Read Online Just for Kicks by Robert Rayner - Free Book Online

mine.
    Still in front of the mirror, I tried to pose like him. I remembered how Meredith had taunted me when I took the penalty kick, and the laughter of the parents, and one of them calling, “Loser.” I muttered, “Pleasant Harbour is in for a surprise tomorrow. They’d better look out.”
    There was a gentle knock at the door, and Conrad said, “Can I see?”
    â€œSee what?”
    â€œYou — in your uniform.”
    â€œI suppose.”
    Conrad pushed the door open.
    â€œHow do I look?”
    Conrad’s eyes crinkled in his slow smile. “Like David Beckham,” he said.
    When we went downstairs, Ma said, “My oh my.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou look like one of those cute soccer players on the telly.”
    * * *
    Shay, Julie, Brian, and I were going to walk to Fleet Auto together on Saturday morning, so Ma and Conrad gave me a ride to Shay’s on their way to work. We picked up Brian on the corner, where he was trying to climb the streetlight beside the garbage can. He was wearing his uniform, like me.
    â€œWe need a goal from you today, Big T.,” he said. “We need a win.”
    We found Shay and Julie with Mr. Sutton in the flower shop.
    Mr. Sutton looked us over and commented, “Look at the four of you in your new uniforms.”
    Brian and I grinned, looking down at our shirts and shorts. Julie said, “Ta-da,” and twirled. Shay didn’t say anything. His shirt was hanging out and his socks were down around his ankles.
    Mr. Sutton went on, “Seeing the four of you in your soccer outfits reminds me of when I was a soccer-mad youngster growing up in England. Mind you, we never had uniforms when we were kids. I didn’t get a uniform until Colchester United asked me to play for their reserve side in the old Southern League. That would have been in 1959. No, 1958 …” He sighed and glanced at the old photograph on the wall. “That would have been when I was sixteen — no, just fifteen …” He sighed again. “Well, well … Off with you now. Enjoy yourselves. Have fun at your game.”
    â€œWe have to take our soccer seriously,” Brian said. “Coach Fleet says so. He told us we could beat Pleasant Harbour with only seven players, and we did.”
    â€œThen we lost last week,” I pointed out.
    â€œBut we’re going to win today.”
    â€œThat’s the first time I’ve heard any of you talk about winning and losing in your games,” Mr. Sutton commented. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
    â€œIt always matters,” Brian insisted. “Coach Fleet says so.”
    We set off downtown. At the cemetery, we stopped to talk to Brian’s dad, who was cutting the grass. Mr. Price took off his cap and wiped his face. His thick curly hair was the colour of cedar shingles, like Brian’s, and it sprung out in all directions.
    â€œI suppose you guys are off to your soccer game, while some of us have to work,” he said, pretending to grumble, but smiling.
    â€œYou don’t have to volunteer to cut the cemetery grass, Dad,” Brian pointed out. “Anyway, you won’t be working long because you’re coming to watch our game with Pleasant Harbour — right?”
    â€œRight,” said Mr. Price. He handed around a box of energy bars, and while we snacked he asked, “Do you think the Stevedores have much of a chance this year?”
    He often takes us to Saint John Stevedores soccer games in the city — his construction business has a season ticket — and he always wants to know our opinions about them. Brian says his dad was quite the sportsman when he was younger. He’d been Athlete of the Year all through high school, and might have gone to university in the States on a hockey scholarship if he hadn’t injured his back.
    We talked about the Stevedores until Mr. Price said he couldn’t laze around all day