T.J. and the Winning Goal (5 page)

‘Maybe Deng could move to our school,’ Rob said.

Deng grinned at Rob. The two midfield magicians had become good friends off the pitch. ‘No way!’ said Krissy, looking alarmed.

‘Don’t worry,’ Deng said. ‘I like it at Hillside. But I don’t know why they haven’t asked you to come to the PDC, Rob,’ he went on. ‘You should talk to your friend Marshall.’

Marshall Jones was a star at nearby Premier League side Wanderers. He was an old friend of Mr Wood’s and he had given the Parkview team a lot of help.

‘I don’t think Marshall has much to do with the PDC,’ TJ said. ‘But I bet if Rob keeps playing that way then a scout will see him. I bet they’ll ask him one day soon.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Rob.

‘If I was as good as he is I’d make sure everyone knew it,’ laughed Krissy, as Rob walked away.

‘I don’t think he actually knows just how good he is,’ replied TJ.

Even though they’d won the match, TJ knew that it hadn’t been a convincing victory. ‘Those runs you made in the first
half
were amazing,’ he said to Tulsi, as they waited for her mum when school was over. ‘You should have kept doing them.’

‘You’re not the coach, are you?’ snapped Tulsi. ‘Just leave me alone, TJ.’

TJ opened his mouth to say something else, but Rob tugged at his arm. ‘Not now,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll just make it worse.’

‘You were right,’ TJ said to Rob a little later, as they walked home. ‘It wasn’t a good time to talk to Tulsi, but look – there’s Danny. Let’s have a word with him. I want to find out why he isn’t coming to training.’

‘You go if you like,’ Rob said.

TJ glanced at him, then he remembered. When he’d first arrived at Parkview Danny and Rob had been enemies. ‘He’s a good tackler,’ TJ said.

‘I know,’ replied Rob. ‘But I don’t have to like him, do I?’

C
HAPTER
8

‘HEY, DANNY,’ CALLED
TJ. ‘Wait for me.’

Danny ignored him and kept on walking. TJ ran to catch him up. ‘You haven’t been to training,’ he said.

‘So?’

‘We could have really used you today. You could have marked Deng.’

‘You don’t need me. You won anyway.’

‘Only just. And we didn’t deserve to, not really.’

‘Look, I can’t come, OK.’

‘But why not?’

‘Leave me alone, TJ. I’ve got things to do.’

Danny turned down the next street and walked off without looking back. Rob came up behind TJ. ‘What did he say?’

‘He wouldn’t listen. I don’t like it, Rob. Tulsi’s in a terrible mood and if she doesn’t watch out Mr Wood is going to drop her. Danny won’t even try to get in the team. We started off so well today and then it all went wrong. What if that happens in the tournament?’

‘Well,’ said Rob seriously. ‘All teams experience a dip in form at some point in the season. It’s a well-known fact.’

TJ burst out laughing. ‘Did you hear that on some TV programme?’ he said.

Rob grinned. ‘
Match of the Day
,’ he said. ‘But it’s true. And you just have to get on with it. All the best teams manage to win even when they’re playing badly. It’s what makes them great. And I’ve got a plan for Tulsi too.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘When we go to see Wanderers next week I’m going to get her to watch their centre forward, Dwight Fanshawe, all the time. Then she’ll see how much work he gets through when he hasn’t got the ball.’

‘I don’t think anyone is going to tell Tulsi what to do,’ said TJ. ‘But I’m looking forward to the match. If they get to the
Champions
League final, will they give you tickets for that too?’

‘That’s what they told me,’ Rob said.

As a birthday treat Jamie’s dad had taken them to watch Wanderers play Milan in the Champions League. Rob had made a brilliant tactical suggestion and by an amazing stroke of luck the Wanderers manager had got to hear about it. Even more amazingly he had put Rob’s plan into action, and Wanderers had won the match. Now Wanderers were in the knockout stage of the Champions League and they had given Rob four tickets for every match they played, as a way of saying thank you.

The following Wednesday night Rob, Jamie, Tulsi and TJ all squashed into Rob’s dad’s car. When they reached the ground they were astonished to see Mr Wood waiting for them. ‘I’m doing a few little jobs for the club on match days,’ grinned Mr Wood, who was wearing his smartest suit again. ‘And one of the first is to look after you lot. I thought I’d keep it a surprise.’

Mr Wood had been a promising young footballer at Wanderers when his career had been cut short by injury, and he had decided to become a teacher. But he was also a talented football coach, and Wanderers had recently offered him a job on the coaching staff. Luckily for TJ and his friends, Mr Wood had decided to stay at
Parkview
School. ‘You’re going to like your seats,’ Mr Wood told them. He led them up a flight of steps and TJ saw that they were right above the directors’ box. ‘Look!’ said TJ. ‘Isn’t that . . . ?’

‘It’s the England manager,’ breathed Rob.

‘He’s sitting three seats along from you,’ said Mr Wood. ‘Maybe you can give him some advice about tactics, Rob.’

‘Well . . .’ began Rob.

‘I’m joking,’ said Mr Wood quickly. ‘These are your seats. And Phil here will sit with you. I’ve got other things I need to do. Have fun.’

They all knew Phil. He was a coach from the Wanderers Academy who had been to watch several of their matches. ‘Any thoughts about tonight’s game, Rob?’ he asked, laughing, as they took their seats.

‘I just hope we win,’ Rob said. All around them people rose to their feet and
applauded
, as the teams walked out onto the field and the Champions League anthem rang out around the ground. Rob turned to Tulsi next to him. ‘You should watch Dwight Fanshawe,’ he said. ‘It’s what I do sometimes. I just follow one player and do all their stats. Runs off the ball, passes received, passes made – all that stuff. It’s really interesting.’

