Left foot forward, then SHAKE, then HOP and … right foot forward…
When Dad and Daniel got home from football training, they couldn’t believe their eyes.
“Come and join in, you two!” Mum called out.
“Not a chance, fam,” Daniel mumbled as he raced upstairs to his room.
“Sure, why not?” Dad said, joining in, but he was totally HOPELESS! You know how they say that bad dancers have “two left feet”? Well, it was like Dad had two lazy fly swats instead.
After getting the moves wrong for the millionth time, Dad suddenly started limping.
“Let me guess, your right ankle?” Mum asked, rolling her eyes in a triple loop the loop.
Boy, what a workout! As we waved goodbye to Donna on the TV screen, I was sweating like crazy. But at least I knew what my new great football idea would be.
The next day at school, I went to see Mr Mann in his office at breaktime. Unfortunately, I was going to need his help.
“A DANCE-OFF?” he said. He sounded really surprised, as if I’d just told him that I’d been called up to play for England.
“I know it sounds strange, Sir, but it’ll work, I promise. A dance competition is the perfect way to show Izzy – I mean “Belly” – the importance of teamwork. If we put her in a group with Alex C – I mean “Clarky” – and Billy, then she won’t be able to win on her own. They’ll have no choice but to work TOGETHER!”
Mr Mann definitely wasn’t sure about my dance-off idea, but he was sure that he wanted me out of his office so that he could watch some more Blether United highlights on his phone.
“FINE, YOU CAN HAVE THE FIRST TWENTY MINUTES OF TRAINING, BALLY JUNIOR. BUT AFTER THAT, WE NEED TO PRACTISE FOOTBALL!”
FWEEEEEEEEET!
Arghhhh – our ears!
“RIGHT, TROOPS, FIRST THINGS FIRST – WELL DONE FOR BEATING SHEPHERD’S CROSS!” Mr Mann boomed and all the Tissbury players cheered loudly.
“NOW, BEFORE WE PLAY SOME ACTUAL FOOTBALL, WE’RE GOING TO DO A ER … FUN ER … TEAM-BUILDING EXERCISE. ISN’T THAT RIGHT, BALLY JUNIOR?”
“Boooooooooo!”
I could hear the groans already, and I hadn’t even told them what the “fun team-building exercise” was yet. What if it had been a water-pistol war at the beach, or an inflatable unicorn race at Tissbury Rapids?
Uh-oh, was this going to be my first terrible football idea? There was only one way to find out. I put my whistle to my mouth and—
FWE…E…T
Oh dear, not a good start.
“R-right, troops,” I carried on with my best mini-Mr-Mann performance again. “Your challenge today is to come up with the best dance routine for this song. Don’t let me down!”
HIT IT! I pressed play and the drumbeat boomed out of the assembly hall speakers. I had spent ages trying to find a half-decent song in my dad’s “damp” CD collection. What song would Donna dance to? In the end, I went for “Mr Funk Skunk” by Frankie Panky and the Loverats.
He doesn’t smell so good,
But he dances like a dude,
MR FUNK SKUNK!
While the song played, I watched the faces in front of me. Was it going down well?
Billy stood there with his arms folded, looking as moody as a bull in a bookshop.
Alex C, of course, just copied exactly what Billy did.
But I could see Gabby, Alex W and Scott nodding their heads and tapping their feet. They were smiling, which was a good sign, although it was pretty hard not to smile at “Mr Funk Skunk”!
Mo, Tabia and Izzy, meanwhile, were loving it. They were already “throwing shapes”, as my dad likes to call it.
“So Group A will be Tabby, Meddy, Webby and Gabby…” I explained, once the song had ended. “And Group B will be Belly, Billy, Clarky and Scotty.”
“Belly” did not look happy at all, and neither did the rest of her group.
“Oi, DISCO BALL, what’s this got to do with FOOTBALL?” Billy bellowed. “Besides, dancing’s for GIRLS!”
“No, it’s not! It’s all about working together,” I replied, “as a TEAM.”
My voice was shaking a little, but I had to stay strong. I was the assistant manager, after all. “Mr Mann and I will be looking for great dance moves, but also great teamwork. Your ten minutes start … NOW!”
