Golden Goal

by David Starr

  When Dylan woke up the next morning he found himself looking forward to school. He ate a quick breakfast, kissed his mom goodbye and raced down the stairs to Salisbury. He arrived at school thirty minutes before class started. But he wasn’t the first one there. Abbas, Claude and half a dozen other boys were already on the field.

  At first, Dylan was worried about how the other boys on the team would treat him. Everyone knew they lost the game against Regent because of him. But none of the boys gave Dylan a hard time about it. He thought about how his old teammates would have reacted if he was the cause of losing a game. The understanding the Grandview team showed certainly wouldn’t have happened back at his old school.

  “Don’t worry about yesterday, Dylan,” said Michael, slapping him on the back. “Everyone has a bad game sometimes. You should see some of the goals I’ve let in.”

  “All of us could have played better yesterday,” added Claude.

  “We have some work to do for sure,” said Mo. “Claude’s feeling is right. We’ll be meeting Regent Heights again in the playoffs and then we’ll show them just what the Grandview Eagles can do!”

  At lunchtime Dylan rushed down to the cafeteria, ready to eat before going outside to play soccer. He gobbled down his fun bun (Ms. Bhullar was right — it was just a cheese sandwich and not much fun at all). Then he raced out onto the field to play with the rest of the team.

  Dylan had never played so much soccer in his life. The team practised Tuesday and Thursday with Coach T. The boys played pickup games every lunch and recess, and after-school scrimmages on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It was a great week, but the best part of it had nothing to do with soccer.

  “My mom has invited you guys over to our place on Friday for dinner,” Abbas told Dylan and Claude on Wednesday morning. “And your mom, Dylan. And Claude’s sister, too. Six o’clock?”

  “Great, thanks!” said Dylan. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to a friend’s house. He was excited, and he knew his mom would be too.

  “We will come for sure,” said Claude.

  “Good!” Abbas grinned. “My mom will be happy to feed everyone!”

  * * *

  On their way to Abbas’s place, Dylan and his mom stopped at the green grocer on Grandview to pick up a bouquet of flowers. “You should always bring a little gift for the hostess,” his mom said. “It’s bad manners not to.”

  Abbas and his mother lived in a basement suite on Linden Avenue, halfway between the school and Dylan’s place. The Wests arrived at the same time that Claude and his sister appeared at the door.

  “My name is Julie,” said Claude’s sister, introducing herself.

  “Erin, Erin West,” said Dylan’s mom. “This is Dylan.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Dylan,” said Julie, “though I feel as if I already know you. Claude talks about you all the time.”

  “I know what you mean.” Dylan’s mom smiled. “All I ever hear from my son is Claude this and Abbas that!”

  The door opened. “Please, come in.” Dylan hadn’t seen Amira Wassef, Abbas’s mom, since the day of the fight. She was younger than his own mom, Dylan realized. Today she wore a light-blue hijab.

  The basement suite was even smaller than the Wests’ apartment. But it felt warm and comfortable. And it was full of wonderful smells that made Dylan’s mouth water.

  “I hope you guys are hungry,” said Abbas. “My mom likes to cook and she wants you to try some traditional Syrian foods.”

  Dylan had never eaten such food back in his old neighbourhood. The meal was one of the best he’d ever had. “This is called yabraq: vine leaves stuffed with rice and meat,” Mrs. Wassef said, passing around the first dish. The yabraq was followed by falafel chickpea balls and kebabs of skewered chunks of meat.

  “This is absolutely delicious!” said Dylan’s mom, and everyone around the table agreed. “And how is soccer going, by the way?” she asked Claude. “You had a tough loss on Monday.”

  “Yes, but we won’t lose again,” Claude said confidently. “I have a feeling.”

  “And if we win all of our games we will make the playoffs. And we will play Regent Heights in the final,” Abbas said. “They got lucky this week. It won’t happen again.”

  “If you do, I’ll get off work early and watch,” Dylan’s mom said.