TJ, sitting the other side of Tulsi, waited for her to snap Rob’s head off. She’d been very quiet on the journey to the ground.

‘You watch him if you like,’ she said. ‘I’m not interested in stats, Rob. I came here for the football. I like Paco Sanchez and Marshall Jones. And there’s great players in the Roma team too.’

‘I just thought . . .’

‘I know what you’re trying to do, Rob,’ said Tulsi. ‘And it won’t work, OK?’

The match kicked off, and Wanderers
went
straight on to the attack. They had a 1–0 lead from the first leg in Rome, and it looked as if they were determined to score more goals. TJ decided to do what Rob had suggested, and he followed every move that Fanshawe made. It was a completely new way of watching a football match. When Roma had the ball Fanshawe retreated, harassing the Roma midfield players and making them pass more quickly, forcing them into mistakes. Then, whenever Wanderers regained possession, he began to move forward – and TJ could see that his movement always had a purpose.

A Wanderers defender won the ball and was quickly put under pressure by two Roma forwards, but he looked up and saw Fanshawe on the move and hit a long, high clearance. Fanshawe took the ball on his chest and shielded it from the defender who
was
marking him, then laid it neatly back to Paco Sanchez.

Sanchez played a pass to the other side of the field, but TJ kept watching Fanshawe. He moved forward towards the penalty area and the defender followed him closely. Just for a second the defender looked over to the left wing, where Marshall Jones was dribbling past a defender. Fanshawe checked his run and drifted away to his right. As Marshall’s cross curled across the penalty area, always moving away from the goalkeeper, Fanshawe suddenly burst forward, rising above the helpless, out-of-position defender, and crashed the ball into the back of the net.

For the whole of the rest of the match, TJ couldn’t stop watching Dwight Fanshawe. In the past his eyes had always been drawn most to the speed and skill of Marshall Jones, or the tricks and clever passing of
Paco
Sanchez. He had never realized before just how much work Fanshawe did when he didn’t have the ball. He didn’t score again, but his tireless running created the space for Marshall to score two and Sanchez another as Wanderers thrashed Roma 4–0.

As the match neared its end, the PA system announced that Marshall Jones was the Man of the Match. ‘I don’t agree with that,’ said Rob, as they stood up to applaud the players off the pitch. ‘Dwight Fanshawe was terrific.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed TJ. ‘He never stopped running.’

‘But it doesn’t do him much good,’ said Tulsi. ‘Otherwise he would have won the award.’

‘He’s not bothered about the Man of the Match award,’ Rob said. ‘He was the best player on the pitch, and his manager knows it.’

‘I thought so too,’ said a deep voice behind them. The tall figure in the dark coat smiled briefly at them and then he was gone.

‘That was him,’ gasped Rob. ‘The England manager.’

‘You see,’ TJ told Tulsi. ‘Rob knows what he’s talking about. He really does!’

C
HAPTER
9

‘YOU COULD PLAY
like that,’ said TJ to Tulsi. ‘I know you could.’

It was the following morning and he had arrived in the playground early, before anyone else. Tulsi was moodily banging a ball against the wall. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.

‘Yes you do. You watched Dwight Fanshawe just like me and Rob did. Don’t pretend you didn’t.’

‘But he knows what to do,’ said Tulsi suddenly. ‘And I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do. The runs you made on Friday were terrific.’

‘I didn’t know what I was doing, honestly. And anyway, no one passed to me.’

‘That’s not the point. Most of the time, no one passed to Dwight Fanshawe, but he made space for all the other players.’

‘Why do I have to change the way I play? It was good enough before. I knew what I was doing. People passed to me and then I scored. It was dead simple.’

‘That was when no one knew about you. You’ve scored so many goals that everyone knows how you play now. You could do it, Tulsi. I’m sure you could.’

‘Hey, you two!’ yelled a voice from above them. They looked up and saw an old lady looking down at them. A black cat was sitting on top of the wall beside her. ‘Did one of you kick a ball into my garden last week?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Tulsi. ‘It was me. It was an accident.’

‘Well, it’s not good enough, young lady. You knocked over six flowerpots and they made a terrible mess. I’ve written to your head teacher and you’d better make sure you own up when he asks you about it. And make sure you don’t kick any more footballs into my garden.’

‘Tough luck,’ said TJ. ‘But I don’t suppose Mr Burrows will mind too much. Not now football has made us famous. And you are our star striker after all.’

‘Am I?’ said Tulsi gloomily. ‘I’m not so sure.’

‘Hey, look,’ said Jamie, running into the playground carrying a newspaper. He was closely followed by Rafi, Jamie and Rodrigo, all clutching copies of their own. ‘We’re in the paper,’ Jamie said. ‘All of us are. It’s fantastic.’

TJ saw that more and more people were arriving now: little groups of mums and dads and children, some of the little ones squealing with excitement. ‘Where?’ said TJ. ‘Let’s see.’

Jamie opened the paper and saw a whole spread of photographs right across the centre pages. SCHOOL CHAMPIONS said the massive headline. ‘See there,’ said Jamie. ‘There’s you shooting, TJ, and there’s me making a save.’

In another photograph Mr Wood and Mr Burrows were beaming at the camera and holding a copy of the inspectors’ report on the school. ‘It says our school is outstanding,’ TJ said, reading the report. ‘And it says how we’re going to represent the district in the Regional Championships.’

‘It’s us,’ said Leila. ‘We’re actually in the paper. Just about everyone. They’ve even
put
in a bit about Marshall Jones and Mr Wood.’

‘Hey, Tulsi,’ called Jamie. ‘Where are you going?’

Tulsi didn’t reply. ‘It’s because of this,’ said Rob. ‘There are pictures of all of us in the team, right? All of us except Tulsi.’