OUT OF THIS WORLD!
IT HAD BEEN another completely normal lunchtime. The beans were cold. The sausages tasted like slippers. And Spike McKenzie had scored another hat-trick for Year 8 in a heated match with Year 9.
But there was nothing normal about his three goals – the first an acrobatic overhead kick, the second a mazy dribble from his own goal-line and the third a cheeky backheel from 20 yards into the top corner.
And, to be honest, there was nothing normal about Spike McKenzie.
Everyone loved Spike – he was clever, he was funny and he was the best footballer anyone at St Peter’s school had ever seen.
In fact, he was almost too good.
As all the pupils filed into class to start their lessons, Jimmy Walsh noticed Spike sneak into the caretaker’s cupboard. Jimmy tiptoed towards it then peered through the keyhole and – well, what he saw made his eyes almost pop out of his head.
“Oh my god,” he muttered. Spike turned, looked up, saw Jimmy and froze. His secret was out…
THE WIZARD CARD!
TUESDAY’S ARE great. A crisp copy of Match of the Day magazine floats onto the doormat and at the first opportunity every page is scanned and ranked in order of intrigue, to be read in more detail throughout the week.
Then, attention turns to that shiny, heat-pressed foil pouch on the front. The fresh stack of cards freed with the minimum of fuss.
Some good pulls today: including a Virgil van Dijk 100 Club – nice!
Then, oh… a 102 card?! We’ve heard of 101s, but a 102?
This isn’t an ordinary card. This player looks like he’s from the 1950s. His 102 stat is so bright it looks like REAL gold. Wait, IT IS real gold!
‘Stanley Matthews, WIZARD OF THE DRIBBLE’. Hmmm….
Argh! Now it’s making a sound, and moving!
“Congratulations, you’ve pulled the Stanley Matthews Wizard 102 card. I can grant you one wish for the football club of your choice!
So, when you’re ready: what will it be?”
MY FOOTBALL’S GOT EYES!
AMY NOTICED something strange. Her football wasn’t like any other football. When she touched it, it lit up. When she left it in the bag, it would wriggle. When she went to sleep, it would snore.
This wasn’t just any old ordinary football.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Amy said to her mum, while nervously unzipping her kitbag.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Mrs Connell replied with a curious look on her face.
“ACTUALLY, don’t worry!” Amy said in a panic, before skidding away, dropping her bag, only for her ball to roll out across the kitchen floor, eventually coming to a stop at the tip of her mum’s foot.
The light suddenly flickered and popped, the kettle whistled and then, to Mrs Connell’s disbelief, a big bright green set of eyes opened on the ball.
The room fell silent.
“Greetings!” said the ball.
THE FINAL PUSH!
THERE WAS 105 minutes on the clock, half time in extra time, and Alex Hernandez lay flat on his back. Rovers were 2-1 down, had used all their subs, and were relying on a 16-year-old to fire them to the FA Cup final. The lad had a lot on his shoulders.
“Is it going to hold, Jack?” Alex said into the air, arm across his eyes, teeth gritted.
The physio massaging his left hamstring replied: “I’ve done all I can, but if it pings and we somehow get through here, I can’t see you playing at Wembley.”
“That’s a problem for tomorrow. Let’s get that win!”
Alex got to his feet and jogged back to the centre circle. He had fifteen minutes to turn this around…