Football Academy: the Real Thing

by Tom Palmer

  ‘England is home, now,’ his dad said quietly.

  ‘I know,’ Tomasz replied. ‘I love it here. But Poland will always be home.’

  His dad said nothing.

  Tomasz could tell he felt the same.

  After tea, the phone rang and Tomasz went to answer it.

  ‘Hello?’ Tomasz said.

  ‘Tomasz. It’s Leszek. Are you still coming this week?’

  Another Polish voice. Tomasz grinned. It was his cousin calling from Lodz.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. I can’t wait. It’ll be good to see you. Are you at home?’

  ‘Yes. Where else?’ Leszek said.

  Tomasz imagined the house Leszek lived in with his mum and dad, Tomasz’s aunt and uncle. It was a house he knew well. It was huge, with a swimming pool and a large back garden with a half-sized goal, with a net. He and Leszek had grown up together, spending most of their time in that garden, playing with Leszek’s older brother, Bogdan.

  ‘So when do you get here?’ his cousin asked.

  ‘Tuesday afternoon. Is it still OK if we stay with you?’

  ‘Of course, stupid.’

  Tomasz smiled. He hated being made to feel stupid by Ryan, but Leszek could call him stupid all day every day and he wouldn’t care.

  ‘And are you and Bogdan coming to all the games? Like we said.’

  ‘Yes. All of them. And if you need an extra player…’

  Tomasz smiled. He’d love nothing more than to have his cousin in the United team.

  After he switched the phone off, Tomasz grinned. Two days. That was all it was. Two days and he’d be back in Poland. But this time he’d be there as a United player.

  At the Airport

  Most of the team headed straight for the amusement arcade after they’d made it through passport control at the airport. The others were in an electrical store, looking at gaming consoles and other gadgets.

  The boys had nearly an hour to pass until their flight was called for boarding – and they wanted to make the most of it.

  Everyone was hyper. Even Steve and the other United coach seemed excited. There were also two parents with them: James’s mum and Tomasz’s dad. They’d come along to help.

  Most of the boys were trying to get away from James’s mum, who was constantly asking them if they were OK, suggesting that they shouldn’t be drinking so much Coke and telling them to make sure they looked after their bags. It was a bit annoying. Part of the excitement of the trip was being away from nagging parents.

  However, Steve’s words after the Newcastle game rang in the team’s ears. First and foremost, we are representing United. Everyone knew that they had to behave. Otherwise they’d be sent back home.

  Ryan was one of the boys in the amusement arcade. With Ben and Connor.

  Ryan felt a bit embarrassed that he – and all the other players – were wearing shirts, smart trousers and jackets, and proper shoes. He looked around at the other boys their age, all off on their holidays. Most of them were wearing jeans, T-shirts and trainers. He wished they could have worn club tracksuits – then everybody would be looking at them.

  That’s what he liked.

  But that wasn’t going to happen today.

  He glanced over at the electrical shop and saw Tomasz and James coming out of the shop and heading over to some seats. Why was James wasting his time with Tomasz? he thought.

  He never quite understood James. He was a mate of Ben’s, but was completely unlike him. Ben would have a laugh, have some fun taking the mick out of Tomasz. But not James.

  Ryan thought James must be a bit stuck-up. So what if his dad had been an international footballer?

  ‘When’s our plane?’ Ben said to Connor, breaking Ryan’s thoughts.

  ‘It’s on the screen,’ Connor said. ‘Can’t you read?’

  ‘Forty minutes,’ Ryan cut in before either of them could say anything more.

  ‘I knew that,’ Ben said, scowling at Connor.

  *

  On the other side of the airport lounge, James was asking Tomasz questions.

  ‘What’s Poland like, then?’

  ‘Big. Different. There’s cities, like here, but countryside too. And it’s cold in winter. Much colder than England.’

  Tomasz was watching Ryan – with Ben and Connor – as they talked. They looked like they were arguing. Tomasz was glad he was over here.

