Chapter 7
Two weeks later, Grandview took to the field against Colton. The past two games had been easy away wins for Grandview and Cory had hardly touched the ball in either game. But today was going to be a challenge, according to Quinn. Colton was a scrappy team that never gave up.
"Listen carefully, boys," Quinn said in a somber tone before sending them out to warm up. He always had a brief pre-game chat in the privacy of the locker room. Today, his dark eyes showed an intensity as he looked at the boys. "These guys are scrappy and don't play our style of game. Keep your heads and don't fall into their tactics of kick-and-run." Quinn looked directly at Cory. "Trust your fullbacks to help you out, son." Cory nodded his head. Quinn nodded back and smiled.
It was time to go. The boys filed out onto the soccer pitch and went through their pregame warm-ups. Soon, both teams lined up in starting positions with the Colton players ready on the opposite side of the midline. The referee checked both goalkeepers and blew his whistle.
After fifteen minutes, Grandview settled into its passing game. The guys looked good, loose, focused on their opponent. Presently, Colton had the ball and was bringing it down Cory’s left side. As they crossed the midline and down the flank, Jerry Fletcher shifted over to pressure the player with the ball. The Colton wing was fast, but Jerry knew he only used his right foot when he made his moves.
Jerry moved within five feet and a little to the outside of the Colton player. This forced the winger to shift the ball to his left foot where he wasn’t so comfortable. As the winger moved towards him, Jerry shuffled backwards, keeping a couple yards' distance between them. This jockeying by Jerry made it hard for the Colton winger to make a move and blow past him. And, with the ball mostly on his left foot to keep it away from Jerry, the winger wasn’t sure of his dribbling.
The two players moved down about twenty yards, Jerry keeping up the jockeying and frustrating the winger. Then, just what Jerry was waiting for. The winger touched the ball too far in front of him and Jerry lunged with his left leg for the free ball. His timing was perfect! His foot stopped the ball, the winger attempted to force it past Jerry but was off balance and, instead, flew past the ball and Jerry's extended leg, hitting the turf on his chest. Jerry jumped up and quickly pushed the ball in the opposite direction upfield, looking for an open teammate.
“Jerry!” shouted Brett. “I’m square!”
He passed inside to Brett. Brett trapped the ball and quickly turned, moving across field to the other side, ditching an opponent with a sudden burst of speed. His smooth movement with the ball was hypnotizing as he dribbled through the center circle spying Jimmy up front making a run back towards him. But, there was a halfback between them. Brett effortlessly chipped a fifteen-yard pass over the halfback, and Jimmy chested the ball down, spun with it, and dribbled toward goal.
“Out to Plug!” Brett shouted to Jimmy. “Out to Plug!”
Jimmy slowed his dribbling momentum and sent a crisp pass out left and into empty space for Plug to run onto. Plug bolted for the ball. He controlled it with the inside of his left foot and cut in sharply toward Colton’s goalie box. As he crossed the eighteen-yard line at the top of the box, Brett called “Square!” off to his right. At the same time, the goalkeeper shot off his line to shut down Plug. Plug let the ‘keeper get within five feet, then punched a quick pass, square to Brett.
“It’s yours, Brett!”
Brett took the pass and, with one touch, slammed home the shot. The ball hit the back of the net, and the Grandview crowd exploded in cheers!
“Nice work,” Quinn shouted from the bench. “Way to keep a cool head on that shot, Brett. And Plug, Jimmy, that’s the way to play the game!”
Quinn was clapping with encouragement, walking up and down the touchline in front of the bench, his buzz cut a familiar and reassuring sight to Cory. Cory shouted his own cheers upfield, feeling relief with a goal scored.
“Okay, boys,” Quinn barked in that familiar voice. “Let’s play tough out there. Take it to ‘em!”
The rest of the half was spent mostly on Colton’s side of the field. Grandview had some good chances to up the score by two, but the Colton ‘keeper was warmed up now and caught or blocked the ones on target. The halftime whistle blew. The score: Grandview 1, Colton 0.
