Offside

by Lynne Roberts

  Chapter Six

  Saturday morning was warm and overcast. Maggie’s mother made her eat a good breakfast before they set off for the school playing fields. There were crowds of boys, small and large, milling about. Maggie was impressed. She hadn’t realised how popular soccer was. A couple of harassed looking mothers were selling second hand boots from a large box at one end of the gym while elsewhere fathers were greeting each other and discussing the teams they were going to coach. Maggie and Nick joined a line of kids at the registration table.

  “We put everyone’s name down,” a business like woman explained, “then you pay your sub when you are placed in a team. Today is a trial day. The coaches will ring all the team members by Wednesday to arrange practise times, otherwise there will be a list on the gym notice board.”

  Nick approached the desk and the woman looked up with a smile

  “Oh Nick Johnson. You’d be in the Under 18’s of course – no doubt about that. I hear your Dad is going to coach you this year. You can go and help him get the nets out if you like.”

  “Sure,” said Nick, and loped off out the door. Maggie stepped forward nervously.

  “Um, Maggie Johnson,” she said.

  The woman looked surprised.

  “Nick’s sister?”

  When Maggie nodded the woman smiled. “If you’re half as good as Nick you’ll be a real asset to the club. Now, how old are you Maggie?”

  “Thirteen,” replied Maggie.

  “Ok, then you go over to field number two with Mr Martin. He’s organising the teams there.”

  Maggie walked outside and spotted a cardboard sign with a large number two on it. A cheerful dark haired man was talking to a group of boys. There were no girls in sight. Maggie stopped abruptly. There must be some mistake. These boys were all little – they looked about ten years old and most of them stood not much higher than her waist. She turned and ran back to the registration desk. She had to wait at the back of the line for seven boys to go through before she stood by the desk again.

  “Name please,” the woman looked up and frowned. “Haven’t you already put your name down. Maggie Johnson isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Maggie breathlessly, “but you sent me to the wrong place. There are only little kids there.”

  The woman looked at her list.

  “You should be at number two field with Mr Martin,” she said.

  “But I went there,” blurted Maggie, “and they’re all little boys, not my age.”

  “But you’re thirteen aren’t you?” said the woman. “Yes that’s right. Girls play three years down from their age when they play in a boys’ team,” she explained. “That way it’s fair.”

  “Do you mean that they think I’m only as good as a ten year old boy?” asked Maggie incredulously.

  “Some of those ten year old boys might surprise you,” the woman answered dryly. “Off you go.”

  Maggie walked back to the sign, muttering under her breath.

  “Only as good as a ten year old. Huh!” She’d show them!

  Mr Martin gave her a grin.

  “Decided we look all right after all,” he said teasingly.

  Maggie forced a smile and joined the group.

  “At least they are friendly,” she thought in surprise as the boys called ‘hello’ and asked her name.

  “We’ll start with a few warm ups,” said Mr Martin. “I want you all to run around the edge of the field and back here to me. Go.”

  Maggie's face lit up. This was something she could do. She streaked to the front and led the way around the field, boys straggling behind her. Across the top she pounded and down the second side. Three quarters of the way there, a freckled, ginger haired boy drew level with her. Grinning he ran beside her as she arrived red faced and breathless back at the line.

  “Well done,” said Mr Martin, as the rest of the boys arrived in a bunch. “It wasn’t a race, you know, but it’s good to see you are all so fit. Now we’ll try some ball skills.” He had the boys stand in a large circle and tossed a soccer ball onto the grass. “I’ll kick it to each of you in turn,” he said. “I want you to trap it – that’s stop it with the side of your foot - then kick it back to me. Always trap the ball before you pass it. You must be in control of the ball if you want your pass to go to the right place or to the right person. Off we go.” He kicked the ball to the ginger headed boy, then continued round the circle. Maggie found to her surprise that she actually stopped the ball and kicked it back the first time.

  “This is the life,” she thought.

  Here is Maggie Johnson, the founder of the MJ soccer skills courses. She is now a multi-millionaire as thousands of boys and girls flock to her coaching classes. Maggie started playing soccer when she was thirteen.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, really. Girls can do anything,’ she said modestly.

