T.J. and the Hat-trick

by Theo Walcott

  ‘Perhaps TJ can explain,’ said Mr Wood.

  TJ’s hands were sweating, and his heart was pounding. He wasn’t sure why Mr Wood had chosen him, especially since Mrs Logan had been giving him filthy looks ever since he’d jumped over the garden wall. He took a deep breath and began.

  ‘We thought we could repair the football pitch ourselves,’ he said. ‘We’d all help. Everyone in Year Six. Maybe some of our mums and dads will help too. We thought we could do it on Saturday. Hayley’s mum works in a garden centre and she might be able to get some grass.’

  Mrs Logan gave a hollow laugh. ‘How many parents came to our last Open Day, Mr Burrows?’

  ‘Six,’ said Mr Burrows gloomily.

  ‘Your classmates say they’ll help, young man, but you’ll find that they won’t turn up on the day. They’ll be far too busy playing computer games in their bedrooms. And as for their parents . . .’

  ‘Mine will help,’ TJ said stubbornly. ‘I know they will.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Mr Coggins would have to open the school,’ Mr Burrows said thoughtfully. ‘On a Saturday morning. He wouldn’t like that.’ For some reason, that thought seemed to please Mr Burrows.

  ‘I’ll ask him,’ Miss Berry interrupted. ‘I’m sure Mr C will do it for me. I think it’s a marvellous idea.’

  ‘Will he?’ said Mr Burrows. ‘You amaze me, Miss Berry. Well, in that case I really can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go ahead.’

  Mrs Logan pursed her lips and looked disapproving.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Burrows,’ said TJ and Jamie together.

  ‘Don’t blame me if the whole affair is a disaster,’ Mrs Logan said as they left the room. ‘And it will be, you mark my words.’

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘YOU’RE REALLY TAKING this seriously, aren’t you, TJ,’ his mum said that night, when TJ told her about the plan to repair the pitch.

  TJ could only nod, as his mouth was full of spicy chicken.

  ‘Well, we’ll all help. Your dad’s already been talking to loads of people. He’s got this idea about starting a Parents’ Association. We might even have some fun.’

  ‘Fun!’ said TJ’s big sister, Lou. ‘It sounds like hard work.’

  ‘Jamie’s got a big brother,’ TJ said. ‘He goes to your school. He’s called Matt. He said he’d be there.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I suppose I might come,’ Lou said. ‘If I have time.’

  TJ grinned to himself. Jamie had told him that Matt liked his big sister. It looked as if his big sister liked Matt too! Not that TJ was bothered about that, just as long as they both came along to help. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ TJ said, jumping up from the table. ‘The chicken was great!’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I have to practise,’ TJ said. ‘We’ve got training tomorrow night. I think a lot of people are going to come. I want to make sure I get in the team.’

  ‘What about your homework,’ his mum called after him.

  ‘I’ll do it later,’ TJ called back.

  Out in the garden TJ practised catching and diving. He hit the ball against the wall, trying to catch himself out. It didn’t take him long to grow bored. And he had to admit, he hadn’t really enjoyed being in goal during training either. It occurred to him that, actually, goalies hardly ever had to save penalties, or even shots. Most of the time they just stood around waiting for something to happen. It would be much more interesting to be on the pitch.

  He dropped the ball, caught it on his foot and held it there. Then he flicked it up and caught it on the other foot. He’d been practising doing this secretly in his bedroom, and he was getting good. He began to practise keepie-uppies. His record so far was 139, but he was sure he could do a lot more.

  He had reached 250 when he heard the door open behind him. He took his eye off the ball for a split second and it dropped to the ground.

  ‘You shouldn’t be wasting your time in goal,’ Joey said. ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘I want to be in the team and no one else wants to do it,’ TJ said. He wasn’t going to admit to Joey that he was having doubts. ‘I need to practise. Come on, take some shots at me.’

  TJ saved everything Joey hit at him. ‘Can’t you shoot harder?’ TJ asked him.

  ‘How about I go in goal and you show me how,’ said Joey.

  TJ laughed. ‘OK,’ he said. He placed the ball carefully, took four steps back, then ran up and hit it. It slammed into the wall before Joey could move and rebounded into the garden fence. Joey looked worried.

  ‘You want to be careful doing that,’ he said. ‘What if it had hit me?’