“Look fellas,” Quinn said during the halftime talk. “You’re knockin’ on the door. It’s just a matter of time before you put another one in.”
Jeff listened and nodded in agreement while Tim scraped mud off one of his shoes with the cleats of the other. Jerry fumbled with tying his shoe and Manny coughed. Quinn looked satisfied. The boys came to play today. Finally, his eyes fell on Cory. Colton never threatened with a solid attack in the first half.
“How you feelin’, Towson?”
“Great, Coach,” he answered, quickly looking up.
“Well, just be ready when that ball finds its way into your box, okay?”
“Yes, sir!”
The whistle sounded.
"Okay, boys," Quinn said. "Nothing fancy out there. Keep it basic."
The boys trotted back onto the field, and Cory jogged to goal, sidestepping from post to post as he had seen Gray do many times. He checked his footing and snugged his gloves tighter. The whistle blew, and the second half started.
Mostly, play moved up and down the outside of the field. Colton was crowding the middle, putting pressure on the Grandview center midfielders, forcing the ball back outside. As soon as a Grandview midfielder received a pass, a Colton player would quickly move to put pressure on him. Cory noticed Colton had changed its tactics. They were playing a kick-and-run game. When Colton won the ball, they would immediately kick a long pass downfield toward one of their strikers. They were hoping to catch Grandview’s defense up too far and get a breakaway. This tactic forced players to chase the ball around more, which meant Colton was desperate for a goal.
Unfortunately for Cory, Grandview started playing the same way. It wasn’t their style and Colton was much better at this scrappy tactic. Sure enough, the ball made its way to Cory’s goal as the Grandview defenders tired out from the chase.
Suddenly, a Colton defender kicked a long pass from midfield. The ball arced high and angled towards Cory and the goalie box. Cory shot off his line to catch it while Tim shifted over as he watched it drop. Cory, in his rush, forgot to call “’keeper’s ball!” Tim never saw him coming. Both players went up for the ball, Cory to catch it, Tim to head it away, and they collided. Tim hit Cory’s elbow, forcing Cory’s legs to swing up. Both boys went down hard. At the same time, the ball skimmed past them and bounced into the net. Colton had a goal.
Cory slowly got up, trying to catch his breath. Tim stayed on the ground holding a swelling forehead. Off to the side, the Colton players celebrated.
“You guys okay?” Brett asked, running up to kneel next to Tim. He stared wide-eyed at Tim’s forehead. “Wow. Nice bump.”
The other boys quickly ran up, too. Cory was still foggy in his head as Tim jumped up.
“I’m okay,” he said angrily and looked at Cory. “What are you trying to do, Towson . . . . kill me?”
“Sorry,” Cory said. “I was going for the ball.” He shook his head. “Didn’t see you.”
“No kidding!” Tim shot back, lightly touching his head. He stomped back into position, his jersey streaked with mud. Brett signaled to Quinn the boys were okay and Cory moved back to his goal.
“What the hell,” Cory mumbled, still groggy from the fall. To Cory, it seemed forever before the final whistle blew to end the game. It was a tie. As they walked off the field, Quinn threw his clipboard on the ground.
“What the heck happened out there, boys?” Quinn asked sharply. He looked at both Cory and Tim. Both boys stopped short of the bench, facing their coach.
“Don’t ask me,” blurted Tim. He brushed angrily at some dirt on his shirt. “Towson didn’t call for th
e ball, so I didn’t know he was there!”
Cory looked at Tim, shocked at the accusation. Quinn looked at Cory, but Cory was speechless.
“We should have won that game!” Quinn barked. Everyone was quiet now. Quinn looked across the field at Colton. They were gathering their gear from the visitor’s bench. “Okay,” he finally said, turning back to the team and looking more composed. He bent down and picked up the clipboard. “We make up for it in the next game!”