  Nick Johnson, Maggie's manager told us; ‘It was obvious from the start that Maggie was talented at soccer. I spotted it and encouraged her to play. No one is prouder than I am of having such a successful, talented sister....’

  “Now we’ll see what you are like at kicking and saving goals,” said Mr Martin. “Let’s have half of you at each end by a goal. I want you to take turns to try and score a goal from the penalty spot then run forward to take a turn at being goalie.”

  “What’s the penalty spot?” wondered Maggie, but followed the boys as they stood in front of the goal in a marked space, which Maggie learned later was called the penalty area. One by one the boys stepped forward and kicked the ball, then took a turn at trying to save it.

  “Your turn.”

  Maggie took a deep breath and kicked the ball. The ball trickled along the ground and the goalie picked it up and kicked it back. Maggie ran in to take her turn in goal. The goal was huge, much bigger had it had looked when she tried to score into it. A tiny little boy with knobbly knees looked up at Maggie then kicked the ball as hard as he could. The ball came hurling towards Maggie who screamed and ducked. The ball fell behind her into the net as Maggie blushed and stepped aside.

  “Better luck next time,” said Mr Martin, who to Maggie’s mortification had arrived in time to see her.

  Ignoring the sniggers from the boys, Maggie stepped forward for her next turn. This time she kicked the ball much harder but it flew sideways off her boot and didn’t go anywhere near the goal. She walked into the goal again and thought,

  “ Right. This time I’m going to catch the ball.”

  The skinny kid stepped up and with a sweeping kick booted the ball towards her. Maggie stretched out both arms and caught the ball as it landed ‘whoosh’ into her belly. She staggered back a few steps then called out proudly,

  “I’ve saved it.”

  “Afraid not,” said Mr Martin with a smile. “You carried the ball over the goal line so it is still a goal.”

  “But I’m holding it,” protested Maggie.

  Mr Martin shrugged.

  “Those are the rules,” he said. “It’s counted as a goal even if you scored it yourself for the opposition. Come on, I’ll get you all to do some throw-ins.”

  He showed Maggie and the boys how to stand behind the line at the side of the field and throw the ball.

  “Both feet must stay on the ground,” he said, “and you must use both hands to throw the ball from behind your head. Ok, here are some balls. Take turns to throw and catch.” He passed out half a dozen soccer balls. Maggie found it hard to time her throws. She threw them high in the air so they landed on her head or she threw them too late and they bounced on the ground in front of her. She was impressed by how well some of the smaller boys could throw. Try as she might, her ball went no distance at all.

  “Now we’ll try some heading,” said Mr Martin. “Remember to strike the ball with your forehead, not the top of your head.”

  He lined the soccer players up and had them run forward as he tossed the ball. In turn, they each had to head the ball back to him.

  “This looks easy,�
�� thought Maggie. She ran forward as the ball was tossed and aimed for it with her forehead.

  “Ah!” she screamed as the ball hit her full in the face. “By dose, I think by dose is broken,” she wailed. Her eyes were watering with tears. To her horror she felt blood pouring from her nose. Three of the boys ran up to her and asked her if she was all right. One offered her a grubby handkerchief while another told her that he had done the same thing last year.

  “Oh dear, you’d better sit down for a while,” said Mr Martin sympathetically and Maggie miserably staggered to the side of the field. Holding a handkerchief to her bleeding nose she watched as Mr Martin divided the boys into teams and played a short soccer game. At the end of the game Mr Martin came over to Maggie who had stopped bleeding and thankfully discovered that her nose was not actually broken but was still very tender to touch.

  “That was bad luck, Maggie,” said Mr Martin. “Look, I’m going to make up a team list but most of the boys here have been playing for a couple of years already. I know you’re keen but frankly there won’t be room in the team for you. You’re welcome to come along to our practises if you want to. Otherwise you might want to help the adults who look after the midget players.”

  “Oh,” said Maggie. “I’ll have to think about it. Thanks,” she managed to say before she stumbled off to find her father and brother.

