick?’ I coughed, hardly believing it.

  ‘So hurry up and take it, or I’ll take it from you!’ he barked.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered.

  ‘Great save, Grady. I’ll take the kick. You okay?’ asked Paisley, taking the ball.

  ‘Yep. Just belt it out of here,’ I wheezed through clenched teeth, my lungs still working overtime to suck in some air.

  ‘You bet,’ he said, as he thumped it out over the half line.

  Amid a frenzy of noise and abuse, we hung on for the remaining ten minutes – plus the extra time, of course – to win the game. After five goals in the first half, neither side managed to score in the second half.

  Mr Zucker insisted that we shake hands with the Hoods, but the only player who shook my hand was the little guy whose shot I had blocked when he ran at me.

  ‘Good game, mate!’ He grinned at me. ‘You’re a legend goalie!’

  He walked off, whistling.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rat,’ he replied, turning back. ‘Why?’

  ‘I dunno. Good game, hey?’

  ‘Yeah. You got that Legends thing at your school, don’t you?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘It’s awesome.’

  ‘My dad reckons sport is all I’m good for and he says that a kid left your school so there’s a spot there for someone. He reckons it could be me but I’d get lynched by Totem and Leech and the guys for jumping ship and–’

  Rat hadn’t drawn a breath.

  ‘It’s a good school, Rat.’

  ‘Yeah, well basketball’s me best sport, so I might stay here for that,’ he said, kicking at the dirt.

  ‘Or come over and be the Legend of Basketball at our school,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, could do that.’ He grinned at me. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Now, do you want the good news, or the extremely good news?’ Mr Zucker teased, as students and parents gathered around for the Legend of Soccer presentation in front of the Sandhurst gym. He raised a hand, and the crowd’s noise died down.

  ‘Not only have we won our first game over at the Hoods in eight years, but, thanks in part to a stunning upset over at Scornly, we have managed to secure the inter-school soccer trophy as well.’

  A huge roar went up from everyone. It took ages for the cheers and chatter to die down, but at the mention of the word ‘legends’, the noise quickly ceased.

  ‘Mr Bronsen has gone to collect the inter-school football and netball trophies so that we can line the two up together. Now, I’m going to ask someone to present the inter-school soccer trophy to Mrs Waite. This player gave everything today. He, quite literally, put his body on the line to keep out a rampaging Hoods attack. Mitchell Grady, please step forward and do us the honour of presenting the trophy to Mrs Waite.’

  Shocked and embarrassed, I stepped forward to the tables out the front. Mr Zucker handed me the microphone and smiled.

  ‘Um, Mrs Waite, on behalf of the Sandhurst soccer players, who should all come up here now . . .’ I paused a moment to let everyone know I meant it. No one had moved. ‘Who should actually all come out here right now . . .’ I nodded at Franko and Shane, who started to move.

  Soon all of the players were out the front, and the cheering and clapping had started up again. We lined up. I passed the trophy to Franko, standing next to me, who passed it on down the line until finally Chaz passed it to Mrs Waite.

  ‘We present you and the school with the inter-school soccer trophy.’ I handed the microphone back and looked for Dad. He was nodding his approval and clapping.

  I noticed Mr Bronsen talking with Mr Zucker in urgent whispers. He didn’t have the Legends footy trophy with him. Miss Javros joined the two of them, off to one side.

  Mrs Waite had already started to speak.

  I didn’t have much of a hope of being the Legend of Soccer myself, but Luci and Becky, standing alongside me, were both in with a huge chance in the girls’ competition. I thought Franko or Fisk, or maybe Chaz or even Paisley would be up there. I was hoping to be in the top five at least, though tonight we would only find out the top three.

  That strange, nervous feeling washed over me again as Mrs Waite thanked Mr Zucker and Miss Lan, as well as all the other teachers who had helped out.

  ‘Let’s get all these cold, tired soccer players home, shall we?’ she said. ‘Always a little left field, is our Mr Zucker. He’s asked me to present the awards in order from first to third, rather than beginning from third place like we usually do. I’m going to start with the boys. Now, we have a wonderfully close competition this year, with only three points separating the top four placegetters. Franko Benini, you are this year’s Legend of Soccer. Congratulations!’

  Franko bounced out to receive the small trophy. He was the best player, so it was well deserved. He stood a moment, smiling shyly as he held the trophy.

  Travis Fisk, Richard Mazis and Jimmy Paisley edged up closer to the front till they were standing next to me. Fisk was looking anxious and expectant.

  ‘It’s gotta be Fisk,’ Paisley whispered to me. ‘He got twenty out of twenty in the quiz.’

  Jimmy Paisley and I were talking a lot more. I wondered if he was growing tired of Fisk and his bullying ways.

  ‘He got twenty?’ I said, a bit too loudly. ‘He never did any research. I never saw him in the library! How did he get twenty?’ I asked, softer this time. ‘And how do you know he got twenty?’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘I could have, too,’ he said.

  I turned to look at him, thinking the worst.

  ‘Are you saying–?’

  ‘In second place then, just a point behind, is Travis Fisk.
Well done, Travis.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. Had he cheated? It wouldn’t have been the first time. Did he deserve the certificate, and, worse, the four points that he had just received in this year’s Legend competition? Fisk was nodding and smiling, holding the certificate up in one hand. His other hand was raised in a clenched fist. Fisk and his fist. I was sick of it. He and Franko stood out there, accepting the applause of the crowd. Mazis was cheering, and Jimmy was clapping slowly. Up on the stage, Franko was shyly waiting to get back to his family, while Fisk stood with his chest out, soaking up the atmosphere and basking in the glory.

  Mr Bronsen and Miss Javros had disappeared again, and Mr Zucker looked as though he suddenly had a problem. It must have been something pretty major to distract him from the Legend of Soccer presentations.

  ‘And finally,’ Mrs Waite continued, ‘in third place, again a further point behind, is Chaz Green.’

  Another blast of cheers rang out as Chaz, shaking his head in surprise, stepped out to receive his handshake and certificate.

  All I could think about was Fisk, who had now gained at least two points on me in the overall Legend of Sport. I knew the figures off by heart. If I came fourth in soccer, receiving two points, I would be level with Fisk on eighteen points. These were his strongest sports.

  I looked at him closely. He must have been reading my thoughts. He was staring at me in turn, a smirk on his face. The three of them left the stand. Last to go down was Fisk.

  ‘And to the girls. In first place, with a wonderful score of seventy-nine points, Rebecca Tan!’

  The cheering started up again. Becky and Luci gave each other a hug, then Becky went to get her trophy.

  ‘Again, a point behind, in second place, Mia Tompkins!’

  I looked over at Luci. She was smiling at Becky, who was now looking disappointed. Luci did get her third place, though, and in a moment had edged herself next to her best friend, the two of them all smiles again while the three girls stood in front of the flashing cameras.