Izzy burst into action. “OK, guys, let’s start with the main part. So when Frankie Panky sings “MR FUNK SKUNK”, we’ll all pinch our noses and shake our way down to the floor like this. Yes?”
“No! Who put you in charge, Bossy Boots?” Billy asked, with his arms still folded. “I’m the Tissbury captain, not you!”
“I was just trying to help! Johnny said we had to work together and—”
“Oh, so now you want to work together, do you?” Billy interrupted. “It didn’t look that way against Shepherd’s Cross!”
“I’m sorry, I should have passed more. It won’t happen again, OK? Come on, we’ve only got a few minutes left to plan our routine! Teammates?”
Izzy offered her hand. Would they, or wouldn’t they? It was like one of those silly rom-coms that Mum and Dad like to watch (even though Dad pretends to hate them). Eventually, Billy shook Izzy’s hand. “Teammates.”
FWEEEEEEEEET!
Arghhhh – our ears!
“RIGHT, TROOPS, TIME’S UP! GROUP A, LET’S SEE WHAT YOU’VE GOT,” Mr Mann boomed, while looking really bored. Maybe I should have made him join in with the dancing!
Anyway, Group A were awesome. They moved and grooved like a real team, pulling all kinds of super-great shapes:
“Excellent!” I cheered. “OK, over to you, Group B!”
Was it going to be a total disaster? As they walked to the front, Izzy and Billy were whispering to each other. Was it a team talk, or a nasty name battle? I couldn’t tell.
“MR FUNK SKUNK” started to play and the group…
Wow, the group were all moving to the music … TOGETHER!
The Wobbly Jelly,
the Steering Wheel,
and the “That Smells Bad!” Nose Pinch!
I was super impressed, and there was still time for a grand finale. Izzy looked over at Billy and nodded. Izzy leant back and kicked out her leg like she was out on the football pitch. Billy caught her foot and then kicked out his leg towards Scott. Scott caught it and kicked out his leg towards Alex C, who leant back and threw out his leg and his arm at the same time. Together, they formed a shape like a zigzag…
“LIGHTNING BOLT!” they called out together.
“Whooooooop!” I cheered. “We have our winners. Congratulations, Group B!”
Izzy and Billy high-fived happily like actual teammates. My plan had worked!
When I got home after school, Mum was waiting for me at the front door.
“So…?” she asked.
“So, what?”
“The dance, darling dearest! How did it go?”
Oh yeah, I had completely forgotten about my little white lie.
“Thanks, Mum,” I said with a big grin on my face. “Actually, it went even better than I’d expected!”
TISSBURY PRIMARY VS BARTLEY MOOR PRIMARY
I didn’t even have to ask Daniel about Bartley Moor; I already knew that they were a really, really good team. They had won their first two matches 12–0 and 8–1. And to make matters worse, Mr Mann had picked a super-attacking line-up, with ZERO DEFENDERS! If we weren’t careful, Bartley would squash us as flat as a pancake.
The Tissbury players just had to work together and hope for the best. I mean, what else could we do? Well, that’s what I was thinking about as Mum and Tiss drove me to the match. I had Grandpa George’s scarf on and my pocket notebook ready in my hand, but no new great football ideas … YET.
“2, 4, 6, 8, WHO DO WE APPRECIATE? JOHNNY-BEAR!” Mum clapped and cheered.
Now that we were a winning team, she wasn’t the only one making way too much noise. Yes, the number of Tissbury Primary fans was growing – and they were getting
louder as well! Right, hand-shield up, football-focus on…
From the kick-off, Alex W tapped it to Tabia, who passed to Izzy, who … PASSED TO BILLY! My dance-off plan had worked – Izzy’s ball grog days were over! It was a miracle. Oh well, even if we lost 35–0, at least something good would have happened in the game.
But at half-time, we weren’t losing badly. In fact, we weren’t losing at all. We were winning 2–1, and Izzy had helped set up both goals, first for Alex “Koyo” W and then for Tabs. Tissbury were in dreamland and our ten supporters were going wild!
As I handed out the water bottles (Tabia had been right about that; apparently that was one of my assistant manager jobs), I was beaming with pride. If I didn’t hate silly football phrases so much, I would have told them that they were all “playing out of their skins”.
“YOU’RE ALL PLAYING OUT OF YOUR SKINS!” Mr Mann shouted.
