by Dan Freedman
PRAISE FOR THE JAMIE JOHNSON SERIES
“You’ll read this and want to get out there and play”
Steven Gerrard
“True to the game … Dan knows his football”
Owen Hargreaves
“An inspiring read for all football fans”
Gary Lineker
“If you like football, this book’s for you”
Frank Lampard
“Jamie could go all the way”
Jermain Defoe
“Pure class – brings the game to life”
Owen Coyle
“I love reading about football and it doesn’t get much better than this”
Joe Hart
“Pure joy”
The Times
“Inspiring”
Observer
“Gripping”
Sunday Express
“A resounding victory”
Telegraph
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dan Freedman grew up wanting to be a professional footballer. That didn’t happen. But he went on to become a top football journalist, personally interviewing the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, David Beckham and Sir Alex Ferguson. He uses his passion and knowledge of football to write the hugely popular series of Jamie Johnson football novels. When he is not writing, Dan delivers talks and workshops for schools. And he still plays football whenever he can.
www.danfreedman.co.uk
www.jamiejohnson.info
Follow Dan on Twitter @DanFreedman99
Acknowledgements
Thanks to:
My family – a great team to have behind me.
Joanne – for being such a beautiful muse.
Caspian Dennis, Ena McNamara, Lola Cashman and Sir Trevor Brooking – for your wise advice.
Martin Hitchcock – for telling me I could write.
Frank Lampard and Jermain Defoe – for your support.
Jason Cox – for your fantastic illustrations.
Major – you see things that I don’t.
Hazel Ruscoe – this story is inspired by the ideas we had together.
Jo Budd, Anne Romilly, Alex Stone, Ralph Newbrook, Jim Sells and Joe Lyons – for everything you have done to help Jamie Johnson on his way.
And to Sarah Stewart and all the other talented and hard-working people at Scholastic – you have made this all possible…
Contents
Cover
Praise for the Jamie Johnson Series
About the Author
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Play On
Part One
Chapter 1: Time to Shine
Chapter 2: Three Amigos
Chapter 3: Give it to Jamie
Chapter 4: Free-Kick Special
Chapter 5: Jamie’s Move
Chapter 6: A Striker’s Hunger
Chapter 7: Remember the Name
Chapter 8: "The Night is Young"
Chapter 9: Paper Talk
Chapter 10: Driving Ambition
Chapter 11: The Boss
Chapter 12: Behind the Dressing-Room Door
Chapter 13: Bunking Off
Chapter 14: Match Report
Chapter 15: Hanging Up
Chapter 16: Text Alert
Chapter 17: The Next Big Thing
Chapter 18: The Results
Part Two
Chapter 19: A Bad Dream
Chapter 20: Bolt From the Past
Chapter 21: Friday Night
Chapter 22: The Phone Call
Chapter 23: One New Message
Chapter 24: Back to Sunningdale
Chapter 25: Archie Fairclough
Chapter 26: Straight Talking
Chapter 27: Familiar Foe
Chapter 28: Moving the Goalposts
Chapter 29: The Playmaker
Chapter 30: Knocking on the Door
Chapter 31: Dillon’s Pants
Chapter 32: One Man Down
Chapter 33: Alive Again
Chapter 34: Jamie’s Choice
Chapter 35: No Regrets
Chapter 36: The Boy Can Play
Chapter 37: The Boot’s on the Other Foot
Chapter 38: Life Goes in Circles
Chapter 39: Chance to be a Hero
Chapter 40: Battle Begins
Chapter 41: One Way Out
Chapter 42: Nothing to Lose
Chapter 43: Moment of Truth
Chapter 44: The Test
Chapter 45: Slaying the Wolf
Chapter 46: Golden Goal
Extra-Time
Interview with Dan Freedman
Back Ads
Copyright
A young boy sits on his grandfather’s couch. He has grazes, cuts and wounds all over his legs from where the other boys have fouled him. It was the only way they had been able to stop him…
He squeezes his eyes tight shut as his grandfather puts plasters over his injuries. It hurts…
The grandfather scuffs up the boy’s hair with the palm of his hand and smiles…
“If they foul you, JJ, it means they’re scared of you. Just keep coming back for more…”
Jamie Johnson picked up his gleaming new football boot and kissed it for good luck. Then he slipped his left foot into it.
There were just ten minutes to go until the kick-off of the Youth Cup Final and Foxborough’s Academy Director, Steve Brooker, had his young team gathered around him in the dressing room.
“OK, lads, I’m going to keep this brief,” he said, looking each one of the players in the eye as he talked.
“You know why we’ve brought you to this club. We believe that you have something about you – as a footballer and a person – that marks you out as different … that marks you out as a Foxborough player.
“Now the question is: can you bring those attributes, that talent, to the table when it matters most? It’s all very well turning it on in training or beating a team in a friendly. But can you do it in a game like tonight – with a full stadium, live on TV, with a proper trophy at stake?
