The Kick Off Page 2

  “Anyone can miss a penalty, JJ,” said Mike.

  Jamie had just told him what had happened. He’d taken the long route back from school through the park. He’d thought it might give him time to think of some positives from the trial. But it hadn’t worked. Jamie couldn’t remember one good thing he’d done in the whole game.

  “The important thing is that you have the confidence to step up and take the next one when it comes along. Football is about balls, after all.”

  “I know,” said Jamie. “But this is more than just a mistake. I’m never gonna get in the A team now. I’ll be lucky to get in the C team, I reckon.”

  “Hang on a minute, Jamie,” said Mike, shaking his head. “The season hasn’t even started yet and you’re already writing yourself off, are you? The C team? You? Come on!”

  “You didn’t see it, Mike. It was so embarassing.”

  “It’s irrelevant, Jamie. It’s gone. What you need to do is keep your mind positive and stick at it. If everyone got what they wanted just by clicking their fingers, nothing would be worth wanting, would it?”

  “Well, I don’t know. . .”

  “Jamie, are you good enough to get into the A’s?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “OK, yeah. I am good enough. I’m as good as any of them.”

  “Right, and you’ve got the whole of the holidays ahead of you now. So if you want to get in this team, then make it happen.”

  “How do I do that, then?”

  “I suggest you go back to the beginning. Let’s go outside.”

  They went out to the small garden at the back of the house.

  “Wait here for a sec,” said Mike, walking to the shed at the bottom of the garden. He moved slowly. He’d walked with a limp ever since the operations he’d had on his knee when he was younger.

  The shadows were starting to lengthen now. Jamie looked at how massive his was on the garden fence. He wondered how tall he would be when he grew up.

  When he came back, Mike was carrying something behind his back.

  “What’s this?” he said, presenting a football to Jamie.

  “Don’t you start,” Jamie snapped. “I had a bad game but I still know what a football is.”

  Jamie reached to grab the ball.

  But Mike held on tightly.

  “Ah, but if you want to be a real player, JJ, this has to be more than a football. It has to be your friend. From what you’re telling me, it’s not your friend at the moment.”

  “What? My friend?” Jamie laughed. “How can a ball be my friend?”

  “How do you make friends with anyone, Jamie? Spend some time together.”

  Mike handed the ball over.

  “And make sure you use both feet, JJ. That right foot’s not just for standing on!” he said, giving Jamie a wink as he went inside.

  Jamie stood there.

  All he had for company was a ball and a brick wall.

  It was all he needed.

  “Jamie, where have you been?” demanded Karen Johnson, as soon as he got in.

  “Nowhere – what’s the problem?”

  Jamie pushed his way past his mum to get a drink from the fridge. He didn’t need any hassle from her. She wouldn’t understand anyway. She didn’t know anything about football.

  “The problem is, it’s nine o’clock and school finished at three and I haven’t heard a word from you – that’s the problem! I cook you dinner and you don’t even bother to turn up. Why didn’t you call me to tell me where you were?”

  Jamie looked at his watch. It was 8.50. He hadn’t even realized. He must have been kicking the ball against the wall for more than three hours. Not that he was in the mood to apologize for being late. Even now, he was still fuming about the match.

  “I’ve eaten,” he barked. “And why do you have to know where I am the whole time, anyway? I’m thirteen years old. I can do what I want.”

  “Who do you think you are?” his mum shouted back, tipping his cold dinner into the bin. “How dare you speak to me like that? The reason I bought you a phone is so that you can let me know where you are. If you aren’t going to do that, then I’ll take it—”

  “All right! For God’s sake!” said Jamie. “If you must know, I had the worst day at school ever and then I went to see Mike. Satisfied now?”

  Jamie pounded up the stairs to his room. All he wanted was to be left alone and not to be bothered the whole time. Was that too much to ask?

  He flicked on the radio. It was nearly time for the sports bulletin and he wanted to see if there had been any big-money transfers. He loved transfers. He could remember exactly how much all the Hawks players had cost when they’d been bought and which club they had joined from.

  As he listened to the headlines, he headed a sponge ball against his bedroom wall, which was filled with posters of all of Jamie’s favourite players.

  When the bulletin had finished, Jamie switched off the radio and sat on the edge of his bed. He tumbled the ball between his hands and thought about the chat he’d had with Mike. He was right. If Jamie worked at it enough, he could still get that place in the A team. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long way.

  At 11.45 the next morning, Jamie stretched out his arms, let out a big old yawn and got up. It was time for Sports Saturday.

  He pulled his duvet down from upstairs and perched himself on the settee with a bowl of cereal and some ice-cold milk. His mum worked at the hospital on Saturdays and Jamie enjoyed his slobby start to the weekend, feasting on the latest sports action, with the house completely to himself. During the football season he recorded all the goals while he watched them so he could go back later and watch the Hawks goals again in slow-motion.

