Golden Goal (3 page)

 

 

As they jogged back to the centre circle, Jamie heard the stadium announcer call out his name. The Foxborough crowd gave a big cheer. Jamie kissed his clenched fist and raised it up to the sky.

“Oi!” shouted Steve Brooker from the touchline.

His players were still giving each other high fives as Harrington were about to restart the game. Steve Brooker was fuming. How many times had he told them that you are at your most vulnerable just after you've scored? There is always pride before the fall.

“This game's not over yet!” he yelled, hurling his bottle of water down to the ground.

His boys turned and nodded. They understood that it wasn't the Foxborough way to ever let up. They had to keep going until the very end. And there were more goals for them in this match – if they wanted them.

For the next ten minutes, Foxborough played keep ball. Their possession was suffocating any Harrington hopes of a comeback. Soon, the Harrington players started to chase with less vigour. Their movements became slower as they gradually gave in to Foxborough's stranglehold on the game.

The Foxborough fans began to openly celebrate their team's superiority. The shouts of
“Olé!”
went up as the Foxborough defenders taunted the Harrington strikers by passing the ball along the width of their back line.

But this was all too easy for Jamie. Boring, even.

He cantered in from the wing to the centre of the pitch and practically tackled his own central midfielder to take possession of the ball. Then he began to dribble with it.

In and out of the tackles he glided, powering past players, hurdling over legs, springing through gaps and dodging beyond desperate lunges. His talent was there for all to see.

He had the whole crowd on their feet. They knew they were witnessing something special and now Jamie was ready to give them exactly what they wanted. He was going to bend one into the top corner.

He'd set his body and was just swinging his leg around towards the ball when he was violently shoulder-barged to the ground by the Harrington centre-half.

The referee blew his whistle immediately. It was such a clear penalty that even the defender didn't bother to dispute it. His only aim had been to take Jamie down.

Jamie clawed the ball to his chest and sprang back on to his feet like a boxer trying to prove that a punch hadn't hurt him. Scoring the penalty would be the perfect way for him to take his revenge.

Jamie put the ball on the spot and took three steps back.
Still go for the top corner,
he told himself.
Never change your mind when you're about to take a p—

Then Jamie felt the pain of two fingers jabbing their way into his ribs.

It was Bolt.

“Let me take it, man,” he appealed.

“Leave it, Bolt,” said Jamie. “I won it. It's my—”

“You've already scored tonight! I haven't. Come on, man; I'm a striker, I need my goal…”

Jamie looked Bolt in the eye. He could see the hunger that made him the player he was. He was so desperate to score. So determined to get his name on the scoresheet.

Jamie let him have it.

Although neither Jamie nor Bolt were aware of it, something very unusual was happening as Bolt stepped up to take that penalty: while everyone else in the ground had their eyes on the ball as it scorched into the roof of the net, two people – two very important people – weren't even looking at the action.

They were looking at the winger whose run had just won the penalty.

Way up in the stands, the Foxborough Assistant Manager, Tommy Taylor, had leaned across to his boss, Brian Robertson, and whispered something in his ear. Some sort of question, or suggestion…

Brian Robertson seemed to think for a second, taking in what Tommy Taylor had said. Then, slowly at first, he nodded his head. He had made a judgement.

Foxborough win the Youth Cup Final

 

 

The Foxborough players went up on to the podium and, one by one, they shook hands with a man that Jamie didn't recognize – he assumed it was one of the sponsors – and collected their medals. Then, to a huge cheer, Robbie Walters, the Foxborough captain, lifted the trophy.

Loud music blared around the stadium and fireworks were let off behind the Foxborough players' heads. When Robbie passed the trophy down the line, each one of the Foxborough players kissed it and lifted it into the air.

To Jamie, it seemed that more camera flashbulbs went off for him than had been the case for the other players. Or perhaps he was just more aware of the flashes when they were focused on him.

As they got down from the podium, the players saw the end of Steve Brooker's TV interview. He was talking to Esther Vaughan. She was a reporter on TV and she also did adverts for hair shampoo. Jamie had a poster of her on his wall.

“Of course I'm proud,” Steve was saying to Esther. “But it's not about me, it's about this young team. They all played for each other and they got exactly what they deserved tonight.”

“Thanks very much,” Esther said to Steve after the interview had finished. “I really appreciate that. If we can just have a few words with Jamie, then that's us done.”

Jamie's head twitched. He was sure he had heard right. He was sure they wanted to interview him. Esther Vaughan wanted to interview
him!

“Sorry, love,” said Steve. “No academy players do TV interviews. Orders from the top. Mr Robertson is very strict about young players getting overexposed to the media. Out of my hands, I'm afraid, love.”

As Steve Brooker walked away, Esther's features changed. Her soft, attractive smile dissolved into a cold, stern stare.

