Striker Boy Kicks Out (7 page)

For Nat, Zidane or ‘Zizou' as his teammates had called him, was the greatest player of all time. Nat had lost track of how many times he'd watched clips on the internet of Zidane in his prime. What astonished Nat was the man's ability to receive and control the ball from any height or angle, and in the same move to take it past an opposing player. It was utterly incredible to watch and very, very difficult to copy. Zidane's balance was remarkable and his skilful legs and feet had bamboozled countless defenders over the years.

Marking Zidane or trying to wrest the ball off him looked like a thankless task – the man had kept possession like no one else. And if that wasn't enough, his passing was exemplary and his finishing sublime. He really possessed it all. It didn't matter to Nat that Zidane had bowed out of the game with his infamous head-to-chest butt in the 2006 World Cup Final against Italy. He was a complete legend and nothing would change Nat's desire to emulate the great man in whatever way he could.

As well as Tassi, Lazio had Luigi Fellini, a bulky centre-forward, who was fearless and very strong and didn't mind getting stuck in. Their incredibly fast left-back, Roger Salba from Cameroon, scored far more goals than almost every other player who played in his position. But Nat had seen Lazio lose games to ‘lesser' opposition in the last twelve months. In spite of the first team costing about £200 million, he got the feeling that some of their players were resting on their reputations and not giving it their all. This was a weakness and Nat hoped that Hatton Rangers would be able to exploit it when they came up against the Italians.

The Celtic team cost a fraction of that and their manager Roddy Hanwell was well-known for developing Scottish talent. They'd only just missed out on winning the Scottish Premier League last season and had made it to the quarter finals of the Champions League, so they weren't a side to be sniffed at.

The latest player to come through their youth ranks
was a central midfielder called Gavin Clyde. He was a tall lad, and when you first saw him you thought he'd be awkward and ungainly. But the opposite was true. He moved quickly and gracefully with excellent ball control. His passing was superb and he could split a defence with his vision. He also scored goals and linked up particularly well with the Celtic forwards Jimmy Doode and the stocky Bulgarian Ilio Camporda. If the Lazio players thought they'd trample on Celtic, they'd badly underestimated them.

The El Mar Stadium had been totally transformed from the quiet place of this morning's training session. Spectators were streaming in through the turnstiles, many of them wearing Spain shirts, although Nat also spotted a decent-sized bunch of both Lazio and Celtic fans in their club's colours, all mingling with each other and sharing plenty of good-natured banter.

The Hatton Rangers players were led through a side entrance and down a maze of corridors until they reached the stands. The stadium's floodlights threw huge white beams across the turf. Stan Evans led the players up an aisle and ushered them to their seats. They were sitting in some of the best in the stadium – on the halfway line five rows back, just behind the Lazio and Celtic benches. A tournament programme was passed around. It was in Spanish and, because of their very late withdrawal, Everton were the English team listed and the profiles and photos were of their players.

“Look out for Tassi,” Nat said to Emi.

“I will do,” nodded Emi. “I saw him when Lazio played Juventus in March and he was on fire – scored this outrageous goal from outside the penalty area.”

“I saw it,” replied Nat. “And he's fast too.”

“You wait,” chipped in Kelvin. “Angus Reakin will nobble him.”

Reakin was the Celtic captain – a brute of a man, who was known for his steely determination and bravery (some would say recklessness) in the tackle. For a man who scythed so many strikers, it was remarkable how few times he'd been sent off in his career.

When the two teams emerged from the tunnel they were greeted by a very warm reception – Celtic in their home kit of horizontal green and white striped shirts, white shorts and hooped green and white socks, Lazio in one of their away kits of yellow shirts, black shorts and yellow and black striped socks.

The Swedish referee called Angus Reakin and the Lazio captain Ade Ragani to the centre circle and tossed a coin. Celtic won the toss and Reakin opted for kick off. The referee checked with his assistants that they were ready and in place, and then blew his whistle for kick off.

