Matty in the Goal Read online

  About this Book

  Go When You Know!

  Matty Wells loved soccer. Unfortunately, he wasn’t any good at it. He certainly wasn’t the hero of his team, the Canyon Cannons. Matty volunteered to be the team’s new goalie, but things didn’t get any better. Matty just stood in the goal while his teammates got the glory. But with help from a new coach and hard work at practice, could Matty become the team’s new superstar? Follow Matty in this action-packed soccer story as he learns to play goalie like a champion.

  About the Author

  Stuart A.P. Murray, a native of Scotland but raised in New Jersey, has written more than forty books, including a soccer instructional for young players. He played college and semi-pro soccer and has coached youth, high school, and college teams.

  Contents

  Cover

  About this Book

  Title Page

  Chapter 1: The Worst Position of All

  Chapter 2: A Goalpost With a Uniform

  Chapter 3: The Brain, Blushing

  Chapter 4: Bobako

  Chapter 5: A Tough Teacher

  Chapter 6: A Human Shield

  Chapter 7: Play a Man’s Game

  Chapter 8: The Coach of the Rovers

  Chapter 9: A Penalty Kick

  Chapter 10: Trouble With Gibb

  Chapter 11: The Rovers

  Chapter 12: The Best Position of All

  Chapter 13: Go When You Know!

  Note to Our Readers

  Dedication

  Copyright

  More Books from Enslow

  Chapter One

  The Worst Position of All

  Matty Wells really loved soccer.Matty loved to boot the ball and to dribble up and down the field, even though he couldn’t kick the ball too far, and he didn’t run very fast. He loved to head the ball, too, though sometimes it hit him on the nose.

  Soccer was fun for Matty, especially when he played with his dad or with his big brown dog, Sam, who could chase the ball all day long. But Matty didn’t have as much fun when he played soccer on his club team, the Canyon Cannons.

  Matty really wanted to have fun on the team. He wanted to play his best. But he couldn’t shoot the ball as hard as the other players. He was too slow to dribble past them on the field.

  Sometimes, he wondered why his legs felt so long and clunky when he was almost twelve years old. He thought he was getting stronger, but he was so uncoordinated. When it came to shooting at the goal, he was hopeless.

  At least that’s what Gibb said. Matty figured Gibb ought to know, because he was better than everybody at soccer. Gibb Moore was the star of the Canyon Cannons. He was the star of the whole Glenvale Soccer League. He was the high scorer. Usually, Matty sat on the bench during much of the game, watching Gibb score goals.

  Then one day the team’s goalie moved away. Coach Gray gathered all the kids together on the practice field.

  “I need a volunteer,” Coach Gray said. They all knew what he meant, even before he said, “We need a new goalie. Who wants to do it?”

  “Not me!” almost everybody gasped at the same time.

  Most Cannons players scrunched their hands behind their backs and tried to look away from the coach. They didn’t want to volunteer, and they didn’t want to be picked for goalkeeper.

  “That’s the worst position of all!” Tommy Schmidt, a tall, skinny kid, said.

  “I want to play in the field,” said Bill Stein, who was a little heavy, but very strong. “I want to be a striker!”

  “I don’t want to be goalie and get blamed if the other team scores against me,” said Mike Lee, one of the fastest Cannons players—other than Gibb, of course. “I want to stay in the field.”

  Coach Gray, who was an easygoing coach and was liked by everyone, just smiled. “I know it’s not your favorite position, kids, but somebody has to play in goal.”

  Matty thought hard. He’d sure like to be on the field rather than sitting on the bench all game. He might just volunteer, even if it wasn’t much fun to be the goalie, as everybody said. Actually, he liked saving the ball when he played with his dad and Sam. Maybe he should raise his hand and—

  Someone spoke up: “Me. I’ll play goalie.”

  It was Gibb Moore, and he had a big grin on his freckled face. Everybody groaned when he stepped forward.

  “You can’t be goalie,” Mike Lee said. “We need you in the field!”