“He's the man of the match, Steve,” she called. “It's part of the contract and you know it. We don't pay all this money to have zero access.”

Steve turned around and put his hands on his hips. It was the same position he took up when he was thinking about making a substitution.

“Two minutes,” he said. “And nothing clever! Otherwise I'll be the one who gets it in the neck from Mr Robertson.”

“Deal,” she agreed.

Steve looked around. Jamie quickly knelt down and pretended to be doing up his laces.

“Jamie!” Steve shouted.

Jamie pretended not to hear.

“Jamie!”

“Me?” Jamie asked, innocently.

“The TV people want to do a quick interview with you,” said Steve, putting his arm around Jamie. “I know you haven't started your media training yet but I think it'll be good experience for you. You OK with that?”

“Yeah, whatever you say, boss,” said Jamie.

“OK, Esther,” said Steve, bringing Jamie over to the reporter. “Here he is. Remember, two minutes.”

At first Esther Vaughan just ignored Jamie. She was listening to someone talking in her ear and looking at herself in a small mirror that she held in her hand.

Jamie was looking at her too. She had the most beautiful reddish-brown hair he had probably ever seen. He wondered if there was some unwritten law that said you had to be seriously attractive to work in TV.

Then Esther's face suddenly came alive and she shone her eyes on Jamie.

“Hi there, Jamie,” she said, shaking his hand.

Jamie felt embarrassed that his hands were all hot and sweaty. Hers were cool and clean.

“All right,” he said, discreetly trying to spike up his hair before the interview. The sweat on his hands could act as a makeshift type of gel.

“I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions about the game,” she smiled. “Nothing too tricky.”

“That's cool.” Jamie laughed. He was feeling more confident now.

“OK,” said Esther. “They're coming to us in two…” Then she put one finger up and pointed to the cameraman, who turned on a set of lights. They were so bright they almost blinded Jamie.

“Thanks, Gary. Yes, I'm here with the star of tonight's show, Jamie Johnson.”

Jamie tried to raise a smile but suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he was live on TV. Anyone could be watching. People could be laughing at him. Was the camera going in so close on his face that everyone could see his spots? What if he swore? He mustn't sw—

“­—what do you think about that, Jamie?”

Jamie hadn't heard a word of what she'd just said!

“Sorry … could you say that again, please?” he mumbled. He sounded like an idiot!

“Some of the journalists here were saying that that was one of the most promising individual performances they had ever seen from a player in a Youth Cup Final. What do you think about that?”

Jamie's mind had gone completely blank. His mouth was so dry he wasn't sure he'd be able to get any words out even if he did know what to say – which he didn't. Playing against the world's best defender would be easier than this interview.

He tried to calm himself down. He'd seen loads of footballers doing interviews. He could just try and copy the way they usually spoke.

“Well … obviously it's nice to get praise … and what have you … but tonight is not about me, it's about Foxborough … and the team … I thought everyone did brilliant.”

“Quite. But that was some solo goal you scored. Talk us through that one, Jamie.”

“Well, I managed to beat my man and then I had a shot and, luckily enough for me, it went in. I was just happy to see it go in, really.”

Esther was still nodding as though she was expecting Jamie to say something else. But he had nothing else
to
say!

“Great … and what does it mean for you to play for Foxborough now, because a little birdie tells me that you are actually a Hawkstone United fan?”

Jamie went bright red. How did she know? He hadn't even told any of his teammates!

“Well … kind of … Mike … my granddad used to play for them and he took me there when I was really … like … young, so I sort of supported them when I was younger and that … but now I'm Foxborough all the way and I'm really happy to be here. This is definitely the biggest club in the country.”

“So there's no truth in rumours linking you with the big European clubs, then? Because you're not old enough to actually sign a professional contract with Foxborough yet, are you? So, when the time comes, theoretically, you could still join any other club.”

Suddenly Jamie became aware of Steve Brooker's presence beside him. Steve was staring angrily at Esther, drawing his finger across his throat, demanding that she finish the interview immediately.

“Erm … well, I just play football,” Jamie stammered. “I leave all the other stuff to my dad. But I'm really happy here. The only way I'd leave Foxborough is if they didn't want me any more.”

“Well, I don't think there's much chance of that!” Esther said, laughing. “OK, back to you, Gary, and I guess it's a case of Jamie Johnson – remember that name!”

Jamie wiped the sweat from his forehead. That had definitely been the toughest part of the whole evening. Now he knew why Foxborough gave their players media training!

“Thanks, Jamie,” said Esther, giving him an extra-special smile as the cameraman started packing up all the electrical gear. “Good luck for the rest of the season. See you again sometime.”

“I'll look forward to it,” said Jamie over his shoulder as he headed back to the dressing room.

Nice line,
he congratulated himself. How come he was suddenly able to talk again as soon as the camera wasn't pointed at him?