Soccer Scoop (2 page)

“Of course he did, but … oh, boy!” said Dougie. “There’s a new cartoon, and you’d better take a look at it right now.”

He pulled Mac off to one side and opened the paper to the midsection. The two-page spread contained its usual display of school photographs—but there was something new. In the center was a hand-drawn cartoon.

It showed the goal section of a soccer field. The goalie, whose head consisted of just a mouth and two eyes, was leaning up against the post. He was waving to the crowd while a stream of sentences poured out of his mouth. All around him, other soccer players were pictured drowning in the sea of words. One player was calling out, “Man over-bored!” and reaching for a life preserver with the word
silence
written on it.

The caption beneath the cartoon read,
Motor Mouth: It never runs out of gas (though some wish it would)!

The drawing was pretty rough. But there was no doubt about who it was meant to be.

And that person didn’t think it was at all funny.

4

M
ac stared at the cartoon, then looked at Dougie.

Dougie tried to smile. “It’s just a joke, you know. Somebody’s idea of being funny.”

“So how come I’m not laughing?” asked Mac. “Someone’s making me look stupid, and I want to know who it is.”

“How are you going to find out? There’s no credit for the cartoon,” asked Dougie.

“I’m going to ask Jimmy. After all, he’s the sports editor,” said Mac. “He ought to know.”

“Look, I don’t think you should get all bent out of shape over this. It’s some smart aleck s dumb sense of humor. Everyone will laugh for a minute and then forget it,” said Dougie.

“Well, maybe,” said Mac reluctantly. “But I’m still going to talk to Jimmy.”

“Hey, don’t you think there’s something you ought to do first?” asked Dougie.

Mac gave him a blank stare.

“Practice! Come on, we’re already a few minutes late.”

They raced into the locker room and quickly changed into their practice gear. A few seconds later, they were on the field, where the warm-up had already begun. The rest of their teammates were starting their stretching exercises as Mac and Dougie hurried to catch up to them.

Mac settled into the goal spot, ready to begin a scrimmage.

“Okay, boys, let’s see some action out there! Let’s see if you can get one by me today! Betcha can’t, betcha can’t!”

At first, Mac didn’t notice the snickering. Then he heard someone make a revving motor sound and saw everyone look over at him and laugh.

“What’s that all about?” Mac asked Billy Levine, who had stopped to lace up his cleat next to the net.

“Don’t you read the paper?” Billy called back as he raced back to his position.

Mac stomped back and forth between the goalposts..

Dougie is wrong, he said to himself. Everyone saw the cartoon, and they think it’s okay to make fun of me. Well, it’s not. He sighed and shook his head. But today, I’ll let my playing do the talking!

He clapped his gloved hands together and flexed his knees. He was ready for whatever came his way.

In this case, it was the faster group of players, who came bearing down on the goal. Jackie Hamlin, the right wing, had no trouble dribbling the ball around Billy, the sweeper. Mac had to bite his tongue to keep from calling out for Billy to pay better attention. Luckily a crowd of players kept getting in front of Jackie’s line to the goal.

Finally Mac could tell by the expression on Jackie’s face that he was about to take his shot. Reading the offense like that was one of the things that made Mac a terrific goaltender.

Sure enough, despite the awkward angle, Jackie booted the ball in the direction of the net.

Mac was ready at the far corner, even though there wasn’t a chance the ball would go in. As it came his way, he moved forward and scooped it up. Then, scanning the field, he saw a big gap to the far left. Quickly positioning his body, he punted the ball toward that part of the field.

“I can read you like a book, Jackie!” he yelled out. “You may be able to get by my sweeper with no trouble, but you can’t put one by me!”

Just then the whistle blew. The coach sent in some substitutes and switched a few players around.

“Nice save,” he heard Billy Levine say on his way to the sidelines.

“Thanks,” said Mac. “You know, if you had kept a little more to the left when Jackie brought the ball downfield, he might not have gotten by you so easily.”

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

T
hat’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

B
y 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.