The Mighty Dynamo

by Kieran Crowley

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ Stevie said to his players.

  ‘Really?’ Barbara asked.

  ‘Really. You’ve worked hard; you’ve done all you can. You’re winners just getting to this point.’

  Hawk Willis sprinted over to the team. He’d already been to the bathroom twice in the last few minutes and was returning from a third trip. He was wearing his gleaming new white boots with the word ‘Hawk’ in glittering gold on the sides.

  ‘I don’t envy the next person who has to use that cubicle,’ he said, patting his stomach for emphasis. As if on cue, a plaintive wail carried across the pitch from the toilets.

  ‘Fancy Boots, you’d better be good. Only a moron or a star would wear boots like that and you don’t look like a star to me,’ a voice from the crowd shouted. ‘We’ll be watching you.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Cormac said.

  ‘Why did I get these boots? It was a huge mistake,’ Hawk whimpered.

  ‘Don’t worry, Hawk,’ Stevie said. ‘Take no notice of them. You’re going out a nobody, but you’re going to come back a star.’

  Hawk wasn’t the only one in new boots, Noah noticed. Kevin McCooley’s battered old pair that had been held together with duct tape were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was resplendent in a brand-new shiny black pair. Even so, they were the plainest football boots Noah had ever seen, with no trim or labels, nothing to detract from the inky blackness.

  ‘Nice boots. Where’d you get them?’ Noah asked.

  ‘In a shop,’ McCooley barked, his cheeks flushing red. ‘Want to make somethin’ of it?’

  Noah shook his head. Wow, he’s even crankier than usual, he thought. He saw Kevin exchange a look with Maggie. No, Noah thought, she hadn’t, had she? He looked in her direction, but Maggie refused to catch his eye. Had she bought the boots for Kevin? Well, maybe there’s more to her than being the most annoyingly confident person I’ve ever met, he thought. Maybe there is a heart in there somewhere!

  ‘Hey, is that St Mary’s?’ another voice from the crowd called out.

  ‘Yeah, they’re the girls. Yoo hoo, want to go on a date?’ a first-year boy shouted.

  ‘I thought that odd-looking kid with the stupid fake tattoos was a girl when I first saw him. Look how long his hair is,’ a bald old man laughed.

  Adam O’Brien reddened with embarrassment. He tried to pull down the sleeves of his jersey to cover up his tattoos, but the short sleeves only barely made it past his elbow.

  ‘Pretty ugly bunch of girls, if you ask me,’ someone else said.

  ‘No one’s asking you, though, are they?’ Maggie spat back.

  That shut him up.

  ‘Ignore them,’ Stevie said. ‘Just go out and play your own game. This is going to be fun.’

  Seven extremely pale faces and five slightly more healthy ones stared back at Stevie.

  If this is them enjoying themselves, then I’d hate to see them when they’re miserable, Noah thought.

  Adam and Cormac clapped their support from the sidelines as the team took their positions on the field. They did their best to hide their disappointment at not getting a start, as they really wanted to support their teammates, but with their slumped shoulders and unsmiling expressions they were looking a bit sulkier than they realized. They both gasped when Drumlock Grammar School took to the pitch. The two players Noah had spoken to a couple of minutes earlier led the way. It seemed they were two of the smaller members of the team.

  ‘They’re giants,’ Sunday cried out to the amusement of those on the sidelines.

  ‘It’s not basketball or rugby. It doesn’t matter what size they are,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Maybe not to you, but I’m only a small lad. If one of them falls on me, it’s goodbye, Hawk. I’ll be squashed like a bug,’ Willis said.

  ‘Focus, everyone,’ Stevie shouted from the sideline. He paced up and down, clipboard in hand. He nodded solemnly to the opposition coach. The man looked remarkably like a young José Mourinho – he had the same handsome features and an arrogant sneer on his lips. He even wore a replica of Mourinho’s long winter overcoat, which was a mistake as it was a pleasant day, and if Stevie had looked a little more closely he’d have seen the beads of sweat on the man’s upper lip.

