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Jasper Zammit (Soccer Legend) #2: The Striker
ePub ISBN 9781742745305
Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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First published by Random House Australia 2005
Copyright © Johnny Warren and Deborah Abela 2005
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Abela, Deborah.
The striker.
For children.
ISBN 978 1 74166 086 9.
ISBN 1 74166 086 6.
1. Soccer – Juvenile fiction. I. Warren, Johnny, 1943–2004. II. Title. (Series: Warren, Johnny, 1943–2004. Jasper Zammit (soccer legend); 2).
A823.4
Cover and internal design: Lore Foye
Cover photo: Photolibrary/Robert Mizono
For Rodney
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Imprint Page
Dedication
RULE #1: Always keep your head up ready for action
RULE #2: Try out new things to keep your game fresh
RULE #3: Don’t try to be a star
RULE #4: Always accept the ruling of officials, no matter how disappointing
RULE #5: It’s skill, not size, that counts
RULE #6: Think about your wow-factor
RULE #7: Use your head
RULE #8: Always encourage new players
RULE #9: Never let fear get in the way of a goal
RULE #10: Even in the heat of the game, remember what is most important
RULE #11: Play the ball, never the player
RULE #12: Never, ever argue with the referee
RULE #13: Have a shot
RULE #14: Soccer is the great unifier
RULE #15: There’s more than one way to kick a goal
RULE #16: Don’t be afraid to improvise
RULE #17: Maintain control of the ball at all times
RULE #18: No matter how nervous you are, the game must go on
RULE #19: Don’t be afraid to try out new moves, they might just be magic
Glossary
Deborah Abela
Johnny Warren
Have you read these?
Max Remy Surperspy Series
JOHNNY SAYS:
Everything in soccer comes back to practice. Get to know the ball – how it feels, what happens when you touch it. If you practise your ball skills to the point where you can control the ball by feel, without even looking, then you can keep your head up to watch the play around you, and you’ll have so much more time to choose the best moment and the best play.
‘And Jasper Zammit has performed the perfect overhead kick! He never ceases to amaze me, Richy.’
‘I’m with you there, Higsy. He must have been a good metre off the ground when he kicked that ball over his shoulder and into the safe boots of his team, avoiding what would have been a definite goal by Manchester United. How does he do it?’
‘I’m not sure, Richy, but Real Madrid certainly made a good move when they signed that young player up. He is blessed with not only exceptional pace and incredible dribbling, but he has a finish that most players can only dream of.’
‘He also knows timing: when to move, when to stay back and when to throw himself into the action.’
‘Which he is just about to do, Richy.’
‘You’re right, Higsy, he’s making his way down the wing towards the penalty area. He’s taken possession of the ball, performs a masterful backflip and spins round to face the goal and … he scores! What a magnificent play! And look at that stadium. Packed to capacity and going wild.’
‘We have just witnessed one of soccer’s finest moments. I feel proud to have had the privilege of … (sniff).’
‘Higsy? You all right?’
‘I’m just a little emotional (sniff).’
‘It’s all right, Higsy, when one gets to be a part of such brilliance, it’s okay to shed a tear or two. I feel a little choked up myself. In fact, it makes me want to shout out …’
‘Jasper! Watch out!’
Jasper looked up but it was too late. Two opposing players were barrelling towards him, nostrils flared, fists clenched, eager to gain possession of the ball that was headed straight for him.
‘Oh.’
Jasper stared and did the only thing he could to avoid a possible collision.
He jumped out of the way.
The thing is, though, he’d concentrated so much on the jump, he forgot to think about the landing and came squelching down with a heavy splat into a pool of mud.
Someone called out, ‘It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Super-Zammit!’
Laughter flew all around him before a strange thing happened. Jasper heard birds. Lots of birds. And he felt like he was floating, as if he’d been filled with helium and was drifting across the sky like some lost party balloon. And there were others too. Beckham waved as he kicked a ball to Ronaldinho and Vieri, Romario and Harry Kewell. He had floated into a giant soccer practice with some of the greatest players he knew. And there was music, like a harp, and a dog barking. It felt kind of nice.
Until Coach Wallace slapped him on the cheek.
Jasper realised he wasn’t at some lofty training session in the sky, but lying in the mud with a pain in both sides and a sore elbow, which he guessed must have broken his fall.
He opened his eyes to see his dog, Ronaldinho, a fluffy white Maltese terrier, panting at his side, and his mum’s face which was splattered with a kind of twisted horror. And beside the two of them was Jasper’s dad, who was waving his hands and moving his mouth like he was trying to tell him something.
‘Son, son, can you hear me? Do you remember who I am? I’m your dad who loves you more than anyone else.’
