From kick-off, Deansview Juniors passed the ball all the way
back to their goalkeeper. To Leo’s surprise the goalkeeper had picked it up.
“Backpass, ref,” he had yelled excitedly, realising his team
were about to be awarded an in-direct free-kick just yards from the goal.
Except they weren’t.
Unbeknown to Leo, the back-pass law didn’t exist yet.
Rather than blowing his whistle to give a free-kick, the ref
simply stared at Leo. Utterly baffled. As did all the Deansview players. And
the Portland City ones. Along with all the people watching the game. A bemused
Bernie scratched idly at his beard.
Not for the first time that morning, Leo felt like he was in a dream. A nightmare this time. One of those when you’re standing in front of a big crowd completely naked.
He could feel his cheeks burning. Knew that his
pale skin would have turned a fiery read, illuminating the hundreds of freckles plastered
across his face.
He wasn’t really sure what he’d done wrong. Just that he had
somehow definitely made a mistake.
“That boy’s really strange,” he heard more than one voice whisper.
After what seemed to Leo like an eternity, but was in
reality only a few seconds, the perplexed glares abated. The game resumed. Leo
silently pledged not to appeal for anything else for the rest of the match. It
was safer that way.
From his hands, the Deansview goalkeeper launched the ball
forward. It was a powerful kick. The ball flew high in the air.
Fleetingly, Leo worried that it was going to loop down towards him. Or, to be more precise, towards his head. Heading wasn’t exactly his strong point!
Fortunately, the ball seemed to hang in the air. It quickly
became clear it wasn’t going to travel as far as Leo. Instead, it was heading
towards Pete.
What happened next came as a complete shock to Leo. He
simply couldn’t believe his eyes.
It wasn’t so much the fact that Pete failed to head the ball
that surprised him. It was that his Dad didn’t even try to! He simply turned
his body completely away from it, raising both his arms over his head in a bid
to protect himself. He had hunkered away from the ball as if it were a falling
missile.
From the sideline, Leo heard Bernie explode with rage. “For
goodness sake, Pete. What is wrong with you?” he bellowed. “It’s a football.
Not a bomb. Get your head on it. You’re 11 years old, son. Not a baby!”
Peeking over at his Grandad, Leo instantly recognised the expression on the man’s face. It was the exact same look of disappointment mixed with disgust that he’d seen so often on the face of the grown-up Pete McCarthy. Especially on Sunday mornings.
Finally, Leo saw a clear similarity
between his father and grandfather. The likeness in that particular expression
was uncanny.
“Don’t think your coach is very happy with your brother,”
said one of the Deansview players, as he brushed past Leo. “Reckon he’s going
to cry in a minute. Nice boots by the way.”
For a moment, Leo failed to understand what his opponent was
talking about. He didn’t have a brother. Then he realised. He meant Pete. The
other boy had already moved out of earshot before Leo had a chance to correct
him.
Glancing at his future father, Leo saw that the other boy had a
point. Pete did appear to be on the verge of tears.
But it wasn’t just sadness that was etched on his face.
There was something else there too. Shame. Pete felt like he was letting his
Dad down.
Again, Leo could totally relate. He often felt the same.
Bernie’s criticism of Pete was a reoccurring theme
throughout the first half. Every time Pete made a mistake, his Dad was
immediately on his back. A stray pass became ‘the worst I’ve ever seen.’ A
missed shot at goal would be something his ‘dead Nan could have scored.’
Sure, Bernie would sometimes chide the other boys when they
made mistakes. But nothing like the way he layed into his own son whenever he faltered.
And sometimes even when he didn’t.
Bernie seemed to have an unlimited supply of negative
comments at his disposal. Most of which were reserved solely for Pete.
With half-time approaching, the score was still 0-0. Leo
hadn’t done too much wrong. Not that he’d done a lot right, either. He wasn’t exactly
finding the game particularly challenging. In fact, he was quite bored. He
couldn’t remember having ever before felt bored whilst playing football.
Whenever he received the ball, all he was expected to do was
lump it up the wing to Pete. Anyone could do that. Providing they could kick a
ball straight. Or at least straight-ish.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t found the game to be as rough as
he’d feared it would be. In fact, it didn’t seem any more physical than the games he usually played in.
