Matty in the Goal

by Stuart A. P. Murray

  They hurried up the stairs, Gibb taking three steps to every one of Matty’s. Matty struggled to keep up, wondering just what Gibb meant by that last remark.

  “Who expects you to be the best, Gibb?”

  “You know, the parents, the kids—everybody pretty much,” Gibb answered. “Sometimes, it’s better just to study hard than to have to be a jock, you know?”

  But Matty didn’t know.

  “My father gets mad if I don’t do well in sports,” Gibb said as they pushed through the hallway door.

  Then he looked at Matty and said, “He doesn’t care about soccer, ’cause I’ll play football in high school. There’s no real pressure in soccer. He never comes to the soccer games. But believe it, if I didn’t score all the time, he’d ask why.”

  Walking along, trying to keep up, Matty said, “I guess you keep him happy then.”

  Gibb gave a little smile. “Be glad you don’t have to worry about sports, Wells. You’re a brain, and being a brain and being good at sports, too, is just too much to ask of anybody.”

  “Yeah,” said Kathy Lee, Mike’s sister, who had just caught up to them in the crowded hallway. “Look at you, Gibb, you’re real good at sports, but when it comes to schoolwork. …”

  Kathy laughed as Gibb pretended to give her a shove. She was very pretty. She tied her blond hair in a French braid, and her green eyes sparkled. Kathy wasn’t only good in school, she was good at sports, too. She was also the best-looking and nicest girl Matty knew. He blushed whenever she spoke to him, which actually wasn’t very often. He blushed now.

  “Don’t listen to what Gibb says about being smart, Matty.” She made a face at Gibb, who looked as if he didn’t care. “Smart boys are nicer than muscleheads.”

  “Get outta here, Lee,” Gibb laughed and gave her arm a twist. “You’re making Wells all red.”

  Kathy laughed, too, and pulled away. As she turned into her science class doorway, she made another face. Gibb smiled. Matty could see those two liked each other. The class bell rang through the hall.

  “Hey, Wells,” Gibb said after they had walked a few more paces together, “wasn’t that your science class, too?”

  “Whoa!” Matty spun around and dashed for the room, as Gibb chuckled and called him “a real air-brain.”

  In science, Matty sat next to Kathy, but usually she hardly noticed him. She only paid attention to him when he was with Gibb, and then it was just to tease Gibb. Matty knew why Kathy talked to him then, but he didn’t mind too much. After all, she was the neatest girl in school, and Gibb was the star athlete. They sort of belonged together.

  Anyway, when Matty sat next to Kathy in science class, he never could think of what to say. At least he couldn’t think of anything that she would probably care to hear. They only talked during lab, when Kathy couldn’t look at the frog they were dissecting or the earthworm they were cutting into slivers. Then Matty had to explain it all to her, and she made notes while looking out the window, one hand covering the side of her face so she didn’t have to watch.

  In fact, Matty didn’t like dissecting either, but he didn’t want to let that on to Kathy. He was considered enough of a nerd as it was. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t tough enough to look at the gross, shredded insides of a stupid frog.

  Sometimes, Kathy and her friends would come to watch the soccer club practice. They really came to watch Gibb. When they were there, Gibb played harder than ever, and it got tough for Matty in goal.

  After several practices, Matty thought he was actually getting better at goalie. He could save shots from most kids. Still, he couldn’t stop Gibb very often, especially when Kathy watched from the sidelines. Kathy embarrassed Matty all the more, because she always cheered for him when Gibb took a shot. Of course, that never did any good, and it made Matty feel even worse.

  Gibb came down the field with the ball.

  “Go, Matty!” Kathy shouted.

  Gibb dribbled faster.

  “Save it, Matty!”

  Gibb leaped around defenders, the ball tied to his foot like a string.

  “Yay, Matty!” Kathy shouted, even louder.

  Gibb got close, winding up.

  “Matty, don’t let him sco—ore …”

  The rest of her cheer faded away as the ball thundered into the net, with Matty eating Gibb’s dust as usual. Gibb thrust his fist into the air and jumped into the arms of his friends, just like he’d won the World Cup.

