Man of the Match by Dan Freedman Read Free Book Online Page A

smiled Jamie. He liked this kid. He reminded him of someone. “And you think you’ll smash me?”
    â€œYou best believe it,” said the kid. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”
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    It was the first to five and Jamie let the kid have the first four goals.
    He’s a good kid , Jamie thought to himself. A bit cocky, maybe . . . but he definitely reminds me of someone. Anyway, now it’s time to show him who’s boss. . .
    And with that, Jamie instantly turned on the skill, pulling three goals back straight away.
    Then, at 3-4 down, Jamie produced a wicked double drag-back to equalize with a goal that even shut the kid up for a couple of seconds.
    â€œWhoa!” said the kid, in awe. “Double drag-back! That’s the best skill ever! You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”
    â€œMaybe some other time,” said Jamie. “We’re in the middle of a game here. Four-four. Next goal wins!”
    Jamie wiped the sweat from his forehead. Never mind that he was playing against a kid in the street with an old tennis ball; it felt great just to be playing football again. It had been over a month since he’d played. He’d pulled it back and was going to win, but it hadn’t been easy. He’d had to put some effort into it.
    Now the kid was dribbling slowly out of his goal, but as Jamie advanced to tackle him, the kid’s eyes suddenly widened. His face transformed into a picture of surprise.
    â€œWhat the. . .” said the kid, pointing behind Jamie.
    Jamie turned around quickly to see what it was. But he couldn’t see anything. There was nothing there.
    â€œWhat were you—” Jamie started to ask, but it was too late. The kid was already gone. He’d sprinted forward while Jamie was looking the other way and now he was an inch away from the cardboard box. Jamie had been done by the oldest trick in the book!
    â€œYes!” shouted the kid, slotting the ball home. “I win! I told you I would beat you!”
    â€œWell done,” smiled Jamie. Inside he was fuming, but he put on a brave face and offered his hand. “What’s your name?”
    But just as their hands were about to meet, the kid snatched his hand away and put his thumb on his forehead, wiggling his fingers!
    â€œBeat you again,” he shouted. “My name’s Robbie.”
    â€œI’ll have to keep an eye on you, Robbie. I’m Jamie.”
    It was then that they both heard a familiar voice echo their way from the end of the street.
    â€œRRRROOOBBBBIIIIEEE!” shouted Dillon Simmonds angrily. “Where have you been? I’ve cooked your dinner – get back home now!”
    Jamie and Dillon stared at each other down the street. They hadn’t spoken since Jamie had been sent off for pushing the ref when he’d meant to shove Dillon.
    â€œAll right! Keep your hair on, fatso!” Robbie shouted and started to sprint towards Dillon.
    â€œShow me the drag-back another time, loser,” he shouted over his shoulder to Jamie. “Gotta go before psycho face gets angry!”
    â€œHey, Robbie!” Jamie called after the little street footballer. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
    And with that he hurled the old tennis ball as fast as he could at Robbie Simmonds. He wanted to see how Robbie reacted.
    The ball was going about forty miles an hour, but Robbie didn’t get out of the way. Instead, he moved towards the ball, chested it up into the air and controlled it on his forehead, before letting it drop down into his open hand.
    Well, what do you know? Jamie thought to himself. Not only does Dillon Simmonds have a younger brother, but the kid’s got talent. Serious talent.

 
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    That night Jamie fell into a deep, deep sleep. He was revisiting the same moment that he often dreamt about.
    It was the time when he’d been a mascot for Hawkstone United when he was eleven years old. That