The Bravest Kid I've Ever Known and Other Naughty Stories for Good Boys and Girls (4 page)

‘No worries,’ said Tracy. ‘No-one speaks about my school like that.’

‘Where did you learn karate?’ asked Alice.

‘I didn’t,’ said Tracy. ‘It was all just a bluff. Thank goodness they ran.’

The next day, which happened to be Alice’s birthday again, Alice told the whole school what a hero Tracy was and how she had saved her life.

Secretly, Tracy loved it. Never before had people looked up to her. Sure, people were scared of her, but no-one had ever been nice before and really meant it. No-one had ever said hello with a smile in their eyes.

It turned out the reason Tracy was so nasty all the time was that her parents were nasty to her. Up until now, it was the only way she’d ever known how to be. Why her parents were never very nice, poor Tracy didn’t know. Perhaps she’ll find out one day.

That night after school, as Alice walked into her bedroom, she felt really happy. Sure, it was her birthday, but it was more than that. She had discovered something really important in life —
that there’s good in everybody.

She also discovered something else. Twenty-three people hiding in her bedroom. Including Tracy.

‘Surprise!’ they all screamed.

A very happy birthday, indeed.

Neerim West was the worst football team in the world. We hadn’t won a game for three years. And guess who was captain? Me.

One night, I said to my dad, ‘If we could have just one win, I’d be happy for the rest of my life.’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Dad. ‘You guys are useless.’

The only reason I stayed captain all that time was that no-one else wanted to do it. Being captain was like being king of the losers. Loser Larry Larkin, they called me.

I suppose what kept us all together was the friendship. For some reason, when you lose all the time, the ones who stick it out become really good mates. The guys who can’t hack it either go to other clubs or stop playing altogether. And suddenly they’re not friends anymore.

Of course, the other reason for playing is the pie nights. That’s when the club pays for you to eat pies until you’re sick. One night, Billy Burke spewed in the coach’s car. That was the last pie night we had that year.

Our worst game ever was against the top team, Nyora. By half-time, they’d kicked twenty-seven goals to our zero. We got the ball up to our forward line once, but instead of picking it up, Billy Burke tripped on it and bumped his head on the goal post.

‘What a pack of losers!’ yelled the Nyora guys. ‘What a bunch of dorks!’

I hated Nyora. Not just because they were good. They were tough, too. One day, one of their really big players, Monkey Roberts, smashed my best mate Owen. Somehow I’ll get him back for Owen.

At half-time of the Nyora game, our coach was so angry that he asked if we should just give up and play ring-a-ring-a-rosy instead. Stupid Terry Betts thought he was serious, and said, ‘Yeah. Cool!’

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, we were trudging off the ground after losing again by heaps, when my mate Alan said, ‘I’m sick of this.’

Oh no,
I thought,
Alan’s not going to leave too, is he?

‘No way,’ said Alan, seeing the look on my face. ‘I’d never leave. Not until we have a win. A win against Nyora. And I’ve got an idea.’

Alan got us all together after the game and said he was angry about losing all the time and that he’d had enough. He was ready to try anything. Even if it meant cheating. Well, not cheating, but maybe just bending the rules a little bit.

Alan said he didn’t mind training every night of the week if that’s what it would take, but one thing was certain — he was never going to cop a beating like that again.

‘My dad says we should be proud to wear this jumper,’ said Alan, ‘and I am! Are you with me?’

‘Yeah,’ screamed the other kids.

Later, in the showers, I said to Alan it was great the way he’d spoken and that maybe he should be captain.

‘OK, but just for one week,’ said Alan. ‘I’ve got a few ideas that are a bit naughty. In fact, really naughty.’

Alan said that after that one week, I should be captain again because I was ‘fair and honest’. Which suddenly sounded a bit wussy, to be truthful.

So, Alan got us all around to his place after Thursday training because another Nyora game was coming up the very next week. How we could possibly improve enough to beat the top team, though, I had no idea.

Well, Alan really did have some cool ideas. ‘I’m talking about tricks,’ said Alan. ‘Really naughty tricks. Nyora will hate our guts for it so they’ll bash us. Can you take it? Are you with me?’