  Stevie checked the clipboard one more time as the referee, dressed in yellow, had a last-minute word with his assistants, two bored-looking youths in T-shirts and shorts.

  ‘Hello again,’ the captain of the grammar school said, shaking Noah’s hand for the second time.

  He waved at Maggie. She stuck her tongue out in reply.

  ‘We must meet up afterwards and you can tell me how you managed to enter the competition under the aegis of a girls’ school.’

  McCooley growled.

  ‘Did he just growl?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Yeah, we’re like that.’

  ‘How odd.’

  ‘Odd? What are you doing here, posh boy? Posh boys don’t play football,’ McCooley said.

  ‘That may be true. Once you’ve seen the standard of our play, you’ll probably think we shouldn’t be allowed near a football pitch,’ came the chortled reply.

  The grammar school won the toss and elected to kick off. The referee blew his whistle and the tournament began for St Mary of the Immaculate Conception School for Girls.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘The World Cup is a truly international event’

  John Motson

  Noah knew what was going to happen next. Now that he recognized it, he realized the signs had been there since the previous night. McCooley had backed up a couple of metres and was going to charge at the first player who received the ball on the opponents’ team. It was one thing putting in a reducer when the opponents were scary men on a bumpy pitch and there wasn’t a referee in sight. Here it was different.

  ‘Kevin, don’t . . .’ was as far as Noah got.

  McCooley was on the move the moment the opposition kicked off. The handsome player glanced up as McCooley launched himself towards the ball feet first, eyes blazing. Mr Movie Star didn’t panic. He knocked the ball slightly to the right then swivelled to his left. McCooley hit the space between the ball and the man. His boots hit the ground and his studs caught in the turf. He smashed into the ground face first.

  ‘Ooooooooooh,’ the crowd moaned in sympathy.

  Noah flinched. Maggie covered her face with her hands. It looked painful, but McCooley was on his feet in a moment, not wanting to be seen as wimpy, even though he was groggy and his vision was blurred. Movie Star hadn’t paused, though, as Noah realized when he was alerted by a shout from Barbara.

  ‘Drop back.’

  The ball was switched left and suddenly Drumlock Grammar School had a three against two situation in the middle. They worked the ball efficiently and at pace and within seconds the striker lashed the ball past Piotr’s despairing dive. They were 1–0 up.

  ‘Are you OK, son?’ the referee asked McCooley as Piotr picked the ball out of the net.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What colour card am I holding up?’ the ref asked.

  ‘Yellow.’

  ‘Good, your eyesight’s fine. You’re booked.’

  ‘For what? I never touched him,’ McCooley said, his arms out wide in a gesture of shock.

  ‘You don’t have to touch him. Law twelve of the game. If I consider it reckless or excessive, you’re in the wrong. In fact, you’re in the wrong four times: you tried to kick, tackle, jump and charge him all in one movement. If it wasn’t the first minute of your first game, I wouldn’t be so lenient.’

  ‘What? It’s supposed to be a man’s game. I played like a man. You’re a joke, ref.’

  ‘And that’s your second yellow. You’re off, son,’ said the referee, putting away the yellow card and producing a red.

  McCooley was frothing at the mouth. Noah had to hold his teammate back or he’d have attacked the referee. He was quickly joined by Limbsy and Hawk Willis. Between the three of t
hem they managed to hold on to him just long enough for Maggie to arrive and whisper something in Kevin’s ear. He calmed down immediately and trooped off the pitch, disconsolate. The crowd on the sidelines parted, wary of Kevin, but he kept walking until he was out of sight.

  Stevie signalled to Noah from the sideline, his fingers waving about frantically. Noah got what he was saying. He wanted them to go defensive until he could revise his tactics. Maggie was to drop back into midfield with Noah. Limbsy would have to do all the running around up front by himself.

  ‘You OK with that, Limbsy?’ Noah asked.

  He got a thumbs up in reply.

  They hung on grimly until half-time. The sudden crisis of McCooley’s sending off had focused their minds and the ten players left on the pitch forgot their nerves. The crowd didn’t matter any more. Making fools of themselves was unimportant. Nothing mattered now except stopping Drumlock from scoring a second goal.