Without another word, Quinn walked toward the locker room. Cory watched Quinn, feeling the pain of letting his coach down. He suddenly realized he really wanted to win, not just for himself and the team, but for Quinn. "Damn it," he thought as his eyes followed his coach. Then he noticed Gray Pritchard standing at the end of the bench. He was leaning on his crutches, looking at Cory. He shook his head doubtfully, then hobbled off. Cory sat on the bench and stared blankly at the grass. A dull ache pounded on the right side of his lower back. His elbow ached, too. Another tie that felt like a loss, and it was his fault.
“You need to work on coming off your line.”
Startled, Cory looked up. It was the man from the end of the bleachers. The one who'd said Cory had promise.
“What do you mean?” Cory said, looking at the man. The man gazed back at Cory with a friendly but neutral expression.
“Your timing is off, son. You’re coming out too late on those high balls.”
"I am?"
“But, your teammate, that sweeper, should have trusted you to do your job.” The man nodded to Cory. “Hang in there, son." He suddenly smiled. "You’ll get it.”
Cory watched the man turn and start to walk away.
“Wait!” he suddenly blurted. The man stopped and looked back at Cory. “Do you know something about goalkeeping?”
“Well,” the man answered thoughtfully. “I have played ‘keeper, yes.”
The man said nothing more and Cory was suddenly afraid to ask too much. Then he saw Gene approaching, walking his bike over from behind the bleachers.
“Hey, Gene!” Cory shouted and motioned him over, wanting to keep talking but not sure what to say. Gene walked up to the bench, his bike at his side.
“Mister? This is my friend Gene. My name is Cory.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said, smiling and thrusting his hand out to Cory and Gene to shake. “How rude of me. My name is Tony Banks.” Mr. Banks' grip was strong, thought Cory. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cory.” Mr. Banks nodded to Gene. “And you, too, Gene.” He paused. “So, Mr. Cory . . . .”
“Towson, sir.”
“So, Mr. Cory Towson. Would you like to work on your timing?”
Cory was shocked and stared wide-eyed at Tony Banks.
“Sure,” he stammered, looking over at Gene for support. Gene just shrugged his shoulders, confused.
“Good. Meet me at Lions Park Sunday morning. Eight a.m., sharp. I’ll teach you what I know.”
“Okay, Mr. Banks,” Cory said excitedly. “I’ll be there!”
“We better get going,” Gene broke in quietly. “Our parents are gonna wonder where we are.”
“Oh, right,” Cory said and gave a quick wave. “See you on Sunday, eight o’clock.”
Tony Banks nodded, turned and walked off toward the parking lot. Cory and Gene walked to the locker room, Cory now bubbling with excitement, unaware of Gene’s mood.
“I’m going to get my stuff,” Cory said, slapping Gene on the back. “Be right back!”
Gene nodded, turning toward the parking lot. Five minutes later, Cory emerged from the locker room and jogged over to the bike rack. Gene was waiting, and Cory noticed him looking thoughtfully towards the parking lot.
“What’s up?” Cory said, following his stare. He felt unusually happy. No one had ever offered to help him with his goalkeeping before. Except Gene. But that was different. “What are you looking at?”
Gene turned. “Aw, nothing. Just wondering who that guy is.”
Cory was now staring at the parking lot.
“I don't know. I've never seen him before, but he seems okay.”
“Yeah,” Gene said. “You're probably right.” He jumped on his bike. “Let’s go home, man, before it gets dark.” He coasted down the sidewalk. “Come on!”
“I’ll race ya!” shouted Cory, throwing his lock and chain in his pack and leaping onto his own bike.
Both boys sped off down the sidewalk, jumped their bikes off the curb, and raced across the parking lot. Gene’s knees pumped up and down in that crazy piston-like motion as Cory matched his speed, both riders a picture of concentration. Cory suddenly noticed he was smiling as he flew down the road.