  “I will be there as well,” Julie promised.

  “I will come too,” Mrs. Wassef added. “But first you must eat dessert.” With that, she went into the tiny kitchen and brought back a plate of sweet pastries. “Baqlawah,” she said. “Very good.”

  “I know these as baklava,” Dylan’s mom said. “And I love them!”

  “I don’t care what they are called,” said Claude, helping himself to a second large piece. He had nearly inhaled his first helping. “They are delicious in any language!”

  “Claude and I will have you all over to our place for dinner, soon,” said Julie, handing Claude a napkin. The boys were licking the sweet honey syrup from the baqlawah off their fingers. “I will make Congolese food for you!”

  “And then it’s our turn,” said Dylan’s mom. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to make anything as terrific as this!”

  “Are you kidding, Mom?” said Dylan. “Your spaghetti and meatballs are the best in the world!”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs sounds very good,” said Mrs. Wassef. “We would love to come.”

  An hour later, the dishes were done and the adults were finishing cups of tea. It was time to go home.

  “Thank you so much, Amira,” said Dylan’s mom, hugging her. “It was the nicest evening I’ve had in ages. And the meal was terrific!”

  “You should come and work in the school, Mrs. Wassef,” Claude said.

  “Thank you, Claude. But I was a chemist in Syria, not a teacher.”

  “Who said anything about teaching?” Claude grinned. “You should run the cafeteria. No offence to Ms. Pucci, but I’d take kebabs and baqlawah, over fun buns any day!”

  15

  One Point for the Playoffs

  The following Monday was Grandview’s last away game. The team walked the half hour to Salish Elementary in a cold, driving rain.

  “Nothing fancy, boys,” said Coach T before they took the field. “Forget about the game with Regent Heights. Play hard, support each other and have fun.”

  The terrible weather didn’t affect their play. A few minutes into the game Abbas stripped a Salish player of the ball and drove toward the net alone. With his usual perfect aim, Abbas fired the ball high and to the left of the goalie, putting Grandview up 1–0.

  “Great shot,” said Claude when they took their positions to restart the game. Within minutes Abbas took a pass from Jake and made a hard shot. It skipped over the muddy surface of Salish’s dirt field, but just missed the net. Abbas was having the game of the season and Dylan was glad. Dylan was trying to put the game against his old school behind him. But his confidence was low and he spent most of the first half getting rid of the ball as soon as he touched it. The last thing Dylan wanted was for the team to lose another game because of him.

  Grandview led 1–0 at the half.

  “Dylan,” said Coach T, pulling him aside. “You’re playing like you’re scared of the ball.”

  “I just don’t want to be the reason we lose again, Coach T,” he said earnestly.

  “Let go of the Regent Heights game,” Coach T replied. “If we’re going to win, we need everyone to play their best. Abbas is having a great game but he can’t win this thing himself. He needs you out there — we need you.”

  Dylan’s first touch of the second half came a minute after kickoff. He was tempted to get rid of the ball right away. But Coach T’s words were still in his mind. He took a second to compose himself and dribbled down the field. He crossed it over to Abbas, who made a great shot. The ball saile
d past the goalie into the net. Grandview: 2, Salish Elementary: 0.

  “That’s better!” cheered Coach T.

  “Nice pass,” Abbas said.

  “Thanks.” Dylan felt a weight lift from his chest. He’d played the ball. And he hadn’t made a mistake that cost the team the game. Instead he’d earned an assist.

  The game ended 4–0 for Grandview. Abbas scored a hat trick and Mo got the other, a beautiful header on a cross from Claude. Dylan had a great game himself, assisting on two of the goals. The weather was worse than ever as they walked back to school, but their spirits were high. For everyone, including Dylan, the Regent Heights disaster was behind them.

  “Three games down, five to go,” said Claude. “I have a feeling this is going to be our best season ever.”

