Team Player Page 3

  Oh, the ref’s given a penalty! It looks like he’s accusing Piper of jumping unfairly there, maybe using his arms. Perhaps a bit of a soft decision, but a foul in the box is a penalty, and as much as Charlton might protest, jumping with your arms like that would be a foul anywhere on the pitch. Piper is apologising to his team-mates, but no one wants to know. This would be a bad time to concede a second goal, and it would make a comeback look unlikely at best. Thirwell takes a short run-up, and Dvorski goes entirely the wrong way! 2–0 to Banks, and the referee signals that this will be the last action of the half. Charlton need to sort themselves out, and soon.

  The team stormed into the team-talk room, and before Sam could even get a word in the slanging match began.

  “Why did you do that?” roared Marek at Jimmy. “Now we’re two goals down!”

  “He didn’t mean to,” replied Sam. “Give him a break.”

  “You can’t talk,” retorted Jimmy hotly, ignoring Sam, “you dived the wrong way, you idiot!”

  Keira put up her hand to stop the bickering. “We’re not done yet,” she said. “If the defence start to concentrate more, and I get a couple of good chances, we’ll soon equalise. We might even pull ahead if we’re lucky. All is not lost.” She smiled at the team, but her words of encouragement didn’t go down well.

  The rest of the team stared at her.

  “What planet are you on?” demanded Jimmy. “We’d be getting on a lot better if the midfield hadn’t forgotten how to pass.” He glared at Keira. “And that means you and Roddy.”

  Roddy was stung into a hasty reply. “I’m not going to pass to an opponent, am I?”

  he yelled. “And they’re the only players on the field with space. If we have more of a chance to score by me not passing, that’s what I’m going to do.” He looked at Keira and Geno. “Get free of your markers, and then I’ll pass.”

  Keira started to say something, but Sam butted in. “What on earth is the matter with you lot?” she asked. “You’re usually so united, which is one reason you’ve been successful in the past. But you won’t win any more matches if you spend your whole time sniping at each other. I don’t know what’s started all this arguing, but it’s got to stop. Keira, as captain you should come to me if there are problems in the team. I can’t help if I don’t know, can I?”

  Keira shook her head. “No,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”

  “Right then,” said Sam. “We’ve only got another couple of minutes. I want you all to shake hands. You need to get out there and fight the other team, not squabble amongst yourselves.”

  The team did as she asked, but by the resentful looks Keira got, it was obvious that her effort to boost morale had badly misfired.

  “Thanks a bunch for putting me in the dock,” she snarled to Roddy, as she ran past him back onto the field.

  Geno caught up with Roddy and jogged beside him. “I was in a fairly good position a couple of times, but you just ignored me,” he said. “We need to take every chance we can get.”

  “I know,” said Roddy shortly. “But your dry run doesn’t encourage me to pass to you unless I can see you have a really good chance.”

  Geno looked as if he was going to give a scathing reply, but he bit his lip and remained silent.

  His reproachful look haunted Roddy. He knew how much Geno wanted to score for the team, as well as for his dad. And Roddy had said he’d keep making chances for him. But today’s match was vital, and Roddy still hoped he could pull off a couple of blinding goals if he worked hard enough and had just a bit of luck.

  Charlton seem to be straggling out of their changing room. It appears that the penalty just before half-time has made their rumoured dressing-room problems boil over, and they’re going to really struggle without any kind of team unity.

  Banks can see this, and are hassling Charlton right from the kickoff. Mbeki plays the ball to Sanders. She threads it through to Perotti, and he gets half a chance, but his shot finds the woodwork and Banks soon clear the ball. That was a disappointing finish when Charlton badly needed a morale booster. Jones’ work rate is phenomenal, but he seems to be playing in a one-man team, as if he is determined to save the match alone. Perotti has his hand up for the ball again, and Jones passes to him this time, but it’s too late and Perotti is closed down by the Banks defence. It seems there’s no way through, whatever this team tries.