The match started at a furious pace. The Celtic number five, central-defender Paul Smithfield, went flying into a couple of strong tackles on Tassi. But the young Italian seemed completely unfazed by these challenges
and, more importantly for Lazio, didn't pick up any serious knocks.

The referee gave Smithfield a stern lecture but didn't resort to a yellow card. Reakin was Smithfield's partner in central defence and Nat saw that both of them were surprisingly quick for big players. He felt a shiver of anxiety. If he managed to significantly improve his game in training tomorrow and Fox gave him a bit of a run out in Tuesday night's match against Celtic, he'd be up against these two giants – a terrifying prospect.

Lazio attacked strongly in the first fifteen minutes, but Reakin and Smithfield were up to their advances. They out-jumped the Lazio players on corners and free kicks, and with the help of their teammates, denied Tassi any clear shooting opportunities. The Italian, seeing his path being continually blocked, changed tack and started hanging back, picking the ball up deeper and running at the Celtic players. On one incredible run, he rounded four Celtic players before squaring the ball to French striker Laurent Breton, whose thunderous shot bounced off the crossbar.

This gave Lazio encouragement to mount another couple of Tassi-inspired attacks. But a goal eluded them. And a few minutes later, after another attack, Celtic hit them on the break.

Smithfield took the ball out of the penalty area and hit it to left midfielder Nigel Flort. Flort was fast and skinned the Lazio right-back Franco Dessoti. He skipped over
another challenge, took the ball into the penalty area and flicked it to Gavin Clyde, who hammered it home.

The Celtic players mobbed Clyde and Flort and their fans went ballistic, cheering and yelling and singing and waving their green and white scarves.

A shocked Lazio came back at them and had several good chances to equalise but couldn't get the ball in the back of the Celtic net. With the score still at one-nil to Celtic, the whistle went for half-time.

In the break, the Rangers Players were handed tea, coffee and slices of lemon cake by several of the El Mar stewards.

“I could get used to this!” laughed the Wildman.

Stan Evans came over to chat to Nat, Emi and Kelvin. “Lazio won't take that score lying down,” he mused. “They'll give Tassi a totally free role in the second half, just you watch him. It will be attack city.”

“But then Celtic will hit them on the break again,” countered Kelvin.

“Maybe,” replied Evans, “but I think once Lazio score, Celtic will fade.”

And as soon as the second half began, it was clear that Stan Evans, a keen student of team formations, was right. Arturo Tassi seemed to be everywhere. This totally confused the Celtic defence and made them edgy. Sometimes he'd take a corner, sometimes he'd hang back at free kicks. The Celtic players weren't sure if they should man-mark him, put two players onto him or just
defend quite high up, in the hope that he wouldn't be able to break through.

But on seventy-seven minutes, after Lazio had launched a series of increasingly desperate attacks, the ball was thumped to Tassi on the right flank. He was challenged by Celtic left-back Rob Storey, but brushed him off. He sold Paul Smithfield a dummy and sprinted towards the box, where Angus Reakin was waiting for him. With an incredible series of mesmerising step-overs, Tassi took the ball past Reakin and fired a dipping shot into the top left-hand corner of Celtic's goal.

Celtic one – Lazio one.

Tassi disappeared under a pile of his ecstatic teammates.

Bruce Collins, the Celtic keeper, was incensed by his defenders and screamed at them for not stopping Tassi. “There were three of you on to him!” he hollered.

The Celtic defenders glared furiously at their goalie, their stares shouting,
“You
were the one who didn't stop the shot going in.”

Collins sulkily picked the ball out of the net and hoofed it towards the centre circle. The next ten minutes were pretty rough and tumble, with both teams dishing out over-the-top challenges, earning yellow cards for Angus Reakin and Paul Smithfield for Celtic, and Ade Ragani for Lazio.

In the last few minutes, Lazio had a chance to win the match when Laurent Breton hit the outside of the
right post and then, at the other end, Lazio's goalie, Paulo Calari pulled off a magnificent reflex save with his legs from a fierce Gavin Clyde volley.

