Llama United

by Scott Allen

  ‘How am I getting on?’ Tim asked Cairo.

  ‘Absolutely fine, Tim,’ replied Cairo. ‘You couldn’t have done anything about that goal, and really you’ve had nothing much to do.’

  ‘Do I look like a professional goalkeeper?’

  Cairo smiled. He could have easily said, ‘No, you look like a tiny eleven-year-old child standing in a massive net, in a huge stadium full of fans.’ But he didn’t, because he was a good friend. ‘You look every inch the professional goalkeeper, Tim,’ Cairo said confidently. ‘I’d totally forgotten you were only eleven.’

  The start of the second half was very much like the first. Llama United attacked, attacked and attacked but couldn’t find a way through the solid Gunnerall defence. Tim found himself leaning against the post watching the match. The Llama United fans behind him were the complete opposite of the Gunnerall fans at the other end. They were offering words of support and praising Tim for being so brave. Monica and Beetroot had managed to get down to the front and were telling him how well he was doing. He was starting to feel stronger and more confident with every minute that passed.

  It was still one-nil to Gunnerall deep into the second half when the Duke latched on to a huge punt downfield by Barcelona and found himself clean through on the opposition goal. Before he had a chance to take a shot he was sent crashing to the ground by the Gunnerall’s experienced Argentinian keeper.

  ‘FOUL, REF!’ screamed the thousand Llama United fans in the ground and the tens of thousands watching on TV.

  The ref peeped his whistle as loud as he could and ran towards the goal pointing at the penalty spot. He quickly rummaged around in his top pocket and pulled out a red card, which he flourished at the Gunnerall keeper.

  After taking off a striker, Gunnerall brought on their substitute keeper, who was the total opposite of the man he was replacing. He was a young Welshman who, like Tim, would be making his debut. He looked incredibly nervous as he pulled on his gloves and dashed on to the pitch to face the penalty. This was easily the biggest moment of his career so far. But Tim didn’t care about how the other keeper felt; this wasn’t the time to be nice.

  ‘Blast it past him,’ he shouted up the pitch, cupping his gloved hands to the sides of his mouth. ‘He’s got nothing!’

  Goal Machine was ready to take the penalty. He hadn’t had the greatest game, but he was about to put that right by smashing this home and levelling the game. The ball was placed on the spot, and Goal Machine marked out his run. The whistle blew and Goal Machine turned and pelted towards the ball. He always hit them high into the top left-hand corner and this one would be no different. Hang on . . . he changed his tiny llama mind just as he struck the ball, and went top right instead. OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The crowd couldn’t believe it. The young Welsh keeper dived the right way and somehow got the tips of his fingers to the ball and flicked it over the crossbar and into the jubilant Gunnerall fans behind the goal. What a fantastic save!

  The youngster was mobbed by his delighted teammates. Goal Machine stood on the penalty spot with his head bowed, shamefully nibbling on the grass. It looked as if he was scared to raise his head. The lethal goal-scoring llama was a just normal llama after all. Had he blown Llama United’s big chance?

  Tim fell to the ground in his six-yard area. Visions of that nasty bank manager taking the farm away from his family tumbled into his head. Was this the end of their Cup adventure?

  Hang on . . . was that a whistle? Yes, there it was again, a shrill sound against the deafening roar of the crowd. It was the referee and he was pointing at the penalty spot again. The Gunnerall players surrounded him and began shouting in his face, but he calmly waved them away and continued to point at the spot. He wanted the penalty to be retaken; the keeper had moved off his line before the penalty had been struck.

  When all the furious Gunnerall players had been cleared away, Goal Machine stood by the penalty spot again. He was casually chewing on a big lump of turf like he’d already forgotten he’d just missed a penalty. This is because the llama brain is nearly as small as the brains of some professional footballers. Tim put his hands over his eyes and turned his back on the match – he couldn’t bear to watch another penalty, his nerves were shot to pieces. He listened to the crowd go quiet . . . then a peep on the ref ’s whistle . . . then . . . ‘YEEEEE­SSSS­SS­SSSS­SSSSS­SSSSSS!’

