Just for Kicks (6 page)

11

“Toilet paper — one pack,” Conrad called.

We were shopping for groceries on Tuesday night. Ma wanted something special for supper to celebrate because Conrad had come home from work with news that they'd negotiated a settlement at the mill and they weren't going on strike.

Conrad and I were playing our usual Food Mart game where he threw food items in the air and I had to catch them in the cart. This time it was bathroom tissue. Conrad threw the six-pack of TP past me so I had to back up the cart madly to catch it. Conrad applauded.

“I suppose you two smart guys are going to try that with the eggs,” Ma commented.

Mrs. Fiander called across from Fresh Produce. “Coach Fleet says there's a meeting tomorrow night at the Harbour Café. It's to talk about forming a soccer league. He wants all the parents there.”

“I'm working,” said Ma.

“I can go,” said Conrad.

“What does Mr. Fleet mean — form a soccer league?” I asked.

“I guess we'll find out tomorrow,” said Conrad. “It sounds as if your soccer is turning into serious business.”

He picked up an egg carton and called, “Eggs — one dozen. Catch, Toby.”

Ma shrieked.

“Just kidding,” said Conrad.

* * *

Most of the parents and kids from Pleasant Harbour were already at the Café when we arrived. I waved to Cuz and her mom. Meredith, sitting beside her dad, mouthed, “Toby the Tub.” I mouthed, “Four-eyes.” A good number of parents from Brunswick Valley were there, but Shay and I were the only kids. Julie had to stay home to babysit Little Sis, and Brian was grounded for not doing his homework three nights in a row. His dad was there, however, and waved to us when we came in.

Cory Ferret and Alan Fleet stood at the front of the room. The Pleasant Harbour coach opened the meeting with, “Mr. Fleet and I believe that what our young soccer players need is organization and supervision. They've played for two years without adult intervention, and while we applaud their initiative in keeping their soccer going, we deplore the sacrifice of their talent through lack of guidance. My friend and coaching colleague Alan agrees with me.”

Our coach said, “We have to provide an adult presence that will enable them to play the game in a serious atmosphere, rather than with the frivolous attitude” — he looked at me and winked — “which seems to have been the case in the past. Coach Ferret and I propose two things. First — a league, in which teams would earn three points for a win and one point for a tie. At this stage in the season, it would have to be a mini-league consisting only of the Brunswick Valley Mechanics and the Pleasant Harbour Incisors, but next year we hope to have at least two more communities involved. And then, who knows, perhaps it will develop into the Fundy Junior Soccer League, with a league championship, and a trophy, and playoffs …”

Dr. Ferret took over. “Second — from now on, all games will be supervised by a referee. This will prevent the sort of disputes the children encountered in their last game.”

“Did we have disputes?” I whispered to Shay.

“
We
didn't,” he said, looking at the coaches.

Mr. Fleet went on, “Coach Ferret and I know someone who will referee, starting with next Saturday's game, the last of the season. That will take care of supervision.”

“And the first thing we have to do to get the league organized is decide how the game tally stands now,” said Dr. Ferret. “Let's ask the young soccer stars who are here tonight.”

“Young soccer stars?” I muttered, looking around. “Where?”

“He means us, dummy,” whispered Shay.

“How many games have you played this season?” asked Dr. Ferret.

“Five,” I said.

“Four,” said Cuz at the same time.

“Four?” I queried.

“The first was at the Back Field. Then you came here.”

“Over the Mountain Road — yes,” I put in. “We stopped at the old farm.”

“And we went to Brunswick Valley, and last Saturday we played here.”

“Right,” I said. “Four.”

“And the game tally?” prompted Dr. Ferret.

“Don't know,” murmured Shay. “Does it matter?”

“Come on, guys,” said Brian's dad. “You must remember who won.”

Mr. Fleet smiled around at the parents. “Do you see the problem? Results matter in today's world, and our young soccer stars don't seem to know whether they're winning or losing.”

“We won the last game,” said Dr. Ferret. “And we won the game before that, too.”

“Well — we won the game before that,” Mr. Fleet put in quickly. “We won it with only seven players.”

“It's still two to us and one to you,” said Meredith's dad.

“There's one we haven't counted,” said Mr. Price. “Who won the first game?”

Shay stared at the ground. Cuz shrugged. Meredith fiddled with her glasses.

“Surely you remember who scored,” prompted Mr. Fleet.

Shay and I looked at the Pleasant Harbour kids. They looked at us. We all looked back at the coaches.

“No,” said Cuz.

Mr. Price shook his head.

Meredith's dad stood. “I say we count only the games we know for sure, and that means Pleasant Harbour leads two to one.” He sat down, grinning.

“That's not fair,” Brian's dad protested.