The final whistle went with the score fixed at one-one. The Celtic and Lazio players shook hands and exchanged shirts, before going to their respective fans and holding their arms aloft to clap them. Both sets of spectators seemed happy with the result.

“At least we know a bit more about both sides we'll be facing,” said Stan Evans, as the Rangers party walked back through the corridors to the exit.

When they reached the front of the stadium Nat spotted Inés in her red Fiat a bit further down the road.

“I'll see you later,” he said to Emi and Kelvin, before letting Fox and Evans know he was leaving.

“Did you get good seats?” asked Nat.

“Very good,” replied Inés, “but I came by myself – José had other plans.”

“A fair result?” asked Nat.

“Yes,” nodded Inés, “I think so. Arturo Tassi is a big talent, isn't he?”

“Definitely. I thought he'd score at least one.”

“I can't believe he's only eighteen,” mused Inés. “He has a very bright future. Anyway, tell me about the rest of your day.”

When Nat stopped talking and Inés had asked him lots of further questions, really showing an interest his answers, he couldn't help but think of his mum. Would
talking to her have been like this? Would she have asked him the same kind of questions? Would she have known as much about football as Inés did?

That was one of the worst things about her dying when he was just six years old. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he'd never get the chance. It was such a cruel blow.

He sighed and he and Inés lapsed into silence as they drove through the warm Andalusian night. It wasn't long before the jeep was heading down the path to the villa.

“Do you want something to eat?” asked Inés when they were inside.

“No thanks, I'm fine,” replied Nat.

He went to his room and listened to his iPod for a while, before deciding to take a shower. He went to the bathroom but couldn't see any towels. He considered waiting until the morning, but then saw light spilling out from underneath Inés's door, so he knocked on it gently.

There was no reply, so he knocked again a bit louder. He eased the door open a fraction and saw that indeed the room was empty. And luckily there was a pile of towels stacked up on top of the dresser. He was just moving over to them, when he spotted a photo on the window ledge. It showed José looking quite a bit younger, Inés, and a man with medium length grey hair and piercing royal blue eyes.

“That is my husband – he was Italian.”

Nat span round. Inés was standing in the doorway
looking at him. He quickly replaced the photo and pointed to the dresser.

“I c . . . c . . . came in here looking for a towel,” he spluttered.

“No problem,” she replied. “His name was Frederico – he died just over a year ago in a crash. Hardly a minute goes by when I don't think about him.”

Nat remembered the smashed up motorbike in the wooden shed. No wonder it was in such a state; it had been involved in a fatal accident.

“I'm sorry,” Nat said quietly. “I didn't know.”

“Nor should you have,” Inés smiled wistfully. “I didn't want to burden you on your trip. And anyway, José and I are surviving together. We're like an organism that's been smashed and is making every effort to reform, albeit in a different shape.”

“It must be so hard,” said Nat, biting his bottom lip, unsure whether he should tell her about his mother.

Inés sighed deeply. “It
is
very hard,” she replied, “but I have my students and I have my home to look after. With the small pension my husband left me and my income from teaching, we have just enough to get by. José is looking for a job at the minute and when he gets one he'll insist on paying me rent. I miss my husband very much. I'm still grieving, but I'm going forwards – a little step each day.”

They were silent for a few moments.

Shall I tell her?

Nat decided not to say anything. He edged past the bed and Inés stood aside to let him through.

“Good night Nat,” she smiled. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Nat went to take shower. It was just past midnight when he made it back to his room. He lay on the bed for a while, thinking. His mum had been killed by a car; Inés's husband – José's dad – had been killed in a motorbike crash. What a terrible way to lose your life. He shook these bleak thoughts from his mind and returned to his thriller novel.

Twenty minutes later, as he drifted off to sleep, he briefly thought about the next day. He'd need to be on top form in training. He had to prove himself to Ian Fox all over again.