  The Llama United fans behind his goal erupted; Goal Machine had done it. Llama United were back on level terms. Tim leaped up and down around his penalty area like a frog on a trampoline. It felt like his head was going to explode.

  As the huge clock at the top of the stand clicked round to 4.45 p.m. and the ref began checking his two watches, a mis-hit Gunnerall back pass gave Llama United an unexpected corner – the only proper attack they’d had since the retaken penalty. As the llamas lumbered into the Gunnerall area they were met by a thick wall of red-and-white shirts. Gunnerall had brought everyone back to defend the dead ball.

  While Cruncher took an incredibly long time to set up taking the corner, Tim was crossing everything: fingers, hands, legs and feet. He looked up into air to say a little prayer to the footballing gods. Then he noticed Cairo frantically waving his arms from the Llama United technical area – he was pointing at the Gunnerall goal.

  ‘Go up for the corner,’ said a clear voice from the crowd behind him, it was Monica.

  ‘Yeah, go up for the corner,’ shouted Beetroot. ‘There’s nothing to lose . . . the ref will blow for full-time if it’s cleared!’

  ‘What they say!’ shouted Fiona. Frank had bought her a meat pie and she was greedily trying not to burn herself on the molten filling.

  The crowd began to rumble out a loud chant: ‘TIM . . . TIM . . . TIM . . . TIM . . . TIM . . . TIM!’

  As I’ve said before, the Llama United crowd weren’t the best at thinking up songs. This wasn’t very good either, but it had the desired effect. Without really thinking about it, Tim found his legs had broken into a sprint up the field. He was running as fast as he’d ever run before up the vast green pitch.

  Cruncher was now ready to take the corner. He hadn’t noticed Tim charging up the pitch so didn’t wait for him to arrive. His corner hung in the air for ages and then landed in the middle of thick huddle of llamas and Gunnerall players. The keeper had come out in a vain attempt to catch the cross, had missed it, and was already on the floor among the mud and boots. The ball pinballed around the area for a good few seconds before anyone could lay a solid foot on it. Sadly for Llama United, that person was a Gunnerall defender, who whacked it as far as he could away from their goal. The Llama United fans let out a huge disappointed sigh.

  It wasn’t the greatest clearance, but it was enough to get it out and away from the area . . . to exactly where Tim had finally arrived. He had run so fast it felt as though his heart was going to explode out of his chest. He was puffing and gasping for breath so much he hardly noticed the ball float towards him and hit him square on his belly. The impact took all the pace off the ball, and it fell towards the ground. Instinctively, Tim closed his eyes and swung his right foot at the ball in the vain hope he’d volley it back towards the goal.

  He hit it sweetly. He could just tell – the ball felt perfect as it left his boot, and the sound was like a thousand angels singing. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as he opened his eyes and watched the ball sail over everyone’s heads and finally . . . amazingly . . . nestle in the top corner of the net. 2 – 1. What a goal!

  Tim’s ears nearly fell off with all the screaming and shouting in the ground. McCloud, Cairo and most of the llamas leaped on top of him in the biggest celebratory bundle ever. Even Monica and Beetroot sprinted on to the pitch to join in. Blimey, they were heavy. Frank was so excited, he knocked Fiona’s pie out of her hands while dancing on the spot and had to go off to buy her another one.

  The final whistle blew. Llama United had done it. They were in the final of the Cup.

  37

  FRANK’S WI
N BONUS

  The whole world seemed to change when Llama United made it through to the final of the Cup. Everyone wanted to know everything about the team. The phone was ringing off the hook with the world’s media requesting interviews and TV appearances. Poor Monica had hardly slept in the last week, she was so busy dealing with all the enquiries and updating the website and social media accounts. They’d done a few media things in the earlier rounds but this was on a different level. Tim was interviewed by a Brazilian journalist at 3.00 a.m., who spent most of the time asking him about cheese.

