Later on, when the St Mary’s squad had settled down as well as they could in their broken-down beds, Noah sensed the mood had changed in the camp. Seeing those street footballers play their intricate, high-speed game had made the team nervous, as if they were realizing what they were up against for the first time. It was one thing playing practice matches against local teams that weren’t very skilful or organized, but tomorrow was going to be different. Very different.
It was eleven o’clock when the lights in the dorm were switched off, but half an hour later every single player was still awake, lying in silence in the darkness. Noah knew they weren’t asleep. He sensed it. Finally, Limbsy broke the silence.
‘They were good, weren’t they, those lads on the green?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ a couple of voices agreed.
‘Lollipop was brilliant,’ Adam O’Brien said.
‘Lollipop?’
‘The guy with the large head and skinny body. It made him look like a lollipop.’
‘Oh yeah, he was fantastic. His head was huge all right, as big as one of those statues, you know the ones . . .’ Cormac McHugh began.
‘Easter Island,’ Stevie said.
‘Yeah, Easter Island.’
‘And what about the blond guy? He was outstanding.’ Darren said. ‘The only difference between him and Zinedine Zidane was about three stone and a French accent.’
‘Who’s Zinedine Zidane? Does he play for Paris Saint-Germain?’ Hawk Willis asked.
Frank was astonished. ‘You’ve never heard of Zidane? He was one of the greatest players of all time. Don’t you know anything about the history of football?’
‘History is about stuff that happened. It’s over. What’s the point of the past? I don’t think about the burger I had yesterday, man. I look forward to the burger I’m going to eat tomorrow.’
‘Hawk, do you know how I know you’re an idiot?’
‘How?’
‘You look like one.’
Hawk Willis chuckled good-naturedly.
‘They were decent enough players, but that was street football. We’re playing a different game and we’re just as good as them,’ Noah said.
Nobody backed him up, not even Stevie.
‘I do not know,’ Piotr said. ‘They were very, very good.’
It was the first time Noah had heard Piotr sound doubtful about things. He didn’t like it. Piotr was one of their most confident players and he needed him to keep that enthusiasm.
‘Listen, Piotr,’ Noah began, but Frank interrupted him.
‘And they’re not even playing in the tournament. If they’re not playing, then you can only imagine the quality of the ones we’ll be up against,’ he said.
‘I never thought of it like that,’ Hawk Willis said. He belched. ‘My burps taste weird. Like a bad curry. That can’t be a good sign.’
‘That’s just nerves. It’s normal to have some pre-match nerves. I hope you’ve all read the document I gave you on relaxation tech—’ Stevie began.
‘If you lot don’t stop yer yammerin’ and let me get some sleep, I’m going to personally shut every single one of your mouths. The next person who speaks is dead, right?’ McCooley said out of the darkness.
There was immediate silence. A tense silence, but silence nonetheless.
‘No more talking, then. Goodnight, Mr McCooley,’ Adam O’Brien said. ‘Goodnight, everyone.’
Noah heard bare feet slapping against the cool of the lino as Kevin McCooley slipped out of his bed. It was followed by a sudden thump.
‘Yow,’ Adam yelped.
‘That’s yer final warnin’, Tattoo Boy,’ McCooley said. ‘Anyone else got somethin’ to say?’
It turned out that nobody had. Everyone stayed silent, just lying there letting their nerves about tomorrow’s tournament build in their minds until the thoughts of playing were almost overwhelming.
Everyone except Noah. He was visualizing playing in the opening match. At first he spent time thinking about how the grass would smell, the feeling of a breeze on his face, the buzz of the crowd as they gathered on the sidelines. Then he was imagining the ball being passed to him and how he might react in the different situations in which he’d find himself. He visualized himself jinking past opponents, playing the perfect through ball, executing a Cruyff turn. He went through every scenario until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
In the girls’ room Barbara was wide awake. She couldn’t switch off and relax no matter how many sheep she counted or how many breathing exercises she tried. She was overcome with nerves. Even if she had been calm enough to nod off she’d have found sleep difficult to come by as Maggie’s snores rumbled throughout the dorm room.
