Man of the Match

by Dan Freedman

  PRAISE FOR THE JAMIE JOHNSON SERIES

  “You’ll read this and want to get out there and play”

  Steven Gerrard

  “True to the game . . . Dan knows his football”

  Owen Hargreaves

  “An inspiring read for all football fans”

  Gary Lineker

  “If you like football, this book’s for you”

  Frank Lampard

  “Jamie could go all the way”

  Jermain Defoe

  “Pure class – brings the game to life”

  Owen Coyle

  “I love reading about football and it

  doesn’t get much better than this”

  Joe Hart

  “Pure joy”

  The Times

  “Inspiring”

  Observer

  “Gripping”

  Sunday Express

  “A resounding victory”

  Telegraph

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dan Freedman grew up wanting to be a professional footballer. That didn’t happen. But he went on to become a top football journalist, personally interviewing the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, David Beckham and Sir Alex Ferguson. He uses his passion and knowledge of football to write the hugely popular series of Jamie Johnson football novels. When he is not writing, Dan delivers talks and workshops for schools. And he still plays football whenever he can.

  www.danfreedman.co.uk

  www.jamiejohnson.info

  Follow Dan on Twitter @DanFreedman99

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for the Jamie Johnson Series

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1: Rats

  Chapter 2: Top of the League

  Chapter 3: Jack’s Back!

  Chapter 4: Nemesis

  Chapter 5: Lies

  Chapter 6: Foxes on the Hunt

  Chapter 7: Breaking News

  Chapter 8: Bertorelli’s Pants

  Chapter 9: Phoney!

  Chapter 10: Kicking Off!

  Chapter 11: Sent Down

  Chapter 12: Clearing Out

  Chapter 13: Seaport Town

  Chapter 14: Wrong Wing

  Chapter 15: Jamie’s Seaport Debut

  Chapter 16: Rotten Apple

  Chapter 17: Pushed Too Far

  Chapter 18: Disgrace

  Chapter 19: Ball Games

  Chapter 20: Robbed!

  Chapter 21: “I Love Football”

  Chapter 22: “Let Me Play”

  Chapter 23: First Game Back

  Chapter 24: “Whenever You’re Ready”

  Chapter 25: Drag-Backs

  Chapter 26: Secret Spots

  Chapter 27: “Do Something”

  Chapter 28: Someone to Trust

  Chapter 29: The Bonus

  Chapter 30: Operation Searchlight

  Chapter 31: Football Destiny

  Chapter 32: Good to be Back

  Chapter 33: April’s Headlines

  Chapter 34: The Spotlight

  Chapter 35: Shouting Technique

  Chapter 36: Difficult Question

  Chapter 37: The Biggest Day

  Chapter 38: Playing for the Title

  Chapter 39: Kick-Off!

  Chapter 40: Make History

  Chapter 41: Feeling the Heat

  Chapter 42: Lightning Bolt

  Chapter 43: Final Reckoning

  Chapter 44: Time to Lift the Trophy

  Interview with Dan Freedman

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to:

  The Erlicks and Freedmans – for your support and for giving me a place to write!

  Caspian Dennis, Ena McNamara, Lola Cashman, Martin Hitchcock, Oli Karger and Major – for your fantastic advice.

  Hazel Ruscoe – this story is inspired by the ideas we had together.

  The best left-winger of them all, Ryan Giggs – for backing Jamie.

  Ms Pluckrose and the secret agents at St Ed’s – for telling me exactly what you thought!

  Jason Cox – for bearing with me on the double drag-backs!

  Sarah Stewart and the whole team at Scholastic – for signing Jamie up.

  And everyone who follows Jamie’s story. He plays for you. . .

  Jamie was sure he could hear rats scurrying beneath the wooden floorboards of the manager’s office at Seaport Town Football Club.

  Rats, with their hairy little feet and their big sharp yellow teeth. Rats, crawling around with their noses twitching.

  Jamie Johnson was in the third division of English football and he was sharing a football club with rats.

  It was Jamie’s first day at Seaport Town and he was waiting to meet his new manager, Raymond Porlock.

  All Jamie wanted was to get back. Back to Hawkstone United . . . back to the Premier League . . . back to where he belonged. . .

  Just a few months ago he had been a star. He’d been football’s golden boy, with the world at his feet.

  But, right now, all Jamie had at his feet were those disgusting, filthy rats. . .

  Jamie shook his head and blew into his freezing hands.

  What on earth was he doing here? How had he fallen so far?

  “And Jamie Johnson has burst completely clear of the City defence once more. . . His speed is sensational! There’s no way the defenders will catch him now!

  “Just the goalkeeper to beat. . . This for Johnson’s sixth goal in five games. . . This to send Hawkstone United to the top of the Premier Leaaaaaaague!

  “Oh and it’s there! Johnson knocked it in through the keeper’s legs! That’s the cheekiest goal you are likely to see! And another quite sensational strike from the boy with the golden touch!”

