Football Academy: Boys United

by Tom Palmer

  Closing the front‐room door, Jake listened to his dad on the phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  A pause.

  ‘Hello, Steve.’

  It was Steve.

  ‘Jake? No, he’s here.’ Another long pause: Dad was listening. ‘I see …’

  Then Jake was on his way up the stairs, straight into his room, light out, curtains closed, under the duvet.

  It was just a matter of time before Dad came up the stairs. And, when he did, he was going to be furious.

  Dad

  Half an hour later there was a gentle knock on the door. Jake had been staring at the ceiling. Waiting. The door pushed open. Dad.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Jake’s plan, to pretend to be asleep, seemed stupid now.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jake said.

  He flicked on his City table lamp.

  Dad sat on the end of Jake’s bed. ‘That was Steve,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He was just back from training. He wanted to know if you were OK.’

  Jake looked away, but said nothing.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Dad said.

  Jake had expected Dad to be cross. To feel that Jake had let him down. But he was being OK. Like he always was. So Jake decided to be honest. After lying to Dad before, he owed him that.

  ‘I think they’re going to bring Aaron back. The lad who used to play on the left last season. They’re going to release me.’

  ‘Has Steve said that?’

  Jake paused, surprised because Dad sounded angry at Steve, not at him.

  ‘No,’ Jake said.

  Dad sighed. ‘Who said it, then?’

  Jake tried to think. Ryan had said it – sort of. And Steve had said he wanted to talk to Dad. Then he’d overheard Ryan talking to Aaron on the phone.

  But had anyone actually said it?

  ‘I dunno,’ Jake said.

  ‘These games,’ Dad said. ‘The first two. They’ve not gone well, have they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you think they’re going to release you?’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Steve…’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He wants to talk to me – and you. What else could that mean?’

  Dad stood up. ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  Dad left Jake alone. Jake heard him run down the stairs, then ask Mum a question, and finally come back up the stairs. He had a cardboard folder in his hand. He took out a piece of paper.

  ‘What’s this?’ Dad asked.

  ‘My contract,’ Jake said.

  ‘What does it say here?’ Dad pointed at a line of the text.

  ‘That I’m signed to play for twelve months. Until August.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But if I’m rubbish…’

  ‘Jake. You’ve played two games. You’re not rubbish. If you’re out of form, Steve might put you on the bench. But so far he hasn’t, has he? Don’t you remember what they said when you signed on? That they thought you had great potential? That they wanted to work with you for a year? At least a year. So that they could develop you as a player?’

  Jake shrugged.

  ‘Have you forgotten what a good player you are?’ Dad said.

  ‘Maybe I’m not a good player.’

  Dad pulled the bedclothes off Jake.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The fields. Now.’

  ‘It’s dark.’

  ‘There’s enough light coming from the street lamps. Nothing serious. Just shots in. Come on.’

  Playing with Dad

  On Wednesday after school, Dad and Jake were driving across the city again. Towards the United Academy.

  Jake felt nervous. Before training today they had the appointment – with Steve. Jake was glad that Dad was coming now. The club said it always had to be like that. If a player was having trouble – or if there was something important to talk about – a parent had to come too.

  For the last two nights Jake had been out on the fields with his dad. Practising like they used to. Wearing his City top. Jake hadn’t thought about it, but since he’d signed for United, he’d stopped playing with his dad completely.

  As they had kicked the ball to each other, Jake remembered how much he enjoyed playing football, whether he was playing for United or just playing with his dad.

  And Dad had convinced him that Steve wasn’t going to replace him. It was just going to be a chat about how to make things work better for Jake.

  ‘Are you OK, then?’ Dad asked, slowing down in some heavy traffic.

  ‘Yes thanks.’

  ‘Remember what I said yesterday…’

  ‘Dad?’

  Jake wanted to interrupt. He knew Dad was going to say things to make him feel confident. But Jake had something to say too.

  ‘… that you just have to play your own game,’ Dad went on. ‘And focus. You’re fast. You can control the –’

  ‘Dad?’

  Dad stopped talking and looked at Jake. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you miss us playing on the fields?’

  Dad smiled. ‘I did miss it, yes.’ He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, ‘But I’ve not been lazing about. I’ve been coming to see you at the Academy, haven’t I?’

  ‘I know. But it’s not like playing, is it?’ Jake said.

  ‘No. And the last two nights have been fun. But I’d rather see you at the Academy.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. Every time I see you training or playing, it makes me feel so proud. Every time I see you touch the ball…’

  ‘So that’s better than playing with me?’

  ‘On the whole, yes,’ Dad said.

  Jake felt good. Every time I get the ball, he thought, I’m going to play for Dad. I’m going to make him even prouder.

  ‘Except,’ Dad said, interrupting Jake’s thoughts. ‘If you ever fancy a kick about… you know where I live.’

  Jake grinned.

  The Appointment

  ‘Come in, Jake,’ Steve said. ‘Mr Oldfield.’

  Steve shook Jake’s dad’s hand and closed the door behind them.

  Jake felt like he was at the doctor’s or the dentist’s. Like something bad was going to happen to him.

