Football Academy: the Real Thing

by Tom Palmer

  Tomasz got up from making his save and held the ball close to his chest, then bowled it out to Ryan.

  Ryan put his foot on it and looked around.

  It was hard to make out the other players, there were so many people on the sidelines, all come to see United play Legia Warsaw.

  And Ryan knew that among them were players from the other two teams in the tournament too: AC Milan and Real Madrid.

  He spotted Jake, ready to make a run down the left, and stroked the ball out to him.

  Jake took the ball in his stride, touched it on twice, checked and played the ball across to Yunis.

  Jake and Yunis. The Deadly Duo. The source of most of United’s goals this season.

  Yunis rose to head the ball past the keeper. But the keeper was ready. Two hands and a chest behind the ball.

  Legia were good. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  Game One

  At half-time it was Legia Warsaw 0 United 0.

  Ryan felt the game had been even.

  But Steve disagreed.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of our third,’ the team manager said, sounding almost angry. ‘We’re inviting them on to us. Ryan, keep the defence higher up the pitch. Warsaw haven’t got much pace. So we can afford to play higher up. And Tomasz?’

  Tomasz looked up. He wanted to tell Steve how he’d struggled with the sun. How it’d be easier in the second half. Every time he’d gone for the ball he’d had to cope with the light in his eyes.

  ‘Tomasz,’ Steve said. ‘You’re playing a blinder. If it wasn’t for you we’d be three down. And out of the game. You dealt with the sun in your eyes brilliantly.’

  Tomasz smiled as Steve went on. ‘If we’re going to do well in this tournament we need to beat this lot. Milan and Madrid are very strong. Let’s take it to them in the second half.’

  The second half started with Legia attacking again. But James and Ryan were stopping everything Legia were throwing at them. Legia seemed only to be able to play down the middle. Nothing on the wings. And United were beginning to grow in confidence.

  With twenty minutes to go, James won the ball off Legia again. He shaped to pass it back to Tomasz, then turned and played the ball long across the Legia midfield.

  Chi, the team’s hard-working midfielder, was on to it.

  He trapped it, swivelled, then knocked it back to Sam in deeper midfield. Sam stroked it hard and wide to Jake, the ball moving without stopping.

  That pass alone defeated Legia, because Jake was on to it like a greyhound, beating Legia’s right back for pace.

  Ryan knew what would happen next. Jake would get close to the edge of the penalty area, then slide the ball into Yunis. Yunis would arrive late, tricking the defender, and score.

  Ryan ran into Legia’s third of the pitch, ready to pick up the ball if it came loose. Steve had asked him to do this every time United attacked.

  Jake took three touches, then played Yunis in. Yunis shot, but the keeper was behind it. However, rather than catch it, the Polish keeper punched the ball out of his box.

  Ryan remembered Steve saying that he should be ready for a punch. Continental keepers punch as much as catch the ball.

  It bounced six yards in front of Ryan and Ben. Either of them could have taken the ball. Ben was a better striker, more used to scoring.

  But Ryan had spotted that the Legia keeper was still floundering on the ground. So he called for the ball, stepping ahead of Ben, and hit it – like he’d seen a Real Madrid player do the season before. A high ball. Over his team-mates who were expecting a pass. Over the Legia defenders. Over the stranded keeper.

  One–nil.

  Ryan stood where he’d hit the ball from – thirty yards out at least – and he raised his arms in the air.

  Applause surrounded him.

  He felt good. Very good.

  And he wondered if the Real Madrid under-twelves manager was there. If he’d seen his goal.

  After that, the game changed.

  Warsaw looked like they’d been punctured. Instead of United playing deep, Warsaw were. Inviting United to attack.

  And United accepted the invitation.

  Less than ten minutes after his goal, Ryan started another attack. He ran into the space Warsaw had left and played the ball wide to Will on the right. Will took the ball past his first defender and knocked the ball to Yunis. Yunis passed it back to Ryan who’d come further forward. Ryan saw the keeper off his line again.