  Banks have the ball now, and they pass it forward effortlessly. Dvorski makes a fine save from Thirwell’s strike to deny him a hat trick, but Patel is there at the back post to turn it in for 3–0.

  The match is restarted, and again Charlton are making heavy weather of things, refusing to pass to each other and giving the ball away needlessly. Jones in on the ball again now, running into trouble instead of playing a simple pass to Sanders. Mbeki tries to come across and cut Patel’s run, but the winger jinks past him with a lovely stepover and is bearing down on the defence. Piper tries to make the tackle, but Patel’s feet are too quick for him and the ball is gone. Patel gets into the box, and tries the shot – 4–0! A brilliant solo effort from Ali Patel, and there’s surely no way back for Charlton now.

  Marek was shouting, and so was Keira. Sam had her head in her hands on the touchline, and Roddy knew this game was as good as over. He only hoped that Moore were losing, too.

  This is a very poor performance from Charlton, they’re playing like complete strangers. There’s still time for more goals from Banks, and … oh! Eddie Walton has just unleashed one from 30 yards that’s gone whistling into the back of the net! 5–0, and the ref blows to put Charlton out of their misery. The wheels have really come off Charlton’s title bid today, and it’s going to take a miracle for them to regain their confidence for the showdown with Moore.

  The Charlton team trudged despondently off the pitch. Nobody even bothered to wait for Sam in the team-talk room, they just wanted to get showered and away from each other.

  Roddy was annoyed with himself for not passing to Geno in time during the second half. But it was by no means certain Geno would have scored, even if he had collected the ball. Hitting the woodwork was the closest the striker had come to scoring in the whole match, and his lack of goals wasn’t all down to bad passing. Geno was off form, and Roddy couldn’t find the net, either. The whole team was falling apart. With the title decider against Moore only two weeks away, it was going to take something major to turn things around, and for the life of him, Roddy couldn’t think what to do.

  6. A Welcome Surprise

  A foul mood had descended on the Charlton team since the Banks match, made even worse by the news that Moore had beaten Stiles 3–1 and moved above Charlton in the first-year cup table. Even a draw wouldn’t be good enough now; Charlton needed to win their last match to clinch the title.

  The overall House Cup was also still up for grabs, and Sam summoned the team together after training the following day.

  “What do you think she wants?” asked Marek.

  “I dunno,” said Roddy. “She’s probably going to have a go at us for not waiting around after the Banks game!”

  Sam had taken some time out to come down and speak to everyone, so she must have thought it was pretty urgent. “I’ll keep it quick, because I’ve got to get back,” she said. “First, I’m not happy about the way you behaved after your last match, but the fact that you’ve all turned up today shows me you haven’t gone completely off the rails. Now, as I’m sure you know, my year has got a match later this afternoon, and while most of you will turn up and support anyway, I want all of you there. You’ll be able to see some of our senior skills, and of course your support will help spur us on at such an important time. We’re second in our league, and need the win to give ourselves a chance of pipping Banks to the senior girls’ title. But the main reason I want you there is to try and get some team spirit back. So come along and cheer on your house. This is not optional.”

  The team mumbled their agreement, and Sam hurried away. With a match to look forward
to after school was over, Roddy’s day flew by, and he hoped everyone else felt the same.

  Banks were in the lead in the senior girls’ competition, thanks mainly to their rocksolid defence and methodical approach to the game. Sam’s side, like all Charlton teams, had a much more free-flowing attacking ethos and had scored twice as many goals as the Banks side over the year, but were let down by the number they had conceded.

  The first years turned up to watch the match with the recent arguments still fresh in their minds. Jimmy and Geno were standing quite a distance away from Marek and Roddy, and the rest of the team were bunching in similar ways. But as the match kicked off, they were all drawn together, as they followed the action up and down the pitch.

  The two contrasting styles of play were making for a very interesting tactical game, a real case of irresistible force meeting immovable object. Charlton were attacking all-out right from the whistle, but there seemed to be no way through the Banks back line.