  Jamie was supposed to do some shopping for his mum this afternoon but practically as soon as the programme finished, Jamie heard the sound of a ball bouncing outside the front door.

  Jack was obviously ready for their weekly kick-around at Sunningdale Park and football beat shopping any day! They had planned a long session today because it was the only chance they were going to get. Jack was visiting family in Antigua for the whole of the summer holidays.

  Jack and Jamie had been best mates since they were five. They had kicked a ball around for the first time in the same week that Jack had moved into Jamie’s road, about eight years ago. Since then, they had pretty much grown up together and Jamie knew that, if he needed to, he could talk to Jack about anything.

  Jack was really clever and always gave good advice. Maybe if Jack had been at the trials and had been able to calm Jamie down, everything would have been different. Jamie might even have scored the penalty.

  But Jack hadn’t been allowed to play in the trials. Neither of them could understand why. They played together the whole time outside of school so what was the difference? As far as Jamie was concerned, Jack was by far the best goalkeeper he knew.

  So what if she was a girl? She was still a great keeper.

  The boys at school said Jack was fit and Jamie knew she had a pretty face, but to him she was just a mate. A best mate.

  Halfway through their jog to Sunningdale Park, Jamie suddenly came to a halt.

  “What’s up?” said Jack. “Run out of gas already? You need to get your fitness levels up, mate”

  “Jack,” said Jamie tentatively. “We’re mates, right?”

  “Errr . . . I think so!” said Jack sarcastically.

  “Can I ask you a question, then?”

  “Jamie, if you’re trying to ask me out, can you just get on with it – we haven’t got all day!”

  “Shut up for a second, Jack. This is serious.”

  “OK, sorry. What is it?”

  “Do I – I –” he stammered. “I mean . . . what do you think of my hair?”

  “It’s all
right,” said Jack, sizing him up. “Looks the same as normal to me.”

  “It is the same as normal, but what do you think of it? Is it really rubbish that it’s . . . ginger?”

  “I thought you always said that it was strawberry blond, Jamie,” Jack teased.

  “Just answer the question, Jack.”

  “Listen,” said Jack, putting her face near to Jamie’s so that her dreadlocks almost touched his forehead. “Your hair is cool and you’re a good looking bloke. You know that, so stop trying to make me big you up. Now can we please go and play some football?”

  “Yeah, cool,” said Jamie, doing his best to keep a cheeky smile from flickering across his mouth.

  After their kick-around, they went back to Jack’s to chill and watch a film. Jamie didn’t stay too late though, as Jack’s flight was at 7 a.m. the next morning and she hadn’t even finished packing properly.

  When he left, Jamie felt a bit sad. The whole time he’d known her, they had never been apart for six weeks. That was a long time but at least they’d agreed that they would definitely meet up the night Jack got back, which was the day before school started.

  He was going to miss her. Normally, they spent the whole of the summer holidays together. This time it was going to be different.

  If there was one good thing about Jack being away, though, maybe it was that now Jamie had even more time to spend with his new best friend – the ball.

  For the next week, Jamie spent every single day down at Sunningdale . . . alone, just him and the ball.

  He did everything he could to get to know it. He juggled it, he dribbled it, he swerved it and he curled it.

  He thought about what all the best players had in common. It was the fact that they were so comfortable with the ball that they hardly ever had to look at it. They had the ball under such close control that they could lift their heads up and see the picture of what was happening all over the pitch.

  That’s how good Jamie wanted to be when he went back to Kingfield. He wanted to get so close to the ball that no one would ever be able to separate them. Together, they could get him into the A team.

  But soon there was a problem with the relationship. Jamie’s attentions started to be drawn elsewhere.

  Every day, on the pitch right next to where Jamie was practising, the same group of boys came and played a match of their own.

  Although he tried to concentrate on his own routines, Jamie found himself spending more and more time watching their game instead of working on his control.

  None of them knew who Jamie was but he knew who all of them were. They were the Kingfield First Eleven squad and they were doing their pre-season training.

  It was weird; it was like Jamie was being hypnotized. He had to watch them.

  It wasn’t surprising though. On one pitch was a squad – including Danny Miller, the best player in the whole school – who were testing themselves to the limit in a fast-paced, competitive training session. Whereas on the next was Jamie, by himself, kicking the ball into an empty net.

  They were sixteen and were cool. Jamie was thirteen and looked like he had no mates.

  It was no contest.

  Just sitting there watching Danny Miller and Co. do their thing wasn’t going to improve Jamie’s game though.

  He knew he had to concentrate on himself, not the Firsts. Somehow, he needed to make his sessions more exciting – like theirs.

  So he started to commentate on himself while he practised. It made it seem so much more real.

  Each day he picked a different footballer and imagined he was them when he played. He tried to take on their characteristics and dribble and shoot like they did.

  Sometimes he pretended he was one of the Hawks players and other times he imagined himself as one of the big international stars. Thinking he was the best helped to make Jamie play better. It was as if their skills were being pumped into his body.