  The office was small and stacked with cones and a large bag of footballs. Two shelves were packed with coaching manuals and box files. Jake was surprised it was such a mess.

  ‘OK,’ Steve said. ‘You’ve been with us four weeks now. I just wanted to see how everything was for you. Both of you. I always do this. Make sure there are no teething problems.’

  Jake felt a wave of relief. So this was normal. Just a chat to make sure everything was OK. He felt Dad’s hand on his back.

  ‘Jake?’ Steve said. ‘Anything to report? Any worries?’

  ‘No,’ Jake said. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘You sure? We can be open here. Whatever we say stays in this room. It’s a private chat. It’s as important to me how you develop off the pitch, as on it.’

  ‘No. It’s fine.’

  ‘OK then,’ Steve said. ‘Mr Oldfield? Are you happy? Anything you’d like to say?’

  Dad stared at Jake and raised an eyebrow.

  Jake knew Dad wouldn’t say anything. Or push him to say anything. It was down to him.

  There was a long pause. Jake realized that Steve was waiting for him to speak. He stared at the bag of balls. He longed to be out on the fields playing. With Dad. Just playing football without any complications.

  Then it just came out.

  ‘I’m worried you might release me and bring back that lad… Aaron. And I’m worried that you think you’ve made a mistake… that you’d like him back… that he fitted in better. And that at the trial you thought I was good, but that I’m not. That all the other players are up to it and I’m not…’

  Steve smiled. ‘Sorry,’ he said, quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to smi
le.’

  He stood up and breathed in. ‘Jake. There is no chance of that happening. You are signed for a year. The club is committed to you for that year. And for more years after that, I hope sincerely. When you signed that contract, I did too. It’s my job to bring out your talent – and you have that in abundance. We want to give you the best chance of becoming a professional footballer. It won’t always be easy. But that’s why we brought you here: because we think you can do it.’

  Jake smiled, looking at Dad. ‘I know,’ he said to Steve. ‘I’m sorry. I knew that.’

  ‘I understand you feel like this, Jake. It’s normal. It’s a big thing, being here. Starting this stage of your footballing career. And if you have any doubts like that again, come to me and we’ll talk them through.’

  Steve sat down and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘I don’t know where you got your ideas about Aaron from,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is everything else OK? You getting on all right with the other lads?’

  Jake felt like being honest. As honest as he could be.

  ‘It’s quite difficult sometimes,’ he said. ‘Finding my place. I get on with Yunis and Chi. And Will. But one or two of the others are harder to deal with than the rest.’

  Steve nodded.

  Jake didn’t want to say any more. He didn’t want to name any names.

  ‘I understand, Jake,’ Steve said. ‘But if you have any more trouble, come to me. And, by the way, not that this is anything you’ve said to me today, but one thing we don’t accept at this club is bullying. If it happens, I stamp it out. I make sure all the lads know that. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Jake said.

  Steve stood up.

  ‘In a month’s time, Jake, you’re going to be a key part of this team. I want you here for the long run. Not just for two games.’

  Jake smiled. He felt better.

  Attack and Defence

  Jake was sitting laughing with Yunis in the dressing rooms. But then Ryan came over – and suddenly Jake felt cold all over.

  Ryan was grinning.

  ‘I saw Aaron at school today,’ Ryan said. ‘He says United have been in touch.’

  Jake said nothing for a moment. But he was determined that he wasn’t going to let this happen any more. He was going to take control.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Jake said calmly, looking Ryan square in the face.

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’ Ryan said, smirking.

  ‘I know, that’s all.’ Jake kept his eyes on Ryan, until Ryan looked away.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Ryan said, turning and walking towards the door.

  ‘If you can’t get used to me being in the team,’ Jake called after him, ‘you’d better go and play for someone else yourself, Ryan. Because I’m not going anywhere.’

  Ryan didn’t look back. He just carried on walking.

  Jake felt his heart beating like a drum. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said. And to Ryan. He’d never answered a bully back like that before.

  The under‐twelves were on the training pitches again. The last training session before the big game on Sunday. City away. City: Jake’s team.

  ‘Right, lads,’ Steve said. ‘We’re not doing drills this afternoon. We’ll go straight into attack and defence. I’m going to split you into two teams.’

  Steve pointed at one group of boys. Ryan and the other defenders in the squad.

  ‘I want you lot to defend,’ Steve said. ‘Ryan, you organize them.’

  Then Steve pointed at Jake, Yunis and the group behind him. ‘And I want you lot to attack. Jake, you organize that. Let’s get some practice in before we play City. I know you’ll all be keen to beat them.’

  Jake smiled to himself as the boys arranged themselves at one end of the pitch. He couldn’t wait. City away was his chance to prove to everyone that he wanted to be a United player. He looked at Ryan, but he couldn’t catch his eye.

  Steve rolled the ball to Jake.

  ‘You’re in charge, Jake. I want you to start every attack. Use the full width of the pitch. And vary it.’

  Jake trapped the ball and looked up. In front of him was Ryan, still not looking him in the eye.

  Steve blew his whistle.

