Soccer Scoop Read online

Billy frowned. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to remember that next time, Coach,” he said sarcastically.

  Mac shrugged. If Billy couldn’t take some constructive criticism, it was no big deal to him. Just so long as he didn’t make things harder for Mac.

  For the rest of the day’s practice, it was soccer as .usual. By the time they were heading for the locker room, Mac had convinced himself that Dougie was right. The guff he’d gotten because of the silly cartoon would all blow over soon enough.

  After the coach finished his rundown on that day’s practice, he reminded everyone that the Cougars’ next game was that Friday against the league-leading Bakersville Bruins. He wanted everyone playing at their peak form—and no nonsense about that.

  What did he mean about “no nonsense”? Mac wondered after the coach left. Of course everyone would play their best.

  5

  That’s when the silliness broke out in the locker room. Marv Daley, a beefy midfielder, climbed up on a bench and started reciting, “Friends, Romans, and countrymen, let me tell you about how great I am at this game.” Then he made a sound like a sputtering motor. Everyone in the locker room broke out into laughter. Mel Walters, the tallest member of the team, was doubled over in mirth. Everyone except Mac. The color rose in his face as his blood boiled inside.

  Dougie poked him in the ribs and whispered, “Come on, it’s just a joke.”

  Mac glanced at him, knowing that Dougie was right. He knew he had to do something to prove he could take it.

  He jumped up on the bench, and, copying Marv’s pose, he shouted, “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their goalie’s eyes! And if I have but one soccer game to win, let it be against the Bruins!”

  The laughter turned to cheers. Several of the players came by and exchanged high fives with Mac. By the time the place had cleared out, there wasn’t a trace of ridicule left.

  But deep down inside, Mac was stinging from the barb that had been thrown at him. That’s why he was moody when he boarded the late-afternoon-activities bus. He had a feeling that the newspaper cartoon might not be just a one-shot thing. Someone was trying to make a fool of him; he was convinced.

  That evening, right after dinner, he called Jimmy.

  “Okay, buddy, time to tell all,” he said into the phone. “Who’s the new cartoonist of the Chronicle’s sports department?”

  “The Chronicle has someone new doing cartoons, sure,” said Jimmy. “But I don’t know who it is.”

  “What do you mean? That was a sports cartoon that ran in this week’s paper, wasn’t it?” Mac said. “And you’re the sports editor, so you must know!”

  “Hey, cool it,” said Jimmy. “I’m telling you, I don’t know who did that cartoon. No one talked to me about it, so I wasn’t all that happy, either, you know? I mean, like you said, I’m the sports editor, so I figured that stuff should come through me. I asked around and discovered that the paper’s editor, Margie Lewis, isn’t talking. She’s keeping it a big secret. Claims ‘journalistic privilege’ or something like that. Anyhow, I knew you wouldn’t like it as soon as I saw it, so I did my best to find out something. But I hit a stone wall.”

  “Not even a clue?” asked Mac.

  “Nope,” said Jimmy. “Zilch.”

  “Think I’d get anywhere if I asked Margie?” Mac said.

  “Nope,” said Jimmy. “I don’t think anyone will. Maybe it’s best to just drop it.”

  “All right,” said Mac. “Thanks, Jimmy. G’bye.”

  But just the way his tongue wouldn’t leave a sore tooth alone, his thoughts kept going back to the picture of Motor Mouth.

  For the rest of the week, Mac practiced hard—but he was a lot quieter down in the goal area. He was just as effective in the goal as before, but the old zip seemed to be missing a little.

  After Thursday’s final practice before the Bruins game, Coach Robertson beckoned to him to come and see him.

  “Something on your mind, Mac?” asked the coach.

  “No, sir,” said Mac.

  The coach looked at him for a long moment. “Mac, you’re the best goalie I’ve ever had on a team I’ve coached.”

  Mac’s heart leaped with pride at those words —

  “But…”

  — and then sank at that tone.

  “But what?” he asked the coach.

  “Well, I’ve come to expect even more out of you. I’ve watched you size up the play on the field, and your instincts are terrific. What you pick up could be a lot of help to all of us.”