“The truth is that probably only one or two of you will make it into the Foxborough First Team. That’s just the way football is. But don’t forget, all the other clubs will be watching tonight. This is the biggest advertisement your talent will ever have…
“And I’m not going to lie to you either. We all know that Foxborough is a rich club. The manager can go out any time he wants and buy a fully-paid-up superstar. So why would he pick any of you to go into his first team?
“Why? I’ll tell you why: because you are all special footballers.”
Steve was pacing back and forth along the dressing-room floor in front of his players. Then he turned and stood perfectly still, his eyes shining with intent.
“There are three types of people in life,” he said. “There are those who, for whatever reason, do not or cannot recognize an opportunity when it arises. There are those who do recognize an opportunity but find themselves unable to take it. And then there are those who see the opportunity and seize it with both hands.
“Tonight, it’s time for you to go and show the world who you are and everything we have been working on… Now go and win that trophy!”
As the two teams walked out on to the pristine Foxborough pitch, the bright beam of the floodlights focused their glare on Jamie Johnson – at fifteen the youngest player on either side. He felt a sudden chill of fear shiver up his spine towards his skull.
; There were lots of good reasons for him to be nervous tonight. This was the first live TV match that he had ever played in. It was also the first game he had ever played at The Lair, Foxborough’s home ground, the biggest stadium in the country. And the referee had his whistle in his mouth and was about to get this crucial game under way any second now...
But the real reason Jamie’s body had become stiff with tension was that the big electronic screens inside the stadium had just shown that the entire Foxborough First Team squad, including their captain, Dave Lewington, were all in the ground tonight. They had received a huge cheer from the crowd when they had come up on the screen.
And, as if the players being there wasn’t enough, Brian Robertson, manager of Foxborough and one of the most successful managers in the history of football, was also in the crowd.
Tonight, he would be watching Jamie Johnson … and judging him.
Seeing Brian Robertson up in the stands had released a curse of nerves in Jamie’s body.
He held his hand out in front of him. It was quivering like a crossbar rocked by a thunderbolt of a shot.
He tried to calm himself down. It was still just a football match. All the same rules applied: eleven players against eleven players; whoever scored more goals would win the game. Simple. He just had to get the ball and do his stuff.
But it was no good. Deep down, his stomach had a direct line through his body to his brain and it was saying something else. This wasn’t just like any other game. It was the start of his Foxborough career. And he was being watched by Brian Robertson…
As the two teams lined up to shake each other’s hands, Jamie took his usual place in between his two room-mates. Xabi Negredo and Antony Asamoah were Jamie’s two best mates in the whole team and the three of them were the best players too.
Xabi was a young Spanish left back who tackled so hard they had given him the nickname “The Butcher”. Meanwhile, Antony Asamoah, the striker from Ghana, was as fast as lightning. So they called him Bolt.
Standing side by side with The Butcher and Bolt, Jamie could feel his heart start to rise with hope.
They were the Three Amigos. All completely different. All great mates. And all fantastic footballers. Between them, they had all the talent required to destroy any team.
Now they just had to go and prove it.
Almost immediately, Foxborough’s game plan evaporated in front of them. Steve Brooker had specifically ordered his team not to give away any set pieces in the first fifteen minutes. So Jamie couldn’t believe it when they conceded a corner with only three minutes on the clock.
Panic began to spread throughout the Foxborough defence; no one knew who to mark or who was supposed to attack the ball… Then, when the corner came in, Robbie Walters, the Foxborough centre back and captain, made such a wild slash at his attempted clearance that the ball ended up spinning off the outside of his boot and spiralling into the roof of his own net.
It was a horrific own goal. Foxborough were already a goal down.
The worst possible start for Jamie and his teammates.
Steve Brooker immediately came out from his dugout to the edge of the technical area to try and urge a response from his team but, for some reason, on this, their big night, they just couldn’t find their rhythm.
Yes, they had Bolt, who was six foot two and as fast as anything upfront. And yes, they had Jamie Johnson, the most skilful player on the pitch, out on the wing. But if Foxborough couldn’t get them the ball, what use were they?
Jamie only had one chance to go on a run during the whole of the first half. And he went around his marker so easily that he knew he could take him any time he wanted. But no one was passing him the ball to give him the opportunity to do it again.
It was only Robbie Walters – making amends for his earlier own goal with a looping header just before half-time – that had got Foxborough back on level terms. And they were lucky to be there.
As the Foxborough players trudged back to the dressing room, each one of them knew that they had let themselves down. And, if they didn’t, Steve Brooker was just about to remind them.
“What you lot need to do is forget about the TV cameras,” said an angry Steve Brooker, while his players sat looking at the floor.