  “Go on, Sam!” Roddy shouted, as their coach carved out a shooting opportunity for herself. The shot blazed just over the bar, and the whole first-year team groaned. For a few minutes they were united.

  Half-time approached, and still Charlton couldn’t break Banks down. As the clock ticked, there was a noticeable change in Banks’ style, and they began to look for their own chances. Charlton were so focussed on attacking, they didn’t spot it; but Marek had.

  “They need to watch out,” he said to nobody in particular.

  “You’re right,” replied Jimmy, not taking his eyes off the action. “Banks are just waiting for the right moment to counterattack.”

  Almost as the words left Jimmy’s mouth, Charlton won yet another corner. All of their players, apart from one defender and the keeper, went up for it and, as it was cleared by the Banks defence, Sam realised too late the trouble they were in. There were four Banks players rushing towards the depleted Charlton defence, and their keeper didn’t have a chance. 1–0 to Banks, and the bad mood in the first-year team looked like returning.

  Charlton were still giving it everything they’d got, and were attacking even more desperately than before. Banks seemed content with their one-goal winning margin, which almost guaranteed them the title. The junior team cheered them on as much as they could, but all the attacking flair Charlton could muster couldn’t get past Banks’ determined defence now that they had the cup within their sights. The final whistle came all too soon with the score still 1–0, and if anything the mood surrounding the first-year team got even worse. Sam’s team’s chance of winning the cup had all but vanished and, as things stood, Roddy could see the same happening to their team. He didn’t feel like being on his own, so he made his way over to Marek, who was deep in discussion with Jimmy.

  “Here he is,” said Jimmy to Marek. “We want a word with you, Roddy.”

  “Really? What about?”

  “Well,” said Marek, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It’s about you and Geno.”

  “What about us?” demanded Roddy. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Come on, Roddy,” said Jimmy. “Of course it is. For a start we all share a room, and at the moment the atmosphere is awful.”

  “But it’s more important than that,” said Marek. “You’re not helping the team, either.”

  Roddy felt deflated. It was true. He was worried about the team, but his falling out with Geno certainly hadn’t helped improve things. He looked at his roommates and sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I ought to do something about it.”

  “I think Geno would like to as well,” said Jimmy. “He’s just over there.”

  Roddy followed Jimmy’s gaze. “Yeah. So he is.” He jogged over towards Geno. “Can I have a word?”

  Geno looked both pleased and wary at Roddy’s approach. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you, too,” he admitted.

  “Yeah?” said Roddy.

  Geno looked anxious. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry we’ve fallen out. I… I want us to be friends again.” He looked at Roddy encouragingly, but was unable to keep a wistful look out of his eyes.

  Roddy sighed. He’d missed being with his best friend, too, but he wasn’t about to totally let him off the hook. “I thought you’d back me up about Keira being a pain,” he said. “And you didn’t. Not really. I got the feeling you would have complained about me to old Jenkins if he hadn’t been off sick.”

  Geno stared at Roddy, looking puzzled. “Whatever gave you that idea?” he said. “Why would I complain about you?”

  Roddy took a deep breath. This disagreement would never get sorted unless he was honest. “Maybe because you don’t think I’ve been passing to you enough?” he said. “I heard you talking to your dad,” he added accusingly. “When I came to ask if you wanted to play table tennis the other day, you were mouthing off about me to him.”

  Geno frowned, then he looked angry. “Don’t you ever talk stuff through with your parents?” he demanded. “I was asking my dad’s advice about the team, because we’re in trouble, and he’s been through that sort of thing himself.” He glared at Roddy. “How could you possibly imagine I’d go running to Mr Jenkins about you not passing? Why would I complain? I’m the one having a dry run. I’m the one off form, and we need every goal we can get. I don’t blame you for trying to score by yourself, not really.”