But now that we were winning, wouldn’t it be a good idea to have at least ONE defender on the pitch? No, not according to Mr Mann. Unfortunately, when I plucked up the courage to suggest a substitution, he was checking his phone, and Blether United were losing. Worst timing ever!
“OH, YOU KNOW BEST DO YOU, BALLY JUNIOR? I THINK YOU’LL FIND THAT I’M IN CHARGE HERE, AND WE’RE WINNING JUST FINE MY WAY!”
“Y-yes, sorry, Mr Mann.”
But in the second half, Bartley attacked and attacked and attacked, until eventually – surprise, surprise – they scored (I told you so, Macho Mann!). Gabby rushed off her goal line and accidentally fouled their striker… Penalty! Billy tried his best to change the referee’s mind, but it was no use.
“GO ON, GABBY – IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO SAVE THE DAY!” Mr Mann boomed.
I wasn’t so sure about that. I had seen her save lots of penalties in training before, but this was different. Her legs were wobbling like jelly and it wasn’t a dance move, or an attempt to put the striker off. No, she was clearly super scared.
The penalty was pretty bad, but it didn’t have to be good, because Gabby didn’t even move. She couldn’t. It was like her feet had grown roots way down into the ground. She just watched it fly straight past her and into the net. 2–2!
“Why didn’t you DIVE for it?” Billy yelled at her. “That was such an EASY save!”
Uh-oh, Tissbury were in big trouble. There were still ten minutes to go, and Bartley were all over us like food on a baby’s face. Forget the 1-2-1 or the 2-1-1; their new formation was just all four up front! What could we do?
“Think, Johnny, think!” I told myself on the touchline. Where were my great football ideas when I needed them? Tissbury would crash out of the County Cup, unless…
TING! LIGHT-BULB MOMENT – NO, LIGHTNING-BOLT MOMENT! Yes, yes, yes, it was going to be a great one, I could tell…
“CLARKY, ARE YOU READY?” Mr Mann said next to me.
Perfect! Not only could Alex C pass my message on to the others, but he would also have a massive part to play. Because, although Billy was the biggest kid in the school, he wasn’t the best at headers. No, that was Alex C. He had a head like a hammer! Before he went onto the pitch, I talked him through the plan. For the second time that season, Grandpa George’s extra-long scarf came in really handy.
When I laid it down on the grass in a zigzag shape, Alex C grinned. Good, he’d got it – I was giving him the chance to be the hero. “Cooooool!” was all he said.
I also used my pocket notebook (thanks, Mum!) to write everything down for Alex C to give to Billy and Izzy and Tabs. They were key parts of the plan too. After reading it, Billy looked over and gave me a nod. A NOD! From Billy, that was about as rare as a leopard on a lilo.
Once everyone had taken up their positions, it was showtime. From the goal kick, Gabby played it to Izzy on the left,
who passed to Billy on the right,
who passed to Tabs on the left.
Zigzag, zigzag! Tissbury were weaving their way up the pitch, one pass at a time, and Bartley couldn’t get back quickly enough.
It was time for the grand finale. Tabs curled a beautiful cross into the box and up jumped Alex C with his huge hammer head. 3–2 to Tissbury!
What a goal – Bartley had been hit by the Lightning Bolt! As everyone piled on top of each other, Tabia called me over to join in. And why not? I was the ASSISTANT manager, after all.
“YOU, JOHNNY BALL, ARE A FOOTBALL GENIUS!” she shouted and suddenly, for only the second time ever on a football pitch (that hat-trick, remember?), I was the centre of attention.
“Nice one, Johnny!”
“That was your greatest idea yet, mate!”
“Nice moves, DISCO BALL!”
Wait a second, was that – yes, that last voice belonged to Billy. First a nod and now four nice-ish words – blimey, Billy and I were basically friends!
Bartley tried their best to score again, but Tissbury were a proper team now. And it turned out that Mr Mann had been listening to me after all because he brought on Scott and Mo in defence.
“You ready, Super Sub?” I said, trying to smile as kindly as Mum does when I’m miserable.
“Super Sub” was my new nickname for Mo to try to settle his nerves. It seemed to be working. His face looked a healthy colour this time, and his voice didn’t sound so shaky:
“Yes, Assistant Coach!”