  It always went the same way: Matty getting up and dusting himself off as Coach Gray said, “Good try, goalie.”

  Kathy was standing there with her eyes all lit up as she watched Gibb in his glory. Meanwhile, all Matty could do was dig the ball out of the back of the net and blush.

  Chapter Four

  Bobako

  School was out, and summer recess had started. The Cannons’ regular season was almost over. One day at practice, Coach Gray said the Cannons were going to play a special extra game against some kids who were staying at a summer camp not far away. They had parents who worked at foreign embassies or were college professors.

  “And these kids are very good soccer players,” Coach Gray said. “The boys play in their home countries, such as Germany, England, Brazil, and some are even from Africa, where there are also a lot of great players.”

  “Hah!” Tommy Schmidt shouted. “We’ll beat ’em, just like we beat everybody else we play. We’ll show ’em we’re the best anywhere! Isn’t that right, Gibb?”

  Gibb just gave a big smile while the rest of the team shouted, “Yeah!” and “Right!” and “We’re awesome!”

  The only other person who didn’t cheer was Matty. Gibb and the rest of the team might be the best, but Matty didn’t think he would be much help in beating them. He’d be stuck way back in goal, as usual.

  During that day’s practice, Gibb was tougher than ever with his shooting. He scored against Matty almost every time he came down the field. After a while, Matty was feeling down. His arms and hands hurt so badly that it was hard not to show it.

  All through practice, though, he didn’t wince or complain, especially because Kathy Lee sat watching on the sidelines. But after practice, he sat down behind the goal alone, fighting back tears. Sam had jumped out of Mrs. Wells’s car and lay down beside Matty.

  “Why do I have to be goalie, Sam?”

  Sam nuzzled under Matty’s arm.

  “Why do I have to get stuck back here and never get to play in the field? I hate being goalie!”

  Then Sam looked away and began to wag his tail. From behind Matty came a deep voice, like no voice he’d ever heard before.

  “Where I come from, my friend, many of the best soccer players want to be goalkeepers.”

  Matty turned to look up at a dark face with the friendliest smile. A handsome young man with long legs and broad shoulders smiled at him. He wore a dark, navy blue sweat suit with initials across the chest that Matty didn’t recognize. The letters spelled “DRC.”

  “Where I come from, the goalies are the big heroes,” he said in his musical accent. “They are proud to be keepers, and they think nobody can beat them.”

  Matty didn’t know what to say, but the man seemed very nice. He held a shiny new soccer ball in his hand that Matty really wanted to kick. Matty quickly wiped away a tear and stood up.

  “Where I come from,” the young man said in a voice that was as soft as it was strong, “people think I am quite a good goalie. Would you like to kick it around a little?”

  He bounced the ball and grinned in a way that made Matty smile. By now, most of the Cannons were getting into their parents’ cars, bragging about how they would beat those foreign kids when they played them in a couple weeks.

  Matty saw his mom standing by her car, watching him. He waved to let her know that he would be a few minutes more.

  “Okay, but I don’t want to be goalie.”

  “All right, I’ll be goalie for you.” Again a smile broke across the man’s face, and he
winked. “I am Bobako. What’s your name?”

  Matty told him, and they began to play. Bobako rolled the ball to Matty, and he shot it as hard as he could at the goal. Each time, Bobako dived left, right, or up in the air to save the ball from going in the goal. He was so smooth and very fast. It seemed like he could jump and touch the sky.

  One time, Matty kicked the ball high over the crossbar, but Bobako got up to it effortlessly. He hauled the ball down with one hand.

  Matty was amazed. Actually, he was just as amazed that he’d kicked the ball so high and so hard—higher and harder than ever before. Bobako had been giving him suggestions now and again.

  “That was a good one, a real stinger!” Bobako laughed, after a good shot.

  He shook his fingers, but Matty wasn’t so sure they really hurt.