  “Yeah, you’re our scorer!” Bill Stein shouted.

  “That would be a big waste!” Tommy Schmidt moaned.

  Gibb smiled and shrugged. He was as tall as Tommy and as strong as Bill. He would be an unbeatable goalie.

  “That’s the kind of team spirit I like, Gibb,” Coach Gray said. “But we need you to stay in the field.”

  Matty was sure Gibb wasn’t actually serious when he offered to play goalie. Everybody knew Gibb had to score their goals. With Gibb playing on the field, the Cannons controlled the ball most of the time anyway. The other teams didn’t have many chances to shoot for goal because Gibb kept the ball out of the Cannons’ half.

  Gibb was bigger, stronger, and faster than every kid in middle school. He looked much older than the other seventh graders, too. He was the exact opposite of Matty, who was average height, average strength, and had below-average ability.

  True, Matty was almost a year younger than the rest of the Cannons. That didn’t make it any easier sitting on the bench.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Matty was surprised to hear himself say that. He’d actually offered to play goalie—the worst position of all.

  “That is, if nobody else wants to play.”

  His teammates liked the idea, and Coach Gray clapped him on the shoulder. “Great, Matty. You’ll be our goalie.”

  Matty heard Tommy say quietly, “At least he won’t have to make any saves.”

  Some of the players laughed.

  Practice started and Matty took his position between those tall white posts. The goal had never looked so huge before.

  Whenever Matty had taken shots on goal, it had always seemed much smaller than this. Now, however, he stood under the long crossbar, with that wide space between the posts. Matty figured he looked like some little blond-haired dork that couldn’t stop a mouse from scoring.

  Playing in goal didn’t seem like such a good idea after all. Well, it was too late now. He would have to do his best.

  The Cannons practiced with their offense against their defense. That meant Matty had to defend the goal against Gibb, who had a powerful shot. The first time Gibb dribbled through all of Matty’s defenders and fired the ball, Matty did a good job of guessing where it was going.

  He moved quickly to the right side to meet the ball. WHAM! The ball hit his hands like a rock and popped through.

  “Goal!” Gibb shouted, jumping and thrusting a fist in the air.

  “Yeowch!” Matty yelped and hopped around, shaking his fingers while everybody laughed.

  After a few more of those hard shots from Gibb, Coach Gray came to look at Matty’s red palms. The coach handed Matty a pair of goalie gloves and apologized for not giving them to him sooner.

  “Are you sure you want to play goalie in practice?” Coach Gray asked. “You can play goalie just in regular games, so you won’t have to get in the way of Gibb’s shots.”

  Matty shook his head. “I’m okay, Coach. It just stings a little, that’s all.”

  They went on with the practice. Matty played as hard as he could. He tried not to wince when Gibb’s shots came zooming at the goal. A lot of the time, Matty got to the ball, but he couldn’t hold it. And when he did get a hand on the ball, it could hurt, even with gloves on!

  No wonder Gibb was the high scorer. He c
ould shoot almost as well as some high school kids. If the middle school had a soccer team, Gibb would be a star there, too. Matty just couldn’t keep him from scoring. Gibb smeared Matty that day and must have scored a hundred goals, or so it seemed. When practice ended, Gibb came up to Matty.

  “The goal is the best place for you when we play games, Wells, because you won’t have to do anything,” Gibb laughed. “I won’t let the other team get the ball close to you, so don’t worry.”

  Matty didn’t say it, but he wouldn’t mind the ball coming downfield sometimes. That way he could make a few saves, and the team would count on him after a while. Anyway, playing in goal was better than sitting on the bench, that’s for sure.

  Even if his hands did hurt.

  Chapter Two

  A Goalpost With a Uniform

  Gibb was right. Every game the Cannons played, they won—easily. Nobody scored against Matty in the goal, but it wasn’t because he was a great goalkeeper. Gibb was the reason nobody scored against the Cannons. He always got the ball when it was bouncing around. Sometimes, he dribbled up the whole field to the other team’s goal and scored.