  Claude was right. Grandview won a rematch against Griffith Park 3–0. That was followed by a win against Fifth Avenue, and ties against Confederation and University Hill. The Grandview Eagles were having the best season in the school’s history. But none of it mattered if they lost their last game of the season against Brentford.

  “Huddle up, boys,” said Coach T. They were wrapping up their last practice of the regular season. It was a beautiful Thursday in early March and the worst of winter was behind them. The cherry trees that lined the edge of the field were blooming, and daffodils and crocuses were growing in the flowerbeds. It hadn’t rained for more than a week and their field was dry for the first time in months. It was as uneven and lumpy as ever, but the boys knew and loved every inch of it.

  “We play Brentford on Monday,” Coach T reminded the team, not that anyone needed reminding. The game was all they had been talking about for a week. “We have four wins, two draws and a loss,” he said. “A great job so far, but we have to win or at least draw against Brentford to make the playoffs. Only the top four teams in each zone move on, and right now we are tied with Salish for fourth. Just one point and we make the playoffs.”

  “No problem, Coach!” piped up Mo. “We can beat Brentford easy!”

  “I don’t know,” said Alvin nervously. “My cousin goes there. They haven’t lost a game all season and are pretty good.”

  “They are good,” agreed Coach T. “But if you play as a team you have a very good chance. Work together and believe in yourselves. Who knows how far we can go?”

  The boys made the most of their two days off. They met at the school on both Saturday and Sunday to practise. They played soccer until the sun went down and they could hardly see the ball.

  After what seemed the longest weekend of Dylan’s life, Monday finally arrived.

  “I never thought I’d ever say it, but I’m glad the weekend’s over,” said Steven.

  “Me too,” Dylan agreed. The day dragged by and Dylan’s nerves grew. When the bell finally rang, the players sprinted down to the field. Once again, it seemed like every student at Grandview Community School had come out to watch. When the whistle sounded to start the game, Dylan felt as if he would explode.

  Ten minutes into play Dylan knew they were in for a fight. Brentford wasn’t as talented as Regent Heights, or even their own team. But their players were big, tough and fast. Dylan was finding that out the hard way.

  “Here!” Dylan cried, streaking up the middle. Jun fed him an excellent pass and he started to run downfield. Dylan thought he was all alone until he saw a flash from the corner of his eye. The next thing he knew he was on the ground, stripped cleanly of the ball by one of the biggest kids he had ever seen.

  The game went back and forth with nobody scoring. Brentford’s strikers broke through Claude, Junior, Mo and Jake once or twice, but were stopped by Steven and Jun.

  The first half ended with Grandview: 0, Brentford: 0.

  “I feel like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Manny Pacquiao!” said Jake, limping off the field, both his legs bruised.

  “I feel like I’ve spent half an hour in a tornado,” Mo added.

  All of the Grandview players were bumped and bruised. Most had scrapes on their legs from falling onto the dirt field. It was the toughest game they’d played.

  “Well done,” beamed Coach T as the team picked up their water bottles. “No matter what the final score is, I couldn’t be prouder.”

  Dylan was still sweating when the ref blew the whistle to start the second half. “Thirty minutes to go,” he told Abbas. “We can do this.”

  16

  The Save

  The second half of the game against Brentford was even more physical. Most of the play happened in the middle of the field, with neither side able to break through.

  “There can’t be more than ten minutes left,” panted Claude. “At first I wanted to win, but I’ll be more than happy with a draw. These guys are good!”

  It was clear why neither team wanted to lose. A win or a tie would give Brentford first place in the South Zone. A place in the playoffs was on the line for Grandview. Pride was on the line for one team — survival for the other.

  With a minute to go it seemed certain the game would end in a scoreless draw and both teams would be happy. But then a Brentford defender stole the ball from Abbas with a nifty slide tackle. The defender quickly booted the ball up to midfield, and deked past Claude. Normally Claude could have stopped him, but he had been sprinting up and down the field for almost an hour. Claude was exhausted and stumbled in a soft spot on the field. Usually it was visiting players who had problems with Grandview’s bumpy field. This time it was Claude.

