by Scott Allen
‘Wakey, wakey. That happened about two hours ago,’ said Cairo.
‘WE ARE IN THE SEMI-FINALS OF THE CUP!’ Tim shouted again, grabbing Cairo and shaking him with delight. ‘YIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’
‘And we managed to get through even though Hotspurts cheated,’ added Cairo. ‘That won’t happen again.’
Little did they know their semi-final opponents had an even nastier plan up their sleeves.
32
THE LUDO DISASTER
The semi-final of the Cup against Gunnerall was just a week away, and all of Tim’s dreams were about football. In the good ones, Llama United always won the trophy, usually by loads of goals. But the bad dreams were really bad. The worst was when Tim had to play the game in goal, totally naked. Nobody would lend him a kit. He was so busy covering his crown jewels that he couldn’t use his hands, so every time someone had a shot it would fly into the corner of the net. The crowd were laughing, the players were laughing, the coaching staff were laughing; even the royal person and their family sitting high up in the stand were laughing.
When Tim woke from that one he was drenched in sweat with his duvet wrapped round his neck. He let out a huge sigh of relief that it was only a dream and he wouldn’t have to go in goal, especially not naked.
Tim put on his Llama United training kit. A black tracksuit, with purple trim, the Llama United badge and his initials – ‘TG’ – emblazoned across his chest. He was very proud of this kit; it made him look really professional. Beetroot had done a fantastic job making one for each person in the backroom staff, even though Frank had complained about the price. He then brushed his hair, which was rare because he didn’t usually bother, and then went downstairs for some breakfast.
Oddly, Cairo was already in the kitchen. He had his head in his hands and he looked very sad. Tim had never seen him like this before.
‘I’ve got some bad news, Tim,’ said Cairo quietly.
‘What is it?’ asked Tim, a prickly feeling attaching itself to his neck.
Cairo let out a big sigh and sniffed away a tiny tear. ‘Looks like Ludo got injured during the night. He’s lying down in the middle of the field.’
Ludo never lay down. He was the ultimate standing-up llama. If there was a world record for standing up, Ludo would win it hands down . . . Well, feet down; llamas don’t have hands.
‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Tim. ‘What happened? Is he going to be all right?’
Cairo let out another huge long sigh, and did another big sniff.
‘No idea what happened. McCloud found him like that this morning. Your dad has called the vet and she’ll be coming in a bit.’
Tim sprinted out to the field. True enough, Ludo was lying on his side in the grass, breathing very slowly. The other llamas, plus Motorway, Frank, McCloud, Beetroot, Monica and Fiona were all standing around him in a big circle. Tim skidded down in the mud next to Ludo and gave his neck some strokes. Ludo just lay there, his dark dry tongue hanging out of his mouth slightly. His eyes were glazed over. The little look and nod he always gave Tim as a greeting wasn’t there this time.
‘How did this happen, Ludo?’ whispered Tim, as a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Please don’t die on us!’
Cairo knelt down next to Tim and started softly humming while stroking Ludo’s neck. He didn’t say anything but Tim could tell he was trying his hardest to hold back the tears.
So what did happen to Ludo? Well, if I’m honest, I wasn’t paying attention and completely missed whatever happened in the field. I’m frightfully sorry about this. Luckily, I speak sheep, and I managed to listen in on Motorway muttering about the details. I’m going to summarize what she said below because her story is full of ‘bleets’ and ‘baas’, so it took ages.
Apparently, in the dead of night a red-and-white van pulled up and three men dressed in black hopped over the fence. One of them was carrying a huge metal bar and he swung it at Ludo several times. Luckily, Ludo somehow brilliantly kicked it away each time. This made the men angry, so one of them went back to the van and returned with a plastic bag. The other two men grabbed Ludo and stuffed whatever was in the bag down Ludo’s throat. Ludo suddenly started coughing and spluttering and staggering about the field, then he lay down on the ground. The three men did high fives and then got back in the van and drove off.
Doesn’t sound very nice does it? Well it wasn’t. Cup football makes people do funny things.
