by Theo Walcott
As TJ’s dad ran off with Rob along the Sports Centre’s running trail, the training began. TJ was amazed to find that everything felt familiar. Almost all of the activities were either exactly the same as things they’d done with Mr Wood, or very like them. Then, with only ten minutes left, Baz put them in teams to play five-a-side games, and TJ found himself on the same side as Deng for the first time.
Deng and TJ had already had several battles. Deng was a terrific tackler, and once he had the ball at his feet he could hit killer passes. And even when TJ had finally got the better of him in the District Tournament, Deng had kept on smiling. Deng was smiling now, as he passed to TJ. The ball came hard, fast, and accurate. TJ took the pace off it, already moving away from the defender who was marking him, and laid it off to the team-mate behind him. Then the ball was back with Deng again and he slid another deadly pass to the player on the opposite wing.
‘Move, TJ,’ called Baz. ‘Look for the pass. Find some space!’
TJ realized he’d been standing still, admiring Deng’s work. He made a darting run towards the centre circle and saw Deng move forward to receive the ball yet again. TJ turned and sprinted away down the wing, and suddenly, like a miracle, the ball was at his feet. He didn’t have to think. He knew exactly where the goal was and he struck it left-footed towards the far corner. He struck it perfectly, but as he lifted his head he saw Jamie diving to tip the ball round the post.
‘That was just fantastic!’ Jamie said, when training was over. ‘I mean, I thought there’d be things I couldn’t do, but we’d done lots of it before with Mr Wood.’
‘That’s not surprising,’ said Phil, who had stayed to help with the training. ‘Your Mr Wood has done the same coaching badges as me. There’s no reason he couldn’t coach at Wanderers.’
‘He’d do a good job,’ said Marshall Jones, coming through the wire gate onto the Astroturf.
‘Hey, Marshall,’ said TJ and Jamie. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I figured I’d come down with Phil and see how you got on,’ Marshall grinned, as all the other young players gathered round, talking excitedly. ‘I’ve been sitting in the car, watching. Nice work, everyone.’
‘Have you seen Mr Wood?’ asked Jamie.
‘Sure,’ said Marshall. ‘He said to tell you “hi”.’
‘I hope he comes back soon. We really need him.’
‘I’m sorry, kids,’ Marshall said. ‘He’s working in another school.’
Their faces fell. ‘Hey,’ said Marshall. ‘Life can be tough sometimes, but you’ll be OK. I’m not having much fun myself, as it happens. It’s taking longer than I thought to get my fitness back. We’ve got to beat Inter Milan next week or we’ll be out of the Champions League and right now I don’t reckon I’ll ever get past their full back.’
‘Rob’s got a theory—’ began TJ, but Marshall cut him off.
‘I’m sorry, lads,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I have to go. I’m late already. See you soon.’
As Marshall’s car pulled away, TJ’s dad jogged up with Rob beside him. ‘Wasn’t that Marshall?’ Rob said. ‘You should have made him wait. I could have told him . . .’
‘He had to go,’ TJ said. ‘Sorry, Rob.’
‘But Marshall was right about one thing,’ Jamie said. ‘We will see him again soon. It’s my birthday next week and my dad’s managed to get tickets for the Milan game!’
CHAPTER 4
‘SO, WHAT DID you think?’ asked TJ’s dad when they were back home at last and eating pasta at the kitchen table.
‘It was great,’ TJ replied. ‘But you and Rob must have run miles while you were waiting for us.’
His dad laughed. ‘I can hardly keep up with Rob these days,’ he said. ‘And he talks all the time too. He never gets out of breath. He says we ran ten kilometres.’
‘That’s good,’ said TJ. ‘You know, I reckon Rob could get in the school team if he tried. He does some really neat things when he thinks nobody’s watching him, but he never tries them when we’re playing five-a-sides. He just controls the ball and then passes it. I mean, he never gives it away, but that’s not enough, is it?’
‘Maybe you should practise with him,’ his dad suggested. ‘Like you did with Jamie, remember? He’s probably just not very confident when you’re all there together.’
TJ looked at his dad. ‘That’s a great idea,’ he said. ‘The others can’t come round this Saturday, so I could go to the park with Rob. Thanks, Dad.’
