Llama United

by Scott Allen

  Hey, whoa there, I’ve just realized that I’ve totally forgotten to mention who Llama United were playing in the final. It was Munchester United: one of the biggest teams in the world and the team that Tim had wanted to play since the start of the Cup. They’d won hundreds of trophies in the past, so coming to Wombley was a pretty normal event for them. Luckily for Llama United, they weren’t a team who needed to resort to underhand tactics like Gunnerall and Enfield Hotspurts because they were so good at what they did they rarely lost. They had five England internationals, three Spaniards, an Italian defender, a Brazilian midfielder and a German keeper. Fans would argue that they were all the best players in the world in their positions, and it was hard to go against that. In computer games they all had ninety ratings.

  As a player I nearly joined Munchester United once, but my pet hedgehog at the time didn’t like to travel, so we had to stay put. I think my footballing career could have been even better if it hadn’t been for that hedgehog.

  Munchester United were managed by a softly spoken Belgian who had already won the World Cup three times. Yes, that’s right, with Belgium. What’s that? Belgium have never won the World Cup? Sorry, but I haven’t got time to discuss this; I’ve got a match to tell you about.

  Munchester United’s manager was an expert in tactics and always had huge files of info on every team that they faced. Llama United would be no exception. This was a big step up from the semi-final, and Llama United would need to be in tip-top form today.

  ‘Do you think we can win?’ said Tim to Cairo as a small trickle of colourful fans began filing into the stands and noisily taking their seats.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ replied Cairo. ‘We’ve got this far; nothing is impossible.’

  ‘It’s just that I’m worried everyone knows everything about Llama United now,’ said Tim. ‘I’ve heard their manager has tactics worked out in perfect detail to face any side. We don’t even have any tactics.’

  ‘Don’t we?’ said Cairo in surprise. ‘I thought McCloud did all that?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never seen them. I think he just keeps them in his head.’

  ‘Look, don’t worry about that,’ said Cairo. ‘Remember, only me and you know the real truth about these llamas. They are fuelled by the ashes of Arthur Muckluck – the best footballer in the world. I don’t think tactics really matter.’

  The stadium was getting really full now. Most of the seats were filled with the red and white of Munchester United supporters, apart from a patch of purple-striped Llama United fans behind one of the goals. There were two thousand llama fans in attendance this time; Frank had worked extra hard selling tickets over the last couple of weeks. Right in the thick of it all were the six original fans – Pete, Tiny Pete, Steve, Kev, Warren and Tracey – who were thoroughly enjoying their day but were always quick to point out that they had been there for Llama United’s first ever away match back in November.

  The posh seats in the ground were filled with some of the most famous and richest people in the country. In just one box alone were Five Jackets, an award-winning actor, a multibillionaire businessman, a WWE wrestler, a military general and three TV chefs.

  All the managers from the teams Llama United had beaten in the earlier rounds were also here, including Geoff Coren, who was deep in conversation with some very angry-looking farmers. What a mixed bag of people. Beetroot, Molly, Fiona and Frank also sat up in the posh seats. But not Monica – she was in the middle of the sea of Llama United fans, dressed from head to toe in purple and with her face painted. She was once again leading the crowd in their slightly uninteresting array of songs. I must say, I quite liked the slow hand-clap from the semi-final; I hope they do that again.

  A marching band stomped on to the pitch and began their musical routine. If the atmosphere was electric when the stadium was virtually empty, it was positively super-charged now.

  Llama United looked spectacular in their freshly washed kit. Beetroot, Molly, Monica and Cairo had worked really hard on getting the team spotless for the match. They had trimmed their toenails, brushed their teeth and washed their hairy bits. The full back, Bob, had somehow persuaded Cairo to give him a Mohawk haircut and spent the entire warm-up admiring himself in one of the changing-room mirrors.

  Tim could feel his breakfast beginning to rise in his stomach, but he hadn’t had any breakfast – it must have been all the breakfasts he had over the last month trying to escape through his mouth instead. And this was before a ball had been kicked.

  What was he going to be like when the whistle blew?