‘Yeah!’ we all screamed again.

The week went by in a flash, and suddenly it was Saturday again. In the rooms before the Nyora game, I’ve never seen kids so fired up. If I had one nervous wee, I reckon I had twenty. Kids chattered and shivered and fidgeted and laughed and felt sick. At last it was time to run out onto the ground.

It was a cold day. Freezing, in fact. And the ground was muddy, which was just what Alan wanted. Alan had asked us to spend the first three quarters trying our guts out to stop Nyora from scoring. And the best way to do that was to keep the ball in the mud.

Every single one of us did just that. Kids threw themselves at the ball as if their lives depended on it. My dad said he’d never seen such courage. A pack would form and each time the whole team would run in and jump on top. Stacks on the mill.

It would take the umpire so long to drag us off that unbelievably, by the end of the third quarter, Nyora had scored just two goals. And then it was time for Alan’s really naughty tricks.

As soon as the ball was bounced for the start of the last quarter, Alan screamed out, ‘Monkey Roberts is such a sook that he still takes his teddy to bed and gets his mum to help him have a pee!’

Monkey stopped dead. He couldn’t believe his ears.

‘And,’ said Alan, ‘the rest of you Nyora wussies are about as tough as a bag of fairy floss.’

With that, Alan ran. For his life. Straight off the ground and into the club rooms. Of course the Nyora guys ran too, chasing Alan. Trouble was, every one of us secretly had one foot sticking out, and all eighteen Nyora players tripped over and fell flat on their faces in the mud!

Straight away, little Danny Biggs grabbed the ball, raced down the ground — dodging all the fallen Nyora players — and
bang!

One goal to Neerim West.

‘Yes!’ screamed the crowd.

By the time the Nyora team had picked themselves up from the ground, their coach was screaming at them to stay where they were. He didn’t want us kicking another goal!

The ball was bounced again and suddenly Alan was running back onto the ground. ‘Now!’ he screamed.

And with that, every one of our team ran behind a Nyora player, grabbed his shorts and pulled them to the ground. Dacked the lot of them, we did. Undies as well. And every one of the Nyora players just stood there in shock.

What a sight it must have been from the boundary line — mud and slush and eighteen white bottoms. White, cold bottoms.

‘Oh, look!’ screamed Alan, pointing at Monkey. ‘His willie’s turned blue!’

Well, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or grab the ball and kick another goal. Thank goodness, we kicked another goal.

Bang! Two goals all.

The sight of all those Nyora players trying to chase us with their dacks down around their ankles was classic. Like eighteen penguins.

Well, you can imagine what the Nyora guys were like after that. They were so angry you could see the whites of their eyes.

The umpire bounced the ball.

Whack!
Monkey jumped right into Alan’s back. Free kick.

Thump!
Six players ran straight into Danny Biggs. Another free kick.

Boof!
Another free kick. Guess who to? Me. Only fifteen metres out from goal.

And then the siren!

Oh no. I felt sick. I lined up the goals and the crowd went quiet.

The sight of that ball sailing through the middle of the goals is something we will never forget. We’d won for the first time in three years!

If anyone says it was a lucky goal, agree with them — I kicked it with my eyes closed.

The crowd clapped and cheered and cried and hugged. They carried Alan off the ground on their shoulders. And do you know what? Even the Nyora guys clapped. They’re tough, but they’re terrific sports.

Poor Monkey Roberts has never been the same since. He still kicks well enough, but taking marks has become a terrible problem.

You see, he only uses one hand. He uses the other to hold onto his shorts.

What a week,
thought Father Christmas.
On Thursday, I stubbed my toe getting into the stupid sleigh.

On Saturday, the North Pole Bears lost by sixteen goals.

It’s only three weeks till Christmas and I’m way behind with the toys, plus my helpers seem to be spending more time PLAYING video games than making them.

And worst of all, the doctor tells me I’m too fat!

‘Without wishing to be unkind,’ the doctor had said, ‘take away the red coat and we’re looking at a giant slug.’