  And he decided: he’d try again.

  He was good at this.

  He chipped the ball. But instead of floating over the keeper’s head and into the net, as he’d expected, the ball screwed to the left and fell well short of the goal. But still in the penalty area – to where Will had run, marked closely by a Polish defender.

  Will leaped above the defender and glanced the ball over him. And over the keeper.

  Two–nil.

  Ryan stood again – his arms in the air.

  To more applause.

  One Down, Two to Go

  ‘Were we brilliant or were they rubbish?’ Ryan said, holding his hand up.

  The boys were back in the dressing rooms. The game over. Four–nil.

  Ben high-fived Ryan. Then James. Then Connor.

  ‘Awesome,’ Ryan said. ‘Who’s next?’

  ‘Milan,’ James said in a serious voice.

  ‘Milan?’

  ‘It might not be as easy against Milan,’ James said.

  Ryan nodded quickly. He was buzzing. Really excited after the game. And his goal. But he didn’t want to be worrying about the next game. He wanted to feel good about this one.

  ‘Well, no one’s going to be as easy as that lot,’ Ryan said. ‘Polish keepers, eh? Rubbish.’

  Tomasz, sitting on one of the dressing-room benches, glanced up at Ryan.

  ‘Present company excepted,’ Ryan said quickly.

  ‘If it wasn’t for Polish keepers,’ a voice behind them said, ‘then we could have been sitting here having been stuffed four–nil.’

  It was Steve. He’d just come into the room.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ryan said. ‘Well played, Tomasz.’

  Tomasz was feeling funny. He accepted that he’d had a big part in the victory. Especially in the first half. And he was thrilled to have kept a clean sheet against the Polish team. But – once again – Ryan was getting to him. Everything he said seemed to be loaded with the idea that anything Polish was rubbish.

  A small part of him wished that Legia had beaten them. Just to prove a point.

  Steve came up to Tomasz. He put his hand on his back and crouched next to him.

  ‘Well played, Tomasz. I bet your dad is a proud man out there, telling everybody about his son.’

  Tomasz grinned.

  Steve stood up.

  ‘Ryan?’

  ‘Yes, Steve?’

  ‘You played well. Good captaincy. Good goal. And you really helped take the game to them.’ Steve glanced at the door, then spoke in a quieter voice. ‘Can I have a word with you outside?’

  ‘Sure, Steve,’ Ryan said, bouncing out of the room.

  What was this about? Was Steve going to give him something?

  Then it occurred to him. Maybe someone from Real Madrid had seen him play. Maybe they wanted to talk to him?

  Steve led Ryan along a corridor, through a door and into what looked like someone else’s office. There were posters on the wall. One with all the muscles of the body laid bare.

  ‘How are you getting on, Ryan?’ Steve said, breaking Ryan’s train of thought.

  ‘Good,’ Ryan said. ‘Great.’

  ‘What about your host family? Are they looking after you?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s OK, I suppose.’ He thought about the tall blonde woman. She’d been kind. Very kind. He even had an en-suite room, so he didn’t have to walk about in the house when he needed the toilet. The son was OK. But he barely spoke any English. And anyway, he was only a Legia Warsaw player. It’s not like he was Rea
l or Milan.

  ‘OK?’ Steve said. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know. They take some understanding. The mum speaks decent English. But the rest of them…’

  Steve nodded.

  ‘And the food’s a bit weird,’ Ryan went on. ‘You know, funny tasting…’

  Steve put his hand up.

  Ryan stopped talking.

  ‘Ryan. You do realize this is Poland. Not England. That people don’t speak English as a first language on the whole. That they don’t eat English food: they eat what they like and have liked for hundreds of years. And that – if anything – you should be speaking to them in Polish.’

  Ryan laughed. ‘But everyone should speak English. Don’t they learn it?’