  Piotr had a couple of saves to make and Michael Griffin had to be alert as a pacy winger tried to skin him and send in a cross, but other than that they were all right. Maggie had even tried a few forward runs, but they didn’t work out as she lost the ball too easily, much to her surprise. She wasn’t used to facing defenders of this quality.

  They hadn’t been able to create anything, but they hadn’t been overrun, which is what Stevie had feared. They stood on the sideline at the break. Sweat dripped down their black shirts as Adam and Cormac did their duty and handed out drinks and offered words of encouragement, even though they were both chomping at the bit to get on the pitch.

  ‘Anyone seen McCooley?’ Frank asked between gulps of water.

  Stevie shook his head. ‘He can take care of himself. We’ll worry about him later.’

  Drumlock Grammar School changed out of their sweat-stained shirts and put on fresh ones. Hawk Willis blew his nose on his.

  ‘OK, apart from the mess-up at the start, you’ve been doing well,’ Stevie said. ‘Let’s have more of the same in the second half. Keep them from getting a second goal and see if we can grab something from a corner or a free kick and . . .’

  ‘That’s it?’ Maggie said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s your master plan? After all the tactical analysis and computer programmes and stuff, that’s what you’ve come up with: keep it tight at the back and we’ll try and nick one later. That’s the sort of rubbish they come up with on Match of the Day.’

  ‘It’s better than your tactical trick – take the ball, then run into their defenders and lose it,’ Stevie said.

  The group went quiet. They’d never heard Stevie being critical like this before.

  ‘I’m giving you the basic analysis because I’d have more trust in a bunch of chimpanzees to follow my instructions. I’ve held your hands for the last few weeks and I’ve tried my best to encourage you, but look at you. Kevin hasn’t got the discipline to not dive in, in the first thirty seconds. Half of you went and ate chips last night. Chips. The night before an important tournament! And I spent ages writing up notes on techniques for meditation and how to calm down when you get nervous, but based on last night and this morning not a single one of you read them,’ he said.

  ‘Bit harsh,’ Frank said.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Barbara said. ‘We took our eye off the prize when we should have been really focused.’

  ‘You’re right, Stevie, but we need to get going. Give us the plan,’ Noah said. ‘Please.’

  ‘Thank you, Noah.’ Stevie smiled. ‘Listen up, this is what we’re going to do.’

  They took the field with renewed enthusiasm. Stevie’s tactics involved a lot of hard work and some unusual positional changes. He brought Limbsy to the back with the instruction to head anything that came at him in the air.

  ‘With my height and long limbs, I can make things really awkward for them,’ he said cheerfully.

  Hawk, because of his great pace, was the nominal forward. Stevie reckoned that the opposition’s centre-backs weren’t the fastest in the world, which is why they were defending so close to their own goalkeeper. They were susceptible to being caught out, but they had to lull them into thinking they were safe first. He instructed Maggie to do the one thing she hated: pressing the opposition. She thought that with her superior skills she should be allowed to rest and save her energy for wowing the watching crowds.

  A few of the parents cheered them on to the field as they took their places for the second half.

  ‘Come on, St Mary’s,’ somebody shouted.

  Stevie felt a presence at his side. It was McCooley. He stared at Stevie. For once, Stevie didn’t avert his eyes. He stared back.

  ‘You could have cost us the match,’ Stevie said.

  ‘It won’t happen again, Gaffer.’

  ‘Right, well, good. You’re lucky that it was two yellows. It means you’ll miss the next match, but you can play tomorrow, so don’t be an idiot and mess it up.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you. I won’t let anyone down.’

  Stevie smiled to himself and turned his gaze to the match. He felt a hand yank at his collar and McCooley’s hot breath against the side of his face.

  ‘Oh, Stevie boy, call me an idiot again and I’ll break your face.’

  ‘That was understood, Mr McCooley,’ Stevie said.

  ‘Was it?’ he said, releasing his grip. ‘Guess I’m becomin’ predictable.’