  The Brentford midfielder sprinted forward and lobbed the ball high into the air. The Grandview crease was full of players from both teams, bumping, pushing each other to get in position as the ball dropped to the ground. In the net, Michael bounced up and down on his heels, ready to dive into action.

  The ball was going to land between Jun and the Brentford striker. Jun bent down, looking to gain control of the ball with his chest. Then the unspeakable happened. The ball took an awkward bounce on the dirt and spun to the left. Instead of hitting Jun square in the chest, it smacked him in the elbow.

  “Tweet!” blew the whistle as the Brentford players cheered. Grandview players and fans alike groaned in dismay as Jun dropped to his knees in disbelief. He hadn’t meant to touch the ball with his arm. But since it happened, and in the box, it was an automatic penalty shot for Brentford. And there was almost no time left on the clock.

  It was only the second penalty kick Grandview had surrendered all season. If Brentford scored, Grandview would not go to the playoffs. The Eagles’ unbelievable season would end in heartbreak.

  It was one of the most anxious moments of Dylan’s life. This would be the last play of the game.

  “You can do it, Michael!” Coach T called from the sidelines.

  A Brentford player stood over the ball when the ref placed it on the penalty spot.

  “You got this, Michael,” Dylan said.

  Their goalie squared up on the line, his knees flexed, his hands up, ready to pounce.

  The ref blew the whistle. Every player on the field watched silently as the Brentford player ran up to the ball and launched it toward the net.

  It was a good kick, hard and high to the right. Michael guessed correctly and leaped into the air in the same direction. The ball was going too fast to catch. But somehow Michael managed to punch the ball harmlessly over the bar.

  The Grandview players erupted in cheers as the entire Brentford team stared at Michael in disbelief. It was one of the most spectacular saves any of them had ever seen.

  “That was awesome!” said Dylan as he congratulated Michael.

  The ref blew the fulltime whistle. When the shouting and cheering and hugging were done, the teams lined up and shook hands.

  Back at the sidelines Coach T made the announcement the boys were waiting for.

  “Welcome to the playoffs, boys! I’ve never been so happy to earn a
tie! What made me the most proud was how you played. You worked together as a team and encouraged each other. You displayed great sportsmanship.”

  “When do the playoffs start?” asked Carlos.

  “Our first game is a week from today. Since the district is divided into north and south zones, we will play each of the other three teams from the south that made the playoffs. The team with the best record plays the winner of the North Zone, a week from next Friday.”

  “Who do we play first?” asked Junior.

  “Southlands,” Coach T said. “And we get to play them at home.”

  “Uh oh,” said Mo. “Southlands is good.”

  They hadn’t played Southlands that season. But in the past, Grandview had never beaten them. Southlands had won the championship more times than any other school in the south.

  “Yes, they are,” replied Coach T. “But you guys are as good as any team in the district. If you keep playing like you have been, there’s no reason you can’t make the championship.”

  “Where is the championship game held?” Abbas asked.

  Dylan knew the answer to that question. “The winner of the North Zone gets to host the final game this year,” he explained. “Fifth Avenue was a South Zone finalist last year when I played for Regent. We beat them on their field.”

  “That’s right,” said Coach T. “It’s the North Zone’s turn to host. Dylan’s old school hasn’t lost a game all year and is looking very strong going into the playoffs. I’m pretty sure the winner of the South Zone will be playing for the district championship against Regent Heights — on their home field.”

  17

  The Playoffs Begin

  Mo was right. The Southlands Elementary soccer team was very good. Southlands even scored the first goal, a beautiful header in the middle of the first half of their game against Grandview. Grandview went into the halftime break losing 1–0, and the boys were panicked.

  “Relax,” Coach T said. “Just get out there and play your game. There’s thirty minutes left to go. You can do this.”