Free Silent Striker by Pete Kalu Page A

Marcus again. He ignored her this time.
    Anthony Vialli trotted over to his father on the touchline. A cloud of spray went up around him as his father applied Spray Ice all over his son’s shins. Anthony came back on and began running without the hobble.
    The referee showed four yellows over the next ten minutes and Mr Davies told Horse and Leonard to cool it, in case they got sent off. Bowker got their breath back.
    Marcus bit his lower lip. Ducie were hanging on. In twelve minutes the match would be over. A draw would do for Ducie, they’d win the league. Only a win was good enough for Bowker though.
    Anthony Vialli drove Bowker forward. He played three quick one-twos and found himself within five metres of the goal, the net staring at him, the ball at his feet. Marcus could only look through his fingers. Anthony drew back his sharp, left foot. Just as he was about to hammer the ball home, Horse slammed into him with a tackle that defied the laws of science by propelling Anthony forwards and the ball backwards. The referee blew. ‘Penalty! No tackling from behind!’
    There was pandemonium. The referee waved all the protesting Ducie players away with a traffic policeman’s icy glare and stiff hand, then, when things calmed, he reached into his upper pocket. He gave Horse a second yellow, quickly followed by a red card. Horse thought to say something. Mr Davies yelled like mad for him not to. Horse bit his tongue and sloped off. When he reached the touchline, he flung himself on the grass. Marcus bent down and put an arm around his neck. ‘Hey, you did your best.’
    ‘Wasn’t good enough though, was it?’ Horse muttered, accepting the water bottle Mr Davies offered him.
    ‘C’mon, get up,’ Marcus said, hauling Horse to his feet. ‘There’s a penalty on!’ Together Marcus and Horse ran down the touchline to get a closer view of the penalty.
    Anthony placed the ball on the spot. Luke, the Ducie keeper, smacked his gloves together and spat into them, then bounced up and down on the line, trying to make himself look bigger than he was. He had been the keeper since the start of Year 7, but for some reason he had not grown since then and was now looking a bit small compared to all the other players. But he was a brilliant gymnast, Marcus knew, and could jump higher than kids twice his size.
    Anthony Vialli placed the ball on the front edge of the white circle that marked the penalty spot. He strode back. As he did so, he looked up at the sky and did the sign of a cross like a Catholic. He turned to face the goal, lowered his head, shuffled one measured step right then ran up and whacked the ball.
    As he whacked it, his right foot slipped.
    He hit the ball powerfully with his left foot.
    The ball soared way over the cross-bar.
    Anthony. Had. Missed.
    Marcus’ disbelieving eyes followed the ball soaring away like a kite. Cool headed Anthony Vialli. Marcus looked from the shrinking sphere in the sky to the player. Anthony was kneeling on the grass. He had a tile of turf in his hands and was pounding it into the ground in frustration. Mr Davies was doing a jig. Horse was whooping. Marcus joined in. Something else was kicking off on the pitch though. All three of them stopped and watched. The Bowker Vale players were surrounding the referee. Who was pedalling furiously backwards. From the Bowker touchline, Anthony’s dad stormed onto the pitch and into the thick of it. Other Bowker parents followed him.
    ‘No way, referee! No way!’ Mr Vialli’s big voice was booming. He had a square of turf in his hand and was waving it. It looked at one point like he was going to smash it over the referee’s head. Marcus understood then what the protest was about. Bowker were blaming the loose turf. They wanted the kick taken again. It was too much for Marcus. He ran into the melee, Horse ran with him. Mr Davies ran after them. They joined the Ducie team protesting against the Bowker protests. The referee was still running