As Tim stroked Ludo’s neck, a woman in a smart red dress and sparkly black shoes clambered into the field. She was carrying a small leather case and she had a really wide grin on her face.
‘Hiya,’ said the smart woman, kneeling down in the mud. ‘I’m Janet Guymond, the vet. This must be Ludo.’
Tim looked Janet up and down. She certainly wasn’t dressed like a vet. She looked like she was going to work in an office. Janet noticed she was being eyed suspiciously.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me, young man.’ She laughed. ‘I am a vet. I’m the “No Wellingtons Vet”. You might have seen my adverts? I’m famous for not wearing wellingtons. Which was fine when I worked in the city, but it’s not working quite as well now I’m in the countryside . . . I’ve ruined so many shoes . . .’ She trailed off, noticing Tim and Cairo were only really interested in Ludo.
‘So, let’s see what’s up with the patient. Don’t think I’ve ever done a llama before,’ said Janet with a chirpy laugh.
This was not something Tim wanted to hear. He screwed up a little patch of grass in his fist in annoyance, but remained silent.
Janet did all the usual checks you would do on any animal; looked in his eyes, checked his mouth and ears, then his hair and limbs. Ludo remained unmoved. ‘Hmmmm,’ she muttered to herself as she began studying Ludo’s dry tongue. ‘This is unusually dry. What have you been feeding him?’
‘Same as all the other llamas,’ said Tim. ‘Just the llama feed, hay and water, plus the grass of course.’
‘Hmmmm, the grass,’ said Janet, expertly pulling herself to her feet and patrolling the surrounding area like a detective. ‘I think your llama might have been poisoned.’
‘POISONED!’ exclaimed Tim, Cairo, McCloud and Frank all at the same time, like people do in the movies.
‘Yes, poisoned,’ said Janet, stalking around the field. She was following a load of footprints in the mud. You’ve got the semi-finals of the Cup coming up in a few days’ time. I’d say this was an act of sabotage . . . Aha!’
Janet bent down to pick something up off the ground. ‘Here’s the culprit.’ She held some bright red packaging above her head.
‘What’s that?’ asked Tim, his stomach clenched with fear.
‘This is an empty packet of Jimmy Wodgers, the driest biscuit known to man. These biscuits can suck the moisture out of anything. They are especially deadly to pack animals that retain a lot of water, like the camel or llama.’
Tim grabbed the red packaging from the vet and ripped it into tiny pieces. This wouldn’t make Ludo any better but he needed to take his fury out on something.
‘It must be the work of Gunnerall,’ said McCloud through gritted teeth. ‘They’ll try anything to get an advantage over us in the semi-final. Nobbling our goalkeeper is the lowest of the low.’
‘But will Ludo be all right?’ Tim asked Janet, ignoring McCloud’s angry muttering.
The vet’s face crunched into a frown. ‘It’s very hard to tell at this stage; it really depends on exactly when he was fed the biscuits. We’ll do some tests. If it was longer than ten hours ago . . . he might not be able to play football ever again.’
Cairo buried his head in his hands; he was really crying now. Tim gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but he was also having to blink a lot to fight back the tears. He looked down at Ludo and whispered softly in his ear.
‘It’s going to be OK, Ludo, we are going to get you through this. The vet is going to do some tests an
d make you better and you’ll be back strutting round the field in no time. I promise.’
Frank pulled out his black notepad when he heard the word ‘tests’ – they sounded expensive. His badly built vineyard wasn’t doing very well either. It turns out that grape vines don’t really like the cold and the rain, so he had to keep replacing them, which was costing him even more money. Meanwhile, part of Fiona’s princess castle had blown away one Wednesday morning, so she was in a really bad mood with him. Poor Frank.
‘It’s not all doom and gloom,’ said Janet encouragingly. ‘If we’ve caught the poisoning early he might make a full recovery, although he’ll be a long-shot for the semi-final.’
Tim wiped his eyes on his sleeve. ‘I’m not really bothered about whether he can play any more; I just want him to be all right. He was our first llama, after all.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ replied the vet. ‘I’ll do my very best for him.’
