A Different Game by Sylvia Olsen Page A

the reason there’s a soccer game every day throughout the summer—to get ready. Younger boys and even non-soccer players come out to help prepare the grade sevens for the September tryouts. It’s been a Long Inlet tradition ever since Uncle Rudy made the team.
    Sometimes one player from the reserve gets picked for the Riverside starting lineup, rarely two, but never four. But like Uncle Rudy says, there’s never been such a pool of Long Inlet grade-seven talent heading to middle school.
    â€œYou go, Albert,” Haywire shouts. “You’re the best since Uncle Rudy. Riverside’s not going to know what hit them.”
    Haywire might be right. Even Uncle Rudy says as much—maybe not right out loud, but it’s easy to tell that Uncle Rudy is amazed at Albert’s skill. It’s no secret. All the boys, and pretty much everyone else on the Long Inlet Reserve, know that Albert is the best young soccer player they have ever seen.
    Levi passes to Albert. Albert takes the ball as if he’s got a magnet in his foot. He dribbles it around Haywire like the guy is standing still. He dekes around Jeff, making him look like he’s sitting on his heels, and charges straight for Murphy, who’s crouched and ready. Albert aligns his body. At first it looks as if he’s going to drill the ball high and directly at Murphy. Murphy’s all set—legs bent, eyes on the ball, hands up. Then, at the last split second, Albert shifts his weight, fakes Murphy out and slams the ball into the back of the net.
    â€œJeez, Murph, where were you?” he shouts, and then he laughs.
    Albert runs to Murphy as he’s picking up the ball.
    â€œHigh five,” Albert says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
    â€œForget it,” Murphy says. “You’re looking at the starting keeper. Try that again and see how good you are.”
    Albert dribbles back to center field.
    â€œThat won’t happen next time,” Murphy hollers.
    Danny does a four-finger whistle, and the game starts again.
    Levi lets a shot go, and Connor tries one, but they don’t have a chance. Murphy is good. Really good.
    He gets in front of the ball, hits it, traps it, blocks it— whatever it takes, Murphy does it. He is on his game, and it feels good. The Riverside coach can’t possibly overlook him. But, in the back of his mind, he knows the goalie position is the hardest position to take, especially if the coach already has someone in mind.
    â€œLook out, Murph,” Jeff hollers. “Here comes Albert.”
    This time Albert takes a shot toward the top left-hand corner of the net. He knows it’s Murphy’s weak spot. For some reason Murphy’s left leg has slower reflexes than his right. The whole left side of his body seems to lack the lightning-fast responses that he can count on from his right side.
    It’s not as if Murphy is slow on his left side—not compared to other boys. But he can feel a slight lag time in his muscles. The only other person who knows about Murphy’s right/left difference is Albert. And when Albert knows a player has a weakness, he makes sure he uses that weakness to his advantage.
    â€œNice try,” Albert shouts.
    â€œNice shot,” Murphy shouts back.
    Albert is fast, and he’s tough. In the winter, when Murphy first started playing soccer with the boys, he thought Albert just blasted his way to being a good player. Bull strength—bigger is better—was what Murphy thought of as Albert’s style.
    But since the tournament in the spring, when the Long Inlet Buckskins went to Victoria to the Easter tournament—the biggest soccer tournament on the Island—and won the trophy, Murphy has come to know a few other things about Albert: he is smart; his eye doesn’t miss a thing; and he plays your weaknesses.
    Before the Easter tournament, when Uncle Rudy asked the team what part of the body was most important to a good