  ‘It wasn’t that hard, was it?’ TJ said, looking down at his foot.

  Joey shook his head. ‘You are something, you know that? You don’t know your own strength. Oh, and Dad sent me out to tell you to do your homework.’

  TJ followed him inside, wondering. He wasn’t really all that strong, was he?

  The following afternoon, almost everyone in Year Six stayed behind after school for training. Lots of mums and dads stayed to watch too, and to TJ’s surprise Miss Berry showed up in a tracksuit. They all jogged around the playground and then Mr Wood put them through lots of exercises – sprinting and turning, dribbling with both feet, passing and controlling. When TJ paused for a moment to catch his breath he saw that absolutely everyone was working. Rob was sitting on a bench, as usual, but as TJ watched he saw Mr Wood jog over to him and ask a question. It was almost as if Mr Wood was asking Rob’s advice. Then Mr Wood blew his whistle and called them all together.

  ‘We don’t have a lot of time before the big match,’ he said, raising his voice so that all the spectators could hear. ‘And I hope all you mums and dads will come along on Saturday to help us get the pitch ready. Maybe there’s someone who’d like to lay on refreshments?’

  ‘I’ll organize that,’ said TJ’s dad. ‘Don’t you worry.’

  Mr Wood turned to the waiting players.

  ‘We’re going to have two matches now, seven-a-side. I’ve marked out the pitches with cones. Reds v Blues here, and Greens v Yellows over there with Miss Berry. I’ll be watching all of you. Everyone here has the chance to be in the team. All you have to do is play well. This is your chance to show us what you can do.’

  CHAPTER 12

  TJ PULLED ON a blue bib. Danny, Jamie, Rafi, Rodrigo, Tulsi and Tommy were all in his team.

  ‘Don’t just stand in front of the goal this time,’ Danny said to Tulsi.

  ‘Shut up, Danny,’ Jamie said. ‘You can’t talk. You just kick people.’

  ‘At least I know which way I’m kicking,’ Danny replied. ‘Not like Rafi.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Tommy. ‘It’s only a game. You OK, Rodrigo?’

  Rodrigo grinned. ‘Football good,’ he said.

  TJ pulled on the goalkeeping gloves his dad had given him that morning. If they kept on arguing like this, he thought, probably none of them would get in the team.

  ‘Right,’ said Mr Wood. ‘I’m in charge of this game, and Miss Berry will look after that lot over there. We’ve got special rules today, just to keep you on your toes. You’re only allowed three touches – two to get the ball under control, and one to pass or shoot.’

  Mr Wood demonstrated carefully so that Rodrigo would understand. Rodrigo nodded, but there was a chorus of protest from the others.

  ‘We’ll never be able to do that,’ Rafi said.

  ‘Try it and see,’ replied Mr Wood. ‘You might surprise yourself, Rafi.’

  He blew his whistle and Tulsi tapped the ball to Tommy. He stopped the ball – and instantly he was surrounded. Every player on the pitch ran towards him, the Blues all yelling for him to pass to them.

  ‘I can’t,’ he yelled. ‘There’s no room.’

  ‘Use the space, Blues,’ Mr Wood said. ‘Look, you’ve got a whole pitch to play in.’

  Finally Tommy spotted a gap and cleared the ball. They all ran after it except Tulsi. She jogged over and took up her us
ual position on the edge of the opposition penalty area. Suddenly TJ saw Rafi emerge from the little gaggle of players with the ball at his feet. He took one touch, then another, then another . . .

  Mr Wood’s whistle blew.

  Rafi put his head in his hands. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘I knew it was impossible.’

  Mr Wood sighed. ‘Listen,’ he told them, ‘if you all chase after the ball then none of you have anyone to pass to, do you?’

  ‘What, so you mean we just have to stand in one place, like Tulsi?’ Danny said nastily.

  ‘That’s not it at all, Danny, although at least Tulsi is thinking. At least she’s realized you can’t all run around together. No, you all have to look for space. You have to give the person with the ball someone to pass to. But you can’t just stand still because then the other team can mark you easily, can’t they? Let’s try again. Reds, it’s your free kick.’

  Cameron kicked the ball aimlessly forward and Rodrigo intercepted it easily and controlled it with his chest.

  ‘Good!’ called Mr Wood. ‘Now move for him, Blues. Give him some options.’