  The second half was a huge improvement for the team. They didn’t carve out many chances, but they pressed and harried and gave it their all. Drumlock grew frustrated. As soon as one of their players received the ball someone was on him. There was no time to take a look at his options or choose a pass. There was no time to do anything except get rid of the ball. This agitated their coach no end and he grew more and more upset on the sidelines, roaring and shouting as his arms windmilled around. If that wasn’t enough to distract his team, the players’ parents, who had seemed refined and respectable during the first half, transformed into something entirely different in the second when the easy victory they’d been expecting didn’t materialize. They encroached on the pitch, they swore loudly and very colourfully. Their eyes bulged and their faces grew puce with rage. And they shouted at their sons. They shouted an awful lot.

  ‘Pass it. Pass it. PASS IT! What’s wrong with you? Have you suddenly forgotten what pass means? It’s . . . Now he’s going the wrong way. He’s actually running in the wrong direction. Why am I not surprised? That boy was eleven before he could tie his own laces, you know.’

  ‘Don’t let him get past you. Hit him. Hit him, I said, hit him. What are you afraid of? He’s ten times smaller than you. Hammer him into the ground.’

  ‘Go left, Colm. Your other left. You big, incompetent lump . . . Just get rid of it. Why are you trying to be fancy? Just kick it as far away from you as you can. If it’s not near you, then you can’t make a mistake.’

  ‘That was a foul, ref. How could you not blow that up? You’d better watch yourself if I see you after the match. Yeah, that is a threat. You’re a disgrace.’

  ‘You’re playing a girls’ school. A GIRLS’ SCHOOL. They’re girls. You’re an embarrassment, Drumlock.’

  And the more the parents shouted the more anxious the Drumlock players became. Noah could see the colour drain from their faces as the pressure became more intense. The cool, calm, collected demeanour they’d shown in the first half was gone. They may have been a goal and a player up, but they were shaky and anxious, terrified of making a mistake. None of them wanted to take any responsibility, and with time almost up Maggie finally got the chance to take advantage of it.

  Two indecisive Drumlock players left the ball to each other near the halfway line. Maggie darted forward and nicked it.

  ‘Go, Maggie,’ Limbsy shouted, but she didn’t need any encouragement.

  A defender rushed at her. She dropped her left shoulder. He was fooled. He mirrored her movement as she flicked the ball to the right and took off. Hawk Willis raced ahe
ad, arcing his run to stay onside, like Stevie had shown him in training.

  Maggie released the ball at just the right moment and it zipped right into Hawk’s path. He hit the ball like a rocket. It cannoned off the post. The keeper hadn’t even moved. A defender booted the ball clear before Noah could get to the rebound. The referee blew the final whistle. It was all over. They’d lost 1–0.

  Noah was gutted, they all were, but there was no time to dwell on the defeat.

  ‘Forget about Drumlock. That match is in the past,’ Stevie said.

  ‘See, I told you thinking about history was useless,’ Hawk Willis said to Frank.

  ‘That’s not what he meant by . . . Oh, forget it,’ Frank said with a shake of the head.

  ‘Frank, Hawk, focus, please,’ Barbara said.

  Stevie gave them their instructions for the next match as they started their warm down and by the time they’d finished it was nearly time to warm up again. Since McCooley was banned for this match it was the perfect opportunity to give one of the subs some game time. There was no way Stevie was going to play, no matter how much he wanted to, so the choice of McCooley’s replacement was between Adam and Cormac. They both were eager. Extremely eager. Cormac had spent the previous twenty minutes doing stretches and giving himself pep talks while Adam was bouncing energetically on his toes, his ponytail flicking up and down behind him. The two players were so closely matched in terms of skill and effort there was no way to separate them.

  ‘OK, Adam plays the first half, Cormac the second,’ Stevie said finally.

  Cormac McHugh looked disappointed for a moment until he saw the look on Stevie’s face.

  ‘You want to play too, don’t you?’ he said, when he was left alone with Stevie as the rest of the players took to the pitch.

  ‘Shh,’ Stevie said. ‘Don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Cormac smiled. ‘But you should get out there, Stevie. We might never get a chance like this again. I can’t wait. This is going to be awesome.’