Jasper saw Diego and Tricky in the background, holding their hands across their hearts, nodding their heads and pretending to cry while only just managing to hold back wailing laughter.
If Jasper had his way, his mum and dad would have received the World’s Best Parents’ award years ago, or been given their own TV show where they gave advice on how to raise kids, that’s how great he thought they were, but right now, they were just plain embarrassing.
Jasper sighed and said quietly, ‘I guess I’m not training with Harry Kewell after all.’
‘He’s talking gibberish,’ Coach Wallace said carefully. ‘Let’s go easy.’
‘He always talks gibberish,’ Tricky joked, and Josie elbowed him in the stomach.
‘Is the kid okay?’ The referee ran up to join the increasing crowd of soccer players and parents who had gathered around Jasper.
‘We’re not sure,’ Noggin whispered. ‘He has these daydreams where he thinks he’s a famous soccer star.
We think he’s in the middle of one of those.’
‘Oh dear,’ the ref replied.
Jasper had had enough of being the centre of attention, plus the mud from the ground was sinking into his new shirt and his increasingly dented ego.
He pulled his hands from the mini-swamp in a slimy squish and tried to get up.
But Coach Wallace had other ideas. Since Lil had been knocked unconscious and sent to hospital two games ago, he was very cautious about on-field accidents.
‘You’re not going anywhere until we know you’re okay. How many fingers am I holding up?’
More parents and players had gathered around, pointing and staring, so that Jasper felt like the main act at a circus. He sighed and thought, I’m just going to have to do this, aren’t I?
‘Three,’ he moaned.
‘That’s good, son!’ His dad almost shouted.
Ronaldinho whined. Sometimes Jasper’s parents went too far.
‘Now tell us your name,’ the coach asked slowly.
Again Diego and Tricky sniggered to each other while Jasper just wanted to disappear. ‘It’s Jasper.’
‘You can do it, boy,’ the ref encouraged.
‘Um, Coach, it’s getting kind of soggy down here. Can I get up now?’
‘Just a few more questions,’ Coach Wallace continued. ‘What day is it?’
Jasper’s mother held her hands together willing him to get the answer right.
The day I stop embarrassing myself, Jasper promised himself silently before spelling out, ‘Saturday. We’re playing the Eagles, and,’ he sighed, ‘Real Madrid haven’t signed me up after all.’
Ronaldinho licked his muddy friend.
‘See what I mean about the daydreaming,’ Noggin whispered to the ref.
Jasper’s parents shot worried looks towards each other and his mum mouthed the word ‘hospital’, which he couldn’t let happen.
‘I’m fine. My name is Jasper Zammit.’ He began pointing. ‘You’re my parents, he’s my dog and they’re the Rovers, and sometimes I even play well enough to deserve being part of their team.’
Ronaldinho barked and there was an instant sigh of relief from the ref and some parents at the back.
‘He’s okay.’ Lil flashed him a huge grin and even Mugger, who never got excited about anything, almost smiled.
‘As long as he remembers the part about playing well enough,’ Tricky joked.
Jasper’s mum dropped her hands in relief. ‘Oh, my beautiful boy’s back.’
Coach Wallace and Jasper’s dad helped him up.
‘Real Madrid, eh?’ Coach smiled as he brushed down the mud with an old hanky he took from his pocket. ‘Nothing like aiming high, I guess.’
‘Yeah.’ Jasper wasn’t sure which was more dangerous for his health, the fall, the mud or Coach Wallace’s old hanky.
The coach finished brushing him down to the sniggers of a few players around him. ‘And you can sit out the rest of this game.’
Jasper panicked.
‘But …’ he began.
‘No buts. You’ve had a bad fall and I won’t have you playing so soon after a knock.’
‘We’ll be one player down!’
Normally the Rovers had spare players, but recently some kids from the same family had moved interstate and they were down to only eleven, just enough to play a full team.
Ronaldinho yelped in agreement but Coach Wallace had already begun to walk away and Jasper knew even if he’d tried to argue further there was no way the coach was going to let him play.
Jasper’s mum and dad stood on either side of him. ‘Coach is right. Come on.’
Jasper looked back at the field and the assembling players. Lil gave him a smile. She and Jasper had been practising some new plays together but they’d have to wait until next week to try them out.
Jasper’s parents helped him over to the grassy hill beside the field. He sat down with a segment of orange and bit into it in frustration. Ronaldinho nestled beside him and gave Jasper’s hand a small lick.
Jasper smiled. It was as if Ronaldinho could tell what he was thinking. ‘Thanks, boy.’
But as the game restarted, Jasper knew that if he couldn’t even concentrate on his own championship, he had no chance of becoming a soccer champion. The Rovers were a third of the way through the season, and if they were going to make the finals, he would have to work not only on his game but on trying to control his imagination as well.