  39

  THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

  The noise from the crowd reached fever pitch as the ref blew the whistle to start the match. Munchester United kicked off and were zipping the ball about the lush green turf – the llamas couldn’t get anywhere near it.

  Wow, Munchester were good. They looked dangerous every time they attacked. Their little Brazilian midfielder, Poopo, was dictating the tempo of play and was just too tricky for the llamas. Poor old Brian brought him crashing down to earth with a nasty foul on the edge of the area, but the Brazilian hopped back up like a spring and quickly snapped the resulting free kick into the top left-hand corner of the Llama United goal. Ludo got nowhere near, it was so good. The red-and-white chunk of the crowd went wild.

  It was Munchester United 1 – 0 Llama United.

  Tim put his head in his hands and let out a huge sigh. There was plenty of time to get back in the match but this wasn’t the best start. He leaped out of his seat, stormed into the technical area and swirled his arms around like a windmill. To Tim this meant ‘Come on lads, let’s pick this up’. To the llamas this meant ‘Oh look, there’s that boy waving his arms about again’.

  Llama United didn’t let their heads drop and they hit back almost instantly. Dasher made a brilliant break down the right, beating three Munchester players for sheer pace and guile. She then whipped in a perfect cross for the Duke, who climbed above the Munchester defence to head home the equalizer: Munchester United 1 – 1 Llama United.

  Ten minutes gone and we’d already had two goals! What a match this was going to be.

  Not for the first time, I was horribly wrong with my match prediction. The rest of the first half was just a flurry of crunching midfield tackles and misplaced passes. The less we talk about it the better.

  Munchester United came flying out of the traps after the whistle was blown for the second half. They nearly scored straight from kick-off but Ludo pulled off a stunning diving-header save from Poopo’s twenty-yard blaster.

  Then disaster struck. Munchester made it 2 – 1. After a mega scramble in the Llama United area, the ball bounced kindly for Munchester’s England captain, Dwain Mooney, to stab the ball home from five yards. Tim’s head slumped forward so far that his chin hit his chest. But McCloud was much more animated.

  ‘Plenty of time left, lads,’ he shouted across the pitch, clapping his hands together. ‘Pick it up, pick it up.’ He looked at the depressed Tim. ‘You too, sonny. Don’t be down in the dumps; we’ve got this.’

  He was right. Llama United started coming back at Munchester straight away. Dasher hit the post, the Duke was twice denied by the German keeper from close range, and Cruncher was inches away from getting the equalizer with a near-perfect twenty-five-yard lob.

  But it wasn’t enough . . . and unfortunately luck was on Munchester’s side today. Lightning totally misjudged a header, which allowed one of Munchester’s Spanish stars to nick in and dink the ball past Ludo, and before you could say, ‘Hey! How did that happen?’ it was Munchester United 3 – 1 Llama United.

  Now Llama United had a huge mountain to climb. I hear that llamas are quite good on mountains though.

  Even though it all looked lost, Llama United had an unlikely hero in their ranks: the full back, Barcelona. He’d had a fairly average game so far; he hadn’t made many mistakes and had dished out a few solid tackles. In the eighty-second minute he suddenly went on a little ru
n down the left side, his tongue flapping from side to side – it went on and on and on. The run, not the tongue. Even he couldn’t believe just how far up the pitch he was when he saw the Munchester goal just yards away and the Duke lumbering around in the area.

  Barcelona pulled back his front left leg and delivered one of the best crosses of his life, right on to the top of the Duke’s head. The big llama rose majestically over the two Munchester centre backs and planted another thumping header into the corner of the net.

  Munchester United 3 – 2 Llama United.

  They were back in it, but had only eight minutes to get the equalizer. Tim and Cairo hugged briefly and then sprang towards the side of the pitch to shout more words of encouragement to the llamas. They needed another goal desperately.

  The clock on the main scoreboard had stopped at ninety minutes, and the fourth official had raised his stoppage-time board. Three minutes, it read, in large orange digital numbers. This was last chance saloon for Llama United.

