had lifted the trophy every year for the last three years. It was a notoriously rough school, and their team played dirty, going in really hard for tackles, elbowing opponents, even once poking a referee in the eye. Dennis’s school, or rather ex-school, had never won, and all most people were expecting of them was a heroic defeat. Especially now that their best player had been expelled…
True to form Maudlin Street got off to a strong start, scoring in the first few minutes. One of their team was given the yellow card for administering a Chinese burn to one of the defenders before they scored another goal.
Then another.
Darvesh ran up to Gareth. “We don’t stand a chance. We need Dennis!”
“He’s expelled, Darvesh. Come on, we can win this without him.”
“No we can’t. And you know it!”
Gareth ran off after the ball. Another goal from Maudlin Street.
4-0.
This was turning into a massacre.
There was a lull for a moment as Darvesh’s mum and Miss Windsor stretchered off one of the school’s team. One of the Maudlin Street centre forwards had “accidentally” stamped on his leg. Darvesh shouted at Gareth, “Please Gareth. Do something!”
Gareth sighed and ran over to Mr Hawtrey.
“What do you want, boy? This is a disaster! You’re bringing shame on the school!” snarled the headmaster.
“I’m sorry, Sir. But you expelled our best player. We don’t have a chance without Dennis.”
“That boy is not playing.”
Gareth’s face fell. “But Sir, we need him.”
“I’m not having that dress-wearing disgrace of a boy representing the school.”
“Please Sir…?”
“Play on, boy,” said Mr Hawtrey, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Gareth ran back onto the pitch. Within moments he was lying in agony on the wet grass, after one of Maudlin Street’s forwards booted the ball straight at his groin. The striker then regained possession of the ball and hammered it into the goal.
5-0.
“You know you should really let the boy play, Mr Headmaster,” said Darvesh’s mum urgently.
“I’d be grateful if you minded your own business, madam,” snapped Mr Hawtrey in reply.
“Come on, Mac,” said Lisa bossily. “I need a hand.”
“Where are you guys going?” asked Dennis.
“You’ll see,” replied Lisa with a wink. She marched off across the playing fields with Mac trailing behind.
The Maudlin Street supporters once again howled with delight. Another goal.
6-0.
Dennis closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch anymore.
“Where the hell are they?” yelled Mr Hawtrey at no one in particular.
The second half was about to begin, and Maudlin Street were all waiting on the pitch, eager to finish off their demolition job. The school’s team was nowhere to be seen. Had they run away?
Then, suddenly, Lisa stepped out of the changing room and held the door open.
First Gareth ran out wearing a gold lamé ball gown…
Then Darvesh followed in a yellow polka dot frock…
Then the defenders were right behind in matching red cocktail dresses…
The rest of the team followed in a variety of outfits from Lisa’s wardrobe… And finally Dennis came out of the dressing room–in a pink bridesmaid’s dress.
There was a huge cheer from the crowd. Dennis looked at Lisa and smiled.
“Go get ’em kid!” she said.
As they ran onto the pitch, Mr Hawtrey bellowed at Gareth.
“WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, BOY?”
“You expelled Dennis for wearing a dress. But you can’t expel us all, Sir!” he shouted back triumphantly.
All the boys in the team lined up defiantly behind their captain, striking poses like they were dancers in a Madonna video. The crowd went wild.
“THIS IS A DISGRACE!” bellowed Mr Hawtrey. He stormed off, angrily brandishing his walking stick/seat thing.
Gareth smiled at Dennis.
“Come on boys. Let’s do it!” said Gareth.
The bemused referee blew his whistle before it fell out of his mouth. Within seconds Dennis had scored a goal. The Maudlin Street team were in shock.
They were still 6-1 down, but Dennis and his team-mates were back in the game.
“Woo!” shouted Darvesh, as he hitched up his skirt and weaved round a defender.
Laughing, Dennis scored again. He was on his way to a hat-trick and he was a hundred times happier than he had ever been. He was doing the two things he loved most at once: playing football and wearing a dress. Then Darvesh scored, sliding across the pitch and adding a large grass stain to his frock as he sneaked the ball past the Maudlin Street goalie.
6-3.
“My boy! My boy in the yellow polka-dot dress has scored!” shouted Darvesh’s mum.
They were on fire. Dennis set up a fantastic cross for Gareth, who just had to tap it into the net.
6-4.
Gareth being Gareth celebrated like this goal would be replayed forever on Match of the Day, doing three victory laps of the pitch, and hitching up his gold lamé ball gown as he ran. The crowd laughed and cheered. Then another goal followed. And another.
6-6.
Now there were only a few more minutes of the game to play.
One more to go. And they’d have done it.
“Come on, Dennis,” shouted Lisa. “You can do