  “Try to aim the ball, Matty; imagine it going into the goal,” Bobako instructed him.

  Matty glanced over at his mom. She leaned against the car, arms folded, a big smile on her face. He waved again, and so did she. Then he turned to shoot another one as hard as he could at the corner. Bobako had to dive to his left for it, and this time—somehow—he missed the ball.

  Matty jumped for joy when it hit the back of the net. How great that felt!

  “Good shot, man!” Bobako got lightly to his feet, smiling. “Very good!”

  Just then, Gibb and a couple of the other Cannons stars came back. They had been watching all this, and they wanted to shoot against Bobako.

  “Okay,” Bobako said, “just don’t hit it as hard as Matty here!”

  Again, Bobako shook his fingers. Matty was embarrassed when Gibb and the others snickered. They got ready to shoot.

  When Gibb ripped the first one, Matty was sure the ball was in the net. But Bobako sprang like a panther across the mouth of the goal. The ball stuck to his fingertips, as if they were magic.

  “Wow!” Gibb said, mouth open. “That was awesome!”

  Bobako smiled and tossed the ball for the boys to keep on shooting. Matty drifted back, out of the way, while the Cannons shot again and again for all they were worth.

  Not one ball got through Bobako—not one. He played like a magician, a dancer, a graceful acrobat. He was a human shield, a fearless diver, and an incredible jumper, quick as a cat.

  Matty had never imagined any goalkeeper could play so wonderfully. Bobako was, as Gibb said, awesome.

  Later, the Cannons asked questions, and Matty learned that Bobako was from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a country in central Africa. That’s what the DRC on his sweatshirt stood for. It was a very big place, where millions of people played and loved soccer.

  Bobako had come to America as a student and played for a college team. He was the goalkeeper.

  The other boys went home first, and Bobako went with Matty to say hello to Mrs. Wells.

  “I will be here every evening this week and next,” Bobako said. “Maybe Matty wants to learn something about goalkeeping?”

  Matty shook his head. “I don’t want to play goalie.”

  “No? Why do you play in goal if you don’t like it?” Bobako asked.

  “Well, I guess it’s not so bad … I mean, I guess I play ’cause the team wants me to play.”

  “Aha,” Bobako winked. Matty smiled again. “Well, maybe you better learn to play it well, no?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Gibb never lets anybody come downfield to score against me.”

  Bobako glanced at Matty’s mom then said, “Well, maybe so, but I hear there’s a game soon with those foreign kids, no? They’re good. They will get by Gibb once or twice. Then who’ll be there to stop them?”

  Matty didn’t think even the foreign kids would get by Gibb. Still, he would like to learn something about goalkeeping from Bobako. It was so great to watch him in the goal.

  “Okay,” Matty said. “If my parents let me, I’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Wells agreed.

  “Very good,” Bobako said.

  Then he punted the ball so far and so high that Matty gasped. Would he ever be able to kick a soccer ball like that?

  Chapter Five

  A Tough Teacher

  “You know, Matty, you sense very well where the ball’s going.”

  Had he heard that right? Bobako stood there, ready to kick the ball to him for the ten thousandth time, it seemed. Matty crouched on the goal line, ready to stop Bobako’s next kick. Not that he’d stopped very many in the five days they’d been working out.

  But was it true what Bobako said? Did Matty really seem to know where the ball was going?

  “You’re smart, and you anticipate well,” Bobako said, pushing the ball forward a little, about to hit it at the goal.

  “You have to know where it’s going, Matty, and when you know, you go!”

  For the first time ever, Matty felt good about being a goalie. Bobako had actually complimented him. Matty had something that every goalie needed. That was the ability to move, ahead of time, to where the ball was going. To anticipate, a word Matty didn’t know very well.

  Unless Matty anticipated where the ball was going, he might be too late to make the save. Go when you know! He had to go when—

  “Anticipate!” Bobako shouted, and he fired the ball quickly.