  Ludo hoofed a huge clearance downfield. The entire Llama United team chased after the ball, including Ludo. The Munchester United midfielder who was first to it was barged out the way by Smasher, who won the ball with a terrific tackle. He then played a neat pass to Lightning, who zipped down the right and dribbled round two Munchester players. She then played a neat one-two with Bob, who had appeared from right back, and then arrowed in a cheeky little cross to the Duke, who flicked the ball back across the area. It was poetry in motion.

  The ball bounced just once and there – stealing in at the far post – was Goal Machine, just the kind of llama you want in this situation, who dived full length across the six-yard box and headed the ball past the leaping keeper and into the net!

  The crowd went totally wild. Tim and Cairo went totally wild. McCloud even broke into a little dance. The exhausted Munchester United players sunk to their knees. Llama United had done it; they got the equalizer in the last minute. The game was going to extra time . . . hang on . . .

  In the far corner of the pitch stood a man dressed in black. He had his arm up in the air. In his hand was a flag, which was fluttering in the light wind. It was the linesman and the dreaded offside flag. It wasn’t the flag’s fault, to be honest. He didn’t know he was being used to ruin one of the most spectacular Cup finals of all time. He’d originally hoped for a quiet life being a corner flag at a primary school. But no, his older brother on the other side of the pitch had pushed him to dream big, hadn’t he? Well, now look what he had done.

  It took nearly everyone in the ground some time to realize that the linesman had raised the offside flag. When they did, the cheers turned to boos very quickly. Even the referee seemed upset as he blew his whistle and indicated a free kick for Munchester United.

  McCloud lost his temper and charged down the side of the pitch to confront the linesman. The Llama United coach was bright red and was waving his arms around uncontrollably.

  ‘What the Doonhamers was that?! That’s a disgrace!’ he barked, inches away from the linesman’s face. The linesman took a step backwards, mainly because he was getting sprayed with the angry Scotsman’s spit. However, he was experienced in dealing with angry managers so this was fairly common for him.

  ‘Free kick . . . offside,’ he replied calmly and jogged away.

  ‘OFFSIDE?! OFFSIDE?!’ shouted McCloud. ‘WHAT THE ACCIES FOR? HE WASN’T OFFSIDE! If that’s offside then I’m a panda bear.’ It was the first animal that popped into his head.

  The linesman continued to look away from the raging McCloud. ‘His neck and head were offside. Now return to the dugout before you are sent to the stands . . . and take your bamboo with you.’

  ‘HIS NECK?! HIS NECK!’ screamed McCloud.

  Tim ran towards McCloud to try to calm him down, but he was brushed away as the wild manager continued to chase the linesman up and back down the line.

  ‘C’mon McCloud, you’ve got to stop,’ he shouted in his ear. ‘Come away, come away.’

  The ref had now joined in, blowing his whistle frantically, obviously after being signalled by the linesman. ‘You! Off.’ He produced a red card from his top pocket and brandished it at McCloud, pointing up at the stands.

  McCloud shouted ‘HIS NECK!’ one more time at the top of his voice, and with the help of Tim, Cairo, a few stewards and a couple of Munchester United players, he was escorted away from the linesman and off into the stands.

  Seconds after that, the ref had had enough and he blew the final whistle. It was all over. Llama United were finally beaten.

  Munchester United 3 – 2 Llama United.

  Tim sank to his knees, his head bowed low against his chest. His stomach felt like he had just swallowed a safe. Not one of those tiny key-lock safes, but a big one like they keep in banks.

  The red-and-white Munchester fans were delighted and hugged and celebrated like fans do when their team wins things.

  The Llama United fans did a final chant of ‘LLAMA UNITED, LLAMA UNITED!’ and dejectedly filed out of the stadium, leaving Monica slumped in her seat, her face paint smudged with tears.

  Tim and Cairo went round their team and offered them strokes and pats of support as the exhausted llamas hung their necks low to the ground. Both boys were bravely trying to hide the tears in their eyes. The adventure was over.

