Only On A Saturday

• Luke Webster, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

As usual on a Saturday morning, Tim strolled out of bed with his favourite Arsenal Football Club jersey on and ran down the stairs from his bedroom awaiting the news on Arsenal’s match last night. He sat down at the table next to the radio eating his toast when the radio host turned it over to sports news. Tim sat up straighter and put his head closer to the radio. The radio host started with football as he usually does and then there was a pause. The sports reporter shouted as he told the audience of Arsenal’s upset win over Manchester United in the Champions League Final. Tim jumped up out of his seat and ran around the house leaping into the air every few steps.

It was twenty to ten on the dot when the whistle blew and the ball started rolling. The soccer ball was played back the ranks until it ended up at Tim on the wing. He started running up the left hand sideline and getting past two defenders with ease and then a third defender and scoring a brilliant goal. The whistle blew to signal the kick off and the opposing side played the ball around their half becoming more secure in defence. The half ended with the score at one to nil in favour of Tim’s side. Tim grabbed his drink bottle from the sideline and guzzled down his homemade powerade. The coach pulled all the team in and gave them the motivation speech they’ve all heard at least ten times before.

The whistle howled to begin the second half of the match. Five minutes had passes without any scoring before the ball rolled slowly to Tim’s left foot. He started running through a gap about two metres in front of him. The gap was right in front of goal and he was almost there before a defender rushed in from his right hand side and slide tackled him. Tim was on the ground not looking conscious as the defender lay on top of him. The referee stopped play awarding the defender a red card. Tim was on the ground in the world of pain as his coach sprinted across the field to help him out. There was no hope of Tim playing on as he had sprained his right ankle and the bruising had already showed up only two minutes after the tackle.

The game started again with a penalty kick just outside of the eighteen-yard box. Tim’s best friend stepped up to take the penalty kick. He seemed to get onto it really well until the ball just curved to the left of the post and missed. Ten minutes passed. Tim’s team looked in all sorts of trouble with the opposing side gearing up. The opposition spotted a gap in the defence and scored with only five minutes left. The game looked like it was going to end up in all but a draw. Tim knew inside himself that the only way they were going to win was if he was on the field. He limped onto the field taking the spot of striker. He kept calling and calling for the ball but it didn’t come because his defenders were under so much pressure. Tim hopped back about five metres before he had the ball at the tip of his right foot. He turned to his left to see his best friend Johnnie running up the wing. He took a mad swing at the ball, only just connecting with his left foot and chipping the ball over the defence. Johnnie ran onto the ball and saw the goalie running out of the box at him. Johnnie tapped the ball to the right and just snuck past the goalie and the post and slotted the ball into the corner. They had won the game for sure and it was just as Tim had dreamt the night of Arsenal’s memorable victory over Manchester. There was no better feeling.