‘But what do we do if he doesn’t make the semi-final?’ said McCloud, his voice breaking. It sounded like he might burst into tears at any minute too.
Tim turned on his heels and stormed off. As he crossed the field he took several deep breaths to try and calm himself down; if he didn’t he would lose his temper with the heartless McCloud. Right now, Llama United didn’t matter. Ludo’s health was more important than the semi-final.
33
THE SUBSTITUTE
On the Wednesday before the semi-final McCloud called a team meeting in the Gravys’ kitchen.
Since the poisoning the family had taken it in turns to sit and keep an eye on Ludo at the vets. Even Fiona had spent a whole night reading her favourite books to him. Oddly these were mainly cookbooks. Cookbooks about puddings. I’m not sure llamas are impressed by jam roly-poly.
‘I’ve been thinking about the game situation,’ McCloud said as everyone settled into their seats. ‘The game is only a few days away and Ludo hasn’t recovered yet.’
‘That’s typical,’ tutted Tim folding his arms. ‘All you’re thinking about is the match – you don’t care about Ludo.’
Poor Tim was exhausted; he spent the most time alongside Ludo and had hardly slept. He’d get angry with himself if he ever nodded off and found himself jogging on the spot to keep himself awake. He was desperate to see a tiny flicker of recognition in Ludo’s eyes.
McCloud shook his head. ‘No, no, you are very wrong, laddie. I do care about Ludo. I care about him very much . . . that’s why I’ve been thinking about forfeiting the match.’
‘Really?’ replied Tim. He’d always thought McCloud only cared about football, and the word ‘forfeit’ would never even enter his head. Maybe he wasn’t so heartless after all.
McCloud nodded. ‘Aye son, it’s probably for the best that we cancel the match.’
It was Cairo who jumped in to stop the conversation. ‘Hey, hey, you are talking like Ludo is dead. He’s not, he’s still alive. I doubt he’d want you to cancel the match just because he got injured. You’ve worked so hard to get to this stage, plus all the supporters are counting on you.’
‘That’s true,’ replied Tim. ‘We’ve also got to pay the bills on the farm.’
He looked at his dad, who had been silent so far. Tim knew he was thinking about the bills mounting up, and possibly grapes. He was nervously twisting that cursed little black notepad in his hands.
‘So instead of being all miserable about it, let’s think of a solution,’ Cairo continued. ‘You’d be really angry if Ludo got better again and you’d already cancelled the match. Couldn’t we try and find a substitute keeper?’
‘Where the Gable Endies are we going to get a substitute llama goalkeeper at this stage?’ snorted McCloud. ‘The game is just three days away. Even if we could find another guard llama, there’s no guarantee they’d be any good at football.’
‘It doesn’t have to be a llama goalkeeper,’ said Cairo. ‘Just a goalkeeper. There must be someone. How about you, Frank?’
Frank shuffled uneasily in his seat. ‘I’m rubbish at football,’ he muttered. ‘I can hardly even catch a beach ball.’
It’s true. During his school days Frank was almost always picked last for football. It wasn’t rare for the opposition to score more than ten goals when he was playing, which would usually mean he’d get loads of abuse, such as ‘Hey, Gravy, you’re the worst football player ever!’ and ‘My gran tackles better than you, Gravy!’ – and that was just from the teacher. It still made Frank wince thinking about it now, thirty years later. So the last thing he was going to do was go in goal in front of 80,000 people in the semi-final of the Cup.
‘Ahem, ahem,’ said Monica from the doorway. She was holding her laptop again.
‘I think I might have found a solution,’ she said with a grin.
Tim, McCloud, Cairo and Frank peered at screen. Several pictures of men wearing green or yellow tops were displayed in a long list.
GOALKEEPERS FREE AGENT LIST
RAY CLICK
Age: 34
League appearances: 127
Goals: 0
Honours: League Two title
Height: 6ft 2"
Weight: 13st 8
Click is famed for his point-blank one-handed save in the Cup third round against Bognor Regis, which saved Sathampton from a humiliating defeat to lower league opposition. Strong, reliable and injury free.