  The Blues ran. They ran like mad chickens, first one way, then another.

  Rafi raced from one side of the pitch to the other . . .

  Tommy sprinted down the wing . . .

  Danny darted to the left and collided with Jamie . . .

  Jamie just stopped, but Danny bounced off him, stumbled, and collapsed to the ground . . .

  Rafi tripped over Danny, rolled three times and lay flat on his back.

  Rodrigo was still standing there, with the ball at his feet. He looked confused, and TJ didn’t blame him. A lot of the watching mums and dads were bent double, laughing.

  The Blue team were a total mess.

  ‘Play on,’ said Mr Wood. ‘There was no foul.’

  Ariyan nicked the ball from Rodrigo’s feet. He took one touch and then passed it to Jay. The Red team weren’t very good, but they didn’t need to be good because Danny was still sitting on the ground, and Jamie was gasping for breath. Jay passed to Cameron.

  ‘Go on, shoot!’ he yelled.

  The Red goalkeeper was laughing and talking to the kids who were watching behind the goal. Cameron hit his shot and TJ watched the ball coming towards him. An idea blossomed in his head. The ball was at a perfect height and he didn’t even try to catch it with his hands. Instead, he drew back his foot and struck a perfect volley.

  At the last moment, just as he made contact, he remembered Rob’s words of advice and kept his knee right over the ball. It flew straight and true, whistling past Jamie’s ear, flashing past Tulsi’s astonished eyes. It didn’t seem to have lost any speed at all as it blasted right through the centre of the Red goal.

  If there had been a net, it would have bulged. Maybe it would even have burst! But there wasn’t a net, and so the ball carried on, past the stunned spectators, past the big red nose of Mr Coggins, and straight into the stomach of Mr Burrows, who had just emerged from the school. He staggered backwards into the doorway. Mrs Logan rushed to his side and helped him back onto his feet. He brushed her aside and marched down the steps, very red in the face, clutching the ball in both hands.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ he said. ‘It is obviously far too dangerous. Imagine if I had been an elderly lady or a little child! That’s it, I’m afraid, everybody. We’ll have no more football. You can call off this match. I really can’t see what’s wrong with rounders. Far more sensible, if you ask me.’

  CHAPTER 13

  ‘IT WASN’T YOUR fault, TJ,’ Mr Wood said as they walked back to the classroom.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ TJ replied. ‘It was me that kicked it, wasn’t it?’

  He glanced at the others. They were all too miserable to speak. They got changed in silence.

  ‘It’s not over,’ Mr Wood said. ‘There’s plenty of time for Mr Burrows to change his mind.’

  ‘Even if he does, we’re still useless, aren’t we?’ Tulsi said. Nobody argued.

  ‘And now we can’t even play football at break times,’ said Jamie.

  ‘I promise you,’ Mr Wood told them, ‘I’ll get him to change his mind. And you shouldn’t give up before you’ve even begun.’

  TJ’s mum and dad were waiting for him outside the gate. ‘Who’s your friend?’ his dad asked, looking at Rob.

  ‘This is Rob. I told you about him. He does the stats.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said TJ’s mum. ‘I don’t suppose there was much you could write down about that match, though.’

  ‘Well, actually there was,’ Rob said. ‘TJ’s volley travelled nearly twenty-five metres without touching the ground. It’s a very difficult skill, volleying the ball, you know.’

  TJ’s dad laughed. ‘Even more difficult to hit a head teacher at that distance, I should think. Has it ever happened before, Rob?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rob replied seriously. ‘I’ll have to look it up when I get home.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Dad,’ TJ said. ‘You heard him. Mr Burrows banned football.’

  ‘You hit that ball hard, TJ. I was impressed. It was just bad luck that it hit the head teacher. And there are other places you can play football. Maybe if we tried again we’d be able to get you into Hillside.’

  ‘Dad! I’ve got all my friends here.’ The words tumbled out of TJ’s mouth. ‘I know we’re not much good, but Mr Wood says he can coach us and I believe him. And anyway, he says Mr Burrows will change his mind.’

  ‘I was joking, TJ,’ Mr Wilson said, smiling. ‘If Mr Burrows doesn’t change his mind, he’ll have a lot of mums and dads banging on his door wanting to know why!’

