Event: Hamza's Entry in the BBC Writing Competition

The Goalie From Nowhere, by Hamza Khan

Joe sipped his lukewarm hot-chocolate meanwhile he scuffed his lustrous boots on the arctic ground. A group of juveniles where playing on the field and aiming at a pair of rusty, aged football goals. Wilted flowers blew across the frozen pitch. A thick mist contaminated the air. The trees by the river draped over the river like clothes on a washing line. From the field came screams of joy. "All right lads, listen up". He spoke in a deep, husky voice. "A final. Let’s make the most of it. Eh?" The kids bobbed their heads, eager to make an impression.

"OWWW!" The goalie screamed in agony. Blood dripped from his nose like a scarlet fountain. Innocently the culprit spoke in a cracked voice. "I... ju..." "Bad news" said the coach "Broken nose... He can’t play on Sunday. He will miss the Final."

That’s it. The team’s dreams had slipped down the drain. The truth is that they would have never got to the Final without Flip. Flip made a string of blinding saves in the semi-final. Before his eyes all the colours he saw merged in to a kaleidoscope of coruscating lights.

By the goalposts was a boy standing, anxiousness surging through him. He stood eagerly waiting for someone... or something. He had a centre parting and he looked like he was wearing his granny’s knickers! Joe walked over to him. The sullen sky reflected the team’s apprehensive mood. He spoke in a small, croaky voice "Can I play! I’ve never played in a final!" His voice had a tone of desperation. I was too disappointed to talk.

Sunday sluggishly arrived. "All right lads, who’s in goal?" Nobody dared to step up to the role. "Joe, you’ve played in goal before haven’t you?" he said. "Yeah, but that was just messing about - for fun!" He didn’t hesitate. The whistle trilled in my ears. Straight from the kick off they cleared the ball into our half. It was an instant goal. By half time we were down 2 – 0. A thick mist swept across the sapphire river. The boy appeared again. "Please let me play I’ve never played in a final!" I instantly put him in goal. The whistle blew and by then we were equal. 2 – 2. He was awesome!

A huge boy collapsed in the penalty area and pretended to be injured. He shot me a smile stood up gallantly. He shot the ball with lightning speed. I couldn’t look. I heard a thud. The ball landed beside me. The defenders were too amazed and just gaped at me as I slid a neat ball into the corner of the net.

A few days later Dad was cleaning out the shed when he stood astonished. He handed me one of Uncles cigarette cards.

BILLY MACKWORTH ONLY 17, WAS A FANTASTIC KEEPER FOR SPURS BUT UNFORTUNATELY BILLY DIED IN A CAR CRASH A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE CUP FINAL.

That was the boy...