by Rich Wallace
By Rich Wallace
for younger readers:
Sports Camp
Kickers:
#1 The Ball Hogs
#2 Fake Out
#3 Benched
#4 Game-Day Jitters
Contents
Cover
Other Books by this Author
Title Page
The Bobcats Team Roster
Chapter One - Stuck in Concrete
Chapter Two - A New Move
Chapter Three - Slipping and Stumbling
Chapter Four - Two Fakes at Once
Chapter Five - A Brain Sprain
Chapter Six - Duking and Juking
Chapter Seven - Another Stumble
Chapter Eight - Working the Hill
Chapter Nine - Too Much Thinking
Chapter Ten - Power and Speed
Copyright
THE BOBCATS
Team Roster
CHAPTER ONE
Stuck in Concrete
Ben ran toward the soccer ball, eager to stop the rush of the Panthers. His team held a narrow 2–1 lead with just a few minutes remaining.
“Go, Bobcats!” yelled Ben’s teammate Erin, who was on the sideline. “Get that ball.”
A Panther player reached the ball first, and he sprinted down the field. The kid was taller than Ben and very thin. Ben moved into his path, ready to knock the ball free.
From the corner of his eye, Ben could see players from both teams rushing toward the goal area. It was a blur of blue shirts on the Bobcats and green ones on the Panthers.
The Panther ran along the sideline, skillfully controlling the ball. But Ben stayed with him, not allowing him to angle across toward the goal.
The player stopped suddenly, stepping on the ball and pulling it back toward him. Ben stumbled as he tried to pivot, and the Panther sent a crisp pass to a teammate.
Ben’s teammate Mark cut off that player’s path, and another Bobcat ran over to help out. They had him trapped!
He has to pass, Ben thought. Get ready to spring!
The player Ben had been covering looped behind his teammate and yelled for the ball. The pass bounced wildly toward him, but he fielded it cleanly and came face to face with Ben.
Ben stood squarely this time, keeping himself between the ball and the goal. He won’t get around me, Ben thought.
The Panther dribbled the ball straight at Ben, then dodged to his left. Ben sprang in that direction, but suddenly the Panther was past him, taking the ball the other way. In two quick steps, he was in front of the goal, and he fired it hard into the net.
The game was tied.
Ben couldn’t believe it. He’d been faked out, and it had cost the Bobcats a goal.
“Let’s move!” shouted Mark. “There’s still time.”
But time was running out quickly. The Bobcats moved up the field, but the Panthers were playing tight defense.
Mark passed to Ben, and Ben put his head down and charged. A trio of players in green shirts blocked his path, so Ben turned and passed the ball to Jordan.
But no one got off another shot. The referee blew his whistle and the game ended.
Ben hung his head as he walked off the field. Erin patted his shoulder. “Hey, a tie isn’t so bad,” she said. “It’s better than a loss.”
“Not much,” Ben said. Especially since it had been his fault. He was sure he’d had that player stopped, but he’d been left flat-footed as the tying goal was scored.
“That kid made you look like you were stuck in concrete,” said Mark.
Ben winced. Last week, he would have been ready to fight Mark over a remark like that. They’d been enemies for the first few games before starting to play like teammates. Was Mark starting all over again with the nonsense?
Ben glared at Mark.
“It’s okay,” Mark said with a slight smile. “He did it to me, too.”
Ben shook his head and kicked at the turf. The Bobcats’ coach had taught them all about shooting and passing, but a fake like that one seemed very advanced for a league mostly full of beginners. The kids in this program were nine and ten years old.
“How did he learn a move like that?” Ben asked.
“Who knows?” Mark said. “Where’s a ball?”
Ben stepped to the bench and rolled a ball out from under it with his foot. He swept it over to Mark.
“It was like this,” Mark said. He stepped toward the ball and moved it with his right foot, kicking it over to the left. Then he stopped and kicked it quickly to the right. He stumbled as he kicked it again, but the ball moved in the opposite direction.
“Pretty good,” Ben said. “It was something like that.”
“We need to practice until we can make that move on the run,” Mark said.
“Yeah, and we need to learn how to defend against it, too,” Ben said. “We both got burned today. It cost us a win.”
The Bobcats had lost their first two games of the Kickers League season, partly because Mark and Ben wouldn’t pass to each other. They were two of the best players on the team, and they’d finally learned that it took a lot of teamwork to win a soccer game.
But Mark and Ben both had scored in the third game, finally figuring out that passing was much more effective than trying to dribble the length of the field by yourself. They’d won that game. So today’s tie left their record at one win, two losses, and a tie.
The Bobcats’ next several games were also against teams from the other division. Then they’d have rematches with the three teams in their own division. After that, the top two teams in each division would compete in the play-offs.
Ben glanced over at the Panthers, who were huddled up around their coach. They looked excited. And happy. Ben and his teammates weren’t even smiling. They’d led for nearly the entire game, so letting a win slip away in the final seconds really hurt.