  His most exciting move was to let the defenders come at him at midfield. Then he’d suddenly kick the ball between them and take off. Once he was through, goalies didn’t have a chance.

  Whenever the other team did manage to kick the ball downfield toward Matty’s goal, Gibb always seemed to be there first. He usually got to the ball before Matty could run out to get it. Gibb was the hero. Matty mostly had to stand, leaning against the goalpost, and watch the game from far, far away.

  One morning before school, Matty sat in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. The springtime sun poured over the table, and the scent of toast and coffee filled the room. Matty had put on a Beatles CD and listened to “Yellow Submarine.” The cheerful music floated through the house.

  Matty’s mom enjoyed the music, too, while she fixed school lunches at the counter. Amy, his seven-year-old sister, gave instructions, as usual.

  Amy was bossy, and she talked a lot. Matty did not mind her otherwise. When Matty wanted to tease her, he would sing the oldie, “You Talk Too Much,” and she would get so mad that she would chase him around the house. At least Matty could outrun Amy.

  Matty’s dad came downstairs for breakfast. He gave Amy a kiss and patted Sam, who wagged his fluffy tail. As usual, his father turned down the stereo. He liked the Beatles, but he would rather have soft classical music at breakfast.

  “How’s the ace goalie?” Mr. Wells asked with a smile, as he poured coffee. He sat down at the table and began to open the morning newspaper.

  “Who’s an ace goalie?” Matty mumbled and hardly looked up.

  “Aren’t you having fun there, Matt? You get to play all game long, right?”

  “I guess.” Matty took the last bite of his cereal. He got up to wash the bowl.

  “You’re not too convincing,” his mother said. “Aren’t you having a good time on the team?”

  “You get a shutout every game,” his dad said. “The high school coach must be looking forward to you coming up in a couple of years.”

  “Dad, I just stand there all day.” Matty didn’t want to complain, but he couldn’t help it. “The ball never comes down to me. I wish I’d never volunteered to be goalie. It’s mega-boring … except during practice.”

  He took a quick look at his hands, and could almost feel Gibb firing another thousand shots at him.

  “Playing goalie is for nerds who can’t do anything else. Just somebody who’s too slow, too weak … like me,” Matty said.

  “Matty!” his mother said sharply, looking up from the peanut butter sandwich she was making.

  She didn’t have to say any more than that for him to know that his sulky attitude troubled her. Matty felt miserable. He wished that he hadn’t grumbled, but he didn’t know what else to say. Anyway, he really meant it.

  Mr. Wells folded his paper and drank some coffee. Matty paused by the sink, expecting his father to give him a lecture. Actually, he hoped his father would be able to cheer him up. When a long moment passed, Matty figured nobody could change the way he felt. He sighed and dried his hands on a towel.

  As Matty began to leave the kitchen, Mr. Wells spoke in the deep, slow voice that meant he was thinking seriously.

  “Sit down, buddy. Let’s talk about this for a minute.”

  Matty sat, but didn’t say anything. His father had never played soccer. How could he know what Matty was feeling as the worst player at the worst position on the best team? The goalie who never had to make a save in a game?

  Mr. Wells let the silence linger a moment. Even Amy knew enough to hush up. It bothered Matty that she was listening, with her ears pricked up just like Sam’s.

  “What do you want to do?” Mr. Wells asked. “Quit the team?”

  “No!” Matty blurted out. “I’m no quitter. Don’t you know that?”

  “Yes, of course I know that,” Mr. Wells smiled and nodded. “But if you walk around with a long face and tell me you hate being goalie, then what’s the use of being on the team?”

  Matty didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say to his dad.

  His mother helped out. “You love soccer, don’t you Matty?”

  “’Course I do, more than anything.”

  “We love coming to your games,” she said.

  Amy chimed in, “Me, too, even if you just stand there. Your red uniforms are real pretty.”

  “Clam up!” Matty darted an annoyed look at his sister. “Anyway, I have to wear a yellow goalie uniform. I can’t even wear my red jersey.”