  ‘And what about the people?’

  Tomasz smiled. Sometimes he wanted to say everyone had an extra finger on each hand and Vulcan ears. But he knew that James was genuinely interested in Poland. He was asking the questions as if he really wanted to hear the answers, not trying to set Tomasz up for a joke.

  ‘Nice,’ Tomasz said. ‘Very nice, mostly. But there are some people who are not so nice. Like anywhere.’

  ‘And are they into football?’

  ‘Yes. Very. Not just Polish football. German football. And English. There’s a lot of City fans and United fans too.’

  As James asked more questions, Tomasz felt more and more happy. He was proud. Proud to be taking all his team-mates to Poland.

  *

  Back in the amusement arcade, Ryan had run out of pound coins and fifty-pence pieces. He stood by Ben, who was playing on a game shooting guns, not footballs.

  Ryan looked over at the adults, the two coaches and two parents, and frowned.

  When news about the trip to Poland had come through – and Steve had asked for volunteer helpers – Ryan had asked his mum if she’d come, even though he knew she’d be a pain. She’d phoned Steve straight away. But the team manager had said there was no more room for adults on the trip. There were only four spaces.

  Since then, Ryan had wondered if that had been true. Maybe Steve hadn’t wanted her to come. He knew the team manager had a problem with his mum.

  But right now Ryan really needed her.

  Fear of Flying

  The plane taxied along the runway, turned slowly and was then ready to take off. The cabin crew had shown them how to grab the oxygen mask from the panel overhead and how to put on the life-jacket in case of a crash. In Polish first, then in English. The Polish version frightened Ryan even more than the English one. For some reason it sounded worse.

  But he had still checked the life-jacket was there, secretly slipping his hand underneath his seat. Yes, he could feel it. He knew how to get to it, should he need to.

  He’d also read through the emergency instructions card, looking over his shoulder to see where his nearest exit was. And who he’d have to fight to get to the exit first.

  Suddenly James’s mum leaned over her son, who was sitting next to Ryan.

  ‘Are you all right, Ryan, love? You look a bit nervous. Don’t you like flying?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Ryan said in a gruff voice.

  ‘OK, Ryan,’ she replied. ‘But I’m right here. If you need me.’

  Ryan felt embarrassed. James’s mum had drawn attention to the fact that he was scared of flying. He saw James eyeing him, still with the emergency instructions in his hands.

  ‘Just checking,’ he said, forcing a laugh, and putting them back in the pouch in the seat in front of him. ‘I don’t trust these Polish 737s.’

  James nodded. He was trying to be supportive to Ryan.

  Then the engines fired up. Loud and violent.

  This was the bit Ryan dreaded. This was the time he wished his mum was here so he could grab her arm. That’s what he’d always done. Every time he’d flown before. But today she wasn’t here.

  So, instead he had to grip the seat and stare out of the window, pretending he was more relaxed than any of the other boys.

  The plane lurched forward and Ryan heard the full-throttle noise that comes as the plane begins to power down the runway.

  Behind him, he could hear Tomasz talking excitedly to his dad. In Polish. Just chatting. Like they weren’t about to speed at over 300 miles-an-hour down a length of runway with nothing but fields and houses at the end.


  He wondered how Tomasz could possibly be so relaxed. Didn’t he know they could all be killed?

  The plane was going faster and faster. The noise was terrifying. The rattling of the plane was unbearable. And when he felt the plane lift off, Ryan’s stomach lurched. So he closed his eyes. If anyone said something, he could say he was so bored by taking off that he thought he’d go to sleep.

  He tried to think about his fantasy: that the manager of Real Madrid under-twelves would see him play and sign him for the Spanish club.

  Ryan had heard that planes were most likely to crash in the minute around take-off or the minute around landing. He counted. One to sixty. Then he could relax.

  One… two… three…

  Then he heard the bang. From underneath the plane. It was as if the plane had hit something – or something had fallen off. He opened his eyes and checked the wing. The jet engine was still there. And he knew… he knew that it was the wheels coming up, knew that the bang was normal. But he couldn’t stop himself thinking terrible things.