  When school finished the following day, TJ persuaded the others to go to the park. Mr Wood had been strangely cheerful all day.

  ‘He’s got a plan,’ TJ said. ‘So we’d better be ready, hadn’t we? We know what we have to do to get better.’

  ‘Oh, what,’ said Tulsi, ‘so you’re in charge now, are you? You got us in this mess in the first place. Why couldn’t you just catch the ball like a normal goalie?’

  ‘TJ’s right,’ said Rafi. ‘We never had enough time to practise. Come on, Tulsi, give it a try.’

  They tried to play the way Mr Wood had told them, controlling the ball and passing and moving around. TJ was just starting to enjoy himself when he heard a shout and saw the Hillside kids racing into the park on their bikes.

  ‘When Mrs Singh told us about the match we knew it couldn’t be true,’ jeered Krissy. ‘We knew you’d never play us. We heard you haven’t even got a pitch.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Rafi defiantly. ‘But we will have.’

  ‘So why did you call the match off, then? You’re just scared, that’s all.’

  They didn’t wait for a reply but rode off laughing. TJ heard one of them say ‘useless’ and there was another burst of laughter. Somehow, none of them felt like playing football after that.

  They were in the playground on Monday morning when the car arrived. ‘What is it?’ said Rafi, as they gazed in awe at the low-slung red vehicle that had just pulled into the teachers’ car park. ‘Is it a racing car?’

  ‘It’s a Ferrari F430 Spider,’ said Rob. ‘Top speed, 196 miles per hour.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like a teacher’s car,’ said Tulsi, and then she gasped as they saw a tall black man climb out of the driver’s seat.

  ‘What?’ said TJ.

  ‘Don’t you know who that is?’ gasped Tulsi. ‘It’s Marshall Jones. He plays for Wanderers. What’s he doing here?’

  Marshall Jones looked lost. Then he saw them watching him, and he walked through the gate towards them. TJ thought that maybe Tulsi was going to faint. It looked like her legs had gone wobbly.

  ‘Hey!’ Marshall said, flashing them a gleaming smile. ‘I’m looking for Johnny Wood. Is this the right place?’

  ‘You mean Mr Wood?’ asked TJ.

  ‘I guess. He’s a tall guy. Wears a blue baseball hat.’

  ‘That’s him. But what
. . .?’

  ‘Can you find him for me?’

  TJ nodded and ran off to fetch Mr Wood. He didn’t have to run far, because Mr Wood was already walking towards them across the playground, smiling broadly.

  ‘Hey, Marshall,’ Mr Wood said, hugging him. ‘I see you’ve already met the kids I was telling you about. Now you’d better come and meet my boss. He’s called Burrows.’ He led Marshall off towards the office, but as he went he turned and winked at them over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m in shock,’ said Tulsi. ‘Am I dreaming? Tell me that really happened.’

  ‘It happened, all right,’ said Jamie. ‘But I don’t know what it means.’

  Then Rodrigo surprised them all. ‘Marshall Jones,’ he said. ‘Wanderers. Striker. Very good. I like.’

  ‘Hey, Rodrigo!’ Rafi said. ‘You’re speaking English!’

  ‘He’s speaking football, you mean,’ laughed TJ. ‘But that should be good enough for us.’

  At the end of break they were all called into assembly. ‘We have a very special visitor today,’ Mr Burrows announced. TJ noticed that the head teacher had combed his hair and Mrs Logan had put on a lot of extra make-up. ‘Let me introduce Mr Jones.’

  Most of the kids in the hall muttered: ‘Who?’ But when they saw Marshall they gradually realized who he was and everyone began to clap – even the little ones in Reception who just liked making a noise.

  ‘I see that you all, er . . . know . . . er . . . Mr Jones,’ Mr Burrows said. He was looking very uncomfortable. ‘He has very kindly offered to come back to our school next week and talk to your classes about the life of a . . . er . . . footballer. Is that right, Mr Jones?’

  ‘I’ll be very happy to do that. But call me Marshall, please. And I was thinking, maybe I could give the children a little help with their football skills?’

  The hall went silent. Mr Burrows turned red. He looked at Mrs Logan, but she was smiling a sickly smile at Marshall.

  ‘Oh, er, but of course,’ Mr Burrows said in a strangled voice. ‘Thank you very much.’