  Premier League Table – 12 September

  Top Scorers – Race for the Golden Boot

  Johnson6

  Rodinaldo5

  O’Kane5

  Afikware4

  Volpone4

  Rouzel3

  It was a boiling September afternoon. Hawkstone United were top of the Premier League and Jamie Johnson was fast becoming recognized as the best young player in the country.

  Nothing could touch him. This was where he’d dreamed of being his entire life.

  “Put the radio on, will you, Doug?” Jamie asked, as his driver pulled out of the Hawkstone car park.

  Jamie had listened to the match reports on the radio since he was a young kid. He and his granddad, Mike, had always gone to watch the Hawkstone games together and then given each player marks out of ten on their way back.

  Then, when they’d got home, they would switch on the radio to see what the pundits thought.

  The only difference now was that Jamie was the player they were talking about on the radio. . .

  “I’m pleased to say that we’re now joined by the manager of Hawkstone United, Harry Armstrong,” said the radio presenter.

  “So, Harry, you may be the youngest manager in the Premier League, having just hung up your own boots, but with thirteen points from five games, the league table must make pretty good reading for you tonight.

  “And we have to ask you about Jamie Johnson! He’s still only seventeen years old, but right now he looks like the most potent attacker in the league. How good do you think this boy can become? Is it too early to start using the words ‘world class’?”

  “Well, Pat, every team needs someone to unlock the door. . . to provide that spark. At the moment, Jamie Johnson is that person. H
e’s a special player for us.

  “And people shouldn’t forget that it was only a year ago that he was injured so badly that it looked like the boy might not ever play again. Foxborough released him and he came to us. You know that his first job here was washing the kits?

  “My assistant, Archie Fairclough, he has this saying: ‘Never bet against Jamie Johnson,’ and I’m starting to agree with him.”

  Jamie smiled, leaned back and looked out of the window. It was true. A year ago, he could hardly walk, let alone sprint away from Premier League defenders like an Olympic athlete.

  Now, when defenders faced up to Jamie flying at them with the ball at his feet, he could see the fear in their eyes. And he loved that feeling.

  Most of all, though, Jamie loved the fact that Harry Armstrong had called him a “special” player. That filled him with confidence. Made him feel unstoppable.

  That weekend, Jamie Johnson and Jack Marshall were sitting in Sunningdale Park talking about football. It was the same as always. They had been coming here together for ten years, since they were kids at school, causing mischief together.

  They were still just as close as they had ever been. Jamie didn’t trust many people. He’d been let down too many times in the past, so now he didn’t let many people get close to him.

  Since Jamie’s grandfather, Mike, had died, Jack was probably the only person in the whole world that Jamie properly opened up to. She was the one he would talk to if he had a problem or needed help.

  He knew that he could trust her. He knew that Jack would never let him down.

  “Come on, JJ,” Jack teased. “Give me some juicy Premier League gossip, then! What’s the transfer news?”

  Although Jack was studying for her A levels at college, she already knew that she wanted to be a football journalist. “That way, I’ll get to go to all the best football for free!” she’d explained to Jamie. And, never one to hang around, she’d immediately got herself a part-time job working at the local newspaper.

  “No way!” laughed Jamie. “I can’t just tell you secrets and stuff!”

  “Course you can! One bit of gossip from inside the Hawkstone dressing room; that’s all I need,” she said, her big brown eyes fixed on Jamie. “Go on! Tell me! Which players don’t like each other? There must be some that hate each other’s guts!

  “Come on, Jamie!” she teased, tickling him now, in his weak spot, just below the ribs. “If I can get a good story, then the paper will give me a full-time job after my A levels! And that’ll mean I can write loads of articles saying what a wicked footballer you are! See? Everyone’s a winner!”

  “Get off!” said Jamie, trying to stop Jack’s tickling.

  “All sounds great, Jack, except for the fact that . . . I can’t tell you anything. I tell you, then it goes in the paper . . . and on the radio . . . and on the TV . . . and on the Internet . . . and then the whole world knows! What happens in the dressing room stays in the dressing room. That’s what everyone says. It’s like some golden rule in football. If I start blabbing, telling secrets and stuff, everyone’ll hate me.”

  “Yeah, fair enough,” said Jack, kicking the grass underneath the bench. “Wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult position. And don’t worry, I’ll get my story in the end. You know what I’m like when I put my mind to something.”

  “Yeah, I know that all right,” smiled Jamie, thinking back to the countless arguments he’d lost to Jack over the years. You could see it in her eyes: a sparkle . . . a fight. Jack was a winner. Perhaps that was why Jamie liked her.

  Looking at her, Jamie reckoned that Jack was one of those people who could have been anything they wanted in life. She was good enough to be a top goalkeeper and pretty enough to be a catwalk model.

  On the other hand, Jamie knew that he’d only ever had one option for what he could be – a footballer. So it was lucky that he just happened to be one of the best footballers in the country.