  “Soccer’s been good for you,” his father said. “You sure are a lot stronger these days.”

  He playfully squeezed his son’s arm so that Matty had to yank it away and couldn’t help but smile.

  “You know,” Mr. Wells went on, “I’m learning a little about soccer from fellows at work who played in college. They tell me the goalie is often the most important player on the team.”

  That bothered Matty.

  “Dad, you mean you’ve been telling everybody that I don’t like being goalie? Great! Now all the kids will know about it!”

  “No, I haven’t said anything about you.” Mr. Wells sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Hey, you can go to soccer camp this summer. Would you like that?”

  “Yeah! Awesome!” Matty could learn a lot at soccer camp, where college and even professional players came to teach. “I heard they’re going to have a goalie coach, and he’s—”

  Amy squawked, “I thought you didn’t like goalie!”

  “Well, what’s the use of being goalie with Gibb on the team?” Matty answered.

  Matty did like playing goalie when there was something to do.

  “Gibb’s ‘Mister Everything.’ I never get the ball in games. I just stand there all game. I feel like I’m another goalpost—a goalpost with a uniform.”

  Amy giggled. Mrs. Wells put her hand to her mouth to hide a laugh, and his father chuckled. That made Matty grin, too. Soon, they were all laughing.

  “Well,” his father went on, “at least you get plenty of goalie experience during practice, right? And by next season, you’ll have gone to soccer camp, and you’ll be twice as good a player.”

  “Maybe,” Matty said, becoming serious again. “But right now it’s no fun.”

  “But you’re learning something else, son,” Mr. Wells said as he got up from the table, ready to go to work. “You’re learning to play for the team—to be a real team player. And that’s a very important lesson.”

  Matty knew his dad was right, but that didn’t make it easier. He wished he could be a star in the goal, but that wouldn’t happen as long as Gibb Moore was “Mister Everything” for the Canyon Cannons.

  Right now, Matty Wells was just a goalpost with a uniform.

  Chapter Three

  The Brain, Blushing

  Even though Matty wasn’t very happy playing goalkeeper
, the Cannons kept on winning. And that was exciting. Even before the season was over, they had won enough games to be crowned the champions of the Glenvale Soccer League. Of course, it was Gibb who really won, and everybody admired him.

  Matty admired Gibb, too. Gibb was a cool guy, even though he could seem stuck up sometimes. Still, whenever he spoke to Matty, Gibb was nice in his own way. Matty knew Gibb didn’t think much of him, at least not as an athlete. But Matty would have liked to have been Gibb’s friend.

  That seemed impossible, of course, because they didn’t have much in common. For one thing, Matty liked to read, and Gibb liked video games and television. Matty didn’t care much for them. For another thing, Matty liked oldies music, but Gibb liked heavy rock.

  Maybe Matty was a little too weird for a guy like Gibb, who was so supernormal, so happy with everything, and so good at sports. In school, Matty took all advanced classes and Gibb didn’t. So Matty only saw him once or twice a day. That was too bad. There was something special about being around Gibb.

  He was so confident and very funny. Even the teachers liked him. Gibb never seemed to have any of the problems that other kids had. Everybody wanted to be Gibb’s friend, and he was usually surrounded by half the school. Gibb hung out with the other sports maniacs and all the girls who adored them.

  Sometimes, Matty wondered what it would be like to be Gibb Moore: Gibb the athlete, Gibb the hero, instead of Matty, the goalie who never made a save.

  “You’re a real brain,” Gibb said one day as they walked out of gym class, the only class they had together. “You must study like a fiend.”

  “I don’t study that much,” Matty shrugged.

  “Study a lot more than me, that’s for sure,” Gibb snorted. “You’re a real bookworm compared to me.”

  “I dunno,” Matty scuffed his feet. “I like sports a lot, even if I’m not all that great at them.”

  “Hey, don’t feel bad, Wells.” Gibb seemed like he was talking to himself when he said, “Be glad you don’t have to be so great at sports, the way they expect me to be the best all the time.”