  “I guess I can cross soccer player off the list,” she thought. “It’s a pity, because I enjoyed that the most of all the sports so far. Oh well, at least I can write soccer in my journal for this week’s entry.”

  On Monday morning, Maggie's father announced that he would be out that night. “Now that I’ve agreed to coach Nick’s team again, I think it’s time I went for my referees badge. There's an eight week course in the city starting tonight so I’ll be away for a couple of hours.”

  Mrs Johnson beamed.

  “That’s going to suit really well. I’ve been offered a job teaching embroidery at the school as a night class, so you can drop me off on the way past. Nick would you mind babysitting Maggie?”

  “I don’t need babysitting,” protested Maggie but Nick interrupted hastily.

  “Sorry Mum. I’d do it happily, but Daniel and I have got jazz band practise on Monday nights from now on. We’ve got the end of term assembly to rehearse for.”

  “I can stay home by myself,” said Maggie indignantly. “Or I could go to a friend. No, that won’t work. Lisa has cricket practise and Melanie hangs around with Zach most of the time now.”

  “No,” said her mother firmly. “I will not leave you on your own at night, even if it’s only for a few hours.”

  “I’ll go with Dad then,” Maggie said with a sudden inspiration. “I can muck around the shops or go to a movie or something while he goes to the referees’ course.”

  “No,” said her father decidedly. “I’m not having you wandering around town on your own at night. If you come with me then you stay with me. You can always do your homework at the back of the room,” he suggested

  “Thanks a bunch,” muttered Maggie then she cheered up. Perhaps there would be some good looking young guys there at the referee’s course. Or if she was good for the first couple of times, Dad might change his mind and let her go to a movie after all.

  Alas for Maggie. When they arrived at the sports club where the ref course was being held, she was disappointed to find that the men there were all around her father’s age. They were very friendly and smiled cheerfully at Maggie as she sat beside her father and prepared to be bored. The man in charge introduced himself.

  “Hi, I’m Jack Strathmore and I’ve been a ref now for twenty five years. It’s great that you’ve all come along to do this course. We need people to referee the games, who know what they are doing. This helps the players to play the game better and for those of you who are coaches, you will find that you have a better understanding of the game and the skills required. Now, because most of you are involved with children what we are doing here is the Junior Referees Badge. This means that when you are qualified you will be able to ref any junior grade games. To go on to the adult or senior level, you will have to be tested controlling a game at that level.”

  Maggie stifled a yawn.

  “Boring,” she thought.

  “Let’s look at the field of play,” went on Mr Strathmore. He put a diagram of a soccer field on an overhead projector and pointed out the features. “Did you know that the goal area is the size of the wall of an average house,” he went on.

  Maggie grew interested despite herself. No wonder it was so hard for the goalie to stop a ball. It was hard to judge sizes when you were on a flat empty ground. She was impressed to hear that the referee could refuse to let a game be played if the pitch wasn’t in good condition or if the weather was too bad.

  “Do you hear that Dad?” she hissed, poking her father in the ribs. “You always say that teams should play no matter what the weather’s like, but the ref can stop it if it is too wet.”

  “What? Yes, yes Maggie. Be quiet and listen,” said her father. He scribbled a few notes down on the exercise book he was holding. Maggie listened to Mr Strathmore explain that refs should check the ball and the players boots before the game started.

  “Does anyone know how to drop the ball?” Mr Strathmore asked. Maggie giggled.

  “That’s what I did at netball,” she whispered to her father. He grinned back at her. Mr Strathmore explained that if the ref had to stop the game for an injury, he could restart the game by dropping the ball in between two opposing players. That gave both sides a fair chance.

  On the way home Maggie chatted excitedly to her father.

  “It was interesting wasn’t it? Can I come every time Dad? If I learn the rules maybe I’ll have a better chance of getting in to the soccer team.”

  “Look Maggie,” said her father. “You’re very welcome to come with me but there’s no guarantee you’ll get into a team. It’s not only knowing the rules that’s important. You also have to be able to kick and pass the ball.”

  “It was only an idea,” muttered Maggie and subsided into silence.