Early Man

by Aardman Animation Ltd

  “Goal! Yum! Me score!” cried Grubup happily, booting the ball past the surprised Hugelgraber, into the back of the net.

  The referee blew for a goal. The Tribe went wild.

  Their cheering was the only sound in the arena. A stunned silence had fallen over the Bronze Age crowd.

  Queen Oofeefa was not amused. She glared at Lord Nooth.

  “Beginners’ luck, Your Majesty,” Nooth assured her nervously.

  The scoreboard official was struggling to get the seized-up visitors’ score number to move. By the time it had creaked to a 1, a scowling Jurgund was already striding back toward the center spot with the ball.

  “Bad move, caveman!” he growled menacingly at Dug as the teams took up their positions for the restart. “Now you’ve made us mad!”

  The whistle sounded.

  Jurgund received the ball and immediately took a mighty long-range shot. As the ball sailed toward the Tribe’s goal, Dug realized, to his horror, that there was no one there to stop it. With Bobnar out injured, the Tribe had no goalkeeper.

  The ball was dropping toward the open goal . . .

  . . . when a furry figure in full keeper’s uniform leaped from nowhere to make a stunning last-gasp save.

  “Hognob!” cried Dug, beaming. He rushed to embrace his four-legged pal. “Incredible save, my dear old hoggy friend! You’re in the team!”

  Dino hurriedly consulted his rulebook. Having satisfied himself that hogs were, in fact, allowed on the field, he waved to keep playing.

  Hognob cleared the ball with a stylish scorpion kick. Dug urged the others upfield, into attack.

  Goona smiled to herself as the Tribe pressed forward, dribbling and passing with confidence. This was more like it.

  “Remember the training!” she called.

  The nearest Real Bronzio player gave her a suspicious look. Goona had not thought to match her voice to her caveman disguise. She quickly tried again.

  “Remember the training!” she repeated, in her gruffest, manliest growl.

  And they did. Their Badlands sessions were really paying off. Eemak’s fast footwork, perfected by hours of boulder-dodging, caught up the Bronzio defenders trying to close him down. He fired in a shot . . .

  . . . and the ball rocketed past the diving Hugelgraber for a second time.

  As another shocked silence fell over the Bronze Age fans, Eemak sprinted across to his whooping teammates for his goalscoring reward.

  “Waiyaiyayupkissykissyhughug!”

  Up in Nooth’s box, Queen Oofeefa had a face like thunder. Scowling, she snapped her vuvuzela in half. Nooth swallowed nervously.

  The Tribe were in full flow now. As play continued, they showed increasing flair and spirit, and the mood in the stadium slowly began to change. The unique playing style of the Stone Age visitors made them enormous fun to watch.

  Magma took on the full back, scaring the life out of him. She chipped the ball into the box . . .

  . . . and a brilliant diving header from Gravelle brought the scoreline to 4 to 3. As Gravelle celebrated her goal with some tribal dance moves, there was applause, not silence, from the stands.

  The Tribe’s plucky fight back was winning over the commentary team, too.

  “Real Bronzio just don’t know what’s hit them, Brian!” declared Bryan-with-a-y. “The Stone Age team is really coming together!”

  “I’ll say, Bryan! It’s like early man, united!”

  Even Queen Oofeefa was impressed. “I have to admit,” she observed, leaning forward to see better, “the cavemen are rather entertaining!”

  It was Goona’s stunning equalizer, a few minutes later, that really brought the crowd to life.

  “Oh, look at this!” cried Brian-with-an-i, as Goona went on a weaving solo run toward the Bronzio goal. “The Stone Age striker beats one . . . nutmegs another . . . this player’s going all the way . . . GOALLLLLL!”

  The stadium erupted into cheers and applause.

  Down on the field, Goona was living out her dream.

  “Yup. This is just how I imagined it,” she told Dug as she beamed and waved at the clapping, whooping fans. “No. It’s better!”

  In her excitement, she tore off her caveman disguise.

  Watching from his box, Nooth had been getting more livid with every goal the Tribe scored. Now he gave a cry of outrage. “Wait a minute! She’s one of ours!” he shrieked. “And she shouldn’t even be on the field!”

  Queen Oofeefa, a champion of girl power, glared at him.

  “Why not, exactly?” she asked, icily.

  “Because she’s a . . . she’s a g . . .” Nooth faltered as he read the queen’s expression. “. . . G-g-reat player,” he finished feebly, forcing a smile. “Play on!”