  Jake moved the ball forward and saw immediately that Ryan was approaching him, leaving his central defence position.

  Ryan looked determined.

  He wants to make his point straight away, Jake thought.

  Jake carried on, side‐footed the ball to Chi, then sprinted full‐pelt, past Ryan. Chi knocked the ball over Ryan right into Jake’s path. Jake was running with it now, Ryan beaten.

  But forty yards out from goal, he could hear Ryan behind him again. Thirty yards out, Ryan was closer. He was fast and would tackle at any moment.

  But Jake was fast too. He took three more strides and hit the ball hard.

  Nobody had expected it: most of the defence had moved towards Will and Yunis, who were waiting for a cross into the box. And Tomasz was slightly off his line.

  The ball flew, like a bullet, past all the defenders, over Tomasz, dipping into the net.

  The first to make it over to Jake was Yunis.

  ‘That was class, Jake,’ he said.

  As Tomasz pulled the ball out of the goal, Jake looked to the sidelines. Ryan’s mum looked furious, but further down the pitch Jake saw his dad standing, nodding quietly to himself and smiling. Jake wanted to see that again. And again and again and again.

  The Fall

  Jake was the first back to the dressing rooms. At least he thought he was. But then he heard voices coming from inside. Shouting.

  Jake stopped and waited in the corridor. He didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on.

  ‘You just let that kid make a fool of you,’ the shouting voice continued. ‘Why couldn’t you get near him?’

  It was a woman’s voice. Jake knew who it was immediately.

  ‘He’s fast,’ Ryan said. He sounded quiet. Not his usual loud self at all.

  ‘He made you look stupid. I was ashamed of you. You’ll never make it to the first team if you let boys – new boys! – run rings round you like that. I’m getting tired of this, Ryan. Really tired. I’ll wait in the car. You have a think about this. How you’re letting me down.’

  Jake stepped back as Ryan’s mum barged past him, scowling.

  He could hear the rest of the lads coming over the footbridge, their boots hammering on the wood.

  He went into the dressing room.

  Ryan was sat in his usual place, his head covered with a towel. When Ryan heard Jake come in, he looked up, his face open and eager.

  He thinks I’m his mum coming back, Jake thought. And then he saw that Ryan was crying. His eyes red and swollen. Tears on his face.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  The footsteps of the other boys were getting louder. They’d be at the door in a few seconds.

  Ryan looked at Jake as if to ask for help.

  Jake stepped back into the corridor and closed the door. Then he fell on the floor and grabbed his ankle.

  It took a minute or so for Steve to lift Jake to his feet so he could test his leg.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Steve said.

  Jake could see Tomasz and Yunis behind Steve, looking worried. And behind them the rest of the under‐twelves’ squad.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Jake said. ‘I just slipped.’

  ‘The floor’s wet,’ Steve said. ‘Can you put some weight on your foot?’

  Jake trod carefully, gradually letting go of Steve.

  ‘I think so,’ Jake said. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Just let me get you to the benches,’ Steve said.

  He led Jake into the dressing rooms. Jake looked to see if Ryan was still there. But all he could see was steam from the shower. As Jake sat down, Ryan came out of the cubicle. His whole face red from the shower, covered in drops of water.

  ‘What’s up?’ Ryan said, looking at Jake with a blank fa
ce. ‘Someone hurt?’

  Ryan was the first to leave the dressing rooms. He’d not said a word to Jake. But he had looked at him. Not smiling. But not frowning either.

  Chi, Will and Yunis were talking about Ryan. They were the last to get changed.

  ‘You’ve got to feel sorry for him,’ Will said. ‘His mum’s a bit full on. I mean… I thought my dad was bad. But she’s nuts.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to take it out on us, though, does he?’ Chi said. ‘What do you think, Jake?’

  Jake shrugged.

  ‘It’s hard,’ Will said. ‘My dad gets so excited about it. I mean, you remember the trial, Jake? That was embarrassing – when he came into the dressing room and told me I’d got a place.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Jake said.

  ‘I’d be happy if my dad took that much interest,’ Yunis added.

  Jake put his head down. He felt glad his dad was just normal. He remembered how Dad had said nothing when they went to talk to Steve. His dad was supporting him: but left him to it.

  Jake pulled his shoes on and stood up.

  ‘Right. I’m off. I’ll see you at the City game.’

  City v United

  Match day. Five minutes before kick‐off. City versus United.

  Jake was talking to a boy he knew in the City team when Ryan came up behind him. Zack was one of City’s best players – tall, blond and a really good striker. Jake had played with him in teams before. Both City fans, they’d been brought up in the same village.

  Ryan put his arm round Jake. ‘Which top are you wearing today, City fan?’

  ‘Same as you, Ryan,’ Jake said.

  ‘I hope so,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Give me the ball and I’ll prove it,’ Jake offered.

  Jake noticed Zack looking confused, like he wanted to ask what was happening.

  ‘Have you got your City top with you?’ Ryan said.

  ‘Drop it, Ryan,’ Jake replied. ‘No, I haven’t got my City top with me. Yes, I am a United player. What else do you want me to tell you?’