Together, Mo and Scott defended our goal like Roman gladiators. The team held on until… FWEEEET! Tissbury were the winners!
We celebrated like we’d just won the World Cup. Everyone was hugging and singing and dancing:
the Hip Wiggle,
the Butt Shake,
and, yes, you guessed it … the LIGHTNING BOLT!
Even Mum was dancing; no, especially Mum! I was having way too much fun to feel embarrassed, though. In fact, I was having the best time ever. I had finally found something that I was really good at. I was making friends and I was part of an awesome team. What could be better than that?
We were still one game away from the County Cup Final, but after beating Bartley, we felt like we could beat anyone.
For the next week, our football team was the talk of the town. Well, the talk of the Tissbury Primary playground anyway. It was the biggest school news in years. We were through to the County Cup semi-finals for the first time S.D. (Since Daniel), and I was part of it.
When players look really happy after scoring amazing goals, silly football people say that they’re “on cloud nine”. But why only nine? We were on cloud 100,000,000!
I was feeling particularly pleased because:
1. (I don’t like to boast but) my lightning bolt plan had worked BRILLIANTLY against Bartley.
2. I already knew my next assistant manager task – helping Gabby get over her fear of penalty kicks!
As we sat down for Saturday night football TV time, I was still buzzing about our victory. My family probably just wanted to watch Match of the Day in peace, but, for once, I had a story to tell.
“You should have seen their faces when Clarky scored – they looked so shocked, didn’t they, Mum? It was like actual aliens had just landed on the pitch. I couldn’t believe it either, but we did it – we’re into the County Cup semis!”
“I’m so proud of you, pumpkin!” squealed Mum.
“Well done, son!” shouted Dad.
“Huh,” snorted Daniel. My brother had been stomping around in a bad mood all day, because:
a) his football match had been cancelled
and
b) he was a teenager now and apparently that’s what teenagers do.
Anyway, he’d had – and heard – enough of me.
“We, we, we – whatevs, bro, you don’t even PLAY! Why are you getting so hyped? You’re just the assistant manager!”
“Hey, that’s not true! It was MY ‘sick’ idea that helped us beat Lambert and MY Koyo plan that won the game against Shepherd’s Cro—”
“Are you for real? Just listen to yourself, bro! Those aren’t FOOTBALL ideas – they’re stupid playground
pranks. Even Macho Mann knows far more than you about football – he’s just got you along for jokes!”
Well, that really burst my happy football bubble.
As I stormed upstairs to my bedroom, I could hear Mum and Dad telling him off.
“Daniel, what’s got into you today? That wasn’t nice! You know how much Johnny’s enjoying being assistant manager!”
“Come on, son – why can’t you just be happy for your brother? He’s always happy for you!”
At first, I was really angry. What horrible things to say! Of course I knew more about football than Mr Mann! And I was good at being an assistant manager! Was he jealous of me? Maybe he was worried that I was going to win the County Cup too, and he didn’t want to share the glory!
I decided I wouldn’t speak to my mean brother ever again…
But the more I thought about it, the more I had my doubts. Soon, I was playing a game of 20 questions:
1. Was Daniel right? Was I getting excited about nothing? Sure, I felt like I was helping, but I hadn’t actually scored a goal, or even kicked a ball!
2. So, why was I walking and talking like a hero?
3. Was I just kidding myself, pretending I was part of the team?
4. Were my “great football ideas” really just “playground pranks”?
5. Was it actually Mr Mann who was making the difference, not me?
And on and on… For the first time since our County Cup run started, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be Tissbury Primary’s assistant manager any more. Maybe it was time for me to hang up Grandpa George’s super-long scarf and use my pocket notebook for writing poems instead…
“No way, WALRUS-WART!” I could hear Tabia’s voice in my head. “Johnny Ball, you’re a football genius.”
“Well, that’s not what my brother thinks,” I muttered miserably.
I looked around my room:
at my football-boot bed,
my football duvet cover,
my football posters,
my football lamp
and my football clock.
Daniel was right. Who was I kidding? I was no superstar; I was just the assistant manager for our school team. Everyone else probably thought I was a joke too. Was it time for me to just forget about football completely?
Johnny Ball Page 5