  McCloud, Tim and Cairo solemnly led the team up the stairs to collect their runners-up medals, and then were forced to stay on the pitch as the Munchester United players lifted the trophy and danced about in front of their delighted fans.

  It was really hard to watch. Well, it was for Tim, Cairo and McCloud. Motorway and all the llamas, apart from one, were now one hundred per cent focused on eating the lush green grass of the Wombley pitch. Ludo had made his way across to Tim and was making a comforting humming noise next to him. The big llama knew his young friend was incredibly upset.

  In the stands, where all the celebrities had been sitting, sat a man with his head in his hands. It was Frank. He had just lost half a million pounds, and with it his farm.

  40

  MR POLSTER

  A few days later, Frank sat down with his entire family, plus Cairo, Molly and McCloud, to explain the grim situation. The money they had received from the Cup final would run out in a few weeks and he would have to sell the farm and the llamas. Everyone was heartbroken by the news. The last year had been tough but brilliant, and had now come to a horrible, crushing end.

  The Gravy children were even more upset when they discovered that they were going to have to move in with Frank’s sister in Scotland until he could find a new job. Fiona had recently learned a swear word at school and she said it a lot of times. Beetroot told her to stop using it immediately, but she still muttered it under her breath for a few more minutes.

  ‘I can’t believe we have to sell the llamas as well,’ cried Tim. ‘Can’t we take them with us to Scotland?’

  ‘Where would they go?’ replied Frank. ‘There’s nowhere to put them at my sister’s.’

  ‘I’d take them at the animal shelter, but I just don’t have the space,’ said Molly sadly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on the llamas or the other rescue animals. Especially the goats.’

  ‘Besides, it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here to train them and help me with my rubbish football skills,’ added Cairo, his bottom lip wobbling.

  ‘But what about the llamas’ football skills? Surely a football team would want to buy them?’ cried Tim.

  ‘There was a rumour that Royal Modrid wanted to buy Goal Machine,’ said McCloud. ‘But I had a talk with Molly, and we don’t think he’d like to be separated from the rest of the team.’

  ‘There must be something we can do?’ said Tim. ‘We can’t just give up like this!’

  ‘Sorry Tim, but I’ve gone through everything with your mother a hundred times,’ said Frank sadly. ‘The bank will take the farm and we’ll probably have to sell everything that comes with it, which includes the llamas.’

  The
room went silent as everyone let the bad news sink in. Then there was a sharp knock-knock at the door. Frank went to answer it. This is a lucky coincidence isn’t it? Although it would be a bit boring if someone had knocked on a Wednesday afternoon when everyone was out.

  ‘Hullo there,’ said the man at the door. He was dressed in a smart lime-green suit that, despite its colour, looked really expensive. ‘Is Tim in?’

  Frank showed him into the kitchen, where Tim had put his head face down on the table to stop himself from crying in front of everyone.

  ‘This man is here to see you, Tim,’ said Frank. Tim looked up and peered at the man through his watery eyes.

  ‘Remember me?’ asked the man with a grin. Tim didn’t react. He was sure he didn’t usually meet men who wore expensive lime-green suits.

  ‘I’m Thomas Polster,’ said the man. ‘We met briefly at the Enfield Hotspurts ground. I found the missing llama in the corridor . . . remember?’

  Tim sniffed, but before he had a chance to speak Beetroot had leaped up and was homing in on Mr Polster.

  ‘Wow! Thomas Polster. THE Thomas Polster in my kitchen,’ she squawked excitedly. The man nodded modestly. ‘Can you believe Thomas Polster is in my kitchen?’

  Tim and Cairo looked at each other and pulled ‘What is she talking about?’ faces. They had no idea who Thomas Polster was.

  ‘Whooa! Whooa!’ shouted Monica. ‘Thomas Polster is in our kitchen!’

  ‘I seem to be, yes,’ replied Thomas Polster, looking slightly overawed by all the fuss that was being made of him.

  ‘Wow, Thomas Polster,’ Monica said again as she began touching the corner of his suit jacket, like someone who had just discovered the invention of material.

  Thomas didn’t seem to mind this intrusion into his personal space.