But in the park on Saturday morning Rob was not in a good mood. ‘I don’t really feel like playing football,’ he said.
‘You’re crazy,’ replied TJ, balancing the ball on one foot and then transferring it to the other. ‘I always feel like playing, even when I’m watching TV, or eating my tea. In lessons too.’
‘That’s just it,’ replied Rob. ‘Everything’s pointless now Mr Wood has gone. Especially the lessons. Mr Potter is so boring. And the football training is terrible. You’re dead lucky you get to go to the PDC.’
‘I know,’ TJ said. ‘Actually there are some things we did there that I want to practise. You can help. And I had this idea for a free kick and I want to see if it works. You take the free kick and you pretend you’ve hit it wrong and it’s going to miss. But I make a run and I pull it back for you to score. I bet we can do it. We’ll use that bench as a goal.’
‘It’s good,’ said Rob, after they’d practised a few times. ‘But it’s never going to be any use, because I won’t be in the team to take free kicks.’
‘You never know,’ replied TJ. ‘Now I’ll show you the new drill we did at the PDC. It’s for practising how to thread a pass through a crowded defence. You pass it backwards and forwards across a square with defenders in the middle.’
‘What defenders?’ said Rob. ‘I can’t see any.’
‘We can use that tree over there,’ said TJ, ‘and the bin. And the lamppost. We can move around the outside of them and see if we can pass it through.’
‘Tricky,’ said Rob, but TJ could see he was interested.
‘We’re allowed to take a touch before we pass,’ TJ said. ‘We’ll see how many we can do.’
It was very hard to squeeze the ball through the narrow gaps, and at first TJ found it almost impossible. But Rob was getting his passes through every time. ‘How are you doing that?’ TJ asked when they stopped for a break. ‘I always seem to hit something.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Rob said. ‘I just sort of know what the angles are. I don’t really have to think about it.’
They carried on, and TJ started to improve. They strung twenty passes together before a shout from across the park broke TJ’s concentration and the ball cannoned against the bin. He looked up and saw Deng and Krissy approaching across the grass.
‘What are you doing?’ Krissy asked. The tall black girl was Hillside School’s star striker.
‘It’s a game we made up,’ TJ said. ‘You have to go round the outside here, and you can’t pass between the same two things twice in a row. It’s hard. Our record’s twenty. D’you want a go?’
Krissy grabbed the ball. ‘We’ll beat that, easy,’ she said. ‘Come on, Deng.’
Five minutes later they stopped. Their record was three, and Krissy was out of breath and cross. Deng hadn’t missed a pass, but Krissy had found it just as hard as TJ.
‘I said it wasn’t easy,’ TJ laughed. ‘I reckon we should let Rob have a go with Deng. It might be interesting.’
It was like watching a complicated dance. As Deng and Rob circled the bin, the lamppost and the tree, the ball flashed backwards and forwards between them.
When the passes reached thirty TJ turned to Krissy and saw her mouth hanging open.
‘Told you,’ he said with a grin. ‘Hey, you two! Why don’t we have a game of two against two?’
Deng flipped the ball up into his hands. ‘Nice game you’ve invented, TJ,’ he said. ‘Lucky you brought someone who can play it properly.’ He exchanged high-fi
ves with Rob, who had a grin on his face that was nearly as big as Deng’s. ‘Me and Krissy against you and Rob, then,’ Deng said to TJ. ‘That bin can be our goal, and that tree over there is yours. You ready?’
He didn’t wait for TJ’s answer, just dropped the ball and hit it into space for Krissy to chase. TJ went after her. ‘Mark Deng!’ he yelled over his shoulder, but Rob paid no attention. Krissy was a striker and he knew she’d go for goal, so Rob raced to cut off her shot. She reached the ball before TJ could tackle her and blasted it at the tree, but Rob was already there. He controlled the ball with his chest and struck his pass instantly before the ball even hit the ground. It flew across the grass, cutting through the narrow gap between Deng and Krissy as they both raced towards him. TJ took the ball in his stride and saw Rob rushing forward, indicating with his hand where he wanted it to go. TJ played the pass and moved off himself, trying to get away from Deng.