  ‘Some do,’ Steve said. ‘Listen. This isn’t a telling off. Just a quiet word. But remember what I said about respect. Respecting Poland. We are their guests.’

  Ryan stopped smiling. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘OK,’ Steve said. ‘Anything else? Are the rest of the boys happy? I look to you to keep an eye out for all of them.’

  ‘Yeah, Steve. They’re fine.’

  ‘Good, Ryan,’ Steve said. ‘Well, let me know if anything comes up.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘OK,’ Steve said. ‘Now let’s go and watch the other match. I bet you’re looking forward to seeing Real.’

  And Steve and Ryan walked back down the corridor to join the rest of the team.

  Wednesday 16 November Legia Warsaw 0 United 4 Goals: Ryan, Will, Yunis, Jake Bookings: Chi, Sam

  Under-twelves manager’s marks out of ten for each player:

  Tomasz 8

  Connor 7

  James 8

  Ryan 8

  Craig 6

  Chi 6

  Sam 7

  Will 7

  Jake 8

  Yunis 8

  Ben 8

  Real v Milan

  Ryan joined his team-mates on the sidelines to watch Real Madrid under-twelves play AC Milan under-twelves.

  He stood next to James and Ben. ‘They’re good,’ James said, in his usual quiet but assured voice.

  Ryan could see that Madrid and Milan were good. Madrid especially. They were passing the ball around with ease.

  One touch. Pass. One touch. Pass.

  Ryan wondered how United would be able to defend against this sort of football. It was like watching Real Madrid’s first team. Not their kids.

  But he was interested to see that the players were not all giants like the Legia Warsaw players had been. Some of them were tiny, smaller than Jake. But once they were on the ball, they seemed to be able to do anything with it.

  Although it was going to be hard, Ryan couldn’t wait to play against Real Madrid. It was his dream. One of the things he’d really been looking forward to.

  The second game of the tournament ended Real Madrid 2 AC Milan 2.

  Both teams were applauded off the pitch by the mostly Polish crowd.

  The tournament was under way.

  The format of the four-team tournament was simple. All teams had to play each other once. A game a day. Three games each. Then the top two teams would play in a final on the last day – to win the Tomasz Milosz trophy.

  After each team had played once, the tournament table looked like this:

  Played Won Drawn Lost For–Against Points

  United 1 1 0 0 4–0 3

  Real 1 0 1 0 2–2 1

  Milan 1 0 1 0 2–2 1

  Legia 1 0 0 1 0–4 0

  A good start for United. A very good start.

  After the Spanish and Italian players were changed, there was an evening welcome party for the players of all four teams at the Legia stadium – in a banqueting suite that overlooked the pitch.

  Tomasz was very happy. That he was here. Part of the tournament. And that he had come back to Poland wearing an English football shirt. United’s. One of the most famous shirts in the world.

  During the party there’d been a series of speeches, in Polish, Italian, Spanish and English. Just beforehand, Tomasz talked to a Legia Warsaw player called Lukasz. He found out he was from the same part of town as he was. As they talked, Tomasz felt some of his local accent coming back. It was a nice feeling.

  Tomasz watched everyone during the speeches.

  Ryan rolled his eyes at all the different languages.

  The Real players, clustered together, wearing ties and blazers, listening in silence.

  The Legia players, all wearing team tracksuits, some of them talking during the Italian version of the speech.

  The Italians, all dark hair and confident smiles, even though they’d drawn their opening game.

  And then Tomasz looked at his team-mates. His English team-mates. He saw Jake and Yunis standing together, shoulder to shoulder, even if Jake was a foot shorter. And James and Ben, the only two black lads in the room, drinking Coke from their glasses at exactly the same time. Even Ryan, who gave him so much trouble. These were his team-mates. He was one of them. A United player: not a Polish player. An English player. He felt proud to be among them.