“So we agree it's two games to one in favour of Pleasant Harbour,” Dr. Ferret said, and went on quickly, “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

Shay's grandad stood. “When I was a youngster playing soccer, we didn't have a league and uniforms. We didn't even have regular teams …”

Dr. Ferret interrupted. “That was a long time ago. It's a more competitive world now. And I suspect playing like that didn't develop your soccer skills the way more organized competition might have done. Perhaps — who knows — with some adult help, you might have become quite a good player.”

Mr. Sutton sat down, shaking his head.

Conrad stood. “Do you have any idea who you're talking to?” he started. Shay's grandad plucked at Conrad's sleeve and shook his head. Conrad muttered, “Well, all right,” and went on, “If Mr. Sutton says the kids don't need us to organize their soccer, that's good enough for me. I agree with him. I say — just let the kids play.”

Conrad sat down.

Dr. Ferret concluded, “Soccer — properly organized soccer, played in a healthy, competitive atmosphere — is a very effective way of introducing our young people to the competition they will face in the real world.”

Brian's dad applauded, and all the parents, except Shay's grandad and Conrad, joined in.

As we were leaving, Mr. Fleet hurried across to Shay's grandad. “Mr. Sutton? Are you Mr. Liam Sutton? Goalkeeper for Colchester United and Newcastle Wanderers in the sixties?”

Shay's grandad nodded.

Mr. Fleet grasped his hand. “I didn't realize until just now who you are. I'm honoured, sir. I used to have your picture on my wall.”

12

On Saturday morning, I helped Shay with the flower deliveries. When we arrived back on Riverside Drive, Julie was in her driveway, already in her soccer gear, kicking a ball hard against the garage door.

“You're ready early,” I called.

She turned. Her eyes were gleaming. “I can't wait to get at Pleasant Harbour!” she said. “They won't get past me today.”

I wondered whether feeling as intense about soccer as Julie did would make me a better player. Then I looked back at Shay, who always stayed so cool and was the best soccer player I knew. I felt Julie and Shay were being torn apart by our soccer games, and I felt torn between them, half of me wanting to share Julie's intensity, the other half feeling a bit frightened by it.

Shay walked on to the flower shop. I trailed after him.

Conrad and Ma were already there, and Shay's grandad had the flower shop van ready to take us down to the Back Field. Conrad and Ma sat in front with Mr. Sutton, while we arranged ourselves among the flower boxes in the back. Julie and Mrs. Barry climbed in with us when we stopped next door for them.

By the time we reached the school, the playground was crowded with parked cars. I felt the now familiar nervous excitement begin coming over me. Mr. Sutton stopped at the school entrance and said, “We'll find somewhere to park. You kids get on down to the field.”

Conrad called after us, “Enjoy the game.”

“Mash 'em,” said Mrs. Barry.

“You bet,” said Julie.

I was lagging behind Shay and Julie. I stopped, hearing something strange and ominous. It started again and, as I listened, I glimpsed my reflection in a car window. From where I stood, the angle of the window split the reflection so that there were two of me. I looked at one Toby. He wanted to attack the Pleasant Harbour kids. Then I looked at the other Toby. This one wanted his old Pleasant Harbour friends back. I walked on. As I came into sight of the field, I saw a crowd of adults from Pleasant Harbour. They were chanting as we crossed the playground: “Kick 'em in the head. Kick 'em in the shin. The kids from Pleasant Harbour are here to win!”

Our friends from the Harbour joined in as they climbed from their team bus, so the chant grew louder and fiercer: “Kick 'em in the head. Kick 'em in the shin. The kids from Pleasant Harbour are here to win!”

When the chant finished, with a cheer from the Pleasant Harbour supporters, Cory Ferret led the team onto the field to warm up. The supporters lined themselves along the touchline on the far side of the field.

Chip walked in from the Back Road and joined the warm-up. Like Shay, he seemed unaffected by the crowd.

We hurried onto the field, where our team was already doing a passing and shooting drill under Coach Fleet's direction, watched by our supporters. As we finished the drill, they roared our chant. “We're Brunswick Valley. We're pleased to meet you. Are you ready to lose? ‘Cause we're going to beat you!”

Led by our coach, we joined in as we left the field. Julie linked arms with Linh-Mai and the twins, and they grabbed my arms, and together we stamped our feet with the beat of the chant. Brian bellowed it from his goal. At the side of the field, Mr. Price, Mrs. Barry, and Mrs. Fiander clapped and stamped and shouted with us. I glanced at Shay. He was hanging back, silent. As soon as our chant finished, the Pleasant Harbour parents started theirs. Then the Brunswick Valley crowd roared ours at the same time, so it was like a war of chants.