As he ran he had the strangest feeling that he knew what Rob was going to do. He checked his run suddenly and turned. And there was the ball at his feet! He had space and a little bit of time as Deng tried to get back to him. Rob was sprinting towards the goal, and TJ chipped the ball over Krissy’s head. It was easy for Rob to run on and tap it against the bin.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed TJ. ‘One–nil to us.’
By the time they stopped playing the score was 6–2 to Rob and TJ, and Krissy looked at Rob with new respect. ‘We found a secret weapon when Deng came to our school,’ she said. ‘Now it looks like you’ve found one too.’
CHAPTER 5
JAMIE’S MUM HAD made an enormous birthday cake in the shape of a pair of goalkeeping gloves. ‘Just make sure you wish for a Wanderers victory,’ said Tulsi, as Jamie blew the candles out.
Jamie’s dad looked at his watch. ‘Eat your cake, you lot,’ he said, ‘and then we’d better get going.’
‘Just a small piece please, Mum,’ said Jamie, and everyone laughed. Jamie had been so unfit earlier in the term that Mr Wood had dropped him from the school team for a while.
‘You ate three big slices on your last birthday,’ his mum said.
‘Not any more,’ replied Jamie. ‘Not if I want to play in goal for Wanderers one day.’
They all stared at Jamie. Just a few weeks ago he had hated the idea of going in goal.
‘Actually,’ said Rob, ‘there was a fat goalkeeper who played for England once in 1897. He was called Fatty Foulkes and they think he weighed a hundred and fifty kilograms.’
‘Well, I bet he wouldn’t have got in the Wanderers team for tonight,’ Jamie said laughing. ‘And Dad’s right. We’d better go.’
There were five of them besides Jamie – Tulsi, Rafi, TJ, Rob and Rodrigo – all squashed into the back of the Carters’ battered old people-carrier. They parked in a car park on the edge of the city and walked in towards the ground with thousands of other spectators. TJ could feel the nervousness in the air. Wanderers hadn’t been playing well in their European games.
‘I don’t reckon Jones has got it any more,’ TJ heard a man say.
‘He was rubbish when we played this lot last time,’ his friend agreed.
‘Can’t see us winning if he doesn’t play though.’
‘I wish I’d talked to Marshall,’ Rob said to TJ, as the two men moved away. ‘Those men were right. Marshall’s very important, but he’s not back up to his pre-injury speed yet.’
‘I bet the Wanderers manager has thought of everything,’ TJ replied. ‘He’s not stupid, you know.’
The Wanderers pitch was brilliant green under the floodlights as they found their way to their seats. The Champions League banner fluttered in the middle of the pitch as the teams ran out and the anthem played. ‘Maybe we’ll be on TV,’ said Jamie. ‘Look, Marshall’s in the team anyway.’
The teams seemed a long way away. When they had been to watch Wanderers as Marshall’s guests they had sat right on the halfway line, but now they were in the corner of the ground. ‘Let’s just hope all the goals get scored at this end,’ Tulsi said, as Milan kicked off.
‘Not in this half,’ said Rafi. ‘Milan are kicking this way.’
‘Inter Milan only need to draw this game to win the group,’ Rob said. ‘They could just defend, but that would be a dangerous strategy.’
‘Well, they’re not defending,’ said TJ. ‘Here they come!’
The Milan winger was chasing the ball towards the corner flag, with the Wanderers full back right behind him. He was so close to where they were sitting that TJ could hear the sound of his boots on the turf. The winger controlled the ball with a delicate touch, then swivelled round and played a neat pass to another Milan forward. The Wanderers players were all back in defence now, but Milan played the ball patiently, moving it from one side of the pitch to the other, never letting the Wanderers players get a touch.
‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ said Jamie’s dad after a few minutes.
‘They haven’t scored,’ said Jamie. ‘They haven’t even had a shot on goal. Hey, look! Sanchez has got it.’