  On this particular day, Jamie had decided he was going to pretend to be someone a little closer to home. He was looking forward to it.

  “Here’s Danny Miller . . . he’s picked this one up well inside his own half,” Jamie started, putting on his commentator’s voice as he powered down the pitch, the ball at his feet.

  “He’s going through the gears now . . . he’s got real pace this boy . . . the defenders can’t stay with him. . .”

  So taken in was he by his own imagination, that Jamie was beginning to shout louder and louder the closer he got to the goal. He felt like he was playing in a real game and he was the star of the show.

  “Oh, a beautiful trick by Miller on the edge of the box now . . . he’s made himself a yard of space. What’s he going to do now?

  “Is Miller going to have a crack?. . . He is, you know!. . . GOOOOAAAAAAAAL!”

  Jamie lingered over the word “goal” like the Brazilian commentators. He even thought he heard fans cheering his goal. He was just about to give them a wave when he realized . . . they were real claps.

  And they were coming from behind him.

  Jamie closed his eyes and listened as the claps started to turn into laughter – at first quiet, then roaring howls of derision.

  Jamie turned around to see all of the First Eleven boys on the next pitch collapsing in stitches. They must have seen the whole thing.

  “DANNY MILLER GOOOOAAAAAAAAL,” they repeated, mimicking him.

  Jamie was almost sick on the spot.

  “You better watch out, Danny,” shouted one of the biggest of them, “I think he’s got his eye on you!”

  Jamie didn’t know what was more embarrassing, this or the trials the other day. At least one day he might have the chance to put the penalty miss right.

  But this! What could he do about this?

  The whole of the First Eleven now thought he was some kind of sad weirdo with a crush on Danny Miller. They could easily go back and tell everyone at Kingfield or, worse still, Marsden. He could add that to the ever-growing list of reasons why he’d never pick Jamie for the A’s.

  Time was running out for Jamie. One month. That’s all he had left. How was he going to transform his game in one month? And when were people going to stop laughing at him?

  Jamie could hear Mike’s knee clicking as they climbed the stairs.

  He had been on crutches for six months after his injury. These days, players can come back from knee ligament injuries as good as new. But for Mike, his career was over before it had even begun.

  Jamie had told Mike that he wasn’t getting anywhere. That he needed help. Something to get his confidence back and make him into the player he knew he could be.

  Mike had said he had something which might help.

  They went into Mike’s bedroom. Mike was still breathing heavily from walking up the stairs. Because his knee was hurting more and more these days, he didn’t get much exercise.

  There were still pictures of him and Jamie’s nan on the window sill. It made Jamie really sad to think of Mike living on his own now after being married for so many years. Jamie’s nan had died a couple of years ago. Now Jamie only had his granddad. He had not had any contact with any of his dad’s family since his dad had left.

  Jamie wondered whether Mike cooked dinner for himself every night. Did he ever cry like he had done that day at the funeral?

  Mike opened a wooden cupboard and stretched up to the top. He pulled down an old leather scrapbook.

  He blew off the dust and ran his hand over the cover a couple of times. For a few seconds, he stared silently at the book. Then he looked at Jamie.

  “I want to tell you about a man named Kenny Wilcox,” he said.

  “I must have been about fifteen and I was playing football outside in my street – just like I did everyday – when a man who was taking his dog out for a walk stopped to watch us play for a while. Not for long. But long enough.”<
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  Mike had a distant look in his eye as he told Jamie the story, like he was going back to his childhood as he spoke.

  “The man walked his dog around the block but when he came back he asked if he could speak to me for a second. He told me he was a coach at Hawkstone and asked me if I wanted to come down for a trial the next week.”

  “Wow! That must have been amazing!” said Jamie, shaking his head. He’d heard lots about Mike’s career before but not about how he’d first got spotted. “The greatest day of your life, right? How much did you sign for again?”

  “Slow down, JJ – we haven’t even got to the trial yet! Anyway, that day was the first day I met Kenny. A great man. The best football coach I ever knew.”

  “How well did you play in the trial, Mike? You must have nailed it for them to sign you up.”

  “Just the opposite, actually. My problem in those days was I was big – too big for my age, really. I was strong and good in the air, but not too clever on the ground.

  “The strikers that I was up against at the trial were the worst type for me, all small and quick. I just couldn’t get near them.

  “After the trial, I didn’t wait to hear who they were offering contracts to. I just left. I was gutted because I knew I hadn’t done enough. I suppose that’s how you felt the other day, wasn’t it, JJ? It feels like you haven’t done yourself justice, doesn’t it?”

  Jamie nodded. Well, at least Mike had shown that it was possible to bounce back from a disastrous trial. Jamie imagined how good Mike must have been when he was younger. In all the photos he had seen of Mike in the Hawks kit he’d looked so strong. Like a giant that could win any tackle he went in for.