  Matty was already in the air, diving to his left. The ball struck his outstretched forearms and bounced high. As he landed hard on the ground, Matty watched the ball rise upward. He didn’t think of anything else as he hit the grass. All he could think of was keeping the ball out of the goal, any way he could.

  It was coming down now, going into the goal! Meanwhile, Matty, still on the ground, thrust his leg up and hit the ball, knocking it away from the goal line.

  “Bravo!” Bobako clapped his hands and laughed. “Bravo, Matty! You looked like a true goalkeeper!”

  He helped Matty to his feet.

  “You looked just like the DRC national team keeper! I saw him make a save just like that!”

  Matty grinned, excited. Just like a national team goalie! Well, that sure was high praise. It felt great to hear that, even if the wind was knocked out of him.

  “I … just wanted … to save it,” Matty panted.

  He didn’t wipe away the dirt that stuck to his arms and knee pads. It felt so good to save that shot, so good to be standing there with Bobako patting him on the shoulder, grime and sweat smearing his face.

  “I didn’t want … to see it go … in.”

  “Aha!” Bobako declared, standing back and nodding. “That is how a real goalkeeper thinks!”

  Bobako picked the ball up and prepared to shoot again.

  “Now, let us work on your diving, so when you land, you bounce back up onto your feet right away. And it won’t hurt so much.”

  He didn’t ask whether Matty wanted to rest. Coach Gray and the other coaches in the league were always very careful whenever someone was a little banged up. The coaches made those kids sit on the bench right away.

  Matty raised his arms above his head, then touched his toes. This was how Bobako had taught him to fill his lungs with air and catch his breath so he could recover quickly to keep on playing. Bobako was a very tough, demanding teacher. He wanted Matty to have no fear and ignore the little bumps and bruises. A goalie had to keep playing, even when a tough play had shaken him up.

  At the same time, Bobako knew just when to stop. He knew when Matty needed a rest, or had taken a hard fall. It amazed Matty to see how much Bobako knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking.

  Watching from the sidelines, Matty’s mother and father looked impressed with how their son had improved. They often chatted with Bobako while Matty ran laps or did push-ups.

  Now, after a week of practicing with Bobako every evening, Matty began to feel proud of the little scrapes here and there. By not making a fuss about them, he learned to be stronger.

  At first, his mother worried about the cuts and bruises. But his father cleaned them with some medicine that stung a bit. At
these times, Matty and his father had some good conversations, though Matty never remembered quite what they talked about. They were just good conversations. Mr. Wells had played football in high school. He’d had plenty of the same pains in his youth.

  “You’re putting a lot of effort into all this, Matty,” his father said, as he carefully swabbed a scrape on his leg. “It’s not too much for you?”

  “Uh-uh.” Matty shook his head, wincing a little at the sting of the medicine. “I’m understanding how to play goalie.”

  He began to explain about leaping for a high ball and how to punch it clear when you can’t catch it. Bobako had shown him how to throw the ball overhand, so that it spun and dropped right where you wanted it. Matty talked about punting the ball long and far by holding it low and leaping off the ground when you kicked it. He had learned how to play the angle on a breakaway so that the attacker couldn’t see the goal. And Bobako said the goalie should never stop once he committed himself to charging out for the ball.

  “… and you have to ant … ticip … pate where the ball’s going, and go when you know,” Matty said.

  Matty realized his father didn’t follow what he was saying. But that look on his dad’s face, the way he nodded and smiled, made Matty feel good. It was as if they understood each other, even if his dad had never played soccer.

  In their own way, the bumps and scrapes spoke about Matty’s courage and about how much he wanted to be a great goalkeeper. He trusted Bobako, and so did his parents. Matty had never seen his parents act like this about anything he’d done before.

  He was growing up and doing something that they could only watch him play, but couldn’t tell him how to do. He liked that. He knew they liked it, too.

  Chapter Six

  A Human Shield

  Matty and Bobako worked out at the soccer field through the weekend. The Cannons didn’t have practice because Coach Gray was away on a business trip. Anyway, their regular season had ended, and the only game left was against the team of foreign kids.