wife.
But, at that moment, Dennis fell to the ground in pain.
The crowd gasped.
One of the Maudlin Street strikers had nobbled him. Kicked him right in the shin when he didn’t even have the ball. Dennis lay there in the mud, holding his leg in agony. The referee had seen nothing.
“He’s putting it on, ref!” protested the Maudlin Street boy. The crowd booed.
Dennis was trying really hard not to cry. He opened his eyes, and his vision swam.
Lying there, grass pressing into his cheek, he peered up at the crowd. Through the tears he glimpsed a red-checked jacket that looked very familiar…
And then the red-checked jacket turned into a man…
And then the man shouted, in a deep voice that was even more familiar.
“OI! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”
Dad.
Dennis couldn’t believe it. Dad had never come to see him play for the school before, and now here Dennis was, lying on the ground with tears in his eyes wearing a dress. He was going to be in so much trouble…
But Dad looked at Dennis and smiled.
“OI! REF!” he shouted. “That kid kicked my son!”
Dennis rose to his feet, his leg still glowing with pain but a warm feeling spreading through him. He steadied himself. Then smiled back over at Dad.
“You OK?” asked Darvesh.
“Yeah,” said Dennis.
“COME ON, SON!” shouted Dennis’s dad, really getting into it now. “YOU CAN DO IT!”
“I called him at half-time,” said Darvesh. “After what you said about your dad never seeing you play in a match, I thought you wouldn’t want him to miss this.”
“Thanks, mate,” said Dennis. Whenever he thought Darvesh couldn’t surprise him any more, couldn’t be a better friend, he went ahead and did it.
Gareth tackled the ball of one off one of the Maudlin Street boys. Darvesh ran up the outside, and Gareth passed to him. Maudlin Street charged towards Darvesh and he passed back to Gareth. Gareth panicked for a moment, then passed to Dennis, who weaved straight past the defence before booting it right over the goalie’s head and into the back of the net.
The keeper didn’t stand a chance.
6-7!
The final whistle blew. It was all over.
Dennis looked over and smiled. For a moment he thought he saw John’s face in the crowd, but he couldn’t be sure as everything seemed to blur in all the excitement. Gareth was first to go up and hug Dennis. Darvesh was next. Within moments they were all hugging excitedly, celebrating their victory. The school had never even got the semis before–and now they’d won the cup!
Dad couldn’t contain his excitement and ran onto the pitch. He scooped Dennis up into his arms and sat him on his shoulders.
“This is my son! This is my boy!” shouted Dad, helpless with pride.
The crowd erupted with cheers again. Dennis smiled a thousand smiles. He looked down at Gareth, Darvesh and the rest of the team all wearing their dresses.
There’s just one problem, Dennis thought. I don’t feel that different anymore.
But he kept that thought to himself.
The Maudlin Street team and their supporters stomped off muttering things like “fix”, “rematch” and “bunch of woofters!”
Gareth passed the gleaming silver cup to Darvesh to hold.
The crowd cheered.
“My son! My son the footballer! And yellow is so your colour!” exclaimed Darvesh’s mum. Darvesh looked over at his mum, and held the cup up to her.
“This is for you, Mum,” he said.
She pulled out one of her tissues and wiped a tear from her eye. Darvesh then passed the cup to Dennis. At that moment Mr Hawtrey reappeared.
“NOT YOU, BOY!”
“But, Sir?” implored Dennis.
“You are still expelled from this school.”
The crowd started booing. Mac took a toffee bon-bon out of his mouth momentarily and joined in. Even Miss Windsor allowed herself a little French revolutionary boo.
“SILENCE!”
And there was silence. Even the adults were scared.
“But I thought…” said Dennis.
“Whatever you thought, boy, was wrong,” snarled Mr Hawtrey. “Now get off the school premises before I call the police.”
“But, Sir…”
“NOW!”
Dad waded in.
“You’re a right idiot you,” he said. Mr Hawtrey was taken aback. No one had spoken to him like that before. “My boy just won the cup for your school.”
“My son Darvesh helped too!” added Darvesh’s mum.
“Dennis was expelled though,” said Mr Hawtrey with a sickeningly smug smile.
“You know what? I’ve got a good mind to shove that cup up your whatsit!” said Dad.
“Oh dear, he’s more embarrassing than me,” muttered Darvesh’s mum.
“Look, Mr…”
“Sims. And he’s Dennis Sims. My son, Dennis Sims. Remember that name. He’ll be a famous footballer one day. You mark my words. And I’m his dad, and I couldn’t be prouder. Come on, son, let’s go home,” said Dad, as he took Dennis’s hand, and led him home across the pitch.
Dennis’s dress dragged in the mud, but he held Dad’s hand tightly, as he sloshed through the puddles.