  “You mean you listen to what I say?”

  “Well,” said the coach, smiling, “its a little like driving with the car radio playing an all-news station. Sometimes you tune in; sometimes you don’t. But I listen to enough to know that if you ever got injured and couldn’t play, I’d have you on the sidelines feeding me information.”

  “Like one of your assistant coaches?” asked Mac incredulously.

  “Something like that,” said Coach Robertson. “It’s a valuable player who can combine ability with knowledge. And I’d like you to feel free to share that knowledge with me.”

  Mac stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “So, if there’s something bothering you,” the coach went on, “get rid of it. Get it out of your system, and get out there and play the game—the whole game—you’re capable of.”

  Swelling with pride, Mac left the coach’s office.

  On the bus ride home, Mac slid into a seat with Dougie. Jimmy, who had stayed after to help out with the newspaper, was in the seat in front of them.

  “Guess what happened after practice?” Mac said. He told the two boys about his conversation with the coach. “Can you believe that? He was practically asking me to be part of his sideline team!”

  “Jeez, when I asked him at the beginning of the season if I could help out like that, he said he didn’t need anyone else,” Jimmy mumbled.

  Mac and Dougie exchanged looks. “Hey, Jimmy, I’m sure he only asked me because I’ve been playing for him for two years now,” Mac said reassuringly. “He knows what I can do. He only knew about you through last year’s sports columns and when we played your team. And besides, I don’t plan on getting injured anytime soon. So his offer isn’t likely to be accepted anyhow, right?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I guess so.” Then he grinned. “Maybe I should stop being so complimentary to you in my articles. Seems like you need to be taken down a notch, not boosted up!”

  6

  By game time on Friday, the newspaper cartoon had receded to the furthest reaches of Mac’s mind. He was determined to play his best against the Bruins, especially when it came to reading their plays. In fact, he was going to speak tip about everything he noticed, no matter which team was doing what. After all, the coach himself said that helped, right?

  Mac looked around him at the field of players in their Cougars yellow-and-black uniforms. They showed every bit as much vigor as the front-running Bruins in their dark brown uniforms with the silver trim. He just hoped that yellow would triumph over brown that day.

  In less than a minute after the game had begun, he could tell it was going to be one tough battle. The Bruins controlled the ball the entire time and brought it within range of the goal more than once.

  “Defense!” Mac called out to his teammates. “Come on, Billy, dig in! Right wing! Right wing! All by himself! Cover him, Mickey! Way to go!”

  Mac moved back and forth, side to side. Sometimes he moved far forward. Even though leaving the net was a little risky, he had learned that doing so made it look to the opposing offense as though he filled up more of the goal. With an apparently limited net area to shoot for, more than one Bruin seemed to change his mind about a goal attempt.

  Not that that stopped them completely. But after two failed attempts, the Bruins’ offense lost the ball to the Cougars. Unfortunately Mac could see that Dougie and Jackie were having their troubles setting up goal attempts. The Bruins hadn’t gotten to the number one slot by luck. They had
a solid defense and used it well.

  When the Bruins’ goalie picked off a loose ball that came within his range, he booted it downfield to move the play back to Mac’s side of the field.

  A sea of brown-and-silver bodies seemed to swarm in front of him all at once, with little protection from the wearers of yellow and black.

  “Come on, Billy! Think you could maybe give me a little help here for once?” Mac covered the goal as best he could. To avoid the possibility of a lateral pass getting by him and placing the ball inside, he stayed pretty close to the net opening.

  For a while, it worked. One attempt after the other, the ball bounced off the goalposts or was deflected by his arm or his outstretched palm.

  But finally there were too many Bruins and too many shots on goal. After seven attempts in as many minutes, the eighth found its mark. The Bruins’ right wing sent a low ball soaring toward the right corner of the net as Mac was recovering his balance from a concentrated effort to the left. His attempt to leap on the ball failed. He ended up on the ground as the ball hit the net. He lay there, the wind knocked out of him, as the scoring light went on, the ref s whistle blew, and the Bruins players on the bench jumped to their feet.

