Goal after goal rolled, blazed and bounced into the Harriers’ net. The keeper, Dyson, who wore leg braces, didn’t stand a chance at saving most of them. Partly because he was more often than not facing the wrong way, pulling faces at his baby sister.
I would have lost track of the final score, if it weren’t for Russell announcing every goal with a sour twist to his mouth. In the final seconds, Ibrahim hit a lucky shot from the half-way line and made it thirteen-one.
The boys exploded in delight, mobbing Ibrahim as if the scores had been reversed. Elliot was equally as euphoric, staging a pitch invasion the moment the final whistle blew, congratulating every player as they jumped and spun and punched the air with glee.
On the other hand, the official winners of the game strolled off with a few pats on the back and a couple of high-fives.
Elliot called the team over for a post-match analysis which consisted of him whooping for a good half a minute, the players all joining in. He then got serious.
‘Boys, we scored our first goal!’
Another round of whoops.
‘And our mighty goalkeeper saved three. Two more than last time! A 200 per cent improvement!’
More cheers, high-fives and general jostling.
‘Everyone else – could Ibrahim have scored without you?’
‘Yes,’ came a sarcastic retort from somewhere behind us.
‘No!’ shouted the boys, grinning at their own awesomeness.
‘I’m so proud of you!’ Elliot went on. ‘Your team work was the best yet. Your encouragement blew my mind. Your shooting, passing, dodging, sprinting was miles better than last time.’
Whew. I couldn’t imagine what last time must have been like.
‘Here’s what I loved the most.’
The boys quietened down and stopped shuffling about, waiting to hear.
‘Every one of you smiled the whole forty minutes. You all had a far better time than Ferrington. I couldn’t be prouder.’
‘What about player of the match?’ Wilf asked, waving his hand hopefully.
Elliot shook his head. ‘As difficult to decide as ever. How about we ask our new assistant manager what she thinks?’
I tried not to choke on my water. ‘What?’
‘Player of the match, Jessie?’
‘Um… I don’t think…’
Elliot twisted around so the boys couldn’t see his face and pulled a panicked face.
Ah. Okay. He couldn’t remember who was who.
‘I’m giving it to Olly,’ I said after a few seconds’ deliberation.
‘Well, look at that. One of you has some sense.’ Russell nodded.
‘The way he helped Jan, always checking to make sure he was in the right position, and knew what was going on, was inspirational. I’ve watched a lot of sport, and while I won’t promise to be a football expert quite yet, I can promise you this: the teams who win in the end are those who play together. And I’ve never seen a team play so unselfishly, so brilliantly united as you did today. I’m so excited to be part of the team. You guys are special.’
Thankfully, at that point I was surrounded by eleven cheering, bouncing, muddy boys, which prevented me from giving the person who’d just snorted a foul comment about ‘being special’ either a punch in the face or an uncensored piece of my mind. Either of which would have ended my assistant manager career the day it began.
19
Once the team had helped pack the equipment back in the clubhouse, they trooped to the pub garden down the road for the traditional home-game chip butties. Elliot mumbled an excuse about an appointment and left them to it. Sensing that he needed a friend, and thinking that against all odds that friend might be me, I joined him on the short walk back to Chimney Cottage.