  Everyone at Tim’s school suddenly wanted to become his best friend as they all wanted free tickets to the final, as did the teachers. Tim didn’t have to do a stitch of homework all week and his arm started to get sore with the amount of waving and handshaking he was having to do all day. Walking from the school gates to the classroom could take anything from ten to twenty minutes, when it usually took twenty-five seconds. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

  McCloud wasn’t happy with all the ‘off-field distractions’, as he called them. He refused to do any interviews and spent a lot of time hiding his face under a blanket like a criminal when he was doorstepped by TV camera crews. He was only happy when he was stood in the field with the llamas, training them. By the Monday of Cup final week, he had set up camp in the field and was living in a tent. He had also armed himself with a baseball bat and motorcycle crash helmet. If anyone trespassed on the field he would come flying out of the tent, usually totally naked, waving the baseball bat about like a lunatic. Journalists and nosy parkers soon got the message.

  The llamas, on the other hand, were totally not bothered by the increase in adulation. Fans had been sending them presents for weeks, but most of them were useless to a llama. What can a llama do with a new juicer and some hand soap? They watched the media circus outside the field with the same ‘so what’ look on their faces that they’d had on since the start of the Cup journey.

  Even though he hadn’t been at the semi-final, Ludo seemed to be even closer to Tim than ever. He was well on his way to making a full recovery, but there was something different about him. He spent a lot more time walking alongside Tim in the field, like he was Tim’s personal bodyguard. This obviously didn’t please Motorway – she would bleet and baa at the top of her voice when Tim and Ludo went on long walks together.

  Cairo remained cool throughout the Cup final build-up. He tried to take Tim’s mind off the match by chatting about things that had nothing to do with football whatsoever. For example, who really likes sprouts? And why haven’t they made a TV programme about hamsters? To be honest, Cairo was as nervous as everyone else; he was just trying to be strong for Tim.

  Frank was still fretting about the farm. He had wasted money on beekeeping, the vineyard and Fiona’s princess castle, which were all big failures. However, he had managed to keep the bank at bay thanks to the regular payments from the small number of ticket sales he had made and Beetroot and Molly’s excellent merchandising. He could probably have made a lot more money if he’d known how to run a football club properly, but the Governing Body, TV companies and rival clubs had sneakily tricked him out of making any extra cash because it was obvious he didn’t have any idea what he was doing. He didn’t know that he should have got money for the matches being on telly, or that tickets aren’t usually sold on a first-come, first-served basis. All this meant that after the Cup final had finished, the money stream that was keeping the farm afloat would finally run out.

  Frank was seriously worried that he could end up in the unusual situation of winning the Cup but still having the bank take his farm away. On the Tuesday before the Cup final he was busy doing more sums in his new little black notepad when the phone rang.

  ‘Can I speak to the owner of Llama United?’ came the chirpy female voice at the other end of the phone.

  ‘I suppose that’s me,’ replied Frank. ‘I’m Frank Gravy.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Gravy. I’m Cheryl Bogninnio . . .’ She paused as though she was waiting for Frank to instantly recognize who she was.

  ‘Er, hello, Cheryl.’ Frank didn’t have a clue who she was.

  ‘I’m the chief executive of the global sportswear firm Pike, and I have a proposal for you I’d like you to think over.’

  Cheryl was renowned for being one of the toughest negotiators in the world and had been known to cancel huge deals because the coffee in the meeting was a little bit cold or because they had served custard creams. She hated custard creams . . . and bourbons . . . and ginger nuts. Actually, she hated every biscuit.

  Cheryl also worked very quickly. In a world where companies can take months just to decide what fizzy drinks they should put in their vending machines, Cheryl liked to do all her deals within an hour.

  ‘Get it done’ was her and Pike’s motto – and she lived by it.

  ‘OK, I’m listening,’ said Frank.

  ‘If Llama United win the Cup on Saturday afternoon, Pike will give you half a million pounds.’

  Frank did a tiny gasp and flumped down in the nearest chair in shock.

  ‘Mr Gravy, did you hear me?’ continued Cheryl. ‘Half a million pounds, and all you need to do is win the Cup.’

  Frank pulled himself together. Nobody could really get half a million pounds for just winning the Cup; there had to be a catch. ‘Well that sounds very interesting Miss . . . er, Cheryl,’ garbled Frank. ‘But there must be a catch.’

