Hounding the Opposition

Hounding the Opposition

The villagers had crammed into the sports hall for the match. It was strictly an invited audience of local residents and leisure-centre staff. Dad had acted as doorman, checking identification to make sure there were no prying eyes.

With two minutes to go, the game was on a knife-edge as the boys’ top scorer stepped up to take a penalty. He tried to stay cool as he placed the ball on the spot, knowing that if he could stick this penalty away it would win the match for them and save his reputation.

All the players retreated to the edge of the area and waited for the referee to blow his whistle. The spectators were open-mouthed and silent. The top scorer looked at his team-mates’ faces, glowing with sweat and effort. If they lost to the girls they would be glowing red with embarrassment. He glanced at the referee. The whistle echoed around the sports hall. It was now him against the girls’ goalkeeper. She was gorilla-like on the goal line, waving her arms up and down, trying to put him off.

He ran forward four paces and made excellent contact. The ball flew towards the top left-hand corner. Perfect. But the goalie had dived the right way, tipping the ball on to the post. It rebounded to safety and another of the girls hoofed it upfield. The game was still alive and children hared down the sports hall in search of the decider. One of the yellow-bibbed girls got the ball on the wing and shaped to cross. The girls’ goalkeeper, fresh from the glory of her penalty save, was sprinting up the pitch. She raised her arm.Me, me, me, she urged.Crossit to me and I’ll score the winner. The cross floated into the crowded area and heads rose to connect with the ball. The boys’ top scorer reached the highest, trying to make up for his penalty miss. The ball bounced off the back of his head and looped into the air. The girls’ keeper had timed her run to perfection. From the moment she caught the ball on the volley there was no doubt where it was going. The boys’ goalie was rooted to the spot as the ball billowed into the corner of his net.





And it’s there! howled the scorer.Another terrific strike from the girl wonder.

She slid across the floor on her belly, like she’d seen Premiership footballers do, before disappearing under a pile of players. The boys were a picture of defeat. How could they lose to a bunch of girls?

The girls eventually recovered their composure.

‘Our game I believe, gentlemen,’ said Sophie, the team captain. ‘Perhaps we can arrange a rematch? Or are you afraid we might humiliate you even more next time?’

The opposing captain couldn’t think of a reply. The embarrassment was too much. The teams exchanged handshakes or, in the case of the girls’ goalkeeper, paws. The goalie and winning scorer was in fact Lara, Sophie’s pet dog.

‘Excellent game, Lara,’ said Sophie. ‘Your goalkeeping kept us in the match and that winner was a bit special.’

Lara wagged furiously as she slipped off her goalie gloves.Thanks, she thought.I did catch it rather well. My game is certainly improving. Bring on Man U!

The newspaper photographer crept back into the broom cupboard. He removed his fake identity badge, smiling to himself as he threw it into the bin. He quickly packed his camera away, delighted that he’d snapped the mutt in mid-volley. The story would be worth thousands and the pictures even more. He smiled at his genius. Going undercover as a leisure-centre member of staff had worked a treat. He changed out of the staff uniform he’d ‘borrowed’ and peeped out of the cupboard. The coast was clear, so he casually strode past reception and out of the building. He even had the confidence to nod to the lady on reception.

He got into a red car and grinned at his mate. ‘A result.’ He beamed. ‘If gathering evidence is going to be this easy, we’ll have our story within days.’