The shouting faltered and stopped. The Pleasant Harbour supporters, turning to look behind, fell back, forming a passage onto the field. The Brunswick Valley crowd followed their gaze. A man — tall, broad shouldered, and completely bald — strode through the crowd. He wore a black shirt and black shorts and black socks and black cleats, and a silver whistle hung round his neck. He carried a soccer ball under his arm. He stopped in the centre of the field, blew a piercing blast on his whistle, and commanded, “Teams — here!”

We looked at Mr. Fleet.

He said, urgently, “Go!”

We hurried onto the field and stood around the newcomer with our friends from Pleasant Harbour. Our coaches followed.

The stranger stood with the ball under his foot and his arms folded. His face was as hairless as the top of his head. His nose and mouth looked as if they'd been glued on. His eyes drooped. Glaring down at us, he spoke with a deep, threatening drawl. “My name is Zebediah Lord. I am your referee. I have refereed soccer games throughout Canada, the United States, and Mexico. I am retired now but I am still an accredited official. My word is law on this field.”

Referee Lord stared slowly around at us and concluded, “I will show you a yellow card if you commit any serious offence. Two yellow cards add up to a red card, and a red card means you're sent off. I will also show the red card if you commit a serious offence, like using abusive language or being guilty of violent conduct. Do you understand?”

We nodded silently.

Coach Ferret said, “Yes, sir.”

We lined up to start. I caught a glimpse of Ma and Conrad hurrying down the slope to the edge of the field, Mr. Sutton between them, holding on to their arms. Mrs. Barry was already on the sideline, clapping and cheering. The crowd roared as Cuz took the kickoff.

As Pleasant Harbour attacked right away, I was still wondering which of the two Tobys I'd seen in the car window was the real me. Was I Toby, the ruthless and intense striker supremo, or was I Toby the soccer clown, who just wanted to fool around like he used to in the old friendly games with the Pleasant Harbour kids?

Chip swept the ball out to Meredith, who ran down the wing with it, past the cheering Pleasant Harbour supporters. She centered to Cuz, who kept the ball, shielding it from Julie's tackle, until suddenly she swung around and slipped it to Chip, who had ghosted forwards unnoticed by our defence as they clustered around Cuz. Julie and the others turned desperately to ward off Chip. He let them advance, then calmly slipped the ball back through the advancing defenders to Cuz, who shot easily past Brian.

Referee Lord blew his whistle and pointed to the centre.

“Offside,” roared Mr. Price.

Brian echoed his dad. “You were offside, Cuz. That shouldn't count.”

“Great goal,” shouted Coach Ferret through the roar of the Pleasant Harbour crowd.

Coach Fleet called, “That was sloppy defending, Brunswick Valley. Tighten it up.”

“Nice play, you guys,” I said to Cuz and Meredith as we lined up for the restart. They didn't respond, but faced me, expressionless, like robots, while they waited for me to take the kickoff.

I said, “Cuz …”

Her eyes were fixed on the ball at my feet.

Which Toby was I?

The Pleasant Harbour chant had resumed. “Kick 'em in the head. Kick 'em in the shin. The kids from Pleasant Harbour are here to win!”

I passed back to Julie, who kept the ball while the twins and I ran upfield. We stayed on the attack, but with Coach Ferret shouting instructions to his defence, we couldn't get near the Pleasant Harbour goal until Shay performed his flipping-the-ball-over-his-head trick. He turned his back to Olaf's goal, heeled the ball onto his foot, and lobbed it over his head. It soared over Quan and Meredith to Jessica, who was waiting on one side of the diamond shape she'd formed with Shay, Jillian, and me. As the defenders turned to tackle her, Jessica passed to Jillian, who fired the ball past the diving Olaf to equal the score.

Our supporters, led by Brian's dad and Julie's mom, cheered and chanted. “We're Brunswick Valley. We're pleased to meet you. Are you ready to lose? 'Cause we're going to beat you!” The Pleasant Harbour parents booed in response.

The twins, high-fiving, joined in with the Brunswick Valley chant, and when the parents repeated it, I joined in too. Olaf was still on the ground. If this had been the first game of the season, one of us would have been helping him up by now, telling him what a good dive he'd made. I went to help him to his feet.

“Your ball, goalkeeper,” Coach Ferret shouted. “Keep alert.”

Olaf pushed me aside as he scrambled up.

I said, “What's the matter with you?”

He didn't answer.

Quan snarled, “Get down to your own end.”

“Wake up, referee,” Meredith's father shouted. “That was offside and …”

Referee Lord glared and raised a threatening finger. Meredith's father stopped. The referee pointed to the centre, and Cuz took the kickoff. Now, like Pleasant Harbour, we were playing better than ever before. We won a corner kick when Julie tried a high shot that Olaf palmed over the bar.

“Lucky save,” Brian's dad shouted.