Their game had been the last one of the day, so the officials were already posting the updated standings on a bulletin board near the parking lot. Ben walked over to have a look. He saw that the Bobcats had a lot of ground to make up before they could even think about getting a play-off spot.
“Looks like we can get back on track next week,” Mark said. “The Falcons haven’t won a single game.”
Ben shrugged. “We’ve only won once,” he said. “But you’re right. Nobody will burn me like that again, I can promise you.”
The kid who’d faked Ben out went running past, heading for the parking lot. “Nice game,” he said, flashing a big grin.
“You too,” Ben mumbled. He couldn’t tell if the kid was rubbing it in or if he really was congratulating him. It didn’t matter. The kid had played a nice game. Ben had just been his victim.
KICKERS
CHAPTER TWO
A New Move
Ben’s parents hadn’t been able to make it to the game, so he and Erin had to walk home. They lived on the same block and had been friends since first grade. It wasn’t a long walk, but Ben was tired from running hard for an hour.
He stopped and peeked in the window at the market. He could see a cooler of sports drinks and soda bottles.
“A cold drink would be great,” Ben said. His water bottle was empty but he didn’t have any money. So he’d have to wait until he got home.
“You could have some of my water,” Erin said, holding out her bottle to him.
Ben winced. “No way,” he said. “It looks like warm spit.”
“Thanks a lot,” Erin said. She looked at the bottle and frowned. There was only about an inch of water left in it. She took off the cap and drank it. Then she stuck her tongue out at Ben. “It’s warm, but it’s not spit.”
Ben let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He could still see the kid making that move, sending Be
n sprawling in the wrong direction as he took a direct path to the goal. Ben’s heart sank again as he thought about the ball rippling into the net.
He started walking, kicking at a stone and sending it into the street.
“What are you doing after lunch?” Erin asked. “Want to come over?”
Ben stared straight ahead. “Nope.”
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day.”
“I just don’t feel like it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t, that’s why.”
Erin shook her head. “You sure are a grouch today.”
They walked two more blocks before Ben said anything. When they reached the corner by Erin’s house, he said, “We should have won that game.”
“So? We tied.”
“We should have won. Don’t you care?”
“Yes, I care. But I’m not going to let it ruin my day.” Erin turned and waved to her dad, who was trimming the edge of their lawn. “So I’ll see you later. Or not,” she said.
Ben walked away. How could Erin be so cheerful after a game like that?
He let the back door slam on his way into the house and kicked his shoes down the cellar stairs. He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and drank some orange juice right out of the carton.
“That’s gross,” said his older brother, Larry, who was thirteen. “The rest of us drink that stuff, too, you know.”
Ben wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his soccer jersey. “I was thirsty,” he said.
“So was I,” Larry said. “Guess I’ll have some water.”
Ben took another swig of the juice.
“Mom!” Larry called. “Ben’s drinking out of the carton again.”
Their mother came into the kitchen. “Ben, I’ve told you not to do that.”
“It’s gross,” Larry said.
“You already said that!” Ben set the carton on the shelf and closed the refrigerator door.
“And you got grime all over the door handle,” Mom said. “Why didn’t you wash your hands first?”
“Because I was dying of thirst.”
“Well, get a paper towel and clean it up,” Mom said. “And wash your hands.”
“Don’t rush me.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll do it in a minute. I’m starving. I just played a soccer game, remember?”
Mom pointed toward the bathroom. “Don’t mess up the towels,” she said.
Ben walked to the bathroom. “I guess nobody cares if we won or not,” he said loudly. He slammed the bathroom door.
When he came back to the kitchen, he said, “I need lunch.”
“I need lunch, please,” said Mom. “You’re acting like a total brat today, Ben.”
“Well, none of you came to my game and you didn’t even ask how we did.”
“We’ve been to every one of your games so far. Larry had a cross-country race this morning. You know that.”
“And you didn’t ask how I did either, Ben,” Larry said.
“Well, we had a terrible game,” Ben said.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “Larry ran very well.”
“Big deal.”
“It is a big deal…. I think you’d better go spend some time in your room until you’ve got a better attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving.”
“You’ll live.”
So Ben stomped off to his room and flopped onto the bed. Nobody seemed to get it. He’d played poorly, at least at the end of the game. Didn’t he have a right to be angry?
He looked around the room. He had a giant Tyrannosaurus rex poster on the wall above his bed, and a Boston Bruins hockey jersey hanging on the one directly across from it. Books and toys were in fairly neat piles on the floor. He glanced around the room for his soccer ball, then remembered that it was out in the yard.
Halloween was about a month away, and his mom had put a plastic jack-o’-lantern on his dresser. It was about the same size as a soccer ball, but it had a flat bottom.
Ben took it down and laid it on its side so it would roll. He stepped back a few feet, imagining an opponent just in front of him. He brought his right foot forward and swept the pumpkin out in front of him. He leaned hard to his right, then shifted to the left and raised his right foot, bringing it over the top of the “ball” and replanting it on the other side. Then he nudged the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it in the opposite direction.