  After a moment, Mac got up and steadied himself on the goalpost. He nodded to the coach that he was all right. His eyes then drifted to the stands. They were still applauding the Bruins’ goal, but now the cheering was more scattered.

  “Nice try, Mac!” he heard his mother yell from the corner where his parents usually sat.

  That little bit of encouragement helped bring him back in the game.

  Although it was his last time on the ground, Mac got a real workout during that first half. There were no more scores by either side, but both teams were determined to try for them. Mac had his work cut out for him—and he was up to it.

  “Here they come! Here they come! Sweeper to the left! Move it, Billy! Get the lead out!” he shouted, all the while moving from one strategic position to another. Even when the ball was at the opposite end of the field, he called out to his teammates.

  “Lets see your stuff there, Dougie! Heads up, Jackie!”

  Noticing that Sam Napoli, a young Cougar midfielder, kept moving back and forth across the midfield stripe, Mac crooned out, “Seesaw Sammy! Keep on swinging!” The fans rewarded that call with a ripple of laughter. Mac grinned, but turned serious again when he caught Billy Levine giving him a disgusted look.

  What’s his problem? Mac thought.

  When the two teams trotted off the field at the halfway mark, the Scoreboard still read, 1-0 in favor of the Bruins.

  “You’re doing everything right,” said the coach. “Except you’re not always taking advantage of your chances. They’re outshooting you at goal almost two to one. Don’t be intimidated by their reputation. Get tough. Don’t get sloppy, though, just fierce!”

  Mac gritted his teeth so hard, he was afraid they might break in half. When the whistle blew for the second half, he got into position, determined to defend his turf.

  After the kickoff, the Cougars took possession of the ball. They held it down in Bruins territory for one goal attempt after another. For a while, it looked as though the whole second half would he played down there.

  That didn’t stop Mac from keeping up his motion and his mouth work. He danced back and forth as he followed the play from afar. He wasn’t surprised when the game turned around after the sixth unsuccessful goal attempt by the Cougars and the ball came zooming across the center line in his direction.

  “C’mon, you Cougars, defense! Show ‘em we’re fierce animals, not pussycats!”

  Mac glanced toward the stands as a ripple of laughter came from the fans. But a moment later that laughter turned to a gasp. Mac snapped his gaze back to the field, but he was too late. A Bruin had come out of nowhere, picked up a pass, and swiftly put the ball into the net before Mac knew what was happening.

  The score now read, Bruins 2, Cougars 0.

  “Looks like you’re a pussycat after all, Cougar!” a Bruin wing called to Mac with a laugh.

  Mac felt two feet tall. He knew he’d blown it, even though his attention had left the game for no more than a split second.

  The Cougars were silent as they assembled for the kickoff. When the game resumed, Mac tried hard to get them back into the swing of it.

  “Coverage, Billy, coverage!” he called to fill the void between him and the Bruins’ wing who was threatening on one side.

  “Get in there, Marv,” he shouted, watching his Cougar teammate trying to wrestle the ball away from another opponent. “Dig in!”

  Marv dug in a little too boldly, and the whistle blew, giving the Bruins a penalty shot.

  Penalty shots were the most dreaded moments of Mac’s day. He had one of the best records in the league for blocking such attempts, but the odds were still with the kicker.

  The Bruins’ right wing was all set to take the shot. Mac had been watching him throughout the game, and he thought he had detected a little weakness—a habit of trying for one particular corner of the net. If that held true, that’s where he would try to put it now.

  With that in mind, Mac got into position. Feet planted firmly on the ground, he glared at the kicker. Then when the Bruin began to run up for the kick, Mac shifted toward the “wrong” side of the net with his upper body—only to shift back at the last minute and dive in the opposite direction once the ball left the ground. His outstretched fingertips just managed to connect with the ball and deflect it from going into the net.

  The crowd went wild.

  But there was no time for celebration. With the clock running down, the Cougars still hadn’t gotten onto the Scoreboard. They needed three quick goals to win this game.