  He closed his eyes again.

  Four… five… six…

  Once they’d been flying a while, James turned to Ryan.

  ‘My dad’s like that,’ he said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Afraid of flying. He doesn’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Ryan said, folding his arms. ‘It’s boring, that’s all. I just wish the crew would talk in English. And – well – it’s a bit of an old plane. Probably something the Poles bought off some African country. It’s ancient.’

  ‘So you don’t mind flying?’ James said, smiling.

  ‘Nah,’ Ryan said. But he could tell James knew he was lying. But he couldn’t say so. Not in front of everyone.

  He missed his mum now more than ever. Even though she was always going on at him, he would have liked having her on the plane next to him.

  When the cabin crew came along with the drinks trolley he ordered two bottles of Coke and drank the first one swiftly.

  Three hours later, Ryan peered out of the window to see fields and hills appearing. Poland. The plane was descending. And quickly.

  He could still hear Tomasz behind him, chattering away. Sometimes in Polish, sometimes in English.

  The plane dipped suddenly, too quickly. Ryan gripped both seat arms, brushing James’s elbow.

  James grinned at Ryan.

  Ryan smiled back.

  Please don’t let the plane crash, he wished, not sure who he was wishing to.

  His mind was running through all the things that could happen if the plane didn’t land properly. If a wing clipped the runway. If the wheels buckled when they hit the runway. Would the plane smash to pieces? Or would it just land – then burn? He worked out what he’d do in all instances. Then tried to think of other things.

  But all he could hear was Tomasz chattering.

  I’ll be nice to Tomasz, he thought. If we can just touch down, I’ll be nice to Tomasz. I’ll stop winding him up.

  Warsaw Airport

  Ryan was buzzing when the team were walking through the airport. He couldn’t stop talking. The plane hadn’t crashed or burned or spun out of control. He was alive. And he wanted to make the most of it.

  ‘Look at that. That advert. Is that Polish, Tomasz?’

  Tomasz nodded.

  ‘What’s it for?’ But Ryan didn’t wait for an answer. ‘And why is it in Polish? I thought they spoke Russian in Poland.’

  Tomasz said nothing. Somehow Ryan’s digs meant nothing to him now he was back in Poland.

  All the signs in Polish made him feel good. So did all the posters advertising things that you couldn’t get in England. And hearing all the airport announcements in Polish too. It was great.

  Steve led the group through passport control, then customs. Tomasz’s dad was there too – counting the boys through, patting each boy on the head as they passed him, saying their name in a firm voice.

  There were the usual big signs, some in English, saying ANYTHING TO DECLARE?

  ‘Anything to declare?’ Ryan shouted. ‘Yeah. Poland stinks.’ He held his nose.

  ‘RYAN!’

  It was Steve’s voice.

  Ryan could see that Steve was waiting for him, so he tried to stay at the rear of the group. But Steve dropped back. The other boys and adults were ahead of them now.

  Steve walked alongside Ryan. ‘I know you’re excited. So am I. But I need you to set an example for the rest of the boys. You are team captain.’

  ‘Yes, Steve.’

  ‘And what I said, back in England. I meant it. If anyone does anything to attract bad feeling towards United, I’ll be strict. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Steve.’

  ‘That means you could miss a game. Or, worse, be sent home. Get it?’

  ‘Yes, Steve.’

  Ryan smiled to himself. There was no way Steve would drop him. He’d have to do something really bad to be out of the team. He was, after all, captain of United’s under-twelves.

  When Ryan and Steve got to the arrivals hall, at the back of their group, they saw a huge crowd of people. These were the families who had come to collect the boys. Each player was going to spend four days with a Polish family. Each family had a son who played for the Legia Warsaw under-twelves team.