Jessica took the corner kick and sent the ball into the crowd of players waiting around Olaf's goal. Meredith elbowed her way between Jillian and Jessica and cleared the ball. Shay, hanging back beyond the crush in the penalty area, trapped it, looked around, and lobbed it back. It bounced against a goalpost and landed between Olaf and Meredith. Olaf went to pick up the ball at the same time as Meredith moved to kick it clear. They hesitated. Before they could move again I lunged between them. Meredith lowered her shoulder and charged at me. I saw her coming and stepped aside. She tripped over my foot and fell. Olaf dived for the ball but I got there first and rolled it clear. He scrambled to his knees and held his arms wide, blocking me from shooting at his goal. Quan closed in on one side and Meredith, scrambling to her feet, on the other. With no space ahead of me or to the sides, I spun around and dribbled the ball away from the goal, with Meredith and Quan keeping pace on each side, as if they were herding me.

Meredith taunted, “Toby the Tub,” and Quan joined in.

On the edge of the penalty area Meredith put on a spurt and overtook me. Before she could turn to confront me, I swerved behind her. Without looking up I swung my foot and raked the ball back the way I'd come. It flew high and hard towards the far corner of Olaf's goal. He was guarding the near side and could only watch as it flashed into the net.

I held my arms high in the air, my fists clenched.

Conrad shouted, “There's my boy!”

Ma whooped and waved her arms wildly.

Shay's grandad applauded fiercely.

Coach Fleet leaped in the air. “Fantastic strike, Toby!”

The Brunswick Valley parents went wild, jumping up and down, cheering and shouting, “Two-one: We lead!”

The Pleasant Harbour parents booed but stopped abruptly when Referee Lord raised his threatening finger again.

Olaf got the ball from the back of the net, glanced at the referee, who was still glaring at the Pleasant Harbour supporters, and threw it at me. It hit me on the side of the head.

I cried out, “Hey, Olaf.”

“Don't let him get away with that, Toby,” Mr. Price said when I passed close to him on the way to line up for the restart.

“They're on the run,” called Mrs. Fiander.

“You've got them down — now grind them into the dirt,” Julie's mom shouted.

But Pleasant Harbour was attacking desperately. We were pinned down at our end, with Flyin' Brian plucking the ball out of the air one minute, diving and smothering it on the ground the next. When Cuz tried a long shot and the ball went wide of the goal, he sauntered behind to fetch it.

“Take your time, Brian,” Mr. Price called.

Referee Lord shouted, “Hurry up, goalkeeper!”

Brian walked slowly towards the edge of the penalty area with the ball. He dropped it and it rolled away from him. He picked it up and resumed his slow way. He placed the ball, then changed his mind and moved it a few centimetres to the left. The Pleasant Harbour supporters were roaring, “Get a move on, goalkeeper,” and “He's wasting time.”

The referee produced his yellow card and held it in the air. “You're time wasting, goalkeeper. Do it again and you get a red card — and you'll be off.”

Mr. Price booed loudly, ignoring Referee Lord's warning frown.

Brian took the goal kick. It arced high down the field. Meredith and Jillian jumped for the ball. With players shielding her from the referee's sight, Meredith elbowed Jillian out of the way, got the ball, and passed it forwards. Making sure the referee wasn't looking in her direction, Jillian kicked Meredith as she trotted away.

“Good girl,” shouted the twins' mom. “Don't let her get away with stuff like that.”

Meredith turned. She and Jillian faced one another, while the play continued near our goal.

Chip ran across and said, “Let's not get upset with one another.”

Jillian turned on him and snapped, “Shut up.”

“You keep out of it,” Mrs. Fiander shouted at Chip.

For once we managed to get the ball away from our goal. Brian rolled it to Shay, who kept it, surveying the field, before passing to me. With Meredith and Quan approaching, I slipped the ball to Jessica. She prepared to run and shoot, but Chip blocked her way to the goal. She shot wildly and the ball spun back towards me.

Jessica glared at Chip and muttered, “Why don't you keep out of my way?”

Finding myself in space, I dribbled towards Olaf's goal. He ran out and dived at my feet, trying to smother the ball. I kicked at his hands.

Brian's dad shouted, “Let him have it, Toby.”

Olaf swore at me as he stood with the ball.

I caught Conrad's eye and, as he tilted his head slightly to one side quizzically, I suddenly remembered our conversation in the yard, after we squashed the squash, when I'd asked him if he thought I should be aggressive and serious, and he'd said — be yourself. But I didn't know which Toby myself was.

I said, “Olaf …” but he'd run to the edge of the penalty area to kick the ball upfield. Meredith trapped it and passed to Cuz, who was waiting in midfield, near me. She turned towards our goal.

I faced her.

She snarled, “I'll go round you or through you, Cousin Toby — but you're not stopping me.”