Sure, there had been a couple of bad tackles. A few nasty
fouls. But that was normal. There were a few teams he’d played against who were
nastier than this Deansview team.
The adult Pete’s descriptions of football from when he was a lad had made it sound like games used to take place in a war zone rather than on a football pitch. But Leo hadn’t found it to be like that at all. At least not yet.
Then again, Leo was quickly discovering that quite a lot of Pete’s memories didn’t
seem to match up to reality.
The main difference was the amount of time the ball spent in
the air. It rarely ever seemed to be on the grass. Time and time again, both
teams would simply punt balls forward for their fast attacking players to
chase. There was little passing on show. Hardly any dribbling.
The emphasis was very much placed on speed and power.
Technique and skill were the exceptions rather than the norm.
They may as well have layed a pitch on the clouds, Leo
thought to himself, as he watched yet another ball bypass the midfield.
Fortunately for the header-shy Leo, Deansview tended to launch most of their high balls towards the centre of the Portland defence, rather than down the flanks. It was a strange tactic. The tall Jamie was simply brilliant in the air. Leo had never seen a child who was as good at heading a ball as Jamie was. Or as willing.
Time and again, Jamie rose like a salmon to
powerfully head a punted ball clear of danger. He seemed to relish it.
Leo had never practiced heading. His coach had told him they
weren’t allowed to any more. That it was considered too dangerous. This was
probably one of the reasons he was so rubbish at heading a football. And scared
of doing so.
It clearly didn’t concern Jamie. His sole purpose on the
football pitch seemed to be to head the ball.
Leo watched admiringly as Jamie rose above two Deansview
players to bravely head yet another ball upfield.
Surely it must nearly be half-time, the boy thought to himself as the ball bounced harmlessly towards the halfway line.
Despite the
fact he hadn’t had much to do, Leo was shattered. The pitch was far bigger than
he was used to. Even though he wasn’t allowed to cross the halfway line, just shuttling
up and down half of the pitch was tiring enough.
“Chase it, Pete. You can reach that,” Bernie called from the
touchline. It was a seemingly ludicrous demand. Not only was the ball rolling
straight to the feet of a Deansview defender, but there were at least two
Portland City players closer to it than Pete. Possibly even three. But that
didn’t seem to matter to the coach. It was his son who he expected to chase
after it.
On his Dad’s command, Pete instantly sprinted towards the
ball. Seemingly determined to impress his father. Such was Pete’s blistering
pace that he quickly raced past his nearer teammates.
Against all odds, it appeared that he might even reach the
ball before the dawdling Deansview defender, who looked like he too was waiting
for the half-time whistle to sound.
Suddenly realising that his opponent was now favourite to
reach the ball first, the defender launched himself at it. It was a truly wild
challenge. Completely out of control. Both his feet were off the floor. Studs
showing. Pete took the only sensible course of action. He hurdled over the tackle.
Anyone would have done the same. They would have had to. Unless they wanted to
end up with a broken leg.
Fortunately, Pete jumped high enough to completely evade the
challenge. Somehow the defender made contact only with the ball. Miraculously,
Pete had escaped serious injury.
Not that Bernie seemed overly concerned by the alarming
nature of the tackle.
“Hoof it up the line,” Leo heard his Grandad’s booming voice
yell. For a moment, the young boy didn’t know who the coach was shouting at. Or
even why he was shouting. Surely the ref was just about to blow for a
free-kick. Or half-time.
But no whistle came.
It was only when Bernie repeated the command, this time
adding “green boots” to the instruction, that Leo became aware the ball was
actually at his feet.
Before he had time to react, the Deansview left-winger had
nipped the ball off his toes and was sprinting unimpeded towards the penalty
area.
Belatedly, Leo turned to chase him. But it was already too
late. The Deansview number 11 was away and clear. From out of nowhere, Jamie
slid along the wet grass, desperately attempting to block the shot. Or at least
put the attacker off. But he was just too slow.
The Deansview player picked his spot and fired the ball past
the unmoving Wayne.
“Nah, can’t reach that,” said Wayne, defeatedly waving an
arm at it.
Portland were 1-0 down.
And it was all Leo’s fault.
Text and image copyright © David Fuller
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