8
The next time we played on the Cemetery Road, Julie said wistfully, “This is fun — but I wish we could have a real game, on a real soccer field.”
We were sitting on the bank, taking a break from our scrimmage.
“We’ve got nearly the whole team here,” Brian pointed out. “All we need is someone to play against.”
“All the schools have a team,” said Julie. “We’re just not allowed to play against them.”
“Who says?” I asked.
“Justason and Dugalici,” said Julie.
“They said we’re not allowed to play at school — nothing about playing against other schools.”
“But we’re not a school team,” said Brian.
“And we’d have to be in the league, so the schools would have time to schedule games,” Julie added.
“So let’s join the league!” I said.
We looked at one another. Brian raised his eyebrows.
“Why not?” I urged.
“Only one problem,” Julie said. “We would have to contact the league people — we’d need an adult for it to sound right.”
“Or someone who sounds like an adult,” I said. “Someone who’s not too concerned with rules … Someone who’s out of the mainstream …”
* * *
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Ice.
Julie and I had found him on Main Street Parallel. He was by himself, smoking on the edge of the woods.
“All you have to do is use an adult voice and act grown up …” I pleaded.
“I am grown up.”
“Pretend you’re our soccer coach …” Julie added.
“And ask if our soccer team can join the league for the rest of this season,” I finished.
“What’s in it for me?”
“We’ll owe you,” I offered.
“You bet you will.”
I produced a flyer that the league had sent to schools at the beginning of the season and pointed to the bottom of the page. “There’s the person to contact — Charles Finch, President. You can call from my house.”
“I’ll do the dirty deed now,” said Ice. He searched in his pockets for a small, red cellphone. He punched in the number at the bottom of the page, and spoke in a deeper voice than usual. “Good afternoon, Mr. Finch … This is Ice … er … Mr. Ice … Just call me Ice … I’d like my soccer team to play in the league … Yes, I know it’s late in the season … Yes, my players would be happy to do that … What school? Oh … ah … Cemetery Road School …”
I looked at Julie and whispered, “Cemetery Road School?”
Ice went on, “It’s a small private school in Brunswick Valley … Recently started playing soccer … The school address is … er … Cemetery Road, Brunswick Valley … Thank you, Mr. Finch. We appreciate your cooperation.”
He folded his cellphone away.
“Well?” I prompted.
“You’re in the league,” said Ice.
“Thank you,” Julie smiled. “That was brilliant.”
“Mr. Finch said there was a vacancy in the league because one school had dropped out …”
“That’d be Brunswick Valley,” I said.
“… But you’d have to play all your games away because he didn’t want to ask the other schools to travel when he’s just told them they won’t have to.”
“That’s good, because we don’t have a field,” I said.
“That’s not all,” Ice added. “The other teams will play twice as many games — home and away. Mr. Finch said that was the only way you could join.”
“How does a school contact us to arrange a game?” I said. “They’ll need a telephone number.”
“They’ve got one,” said Ice. “Finch has call display. He said he’d recorded my number and that they would be calling to arrange the games. So I guess I’ll be getting the calls.”
“You’ll be our manager,” said Julie, grinning.
“You really owe me,” Ice threatened.
* * *
Ice was waiting at the school gate the next day.
“You’ve got a game on Friday,” he said. “Their coach called last night. You’re playing Keswick Narrows. How are you going to get there?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted.
Keswick Narrows is a few kilometres upriver. The houses there are bigger than the ones in Brunswick Valley. They all have huge lawns and lots of flowers.
“Figures,” Ice scoffed. “I suppose you’re expecting me to help out again.”
“Can you?” I said hopefully.
“I’ve got a friend with a van...” Ice began.
“Our parents wouldn’t want us riding in a stranger’s van,” I said doubtfully.
“But you know me, and it’s my friend who has the van, so it’s not really a stranger’s van.”
“Is it … safe?”
“He has a licence to drive groups around, and it’s covered for insurance and everything, if that’s what you mean. He even takes his church youth club on trips. You’d just have to give him gas money.”
I told the team about the game when we met at the Cemetery Road after supper. Keswick Narrows was far enough away that we shouldn’t be recognized. How would Justason and the others react if they knew we were playing in the league? How would Mr. Finch react if he heard about our deception? Surely they would disapprove.
“Can we have a name for our team?” said Toby. “‘Cemetery Road’ is a bit sad.”
“Well — since we have to wander around for games,” I said thoughtfully, “we could call ourselves the Wanderers — the Cemetery Road Wanderers.”
It was also like the name of the club Grandad had played for when he was a goalkeeper — the Newcastle Wanderers. Everyone seemed pleased with the name.
In the middle of our meeting, Ice sauntered down the slope from the woods on the edge of the cemetery.
“Just checking up on my team,” said Ice. “Your van will be at the Portage Street gate right after school tomorrow. Now I’m wondering about your tactics.”
I turned to Ice. “What do you mean?”
“By the look of it you’ve got only nine players, and last time I checked there were eleven on a soccer team, which means Keswick Narrows is going to have a two-man advantage – excuse me, darlings — I mean a two-person advantage.”
“We’ll concentrate on defence, and hope we can get a breakaway goal,” I said.
“And who’s going to get your breakaway goals?”
I looked around our team. Our best strikers were Magic and Brandon, the only two who hadn’t joined the Wanderers.
“I like playing fullback best, but I can score,” Toby offered.
“With only nine players, you can’t just stay up front, and you won’t be able to chase up and down the field for ninety minutes, will you?” said Ice.
Toby glanced down at his chunky frame and shook his head. “Guess not.”
“You’ll do more good staying back. The defence will need your strength and experience.”
Toby looked up, brightening.
“So how do you think we should play?” Julie asked.
“I’d use the Thin Red Line tactic,” said Ice, sitting on a gravestone.
We clustered around him.
“Thin Red Line?” I queried.
“It’s a military expression — comes from the Crimean War — meaning brave defending against overwhelming odds,” Ice explained. “This is how it works: after kickoff everyone lines up across the field — all except the goalie — on the edge of the penalty area. Try to avoid too much space between you so their players can’t run through.”
“You mean stand in a line right across the field?” I said. “They’ll laugh at us.”
“That’s right. And with any luck they’ll forget how to play soccer — for a while. They’ll fuss around waiting for a turn to run at your single line of defence, and that’s when your fastest player —”
“Julie,” I supplied.
“… That’s when you, darling …” said Ice, looking at Julie.
“Don’t call me darling,” said Julie, through clenched teeth.
“… That’s when you, sweet pea,” Ice went on, unabashed, “… take off up the field. At the same time your best passer —”
“Shay,” said Brian.
“… lobs the ball over the opposition to Julie, who waltzes it around their goalie, who’ll be the only one left to beat.”
“I’d be offside,” Julie pointed out.
“You can’t be offside in your own half, so you just have to make sure you don’t cross the halfway line before you get Shay’s pass.”
“How do you know so much about soccer?” said Julie.
“From stuff I’ve heard,” said Ice, and went on quickly. “Have you thought about uniforms?” He looked at me. “You’d better make it white shirts — everyone’s got a white shirt of some kind — and black shorts, or as near white and black as you can get.”
He added, “You know, this is crazy. You’re playing under false pretences, and you’re going to get caught. Even if by some miracle you didn’t, the other teams play twice as many games as you, so you’re bound to finish bottom of the league. Are you sure it’s worth it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What do you say?”
“I think it’s a blast,” said Ice.
“So why are you telling me all this?”
“Just don’t want you guys getting disappointed,” Ice mumbled.