JOHNNY SAYS:
There’s not much difference between winning and losing in sport, so if some training technique can give you the edge, give it a go, no matter how strange it might seem. At times I’ve even used hypnosis to help me overcome the hype of a big game.
‘Are you sure this is necessary, Nannu?’
‘Absolutely. Some of the biggest players in the world improve their game by doing other sports: boxing, running, athletics. Now, hold me around the waist.’
Jasper’s grandad used to play soccer for Australia and once even helped coach the Australian men’s team when they travelled overseas to play the world’s best. He trained Jasper in their backyard, and sometimes his methods weren’t what could be called regular, but Jasper figured if it had worked for his grandad, then maybe it’d work for him.
‘Dancing teaches you timing, rhythm and more importantly the ability to second guess what your partner is going to do. It’s the secret behind a good soccer move and it’s also how your Nanna and I won the National Dancing Championships for so many years in a row.’
They were in Nannu’s flat at the far end of Jasper’s backyard. They’d moved the bed, rug and chairs against the wall and Nannu had put on an old record which wobbled around a turntable that looked so old Jasper was surprised it still worked. Ronaldinho usually joined their training sessions but for this one, he perched a safe distance away on Nannu’s bed and just watched.
‘That’s it,’ Nannu cried. ‘Now you’re getting it. Don’t forget to … Ow!’
‘Sorry, Nannu.’
Jasper had stepped on his grandad’s foot and, doing some quick maths, worked out that it must have been about the tenth time.
‘It’s all right,’ Nannu winced as he rubbed his foot. ‘I just don’t understand how none of my dancing genes passed down to you or your father.’
Ronaldinho barked as if he knew exactly what Nannu was talking about. Jasper and his dad were good at lots of things, but dancing wasn’t one of them. His dad used to say Jasper had Nannu’s legs when it came to soccer, but when it came to dancing, he’d inherited his dad’s feet.
Nannu limped over to the record player and restarted the music. ‘Let’s go again.’
Jasper tried hard to concentrate on his steps.
‘You know what Maradona said to me once?’
In his years of playing soccer, Nannu had met lots of famous players and he could tell Jasper exactly what they’d said as if they’d only told him the day before.
He spun Jasper into a smooth twirl. ‘When he was preparing to have a shot at goal, he’d watch the goalkeeper’s feet, and as soon as they moved, that’s when he’d decide where to kick the ball. Not a second before. He had perfect timing and the ability to second guess.’
Jasper knew Maradona was one of the greatest players of all time, and even though when he first started playing people said he was too short and stocky, he scored brilliant goals and played in four World Cup tournaments.
‘Was it exciting when you met him?’ Jasper had imagined meeting Maradona so many times, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw him for real.
Nannu laughed as they shuffled across the floor. ‘It was at a combined training session between Argentina and Australia, and I was so excited I couldn’t get my mouth to work. When he said hello, whole seconds went by when I forgot to breathe.’
‘What happened?’
‘Finally, I managed to start breathing again as Maradona walked behind the goal-post and lined up a few soccer balls. He stood back a little and, after
a few seconds, he chipped the first ball up and over the goal with so much backspin that it curved into the net. And it wasn’t a fluke, he did the same with all the other balls. None of us said anything. We just stood in silence, knowing we were watching one of the greatest players in the world.’
The music on the record player built up for a big finish as Jasper and Nannu turned on the concrete floor.
‘This game has magic in it,’ his grandad almost whispered. ‘People all over the world know that, and it’s the reason why it’s called the beautiful game.’
Nannu ended by bending Jasper into a low dip just as the music finished. He nodded his head. ‘You’re getting better.’
‘Thanks, Nannu.’ Jasper was pleased that a whole minute had gone by without him stepping on his grandad’s toes once.
What he wasn’t pleased about was what happened next.
‘Diving into mud during a soccer game not embarrassing enough for you, Zammit?’
The door of the flat had swung open and Lil, Josie and Tricky stood before him upside down. At least to him they were upside down, because he was still swinging from Nannu’s arms in a low dip.
Tricky, Josie and Jasper had all been in the same soccer team since they started in the Under 5’s. Tricky got his name because he could perform great tricks with his feet on the soccer field, but also because he thought he was pretty tricky with the girls.
‘That’s enough from you, Tricky. Dancing’s an excellent way to sharpen your skills on the field. You’d know that if you didn’t spend so much time sharpening your tongue instead.’ Nannu raised an eyebrow beneath his wispy fringe.
‘Yes, Mr Zammit,’ Tricky smirked.
‘Don’t worry about Tricky,’ Josie answered. ‘His brain doesn’t cope with subtle ideas like that, it’s still concentrating on how to spell his own name.’
The Striker Page 1