Name: Adam O’Brien
Nickname: Eve of Destruction
Age: 13
Position: Central midfielder, but I’d prefer to be a forward. Who doesn’t want to score loads of goals?
Likes: PlayStation and Xbox action games. I can get to the end of nearly any game out there. Mad into heavy-metal bands too. The louder the better. And I love eating jelly snakes, wine gums, anything like that. I eat them until I feel sick, which I know is kind of stupid, but I just can’t stop myself.
Dislikes: Cheese and people who don’t like gaming. Gaming improves your hand-eye coordination and reflexes, and gets your brain processing stuff really quickly – try explaining that to my mother. My dad doesn’t help – he’s always pressing the wrong button. Once, in Tiger Ranger, he got himself killed in training mode. That’s supposed to be impossible! I know he’s nearly forty-two, but come on, Dad.
Player you’re most like: Sergio Ramos. I’m not as good a player, but we’ve both got lots of tattoos. (OK, mine aren’t real, but that’ll change when I’m older.)
Favourite player: Arturo Vidal, the coolest man in the world.
Favourite goal: Papiss Cissé got one for Newcastle United against Chelsea once, a volley from a mad angle with the outside of his boot. I keep trying to score one like that, but I haven’t managed it yet.
Messi or Ronaldo: Messi is by far the best. He’s in another universe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘When you are 4–0 up, you should never lose 7–1’
Lawrie McMenemy
After breakfast the next morning, it was a subdued and somewhat grumpy St Mary’s that prepared to set off for the tournament’s sports fields. There was no sign of any World Cup excitement. Stevie checked that everyone had their jerseys and boots and then continued checking every five minutes until he was on the receiving end of some rude words from Maggie who was finding his obsessive behaviour unbelievably annoying.
‘Sleep all right?’ Noah asked as the team began to climb aboard the minibus in dribs and drabs.
Nobody answered. Everyone was too tense.
Hawk was at the back of the line.
‘There are going to be lots of people watching us, aren’t there?’ he asked.
‘Plenty of them. We’ll get a great crowd,’ Noah said with a grin.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Hawk said, rushing back to the hostel to use the bathroom.
‘Nice one,’ Maggie said.
‘What did I say? Hawk loves showing off in front of people. He wants them to think he’s the fastest thing on two legs. I thought that would encourage him.’
‘You thought wrong. That’s why Stevie’s the manager, not you. He wouldn’t have made a mistake like that. He always says the right thing,’ Maggie said, even though she’d been complaining about Stevie herself only moments earlier.
‘Why are you so crabby?’ said Noah. ‘I didn’t think you’d be worried about playing in front of loads of people.’
‘I’m not crabby,’ Maggie said crabbily.
‘Loads? Did you say loads? How many is loads of people?’ Piotr asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Noah admitted.
Piotr grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, his goalkeeper’s gloves tickling Noah’s nose, and lifted him in
to the air. He was much stronger than Noah would have guessed.
‘I asked you how many? Ten? A hundred? I’ve never played in front of a crowd before. What if I make a mistake? What if I drop the ball into my own net? What if everyone laughs at me?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Noah said.
‘That is it? You’ll be fine. They are your words of wisdom? You are a fool, Noah Murphy.’
‘Calm down, Piotr. Let me hear some of that Zajac enthusiasm we all know and love.’
‘World Cup,’ Piotr whimpered, as he gently lowered Noah to the ground.
‘People are just a bit rattled. Playing at home is one thing, playing in a tournament is something else,’ Stevie said to Noah quietly. ‘Most of them have never played on a real team before and seeing how good those guys on the green were last night really brought it home to them.’
‘I know, Stevie, but we really don’t have time for this,’ Noah said.
Barbara, not very confident in her own abilities at the best of times, rushed past, moving quicker than she ever had on the football pitch, her hand clamped over her mouth. In the end it became like a relay race – as soon as one emerged from the hostel’s bathroom another would take their place.