“And Brian Robertson being here. All that stuff’s irrelevant. Remember what I always tell you: this is a simple game – get the ball, pass it to your mate and have a shot on goal… Boys, you have to trust yourselves to play.”
Steve’s eyes were ablaze with ambition; this was his big night as well as his players’.
“And Jamie,” he said, turning to face his left-winger. “Their full-back is scared of you. Petrified. You only have to wiggle your hips and he falls over. Trust me. He wants to go home and cuddle his mum! He’s had enough!”
The boys laughed but, as their chuckles subsided, Steve was still focusing his attention on Jamie.
“So when you’re one-on-one with him, take him on. Every time,” he said, pacing steadily towards Jamie. “Show him how good you are. Show everyone how good you are – including yourself.”
He put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder and gave the muscle above his collarbone a firm but friendly pinch.
“And why don’t you try the snake?”
The snake was the new skill that Jamie had been working on for the last few weeks in training.
It was a Brazilian skill in which the attacker flicked the ball outside and then inside of the defender in one rapid movement. If it was done properly, the defender stood no chance; his body and brain would be twisted in different directions before he eventually lost balance. The snake was the single most impossible skill to defend against.
And only Jamie Johnson had the skill, speed and confidence to pull it off.
“Just show it to him once… You’ll destroy him.” Steve Brooker smiled. “And lads – let me make this very simple for you: when we get the ball, we give it to Jamie.”
There were fifty-five minutes on the clock when Xabi Negredo curled the ball up the line to Jamie, who had it under control in an instant. This was what he’d been waiting for.
He immediately jinked towards the full-back. Then he shaped to cut inside. The defender lunged off in the direction that he thought Jamie was going, only to find that Jamie hadn’t moved at all.
Jamie was still standing in the same position, with his foot resting confidently, almost arrogantly, on top of the ball. Then he did the simplest trick in the football book: he just knocked the ball down the line and chased it.
Simple it may have been, but combined with Jamie’s pace, it was also hugely effective.
The two players raced after the ball in a one-on-one test of speed. The defender was giving his all to stay with Jamie but, like so many others, his best was not enough.
Jamie won the race and prodded the ball forward. However, the defender had already committed himself to the tackle, bringing Jamie down right on the very edge of the area. It was a clear free-kick.
Jamie hauled himself up and, while the Harrington goalkeeper frantically organized his wall, the Three Amigos clustered around the ball to discuss their options.
“I’ll smash one,” suggested Antony.
“I reckon I can bend one into the far corner,” said Jamie, eyeing a gap to the keeper’s left.
Then an ear-piercing whistle broke up the discussion.
It was Steve Brooker. He was holding up two fingers on one hand and, behind them, one finger from another.
The boys knew who he wanted to take it: Xabi. They were going to use a free-kick routine they had been working on in training. Jamie and Antony were to stand directly in front of the ball, with their backs to the Harrington wall. They were providing a protective screen so that neither the players in the wall nor the goalkeeper could see how the ball was going to be struck or, crucially, when. The element of surprise w
as the key.
Antony and Jamie took up their positions, puffing their chests out and standing as tall as they could to completely shield the ball from view. Then, a second before Xabi was about to strike the ball, they peeled away in opposite directions, to leave the route to the goal clear.
The Butcher’s strike was crisp, precise and brimming with power.
Jamie knew it was in as soon as Xabi hit it. He’d seen it enough times in training. Xabi was a free-kick specialist; he always found the target and when this boy hit a ball, it stayed hit.
The ball arced and swung over the wall. It homed in on its target with laser-like accuracy. It swerved, dipped and fizzed, all the while staying on course for the top left-hand corner of the goal. It seemed to be getting even faster as it whooshed into the net.
It was there! A Xabi Negredo special!
By the time his teammates looked around, Xabi was already on his knees, sliding across the turf towards the corner flag. That was something he’d practised in training too!
“Gol! Gol! Gol!” Xabi was shouting to himself, punching his fist against his chest. He was so happy he was almost crying. He crossed himself and kissed his fingers with a flourish. Then he looked to the sky with a dramatic expression on his face.
It was such a professional celebration that Jamie and Antony felt almost rude to interrupt it by piling on top of him. But they did anyway, kissing Xabi’s cheek for good measure!
Now Foxborough were beginning to motor. The millions of miles that their scouts had travelled in order to assemble this team of starlets was beginning to pay off.
Steve Brooker’s careful approach had brought them together as a powerful team. And now Jamie Johnson, the jewel in the crown, was ready to announce his talent to the watching public.
Sprinting back towards his own goal, Jamie quickly caught up with a Harrington midfielder, who was bringing the ball out of his own half. As the Harrington player searched for someone to pass to, he was becoming hesitant … vulnerable.
Jamie slid along the grass and hooked his foot cleanly around the ball. Then he sprang back up on to his feet, flicking the ball forward in the same movement.