  Cheryl laughed falsely again. ‘No, no, there’s no catch, Mr Gravy . . . of course I would gain exclusive rights to Llama United and be able to use them to promote Pike equipment for the foreseeable future. We could have Llama United shirts, boots, duvet covers, computer games . . . the list is endless.’

  ‘They don’t wear boots,’ said Frank.

  ‘Who cares, Mr Gravy! The public wear boots and will be happy enough to buy Pike-branded Llama United boots by the boatload.’

  Frank paused for a bit of a think. All these months of financial worry would be over. Half a million pounds would easily save the farm, and he didn’t have any problems with the llamas being used to sell stuff. He’d actually quite like some Llama United tea towels.

  ‘You have thirty seconds to make your decision, Mr Gravy, or the offer is off the table!’ barked Cheryl.

  Frank didn’t need thirty seconds. ‘We’ll take it,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Fantastic news, Mr Gravy,’ said Cheryl, becoming warm again. ‘I will have someone draw up a contract and whisk it round to you before the match. Just one thing though . . . if they lose, the deal is off.’

  ‘Oh . . . OK then,’ said Frank hesitantly. He knew Tim believed the llamas could win, so he’d have to believe it as well. After all, they couldn’t afford to lose.

  38

  PRE-MATCH NERVES

  The weather for Cup-final day was perfect. Tim sat quietly in the front of the transportation van watching the world go by as they drove to the stadium. It was the only thing that seemed to calm his horrendous nerves. It felt as though someone had snuck into his room in the middle of the night and poured twenty-five tanks of butterflies into his stomach. He couldn’t eat breakfast or get his brain to focus on anything else other than the football match that was just a few hours away.

  Ludo had completed his recovery and would play in goal. His regular long walks around the field with Tim had helped to build the llama’s strength. In addition, Beetroot had constructed a very light training routine that got him back to the peak of fitness just in time.

  Tim was thrilled that he wouldn’t have to go in goal again. Even though he had enjoyed being on the pitch, he knew he was lucky. He’d hardly had to make a save and his goal was a total fluke, so it was unlikely to happen again. Besides, Ludo was a better keeper, more experienced, and he wouldn’t be sick before the game.

  As the van snaked its way into the city and towards the ground, the occasional person would notice it and do a friendly wave or thumbs up. Tim would try and wave back politely but any sud
den movement made him feel sick. Ugh, this was an awful feeling.

  Cairo, McCloud and Frank all seemed equally nervous. Apart from more farts from Cairo, they’d hardly spoken for the whole journey. The farts were especially stinky today.

  It was actually the first time that Tim thought having Fiona in the van would have lightened the mood a little. No, hang on; she would have been really annoying and would have added more farts.

  When they arrived at the stadium it was already bustling with people waving huge flags for both teams. Tim had never seen anything like it. Some of the flags had the faces of the llamas on them. Loads of people seemed to be wearing his mum’s Goal Machine T-shirts and stripy scarves. Some fans were even wearing huge llama masks.

  Wombley Stadium was definitely on a different level to all the other grounds Tim had been to on this Cup journey. Thousands and thousands of seats as far as the eye could see, a huge roof, and an arch so high that Tim could hardly fathom how big it was. He felt like a tiny speck of dust in a massive cauldron. Even though the fans hadn’t been let in the ground yet, the atmosphere was already electric. It sent a big shiver down his spine . . . then he felt sick again.

  McCloud appeared at his shoulder, taking in loud gulps of air. ‘Suck that in, laddie,’ he bellowed. ‘This is hallowed ground. The best football pitch in the whole world.’

  ‘Have you played here?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Aye, lad,’ replied McCloud quickly. ‘Way back in the seventies we beat England here in their own back yard. Two-one was the score and I got the winner. The crowds went mad that day and tore down the posts.’

  Tim had known McCloud long enough now not to question his stories, even though he was never sure if they were true or not. Anyway, back when McCloud was a player, dinosaurs had still roamed the planet.