Kevin McCooley didn’t look nervous, but he did look exhausted, as if he hadn’t had a wink of sleep. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had a hollow-cheeked look about him. When Frank sat beside him on the bus, Kevin’s eye twitched and he growled.
‘Think I’ll stand for a while,’ Frank said.
It had been Kevin’s first growl for quite some time and Frank wasn’t about to take any chances.
The bus finally got going at 9.53 a.m. and there was never a more silent bunch of passengers on any form of transport. The morning was bright and sunny, but the mood on the bus was as dark as an Arctic winter.
‘What do you think?’ Stevie whispered to Noah as the bus rattled its way to the sports field.
‘They’ll be fine. Any time I get nervous I forget about it the moment I start playing.’
‘Won’t they be weak and dehydrated from all their, erm, bathroom visits?’
‘No, everything will be all right,’ Noah said, not quite sure if he was saying it to convince Stevie or himself.
Luckily, traffic was light and they made good time. By 10.36, they were driving through the large stone gates that led to the sports fields. Those who had been nervous before found a reason to be even more nervous now. The event was enormous. Far larger than they’d imagined. This wasn’t a kickabout at The Hatch. This was the big time.
Men in yellow fluorescent jackets directed buses and cars to three different temporary car parks set up especially for the tournament. There were marquees for refreshments and popup shops all in a row. Some of the shops had replica jerseys from all around the world on display, club jerseys of teams even Noah hadn’t heard of before. Others sold the latest football boots and sports gear of all kinds. There were programme sellers and buskers. Multicoloured flags fluttered in the breeze.
And, of course, there were people who had come to watch the matches. Lots and lots of people. Children, parents and grandparents headed for the sidelines to catch the games. It made Noah miss his dad even more, seeing them all cheering their teams on and celebrating or commiserating with them afterwards. Simone had promised to come when she could get off work, so that was something, but it was still hard not having someone here rooting for him.
The officials and scouts made their last-minute preparations as the first of the matches kicked off. Players yet to play wandered around in matching tracksuits, some warming up, some taking in the sights. Unlike the other teams, St Mary’s tracksuits weren’t exactly coordinated. They consisted of whatever each player had in his or her wardrobe at home, which in Noah’s case meant a patched-up sweatshirt and some bottoms that didn’t quite reach his ankles.
‘I think I’m going to be sick again,’ Barbara said.
‘Noah, man, you never told us it was going to be this big,’ Hawk Willis said as he surveyed the madness, his eyes opening wide.
‘I told you it was a qualifying tournament for the Schools’ World Cup,’ Noah said.
‘I know, but how big could a World Cup be?’
Maggie was looking out of the window at the crowds as well. Her attitude was different to that of the others.
‘I was born to do this,’ she said to herself.
Piotr’s father parked up and they disembarked, spilling into the swollen crowds. They had to push their way through the throngs of people. It was exciting and frightening all at once. Noah had never felt more alive. After all the time he’d spent practising and kicking the ball against the wall in the back garden, after all the early starts and late nights, he was here. This was the chance he’d been waiting for. If he played to the best of his ability, the scouts would recognize his talent and life would finally be better.
‘Over here, boys and girls. Don’t wander off and get lost.’
Michael Griffin’s father was waving his hands frantically. When he’d got their attention, he pointed to a yellow information kiosk manned by a bored, gum-chewing teenage girl.
‘Now, I know you’re all practically grown up, but there is a very large crowd here today, so we don’t want anyone getting lost now, do we?’
‘I wish you’d get lost,’ Noah overheard Mrs Griffin say.
‘If anyone gets split up from their little friends, and they can’t find them after ten minutes of looking, then we meet here at this information thingy,’ he said.
‘All they have to do is look for my giant head. I tower over everyone in this place,’ Limbsy said.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Cormac said. ‘Anyone gets lost, then keep an eye out for Limbsy.’
‘Yellow kiosk, not Limbsy,’ Mr Griffin screeched, but no one was paying attention any longer.
