As the new season turned the corner and crept into view, the fixture list came out.
Except this season, for the first time for my lad, there were three fixture lists. His school team fixtures between September and December, the grassroots fixtures on Sundays, running from September to March, and then the City Schoolboys FA fixtures also running September to March but with games being played on Saturday mornings.
It’s always an exciting time for us, as it means him playing competitive games for the first time in quite a few weeks – apart from any tournaments that he might have taken part in during the Summer. This season the grassroots lads had only taken part in one tournament, a few weeks ago where they finished at the top of their group but lost in the final.
I constantly swing between optimism and pessimism in the run up to the season. I’m always confident in my lads ability, albeit slightly worried that hardly any competitive football might mean he’s a bit rusty. In the same breath, his grassroots training doesn’t really stop through the Summer, so as his coach I can always keep his handling sharp on Friday nights, as well as bringing some new drills in to make sure he stays interested. Restarting school in September also meant the school team would begin their training more or less straight away, with games following soon after.
The problem being (in my mind, at least) that the first competitive fixtures he would be playing in were in a tournament for the City Schoolboys team, before any grassroots or school team fixtures.
This worried me a little, for a couple of reasons.
- Apart from the trials, he had only had one training session with his new Schoolboys team mates
- The standard in the Schoolboys matches was likely to be higher than in either his grassroots or schools matches
Whenever he’s had to step up a level with his football, he’s usually taken it in his stride. Along the way, there are sometimes little bumps in the road but he deals with them. Then, in training we work on any areas highlighted by either of us and he comes out the other side. As he was now going to be playing for his city, as usual, I just hoped the step up wasn’t going to be too much for him.
The night before the tournament, he had a grassroots training session with me. I like him to have a good workout at training but I’m also mindful that generally he has a game at the weekend anyway. Obviously we never want any injuries but particularly this weekend with the Schoolboys tournament on Saturday and grassroots season starting on Sunday.
At training he did his usual warm up with the outfield lads, did some running and a passing drill. Then we went through our usual handling and footwork routine. Everything looked good. He was focussed and alert. Just a bit of shooting practice to face from the lads and hopefully no jarred fingers or knocks would mean he’d be fine for the morning. Everything went without any hiccups and he had a big smile on his face. Result.
The tournament was being held about 40 minutes drive from us, so we were up and about nice and early and laddo had even got (most of) his stuff ready the night before. Anybody that has had experience of being a goalkeeper, or having a keeper in their house, will know there’s a hundred and one things you need compared to the outfielders, so getting his things together the night before is something I pester him about. Usually with limited success. The upturn in him actually being prepared was because of who he was going to be playing for. His City.
As part of the matchday routine, the lads who play for the City Schools team must arrive for the matches dressed in dark trousers (not jeans), shoes, white shirt and match tie. It was the last item that surprised me. I knew the lads had to wear one. That didn’t surprise me. It was how proud he looked when he saw the tie. He wears a clip on tie every day for school, no big deal, but this was completely different. A proper tie. And one that you only have the privilege of wearing if you’re selected to play for the city’s Schools FA team.
The night before, I showed him how to tie it and then he had a go at doing it himself. And another go. And another go. With each attempt, the tie looked slightly neater but he kept trying to improve on his latest attempt. He was desperate to get it looking as smart as he could.
When we arrived at the venue, the lads all went off to the changing rooms and the parents hung around waiting to find out who the opposition was going to be. The tournament followed a fairly tried and tested routine – 2 groups of 4 teams. All the teams in the group play each other once, with the winner of group A playing the runner-up in group B and the winner of group B playing the runner-up in group A, in the semi finals.
Both my lad and the other keeper were at the tournament, so they alternated, playing a game each. The other lad played in the first game, my lad in the second and so on. Each game was one half, 30 minutes straight through.
Although this was his first taste of playing for his city and something he was nervous about, he knew most of the lads from playing either with or against them previously in the grassroots league. So although it was all a bit new for him and he was feeling the pressure of playing for his city, familiar faces definitely helped him with his nerves.
The first game was fairly evenly matched but without many clear cut chances for either side. Then our lads got a penalty. The penalty was put away and the game finished 1-0.
My lad was up next in the second game. Again, a fairly evenly matched contest but with our lads having the better of the chances. Unfortunately, they couldn’t force the ball over the line. The opposition scored with a header from decent move and the game finished 1-0. To have a chance of reaching the semi final, they had to win their final group game. They won comfortably, 4-0, without any real threat to their own goal, so they were through.