  But then – out of the corner of his eye – he saw a group of other boys standing near James and Ben. Polish boys. All wearing the same kind of jacket – black leather. They definitely weren’t Legia players, he’d have recognized them. Maybe they were supporters from the games earlier, Tomasz thought. They must have been something to do with someone – or they wouldn’t be at the reception.

  Tomasz wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he saw one of them laugh, then push James on purpose. Only gently. But it was a push all the same.

  James turned round. He’d spilled his drink down his front, but he looked at the boys in a friendly way.

  He thinks it was an accident, Tomasz thought.

  Then he saw the lads hold their hands up – as if to say it had been an accident.

  Tomasz didn’t like what he’d seen. Why had they done that? Pushed James on purpose. Because he was sure they had done it deliberately. There was something about it all that worried him.

  Hero

  The party was nearly over when Tomasz heard a knocking on a microphone.

  Someone was going to make a speech. Another speech! Even Tomasz was tired of hearing everything in four languages. He looked at his dad, as if to say This is getting boring. But his dad was staring at the stage, his eyes as big as footballs.

  Tomasz glanced at the stage. A tall man – in his sixties – was standing, waiting to be introduced. A man with enormous hands. Who was he, that his dad would be so interested?

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the host of the evening said. ‘We are delighted that a special guest has been able to join us this evening. He was not meant to be coming until the final day of the tournament, but here he is. I give you Tomasz Milosz.’

  Tomasz’s jaw dropped.

  Here was his dad’s hero. The former Poland goalkeeper. The player he’d been named after.

  ‘I am very happy to be here,’ Milosz said in English. ‘To witness this excellent tournament – and to have it named after me. Thank you.’

  Milosz paused. Some of the audience thought he had finished and began to clap.

  But the keeper held one of his giant hands up. ‘No, I have not finished,’ he said, laughing. ‘I have more to say. That it is good to see teams from four of the best footballing countries in the world – England, Spain and Italy – and Poland!’

  The audience laughed as one.

  ‘Especially England,’ he said. ‘I want to congratulate the English team – United – for being top of the league table so far. You beat Legia well.’

  The crowd groaned.

  ‘But you never know,’ Milosz said. ‘As some of you may remember, in 1973 I was called The Clown by the English. But that day I had the last laugh when Poland beat England. But today England had the last laugh.’

  The goalkeeper paused again.

  ‘Maybe Legia will play United in the final. Who will have th
e last laugh then?’

  The audience began to applaud. ‘Thank you,’ Milosz said. ‘That really is the end of my speech. Enjoy your tournament, boys.’

  After the speech, Tomasz went over to his dad.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  ‘I think so,’ Tomasz’s dad said. ‘Maybe we’ll meet him later.’

  His dad was grinning like a child.

  ‘I hope so,’ Tomasz said. ‘I hope so.’ Something about talking to a man who used to keep goal for Poland excited him in a way he had never felt before.

  Home from Home

  This was the second time Ryan had gone home with his host family.

  On the first night he had pretended to be tired and gone to bed. The next morning he’d come down late, avoiding the father of the house, who he had yet to meet.

  He actually quite liked his host mum. She spoke perfect English and was very gentle and kind.

  She drove him home. The car was a large jeep, almost as big as a Humvee. Ryan thought that they must be loaded.

  The boy – Lech – who’d not played for Legia that day, as he was injured, was asking Ryan questions, his mum translating.

  Ryan couldn’t work out what Lech wanted to say. He felt a bit stupid, being unable to talk the language the other people in the car were speaking.

  ‘Lech wants to know what it’s like to play for United. And do you know the first-team players?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘I’ve met a few,’ he said, still not feeling like talking. But at least now he could talk about himself. ‘And it’s good playing for United. Sometimes we get to go to first-team games. If there’s space.’

  The mum relayed this information back to Lech in Polish. The boy nodded and seemed very excited.

  His mum spoke next. ‘Lech is a big fan of your United. He watches them on television here in Poland.’

  Ryan nodded.

  There was a silence. He knew he should ask a question now, show an interest in them and not just talk about himself.