Hot Prospect by Cindy Jefferies

1. The Beautiful Game
    â€œRoddy! Your ball!”
    Roddy Jones turned and chased the goalie’s wayward kick up the pitch. He was exhausted from running himself into the ground all afternoon for the Valley Primary School team, but happy doing what he absolutely loved. He was easily the best player, and as captain did most of the work himself, but he didn’t care. In his head he was a world-famous attacking midfielder, playing in the World Cup, and he could hear the commentators marvelling at his skill.
    And it’s Jones now, in acres of space. He puts his foot on the ball and looks up to assess the situation, then spots Bryn Thomas makinga lovely run down the right wing. He hoists a pin-point pass 40 yards across the pitch, and sets off at a gallop towards the penalty area. Thomas collects the ball a split second before the covering defender, and instinctively lashes in a cross to where he knows Jones will be arriving. Without breaking his stride, the young Welsh-Brazilian midfielder lets the ball bounce once before firing home a vicious half-volley into the top-left corner, leaving the despairing keeper sprawled in the mud. Jones wheels away with his fist in the air, and slides on his knees towards the corner flag. His fourth goal seals a magnificent 5–1 victory for a well-deserved place in the final!
    Roddy came off the field with the rest of his five-a-side team. He was gasping for breath, covered in mud, and his jet-black hair was sticky with sweat. But his dark eyes weresparkling with excitement, and he was laughing. They’d won every game they’d played and were in the final of the tournament. What could possibly be better than that?
    â€œStuffed them, didn’t we, Bryn?” Roddy panted to his best mate with glee, rubbing his face with the bottom of his shirt.
    Bryn Thomas nodded his cropped head. “St David’s has twice as many pupils as we do,” he said. “But they’re useless.”
    â€œNow then,” said their coach, Mr Taylor, as he joined them from the touchline. “No rubbishing the opposition.”
    â€œBut 5–1!” objected Bryn. “They
are
useless.”
    â€œThey just don’t have a Roddy Jones,” said Mr Taylor, smiling at the team. “He played a blinder out there, but he needs more support. This is a team game. You can’t expect Roddy todo all the work. You’re in the final now, but if you’re not careful, our star player won’t survive the match.”
    â€œDrinks! And a Mars bar each.” It was Roddy’s dad with the refreshments. Dan Jones was almost as keen on football as his son, and had taken the afternoon off to help with the five-a-side tournament. “Well done, Roddy,” he added proudly. “Your third goal was brilliant. I think St David’s gave up after that. Well done, all of you.”
    â€œYes, you’ve earned your place in the final,” agreed Mr Taylor. “And we’re playing on this pitch again, so you can have a good rest. The opposition will have to come to us.”
    â€œWho are we up against?” asked Roddy between gulps of his drink. He was sorry the day was almost over, despite being totally shattered. His mum, Francesca Jones, said he was so football mad he’d play in his sleepif he could! In fact, the whole family was keen on the game, but recently his older sister Liz had lost interest, which was a shame because she’d been pretty good, too.
    Roddy played football whenever and wherever he got the chance. In school, in the back garden, at the park, even in his bedroom sometimes, although that wasn’t really to be recommended. Roddy Jones simply
lived
for the game. Mr Taylor had already told him how much he’d be missed when he moved up to Valley Comp next term.
    â€œYou’re facing Manor Primary,” said Mr Taylor, checking his list. “They’ve only dropped one game today. Did you get a chance to see how they