  As the match resumed, the miserable Nooth reached a decision. With the scores now level, desperate measures were called for. He quietly slipped from his seat and slunk out of the box, hoping the queen was too distracted to notice.

  Queen Oofeefa did notice, however. Glancing around, she also noticed something else—a chest, partly hidden behind Nooth’s vacated seat.

  Down on the field, the two teams once again took up their positions for a restart after the goal. Dug glanced up to see how much sand was left in the top half of the match timer. Hardly any.

  Just one more goal, thought Dug. We can do this!

  Then his heart sank. A man in an ill-fitting referee uniform was hurrying across the field to oversee the restart, but it wasn’t Dino.

  It was Lord Nooth.

  “Dino is having a rest,” declared Nooth. “I’m the new ref.”

  He didn’t mention the reason Dino was having a “rest.” In order to take his place, Nooth had lured him into the tunnel moments earlier, and knocked him out with his own heavy rule book.

  “You can’t be ref!” protested Dug. “That’s not fair!”

  Nooth ignored him. He blew for Jurgund to take the kick-off.

  Now that their devious boss was refereeing, the Real Bronzio players knew they could get away with murder. As Jurgund dribbled upfield, his teammates carried out a series of shocking off-the-ball fouls to prevent any Stone Age player from challenging him.

  Nooth was deaf to the appeals of the outraged Tribe.

  “I didn’t see anything!” he said innocently. “Play on!”

  Jurgund ran on, into the Tribe’s penalty area, and, with no one near him, he immediately performed a dramatic dive, as though someone had tripped him. He writhed theatrically on the grass.

  “Oh, my leg! My leg!” he wailed. “I’m dying!”

  Goona scowled as Nooth blew for a foul. “We were nowhere near him!” she protested.

  Nooth smiled slyly. “Let’s check the replay . . .” he suggested.

  The Action Replayers hurried out onto the field. A look from Nooth told them what was expected. Their puppet “replay” bore no resemblance to the truth. Instead, it clearly showed that several cavemen had brought Jurgund down by beating him with sticks.

  “Oh! Terrible foul!” lied Nooth, shaking his head. “PENALTY!” he declared, pointing to the spot.

  Dug’s heart sank. With a single shameless piece of cheating, Nooth had turned the tide of the match.

  The Tribe were now one kick away from defeat. One kick away from losing their home and their freedom.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAMPIONS!

  Lord Nooth’s obvious cheating did not go down well with either the crowd or Queen Oofeefa. There were loud boos from the fans, and a scowl on the queen’s face. The Sacred Game was supposed to be played fairly.

  But by fair means or foul, Real Bronzio was on the brink of victory. Dug’s heart raced as Jurgund prepared to take the penalty. In the goalmouth, Hognob bravely did his best to distract the striker.

  Jurgund took his run up and . . . Thwack! Hit a superb shot, low and hard. It rocketed toward the corner of the goal . . .

  . . . only to be blocked by an outstretched trotter as the diving Hognob made a hero
ic save.

  The deflected ball flew high into the air. As Dug’s eyes followed it, he heard the voice of Bobnar echo in his mind. “Dug! Dug! Never stop believing!” it urged him.

  Dug suddenly realized that the words weren’t just in his mind. He glanced to the touchline from where Bobnar, much recovered, was yelling at him.

  “WE’RE A MAMMOTH-HUNTING TRIBE, DUG!”

  Dug looked back to the ball. It was beginning to drop. He knew what he had to do.

  Just as in his first match in the Bronze stadium, time seemed suddenly to slow. Dug battled against Bronzio players to get to the falling ball first. He leaped high. Twisting his body in mid-air, he performed a dramatic, acrobatic overhead kick.

  This time, his technique was perfect.

  The ball rocketed off Dug’s cleat, away from the Tribe’s goal. Following a long, high arc, it flew the full length of the field . . .

  . . . over the head of the dismayed Hugelgraber . . .

  . . . and into the back of the Real Bronzio net!

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd erupted. Queen Oofeefa leaped to her feet with the rest, applauding wildly.

  “Amazing goal!” screamed Brian-with-an-i.

  Down on the field, Dug was being mobbed by his overjoyed teammates. The giant duck, who had taken on the role of team mascot, waddled over to join the Tribe’s celebration.

  “The giant duck’s on the field!” cried Bryan-with-a-y. “He thinks it’s all over!”

  “It is now!” declared Brian-with-an-i, as the final whistle sounded. Dino, coming to, had staggered onto the field in his undies and blown the whistle signaling the game was over.