In his mind, the opponent was left there, lunging in the wrong direction as Ben smoothly went the other way.
That’s it! he thought. That’s how the guy burned me. Ben had stepped over the ball without touching it, then swept it back with the outside of his foot.
He practiced it a few more times, trying to go faster with each attempt. Then he put the pumpkin back where it belonged and headed downstairs.
“Sorry, Mom,” he said. “I was mad because I messed up the game.”
“Well, maybe you’ll feel better after you eat.”
“I already feel better,” he said. “Could I have a peanut butter sandwich?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe two?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Thanks. Then I’m going to practice in the yard for a while. I’m working on a new move. Wait’ll you see it. It’s going to be great!”
Next game, Ben thought, I’ll be the one with the fancy footwork.
CHAPTER THREE
Slipping and Stumbling
The last day of September was crisp and cool, with red and yellow maple leaves beginning to fall from the trees. Ben grabbed for a leaf as he jogged near the edge of the soccer field, lunging for it as it swirled in the breeze. He missed it, and it settled on the lush green grass.
“Faked out again, huh?” came a familiar voice. Mark had seen the whole thing.
“By a leaf this time,” Ben said with a laugh. He nodded to Mark, who was the second one to arrive for practice. Ben had been the first by about fifteen minutes. He’d come directly from school, having kept his soccer shoes and his shin guards in his backpack all day because he was so eager to get to the field.
Ben wasn’t sure if he liked Mark yet, but at least they’d learned to work together on the soccer field.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Mark asked.
“Friend,” Ben replied. “Not girlfriend.”
“Just kidding,” Mark said.
Erin wasn’t with Ben today. It was Rosh Hashanah, so her family was observing the holiday with relatives.
Ben had forgotten to bring his ball, so he’d been running laps to warm up. He had so much energy that he could run all day. But he couldn’t wait to be playing soccer. Especially after what had happened in Saturday’s game.
Coach Patty arrived with her daughter, Shayna, and the rest of the team soon followed. Patty blew her whistle and gathered the team around her.
“Did I miss a rainstorm?” she asked with a grin, looking at Ben. “Somebody got wet.”
Ben blushed. “I’ve been running,” he said. “Got a little sweaty.”
“A little? You look like you swam across the pond.”
Ben laughed and wiped his forehead. He knew the coach was kidding.
Coach opened a large mesh bag and rolled out several soccer balls. “Let’s work on passing and shooting today, then we’ll scrimmage for a while. Sound good?”
Ben raised his hand. “Can we work on fakes?”
“I suppose we could. Do you guys think you’re ready for that?”
“The other teams sure are!” Mark said. “We got burned on Saturday.”
Ben demonstrated the move he’d worked on all weekend, stepping over the ball and pushing it back with the outside of his foot. Everybody tried it a few times.
“Okay, let’s do it with a defender,” Coach said after everyone had successfully made the move.
They formed two lines—one to defend and the other to move the ball. Ben was first in the line th
at would try the fake. Shayna was set to defend.
Coach blew her whistle and Ben began dribbling up the field. Shayna crouched slightly and moved toward him at an angle, pinning Ben near the sideline.
When Shayna was about five feet away, Ben tapped the ball toward the middle of the field, then took a quick step to keep up with it. He tried to step over the ball, but it was moving faster than when he’d tried this move alone. His foot hit the top of the ball and Ben slid back. Shayna took control and dribbled quickly toward the goal.
Coach blew her whistle. “Nice try, Ben,” she said. “And good defense, Shayna. It’s a lot harder to make that move on the run, but let’s keep working at it. Get back in line … who’s next?”
They worked on the fake for about fifteen minutes, and most of the time it didn’t work. Players slipped and tripped and the ball squirted away, but once in a while someone had success.
Ben finally made the move just right, leaving Mark behind as he raced along the sideline with the ball.
About time, Ben thought.
“Let’s scrimmage!” Coach called. “Work that fake in if you have the chance, but don’t get carried away with it. Passing is still your best option. Pass the ball and run to an open spot for a return pass. That’s how to move the soccer ball.”
Because there were only seven players, Coach decided to create a shorter field. She set up two sets of cones about forty yards apart to use as goals.
“We’ll play three against three, with one substitute,” she said. “Shayna, Mark, and Omar on one side; Jordan, Kim, and Darren on the other. No goalies. Work with your teammates. Remember the triangle.”
Ben gave Coach a surprised look.
“You’ll play plenty,” she said. “Stay warm.”
Ben took a ball and dribbled along the sideline, trying to keep it close. He practiced stopping and starting, throwing little shoulder moves that would confuse an opponent. He imagined leaving a defender behind, just as had happened to him in Saturday’s game.
When he finally got onto the field, he was surprised how open it felt. With just six players out there, he had plenty of room to run. By moving together in a flexible triangle shape, he and his teammates were able to make a series of open passes.