  It looked as though they might chalk up a goal as Dougie called for one of their surefire plays—a sweep around the midfielders followed by a quick charge right down the middle.

  But a pass intended for Jackie got deflected off the heel of a Bruin defenseman. One of the Bruins’ teammates was exactly in the right position and raced with the ball toward the Cougars’ goal.

  Billy tried to break the play, but with no luck. Mac was on his own.

  He managed to block the first shot at the net but couldn’t really get a grip on the ball. It bounced forward about ten feet, where it landed in front of a solitary Bruin forward. A second shot had no trouble going into the net.

  The Bruins’ fans cheered loudly, sure of a victory. With only thirty seconds left to play, there was no way the Cougars could win it now. They did their best, but in the end, the Scoreboard read, Bruins 3, Cougars 0. It was their worst showing of the season.

  Coach Robertson spoke quietly to them in the locker room. “Now we know what it’s like to lose a tough one. So we learn from our experience. The season is still young, and there are a lot more games to play—and to win. Don’t be too tough on yourselves. Just get some rest over the weekend, and I’ll see you at practice on Monday.”

  7

  Over the weekend, Mac got together with Jimmy and Dougie to watch some movies at Jimmy’s house. As the opening credits rolled by for the first video, Jimmy nudged Mac.

  “Hey, I almost forgot to ask you guys if you’re going to the dance the paper s hosting next week. I’m selling tickets.”

  Signs about the dance had been posted in the school hallways for the past week. It was going to be a casual affair, with a disc jockey and refreshments.

  Dougie and Mac looked at each other. “A dance?” Dougie said. “I dunno. The last one I went to was a bust. All I did was stand at the edge of the gym and listen to music. I can listen to music at home for free.”

  “Hey, if you didn’t have a good time, it was your own fault. You were too scared to ask Ann Leonard to dance with you,” Mac said with a grin.

  Dougie colored. “Yeah, well, I didn’t see you out there too much, either. What’s the matter, afraid whoever you’d ask would say no?”

  With a twinkle in his eye, Jim
my said, “I know someone who would definitely say yes if you asked her, Mac.”

  Mac paused the video. “Oh, yeah? Who? Not that I’m interested, really.”

  “Let’s just say that my kid sister has been asking an awful lot about soccer lately.”

  It was Mac’s turn to blush, but secretly he was pleased. He wouldn’t ever tell anyone, but he thought Jimmy’s sister was kind of cute. “Deanna’s not a kid,” Mac said. “She’s only a year younger than we are.”

  Jimmy and Dougie laughed. “The knight in shining armor defends his lady fair!” Dougie chortled.

  “Cut it out! I am not! It’s just that you made her sound like she was still in elementary school.”

  Jimmy, still grinning, said, “Well, you have my permission to ask her to boogie down with you if you want.”

  “Yeah, right,” mumbled Mac as he clicked the movie back on. But somehow he couldn’t concentrate on it anymore.

  When it was over, he put on his most casual voice. “Jimmy, I guess if you’re trying to unload those dance tickets, I’ll take one.

  Dougie and Jimmy cracked up. But Mac noticed that Dougie left with a ticket as well.

  The following Monday, the Chronicle appeared with a new cartoon in the center. This time it was a drawing of a little cat in the middle of the goal. The cat was sound asleep, and a soccer ball was flying over its head. The caption underneath read, Pussycat’s catnap causes Cougars to lose!

  Mac saw red. He was tempted to find Margie Lewis and insist that she tell him who submitted it to the paper. Instead, he marched into the administration office and asked to speak to Dr. Witherspoon, the principal.

  After a brief wait, he was ushered in.

  “What can I do for you, Alfred?” asked the principal. A slender man with an outsized nose, he was probably the only person left in the whole world who used Mac’s real first name.

  “Well, sir,” Mac said, “I don’t know if you’ve seen the Chronicle, but this is the second time it’s had a cartoon that makes fun of me. I don’t know who’s doing it, but I don’t think its really very nice. I want it stopped.”