  “Cheers for understanding it from my side,” said Jamie. “I know that I’m lucky to have you as my—”

  “Oh no!” Jack snapped, before Jamie could finish. “You’re not going to start getting mushy on me, are you? Don’t even go there! You’re an idiot sometimes, Jamie Johnson!

  “And anyway,” she said, suddenly getting up off the bench and running out of the park, “if you want some of that chicken that my mum made for you, you better get your skates on – otherwise I’m having it all!”

  Jamie leapt on to his feet and into a turbo-charged sprint. That was his favourite dinner!

  KICK-OFF 3 P.M. TODAY

  It was the morning of the top of the table match against Foxborough.

  Not only were Foxborough the clear favourites for the Premier League – having only narrowly missed out last season – they were also Jamie’s former club; the club that had rejected him when he’d got injured.

  There was no team in the world that Jamie wanted to put one over on more than Foxborough.

  Of course Foxborough knew by now that they had made a catastrophic mistake in releasing Jamie. Right now, he was the hottest property in football. But that didn’t stop him wanting to show Foxborough what they were missing every time he stepped out on to the field against them.

  Jamie Johnson seemed to be the name on everyone’s lips at the moment. There were even massive posters of him plastered all over the local area.

  Jamie had been paid handsomely to sign up to be the new face of a big sportswear company – he’d had the photo shoot last week. He’d practised his smile in front of the mirror for ages before the shoot but then, when he’d got there, they had asked him to scowl at the camera instead of smile.

  They had told him to suck in his cheeks and look as “mean and moody” as he could. Now, as Jamie arrived at the Hawkstone stadium for the biggest match of the season so far, he could see why.

  Outside the ground there was a giant poster of Jamie, staring straight down the camera, holding a gleaming new pair of boots in his hands.

  Below were the words:

  Some people say football is a matter of life and death.

  But I know it’s far more important than that…

  Nemesis, The Ultimate Football Boot,

  as worn by Jamie Johnson.

  The cheer when Jamie got out of the car at the Hawkstone stadium was as loud as that which greeted any goal. The Hawkstone fans loved Jamie more than any other player. Because he’d grown up and gone to school in the area, most of the fans either knew him or pretended they did.

  And they loved the fact that he hadn’t moved either; he still lived in the same house on the same estate that he’d grown up in. Even though he’d soon have enough money to buy a massive pad on the other side of town, Jamie had agreed to stay at home with his mum and his stepdad, Jeremy, and put his money into a special account that he could only access when he was twenty-one.

  He’d seen with his injury last year how quickly the whole Premier League dream could evaporate. Besides, this way he still got all his washing and ironing done!

  Jamie signed as many autographs as he could but, after ten minutes, he went into the players’ entrance to get ready for the game. He knew that even if he stayed outside signing for the next two days, he still wouldn’t get them all done.

  As soon as Jamie walked into the dressing room, he picked up the newspaper and scanned the back pages. Perhaps he should never have picked up the paper. Perhaps he should have just gone straight on to the pitch and started warming up.

  But Jamie always read the newspaper before the game. It was as much a part of his pre-match ritual as putting on his boots.

  But when he saw that day’s headline, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  The match had kicked off twenty minutes ago. One of the biggest matches of the whole season. A face-off between the top two clubs in the league. And all Jamie could think about was t
hat stupid article in the newspaper.

  It just continued to swirl around his mind. He tried to stop it. Tried to calm the hurt and anger inside him, but it was too strong. It was consuming him.

  Just a pack of lies! None of what he said is true! I never abandoned him. He’s the one who abandoned me!

  And if I ever get my hands on that Barry Digmore, I’ll—

  CRUNCH!!

  Jamie had held on to the ball too long. Instead of picking a quick pass or motoring down the wing, he’d dallied in possession, giving the Foxborough centre-half – a hairy brute of a man – just enough time to nail Jamie with a bone-crunching tackle.

  Jamie lay on the ground for a second or two, half-heartedly appealing for a free-kick, but the referee had already waved play on. Jamie slowly picked himself up off the turf. He was a million miles off the pace.

  Glenn Richardson, Hawkstone’s ultra-skilful playmaker, had used his trickery on the edge of the area to win Hawkstone a free-kick. It was perfectly positioned, twenty yards from goal, just to the right of centre. A great chance for Hawkstone to fire the opening goal.

  Jamie had already scored two sumptuous free-kicks from this spot this season. One of them – which had smashed against the underside of the crossbar, hit the ground and then bounced back up into the roof of the net – had even won goal of the month in August. Millions of people had voted for it. Jamie kept the trophy above his bed at home. Sometimes he kissed it before he went to sleep!

  Jamie gathered in a huddle with three other Hawkstone players to discuss what they were going to do with the set-piece. They covered their mouths so that the defenders couldn’t hear what they were planning.

  But Jamie’s mind was drifting elsewhere. . .