ALESSANDRO DI ALESSANDRO
Age: 26
League appearances: 10
Goals: 0
Honours: Italy U21
Height: 6ft
Weight: 12st 4
Despite a promising youth career Alessandro has struggled with injuries over the last few seasons. However, he has now made a full recovery and is ready for a new challenge. Penalties a speciality.
JOE TOOT
Age: 40
League appearances: 6
Goals: 0
Honours: none
Height: 6ft 3"
Weight: 14st 6
Toot has been part of League Champions Munchester United’s side since the early 2000s and has been a valuable and experienced second-choice keeper during a huge period of success. Handling and agility are important parts of his game.
DUNCAN O’LEARY
Age: 42
League appearances: 502
Goals: 6
Honours: Cup (3), Premier League (1), League Cup (4), Ireland caps (87)
Height: 6ft 1"
Weight: 18st 10
As one of Ireland’s favourite sons, Duncan O’Leary needs very little introduction. The man who single-handedly got Ireland into the quarter-finals of the World Cup after scoring the winner against Saudi Arabia in the first knockout stage. His well-publicized off-field problems have now been put well and truly behind him.
OLIVER WHIPSON
Age: 36
League appearances: 97
Goals: 0
Honours: none
Height: 6ft 4"
Weight: 14st 2
Following a five-year hiatus from the game, Whipson has returned to professional football after the collapse of his TV career. Command of area and leadership are his plus points.
‘Wow, this is impressive,’ said Frank, ‘Well done, Monica. How did you get this?’
‘Off the internet,’ replied Monica with a shrug. ‘You can get most things off the internet if you look in the right place.’
‘Maybe we should start ringing their agents right now before someone else snaps them up,’ said Cairo.
McCloud made a strangled coughing noise. ‘Whooa, the Bully Wee, sonny,’ he shouted. ‘Hold your horses. There’s a good reason why these players still don’t have a club so late in the season.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Cairo.
‘Because they are all rubbish and naebody wants them. This is the dregs of professional football right here, all made to look good by their agents so clubs will sign them.’
‘But there’s a bloke here with eighty-seven Ireland caps,’ s
aid Cairo, scrolling to Duncan O’Leary’s face on the screen.
‘C’mon, Cairo,’ said Tim. ‘Even my mum has heard of Duncan O’Leary. He’s an absolute nightmare, has been since that World Cup. He’s headbutted referees, kicked club owners and once he even punched a police horse!’
‘Not forgetting that time he brought a whole bag of goldfish on to the pitch and began eating them raw. He even spat the heads at the crowd. Not a pretty sight,’ added McCloud, shaking his head in disgust.
‘OK, OK,’ said Cairo. ‘Maybe not Duncan O’Leary, but how about Alessandro Di Alessandro? It says he is injury free now.’
McCloud chuckled knowingly. ‘Aye, about as injury free as a badger that’s just broken all four of its wee legs,’ he said. ‘He’s famous for being injured all the time. He broke his hand pulling on his gloves, broke his foot kicking a ball, and even broke his own nose sneezing.’
Cairo scanned the list again. This was turning into the worst game of Guess Who ever. ‘Er, Joe Toot?’ he suggested.
‘Old cry baby,’ roared McCloud.
‘Oliver Whipson?’
‘TV star prima donna, always fiddling with his hair. Useless, the lot of ’em!’
‘Well, that’s everyone on this list apart from Ray Click,’ said a resigned Cairo. ‘You’ll be telling me he has one eye and one foot or something I suppose.’
Tim and McCloud looked at each other.
‘He was a fantastic keeper. One of the best,’ said McCloud, slowly. ‘But naebody has heard from him in years. Something happened and he disappeared.’ The old Scotsman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. In professional football, nobody would let a perfectly good keeper slip on to the scrapheap for no reason, so Ray Click’s story worried him.
‘Well, if Ludo doesn’t get fit in time we need to have a plan B. Maybe Ray Click is our best and only option? Can you ring the agent right now?’ asked Tim, handing McCloud the phone.