Sure enough, Paco Sanchez, the Wanderers midfield genius, had robbed an over-confident Milan player. He immediately slid a pass to Marshall Jones on the right wing. There was a roar from the crowd as Marshall moved forward and took the ball past first one Milan player, then a second. He was moving at top speed now, heading for the Milan goal line, so far away that TJ could hardly tell what was happening. Then there was a groan from the crowd, and a Milan defender came away with the ball. ‘It’s happening again,’ Rob said. ‘I knew it would. Marshall won’t beat that full back.’
‘He might,’ said Jamie. ‘Give him a chance.’
But Rob was right. Every time Marshall tried to go past the full back the defender reached the ball first. And then the worst happened. Marshall lost the ball for what seemed like the hundredth time and the full back who had tackled him ran forward towards the Wanderers half, then played a pass down the line to the Milan winger.
The winger was being tightly marked by a Wanderers defender, but the Milan full back had kept running. He overtook the Milan winger and the Wanderers defender who was marking him. The winger turned and played the ball into his path.
The ball was heading directly for the corner where TJ and his friends were sitting.
The Wanderers central defender saw the danger and moved towards the ball, but he was too slow, and the Milan full back was flying. He touched the ball forward and just as it was about to run out of play he chipped it back across the goalmouth right into the path of the Milan centre forward, who headed it powerfully into the net.
At the far end of the ground the Milan supporters went crazy. The rest of the stadium was almost silent.
‘This is going to spoil my birthday,’ said Jamie, as the whistle blew for half time a few minutes later. The fans all around them were grumbling to each other. Wanderers now needed to score two goals or they would be out of the competition, and so far they hadn’t managed a single shot on target.
‘Look,’ exclaimed TJ suddenly. ‘I recognize that hat!’
He pointed. A blue baseball hat was bobbing along the front row of the stand.
‘Hey!’ called Jamie, in the enormous voice he used for yelling encouragement to the Parkview team when he was standing in his goal. ‘Mr Wood! Over here!’
The teacher stopped and scanned the crowd for a moment. Then he saw them all waving, and a big smile lit up his face. ‘It’s great to see you all,’ he said when he had jogged up the steps. ‘And you too, Mr Carter,’ he said to Jamie’s dad. ‘It’s a pity about the score.’
‘I think I know what Wanderers should do,’ Rob said earnestly. ‘They should move Marshall over to the left wing and bring Dexter Gordon on to play down the right. I don’t know why the manager hasn’t done it already.’
Mr Wood looked at Rob. ‘He probably hasn’t considered it because young Gordon has never even started a Premier League match, let alone a crucial game in the Champions League. He’s only ever been a s
ubstitute.’
‘He’s on the bench now though,’ Rob pointed out. ‘I bet it would work. That full back knows he can stop Marshall. Wanderers have to give him something different to think about.’
‘I wonder,’ said Mr Wood, glancing at the pitch where the goalkeeping coach was giving some practice to the Wanderers reserve keeper and the subs were warming up. ‘Look, I’m going to go. I’ll maybe see you later.’
Mr Wood pushed his way through the crowd and they lost sight of him. ‘Look,’ said Jamie, pointing. The goalkeeping coach had left the keeper standing in the goal and he was deep in conversation with someone in the stand.
It was a man in a blue baseball cap.
CHAPTER 6
THE MATCH RESTARTED after the break. Away on the far side of the pitch Marshall resumed his battle with the Milan defender, but he did no better than before. Ten minutes went by, and still Wanderers couldn’t find a way through the packed Milan defence. ‘Something’s happening on the bench,’ Tulsi said suddenly.
Three Wanderers players stood up and removed their padded coats. They began to run along the touchline. ‘It’s him,’ said Rob, looking at the tall, skinny figure of Dexter Gordon stretching.
The manager and the head coach were talking together, then TJ saw them beckoning to the players. ‘They’re sitting down again,’ said Rob, disappointed.
‘No,’ said Jamie. ‘Dexter Gordon’s getting ready.’
The young winger stood between the manager and the coach, nodding as they pointed to the notebook in the coach’s hands. Then he stepped forward as the ball ran out of play and the fourth official held up the board with a number on it. The Wanderers’ left winger glanced across, saw his number, and shook his head. ‘None of them look very happy,’ Jamie said.