  The shattered Real Bronzio players collapsed on the grass, as dejected as the Tribe were triumphant. Dug saw Jurgund lying miserably nearby. He broke free from the huddle of his whooping friends and went over to the Bronzio captain. He held out his hand.

  “Good game,” said Dug, smiling.

  Jurgund looked surprised. After a moment’s hesitation, he took Dug’s hand. Dug helped him up.

  “Ya,” said Jurgund. “Well played.”

  Asbo followed Dug’s example. “Great game! Champion!” he beamed, hugging the surprised Lightning Hammer.

  Thongo was swapping an overpoweringly smelly shirt with Gonad, when an angry cry made them all turn.

  “Cheater!” yelled Dino, red-faced with outrage, as he ripped his referee’s uniform from Lord Nooth’s body.

  Nooth, now in just his underwear, scowled back.

  “Baldie!” he screamed at Dino.

  Their squabbling was silenced by the arrival on the field of Queen Oofeefa herself. Her royal attendants were carrying Nooth’s brimming coin-chest. They set it down on the grass in front of him.

  “Nooth!” demanded the queen, fixing him with an icy stare. “Have you been using the Sacred Game to line your own pockets?”

  Nooth, growing pale, had no answer.

  “Yes, Your Majesty!” said Goona, stepping up. “These cavemen have shown us what soccer should be about.” She glared fiercely at Nooth. “But all he cares about is bronze!”

  There were cheers and murmurs of agreement from the listening crowd. Queen Oofeefa had a decisive look.

  “Lord Nooth,” she declared grandly, “you are hereby relieved of your command!” With a flourish, she produced a red card and held it high, glowering at Nooth. Then she turned her back on him in regal contempt.

  “Oh! It’s the red card for the Real Bronzio manager!” announced Brian-with-an-i.

  “And he’s off to the mines, Brian . . . no question!” confirmed his co-commentator.

  Lord Nooth did not accept his dismissal honorably. Even as the commentators proclaimed his fate, he was slyly attempting to grab his precious schnookels and sneak away before anyone realized.

  His escape came to a swift and undignified end. The giant duck, at Bobnar’s bidding, went after him. It snatched Nooth up in its mighty beak and shook him so hard that his ill-gotten schnookels were scattered far and wide, showering the cheering crowd.

  With Nooth dealt with, Queen Oofeefa turned her royal attention to Dug.

  “Well,” she said, in a friendlier tone. “It seems you cavemen aren’t so primitive after all.”

  Dug grinned. “We’ve got more in common than you’d think,” he replied politely.

  “Like a love for the Beautiful Game!” agreed the queen. “Speaking of which, I believe this is yours.”

  With a smile, she presented Dug with a magnificent trophy. It was made from an ancient, soccer ball-shaped rock. As Dug gazed at it in wonder, Goona, Hognob, Bobnar, and the rest of the Tribe crowded around to marvel at it.

  Beaming, Dug raised the trophy high over his head. A deafening roar filled the Bronze City stadium. It was the sort of noise that soccer fans make for only one kind of team . . .

  . . . CHAMPIONS!

  EPILOGUE

  OVERTIME

  The sun shines brightly on a beautiful forested valley. In a clearing in the trees stands a smart, newly built clubhouse, beside a freshly painted soccer field.

  Standing stones are dotted around the clearing. Some are covered with ancient, faded paintings. One has been painted recently. It shows a happy, celebrating group, lifting a trophy above their heads.

  Several fur-clad figures are relaxing in the morning sunshine. Their smiling faces look very much like those of the figures in the rock painting. They are watching a puppet show acted out on a miniature soccer field.

  “A historic day, Brian,” one of the troupe of puppeteers has his puppet say, as another makes his blonde-haired player puppet run jerkily out onto the field. “The first time a girl has played for Real Bronzio!”

  “And what a bright future she has, Bryan!” adds a second puppet commentator.

  There is a cave entrance at one side of the clearing. An elderly, white-haired man steps out from the cave, into the sunlight. He calls to the others to gather around. A little reluctantly, they agree to watch the rest of the replay of their friend’s historic debut later, when she can enjoy it with them.

  They gather in a circle.

  As the group bow their heads, their chief leads them in their daily blessing. They give thanks for their precious home, so nearly lost. They vow to learn from past mistakes; to grow as a tribe; to look outwards, not inwards; and to be happy to share their bountiful home with others.

  And then, together, they set out on a hunt . . . A mammoth hunt.

  . . . AND THE REST IS HISTORY.