Free Silent Striker by Pete Kalu Page B

backwards, waving everyone away, but he was out of puff now, and slowed to a stop, allowing himself to be surrounded. Mr Vialli stormed to the front of the Bowker players. He jabbed his big finger at the referee.
    The referee blew his whistle, pointed to Mr Vialli and warned him: ‘Cool it!’
    Mr Vialli lost it completely: ‘Cool it? You fat, blind, black bastard!’
    Everyone startled and quietened.
    Mr Vialli kept on. ‘Call yourself a referee? My grandmother would make a better referee and she’s six feet under! This is theft! You’re stealing this game from us!’
    Marcus couldn’t believe his ears. Had Mr Vialli just said that? ‘Black bastard’? It had changed the atmosphere. Everyone had fallen quiet. Mr Vialli looked around at them as if to say, ‘what’s up?’
    The referee reached into his pocket. Marcus and the other players shrank away. Nobody wanted the next card. Marcus pulled at Horse to keep walking. The referee pulled out a Red from his top pocket. Who was it for? Nobody knew. From being surrounded, suddenly the referee had nobody within forty metres of him. The referee eyed his target, found it. He strode over to the Bowker touchline. Mr Vialli was there, suddenly busy punching numbers into his phone.
    The referee stood in front of him and held the red card up high. ‘You! Off! Off the grounds. Now!’
    ‘Me? What have I done?!’ Mr Vialli boomed.
    ‘Off!’ The referee was adamant.
    Marcus watched as Mr Vialli shoved his phone in his tracksuit pocket and slunk off towards the car park. He saw Anthony wave briefly to his dad, then kick the turf in frustration. Meanwhile, Adele looked embarrassed and was scuffing her shoes. She didn’t follow her dad off the field.
    The referee blew again. ‘The penalty is to be retaken!’ he announced. ‘It was incorrectly spotted first time.’ He pointed to the Bowker end of the pitch. ‘And this time it will be taken from this end! Any objections?’
    The referee stared around. He had his hand on his top pocket like a gunslinger willing someone to make him draw.
    The Ducie team stared at one another in disbelief. Had the referee gone potty? Was this even in the rule book? Could a penalty be retaken for that reason? And could you switch the taking of a penalty from one side of the pitch to another? Whatever they thought, with the referee in the mood he was in nobody dared object.
    Luke, the Ducie keeper, made the long journey to the Bowker end. He stood between the posts where two minutes ago the Bowker keeper had been standing and smacked his gloves together. He spat into them then crouched to signal he was ready. The referee waved for the kick to be taken.
    Anthony Vialli ran up. This time he made no mistake. He lashed the ball into the top, right side of the net, leaving Luke grabbing air on the left. Anthony turned, licked his finger and chalked up a ‘One’ on an imaginary board. His team mobbed him. The referee pointed to the centre spot. 1–0 to Bowker Vale.
    Mr Davies went nuts. ‘There’s still time! There’s still time! Leonard! Route One!’
    Leonard tapped the ball from the kick-off towards Horse. Horse nudged past two of their players then hoofed the ball high for Jamil who had chased into the centre-forward position where Rocket usually was. Jamil leaped like a fish. Nobody had ever seen him leap so high. His springy legs catapulted him into the air. Their goalkeeper came out to punch it. His punch missed the ball and smacked Jamil square in the face.
    Jamil rolled on the ground, clutching his eye. The referee blew again. ‘Penalty!’ Marcus gasped. It was a miracle. From despair to elation in less than fifteen seconds. Marcus jumped on Horse’s back. Horse galloped up and down the touchline whooping. Mr Davies did a crazy war dance. Then they remembered Jamil. He was still flat out in the mud.
    ‘Marcus grab the bucket!’ Mr Davies ordered. The two of them ran over to Jamil. Marcus got there first. He plucked the sopping wet car