Noah checked his watch. Only thirty-five minutes to kick-off. They were running a bit behind Stevie’s schedule, but they should be OK. Piotr’s parents went to the organizers’ tent and signed the team in as Noah led the players through a stretching routine.
‘Hey, Noah, can we have a couple of minutes to ourselves? You know, just to get into the right frame of mind,’ Frank said when they finished up.
‘Yeah, I need to go to the bog,’ Hawk Willis said.
‘Again? What’s wrong with you, Willis?’ Sunday asked.
‘I need to grab some water,’ Darren Nolan said.
‘All right, but don’t go far. We miss the kick-off and we forfeit the match. Ten minutes, then we all meet up back here,’ Noah said.
He didn’t like them splitting up, but he knew that Frank was doing it for Barbara’s sake. He wanted to take his sister aside and have a quiet word. He hoped the others would shake themselves out of their funk too.
He took a stroll himself, soaking up the atmosphere. He heard cheers as a goal was scored in one of the first matches of the day. Normally, he’d have wandered over to have a look, but he wanted to stay focused on his own game now. He took a quick look around the crowds on the edges of the pitches. Plenty of mums and dads, but no one who stood out as being a football scout. He supposed that made sense. They weren’t going to advertise it by wearing a jacket with the letters SCOUT stencilled on the back.
He retied his laces, then popped his small shin pads into his socks. He taped the socks just above the ankle to stop the pads slipping down, then glanced around. Nobody was paying any attention to him. He unzipped the pocket on his tracksuit legs and took out a piece of paper wrapped in a small plastic zip-lock bag. It was a page torn from his mother’s notebook, the little sketch with the words ‘My Mighty Dynamo’ written on it. He folded it in half and slid it down the inside of his left sock, far enough down so there was no chance of it falling out, before finally tying the socks just below the knee with a strip of bandage Simone had given him.
He breathed in the smell of freshly cut grass. He reached down and let his fingers run over it. It was soft and slightly damp. It had ei
ther rained overnight or they’d watered the surface.
Two guys stopped in front of him. They were dressed in matching tracksuits and smelled of washing powder. They were big. Uruk-hai big. One of them was reading from a bunch of A4 sheets, a printout of the day’s group matches.
‘This must be a misprint,’ the more handsome of the two said. He looked like a movie star or a minor god. Noah felt small and weedy and very, very pale next to him.
‘It says here that our group are playing a team called St Mary of the Immaculate Conception School for Girls.’
‘May I have a look, please?’
May I have a look, please? These guys sure are polite, Noah thought. Our team would just have grabbed it, probably tearing it in half as they did so.
‘Hey, doofus.’
It was Maggie. Her voice was like a foghorn. The tracksuited teenagers looked up when they heard her.
‘What are you two looking at?’ she asked.
‘Save it for the match, Maggie,’ Noah said.
‘You’re playing?’ the movie star said.
‘Yeah, what’s it to you?’
‘Nothing, but the girls’ tournament doesn’t start until tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t turn up until then,’ Maggie replied.
‘You’re calling me a girl? Wow. That’s not very feminist, is it, using “girl” as an insult?’
Maggie’s brow furrowed. He had a point. She didn’t like that.
‘Wait, you’re St Mary’s?’ he said.
‘Yeah, that’s us,’ Noah replied.
‘I won’t even ask what you’re up to, but you’re playing us in a few minutes. We’re Drumlock Grammar. Here’s hoping it’s a good game.’
He shook hands with Noah, smiled and waved goodbye.
‘I hope we slaughter them,’ Maggie said.
There were at least one hundred people on the side of the pitch a couple of minutes before the St Mary’s–Drumlock kick-off. It was the biggest crowd Noah had ever played in front of and for the first time in years he felt nervous before a match. He knew he could handle it. A few nerves weren’t a bad thing as long as you didn’t let them take over. He just hoped his teammates would be able to handle theirs when it came to the crunch.
The Mighty Dynamo Page 20