  Roddy sighed. Now he felt terrible. Not only had he got it wrong about the phone call, he hadn’t exactly helped Geno to feel better about his scoring abilities. This wasn’t the way to go about being a good friend, or promising captain material. He gave Geno a lopsided smile. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I was being stupid. Friends?”

  “Friends,” Geno agreed.

  “And you’ll get your form back,” Roddy added encouragingly. “Believe it and it’ll happen. Honestly. Let’s shake on it.”

  Geno put out his hand and Roddy shook it. A slow smile crossed his friend’s face. “Great!” he said. “I’m so pleased we’re friends again, because I have some good news for you.”

  “What’s that?” asked Roddy. With the team doing so badly he couldn’t imagine what it could be.

  “My dad’s coming to take me out to lunch next Saturday,” Geno grinned.

  Roddy felt a leap of excitement. Maybe there would be a chance to meet Geno’s famous father at last. Thank goodness they’d patched things up!

  “That is good news,” Roddy agreed. “Seeing your dad and going out for lunch. Saturday’s meal is the worst of the week.”

  “I know,” laughed Geno. “But you don’t need to be envious. He said I could bring a friend… Do you fancy coming?”

  Lunch with Luca Perotti? Roddy could hardly believe it.

  “Wow!” he beamed. “Yes, please. That would be amazing. But are you sure you want me tagging along?”

  “Of course,” said Geno. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, and Dad said he’d be pleased to meet you. Besides,” he added a little sadly, “if you’re there, too, he might not be too hard on me and my lack of goal scoring.”

  Roddy wanted to say something else to reassure Geno. He punched his friend’s arm lightly and shot him a grin. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

  With such an exciting event to look forward to, Roddy couldn’t wait for Saturday to roll around. And now that he was friends with Geno again, the time went quickly.

  Training with Mr Chadwick was very different from the sessions with Mr Jenkins. The new coach was excellent, but he was more used to working with older players. As a result, he sometimes expected them to have mastered more complex skills than they had, and he wasn’t as approachable. Unlike Mr Jenkins, who didn’t mind a bit of backchat, Mr Chadwick made it clear that he expected everyone to get through his drills without any problems.

  It was hard work, and after training there were some grumbles out of his earshot. The squad was being pushed even harder than normal, and the goalies in particular were suffering on long running sessions. But despite the punishing pace, they
were learning a lot of new techniques.

  One of the things Roddy particularly liked was that Mr Chadwick emphasised the ability to control the ball and move in one fluid motion. He spent a lot of time with them practising turning as the ball was received.

  “If you’re being marked and the ball comes to you, the only person who knows which way you’re going to turn is you,” said the coach. “If you do it quickly, your marker will always struggle to react in time. So keep practising, and in a while we’ll try it with some defenders.”

  In between training sessions and schoolwork, everyone was discussing the House Cup. The main competition was still too close to call, but with only the final round of matches left there was no way either Banks or Stiles could win the first-year cup. Because of this, all the attention was on the clash between Charlton and Moore. Everyone else was deciding which team to support, and talking up the chances of their favoured side.

  “Charlton are the underdogs,” Ali said one lunchtime, as a group of first years queued for their food. He grinned at Roddy, who was a couple of places behind him in the queue. “But I fancy your chances now we’re out of the running. I want you to win.”

  “Nah,” said Jack, the Stiles captain. “It’s Moore all the way for me. I like to back winners, not losers!” He leered at Roddy.

  Roddy tried to ignore the speculation, but it was impossible when it was all anyone was talking about. Every member of the Charlton team had the jitters, and the chat just added to their nerves.

  Results from the rest of the school trickled in over the next week, and the final standings were taking shape. Despite everyone’s sterling efforts, the House Cup had slipped away from Charlton once again. The senior boys lost their penultimate game against Stiles, which effectively handed their cup to Moore, and although some of the other houses were doing well lower down the school there was no question that Moore would be overall champions once again. Moore students were walking tall around the school, but as far as Roddy was concerned, he still had a chance to put them in their place by taking the first-year cup for Charlton.