  Ryan looked at the families. Inside he felt anxious. He wished he could stay in a hotel. He didn’t want to stay with a Polish family. They’d eat weird food, watch foreign TV and he’d have to sit with them and be polite. And none of them would speak English.

  Then he heard a roar. Two boys, slightly older than the United players, were running towards them. He wondered if they were the Polish hooligans his mum had warned him about. Until they grabbed Tomasz, slapping him on the back, still shouting. Hugging. Pushing. Tomasz had a massive grin on his face. Ryan couldn’t remember seeing Tomasz look so happy.

  ‘My cousins,’ he explained to the rest of the group, once he’d escaped from their grip.

  Then the cousins went round everyone, giving them firm handshakes, and saying, ‘Welcome to Poland.’

  As he was watching, feeling shy and uncomfortable, Ryan felt a hand on his shoulder.

  What was it now? Did Steve want to tell him off for something else?

  But it was James’s mum.

  Looking into her face, Ryan actually felt better – a familiar face amid all this strangeness.

  There was a tall blonde woman standing next to James’s mum. She was smiling, holding out her hand.

  ‘Ryan,’ James’s mum said. ‘This is your host mother. Mrs Boniek.’

  Ryan smiled. ‘Hello,’ he said, in a voice that surprised him, because it was so quiet.

  Faces

  The next day the team travelled to the Legia training ground by coach. Tomasz noticed a silence among his team-mates, and he wondered if they felt about Poland like he had felt about England when he’d first arrived there.

  He remembered the day very clearly. Arriving at London’s Heathrow airport with his mum and dad. Knowing that he was here to stay. And although he’d been to England before, for holidays and his dad’s work trips, England seemed strange this time. First it was the voices: all English. Then it was the huge posters advertising things he’d never seen before: books in English, make-up, cars, banks and some he didn’t have a clue what they were advertising.

  He had known it would be like this. Moving to a new country must be the strangest thing he’d ever done.

  As Tomasz was thinking this, two seats behind him, Ryan was staring out of the coach window.

  The first thing Ryan noticed was the people. They looked different in Poland. Ryan remembered seeing Eastern European football teams playing in the Champions League. The people here reminded him of them. Funny looking.

  The coach passed through some gates and down a drive that cut its way through what looked like an industrial estate. There were vast warehouses with corrugated-iron sides and enormous signs. In Polish.


  No one spoke. Not until the coach stopped and Steve stood up.

  All the boys looked up at him. Silent.

  ‘Right, lads,’ Steve said. ‘This is it. We’ve got two hours before kick-off, so I’d like to get out on to the pitch as soon as possible. Lose a bit of the stiffness from all this travelling.’

  The doors hissed open and Steve led the team off the coach. They came down the steps in a long line to see groups of people watching them.

  Ryan looked around at them all. This was cool. How many times had he seen players coming off coaches on Sky TV?

  And now he was doing it, stepping off a coach like a real footballer.

  Then suddenly there was a wave of applause. All the people standing around waiting were clapping. Clapping United’s under-twelves. Clapping Ryan.

  Steve began shaking hands with the people in the crowd as he led the team to the dressing rooms. And Ryan saw James and Ben, Yunis and Jake ahead of him, smiling and shaking hands with people too.

  Then a hand came out to Ryan. It was a man: short blond hair, a round red face.

  ‘Welcome to Poland,’ the man said.

  Ryan shook his hand quickly and walked on with his head down.

  The ball swung across the area, high, but dipping. Tomasz raced off his line and was – for a moment – blinded by the sun.

  Where was the ball?

  He blinked and thrust his arms out where he thought the ball should be. It came into his arms, as if it belonged to him. He pulled the ball to his chest and fell to the ground, shielding it from the Warsaw forwards.

  Around him he heard applause and shouts.

  ‘Brawo United! Brawo United!’

  ‘United! Hip, hip, hura!’

  Both nice things – in Polish – complimenting him on his goalkeeping.

  And at that moment Tomasz felt a huge sense of pride. Here he was, playing football in his home country again. And this time as a United player.