As the semi final was their fourth match, laddo was back in goal. At this point I was starting to get nervous. In his group game, he hadn’t been overworked. He couldn’t do anything about the goal he conceded and he had made a couple of saves, the best of which turned out to be offside, so wouldn’t have counted anyway. When he plays for the school and grassroots teams, he’s the only keeper, so tends to be kept fairly busy – alternating games with another keeper in a tournament is different.
I tried to get my optimistic head on as they came onto the pitch. The opposition for the semi final was Manchester Schools. Rumour had it that most of the team were at either Man Utd or Man City’s academy. One thing that was definitely not a rumour was how big they all were. I don’t know what they’ve been feeding them on the other side of the Pennines but they towered over most of our lads.
At this point you start saying things to yourself like ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’ in an attempt to make yourself think some sort of David and Goliath re-enactment might take place, knowing full well that you’re kidding yourself.
At least in our favour, was the pitch. My lad was in the goal over to my left. There was a gradual downhill slope from where he was, to the opposite goal. With the captains in the centre circle, the ref performed the coin toss, we lost it and the teams swapped ends. The optimism was quickly draining out of me.
The game kicked off and it became apparent that apart from being giants, they could also play football a bit. Our lads looked a bit overawed by the situation and struggled to keep hold of the ball. It wasn’t long before the first shots were being fired at laddo’s goal but he stood up to the test, time and time again. He was being overworked but he was making some great saves, coming and taking crosses and importantly, the ball was sticking. Defenders were throwing themselves in front of shots. No doubt about it, it was backs to the wall. It was 0-0 for about the first 15 minutes with our lads being limited to trying to hit them on the counter attack but without much success.
Then a through ball into our box meant a straight race between their striker and one of our defenders. The defender slid and looked like he did just enough to poke the ball out of play for a corner as the pair of them went to ground. The ref blew his whistle but instead of pointing to the corner, he pointed to the penalty spot.
When I’m watching my lad as a spectator, rather than his coach, I always take up a position on the sideline, close to his goal. I always have. From him being a little 7 year old goalie in his first season, I always thought it’s what I should do, to be there to try to reassure him, if things weren’t going well. Or to give him a smile and a thumbs up if he made a good save. Because of being at his end though, more often than not you tend to be in amongst the opposition parents.
As their player put the ball on the penalty spot, the Manchester parents were suddenly a bit more vocal, laughing and joking. Having been kept out so far by the keeper, this was their best chance to slot one past him and get their noses in front. The ref blew his whistle, the lad ran up and leathered it towards the bottom left-hand corner. My lad took a step to his right from his standing start and pushed off. He got down low very quickly and got his hand behind the ball. It was an outstanding save but it was a one-handed parry. The ball deflected off his palm and ran towards the post. The lad who had taken the penalty had followed his kick and was closing in on the rebound. My lad half scrambled, half dived and threw himself at the feet of the striker. He probably never had chance to pay attention to where the striker was but it was the finest of margins. As his hands clasped round the ball, his body instinctively curled up to protect himself.
A cheer went up, as the opposition supporters groaned at the chance going begging.
The game continued and the pressure was still on the same goal. A couple of minutes later, a cross was met by a powerful header but this time it was the net that stopped the ball, not the keeper. From the restart our lads tried to get an equaliser but without really testing their keeper too much.
Soon after, the ball was back in our box and in a 50/50 challenge, the defender had got his foot on the ball but as both defender and attacker fell to the floor, the appeals for another penalty came. It wasn’t a penalty but the ref, maybe slightly unsighted, once again pointed to the spot. As my lad got himself settled on the goal line, he bounced up and down a little. I wondered at this point if he had the upper hand, having already saved a pen a few minutes before. If he did have a psychological advantage over the striker, it didn’t help as it was a different penalty taker this time round.
The noise level near us had risen again but it went quiet again as the ref blew his whistle. The striker ran up and struck the ball. He went for the same place as the previous taker had. The keeper dived low to his right again, got his hand behind the ball again but this time the ball hit the floor in front of his hand and popped up in front of him. He jumped straight up and caught the ball before the striker had chance to beat him to it.
Behind us, watching a game on the next pitch a man was talking to his mate. “He’s just saved another penalty that lad. He’s already saved one this game. Great penalty saves, both of them.”
The game finished a few minutes later. A 1-0 defeat and disappointment that they hadn’t made it to the final but from my lad’s point of view, he’d had a debut to remember and showed his new team mates what he was capable of. And worn his favourite new tie.
A day like that really makes you keep the faith.
Keeper of the faith 