Phrase Writers Group

Written for my two (then) young football-mad nephews

JOSEPH'S WISH

“Joseph, wake up!” Mattie was worried about his brother, and best friend. Joseph was having another nightmare.

“Oh no, they’re going to score, get back, get back, close him d-o-o-w-w-n-n!”

It was like this most Saturday mornings. Joseph supported the local team, Beckenpool, and always watched them play.

“Wake up!” said Mattie, shaking his brother.

Joseph’s eyes blinked open. “I had a terrible dream. Beckenpool were playing really well and ...”

“That’s most unlikely”, interrupted Mattie. “Beckenpool playing well? Yeah, right. And I’ll score in our match today.”

Joseph and Mattie were both football-mad. They played in their garden most evenings, and sometimes in the early morning. Their neighbours did not appreciate Joseph’s raucous celebrations when he scored. Mattie had yet to trouble the back of the net.

“Well, today will be different” said Joseph as he pushed back his Beckenpool-red duvet and got out of bed. He looked round the room he shared with Mattie. His half was a riot of red; his duvet, rosettes, chair, carpet, posters, dressing gown, yes even his reading light was red! Indeed, a tape measure would confirm how much Beckenpool’s red dominated their so-called shared space.

“You think so?” queried Mattie. “Every week you dream Beckenpool will lose, and they do.”

“Well, so does your team” replied Joseph. “I don’t know why you play every Saturday. You always lose.”

“It’s fun” said Mattie. “And one day I will score, you’ll see.”

* * * * *

Saturday evening and the boys were having their tea. Joseph had trudged back from Beckenpool’s match. Mattie, as usual, had been given a lift home by his team’s manager, Mr Ferguson.

Mother had made their favourite food. Pizza washed down with squash, followed by marmite and honey sandwiches (though not at the same time), red jelly and finally a sponge cake with red icing. She optimistically called it a Triumphant Tea, but most weeks it was more a Sympathy Supper.

“How were your games, boys?” asked Mother.

“We nearly drew” said Joseph. “It was 1-1 till ten minutes from the end, then the other team got a penalty. How did you do, Mattie?”

“We lost 2-1 as well” admitted Mattie. “It’s really strange. Every week our results are the same. When Beckenpool win, so do we.”

Joseph chuckled. “Your team hasn’t won for 3 months” he scoffed.

“Exactly” said Mattie. “And next week Beckenpool are playing United, who are top of the league.”

Joseph snorted. “We can beat United” he boasted.

“Well you haven’t beaten them for ages” said Mattie. “Thing is, every week you dream Beckenpool will lose and they do. So why don’t you imagine them winning?”

“Yes, of course” said Joseph. He closed his eyes. “Next week Beckenpool will beat United 10-0 and...”

“No, that’s no good” said Mattie, breaking the fantasy. “Properly dream it. And not some silly score. Imagine that you’ll win.”

Joseph slowly nodded. “That’s a great idea, Mattie. I’ll start tonight.”

* * * * *

A week later and Saturday morning launched the final day of the football season.

“Mattie, wake up!” Joseph was extra excited. “Get up, lots to do.”

Mattie groaned and looked at his bedside clock. “Joseph, it’s half past five” he yawned. He snuggled in his green and yellow duvet, his team’s colours, and tried to get back to sleep.

“Come on Mattie.” Joseph shook his brother. “Let’s go.” Joseph paced round the bedroom, sorting out his Beckenpool kit.

“I feel good, really good. Been dreaming ‘Win’ all week, the ball soaring past the goalkeeper. And I just know we will beat United.”

“How can you be so sure?” queried Mattie.

“I’m the Beckenpool mascot. I’ll be leading them onto the pitch this afternoon.”

“But you were the mascot last season. And there’s a waiting list, with over a hundred names on it” said his surprised brother.

“Well, my teacher is a Beckenpool supporter. She wrote to their manager pointing out that when I was the mascot, Beckenpool won. So I’ve been made a special mascot. Look at the kit they gave me.”

Indeed Joseph showed off his brand new shirt, shorts, socks and boots, all in red and pristine condition. Mattie’s kit was somewhat worn and the green and yellow colours had faded after so many washes. And even after cleaning them his smelly boots were relegated to the back door.

Joseph pulled on his club shirt, while Mattie jumped out of bed and put on his tracksuit. He would not need his playing kit till the afternoon. Meanwhile Joseph was in his shorts and now focussing on his socks and boots. When finished he proudly preened and said “Mattie, don’t I look great?”

Mattie studied his brother. “Not bad, just a few points. Your shirt is on backwards...”

Joseph grinned, took off his shirt and put it on properly.

“Your shorts are inside out...”

Joseph looked in the mirror, grimaced and sorted the shorts.

“Your boots are on the wrong feet...”

Joseph looked down. That was why his feet hurt; he thought the tightness was down to the boots’ newness. He carefully untied them, swapped feet and retied the laces.

“And”, finished Mattie, “you’re wearing my socks.”

Joseph stamped his foot in frustration. “Anything else?” he snapped.

Mattie wondered if he should mention that Joseph’s name, stitched into the back of the shirt, was misspelt. Better not. Joseph was finally shirted, socked and booted and went for his breakfast. Peace at last. Mattie climbed back into bed for some quick kip.

* * * * *

Later that afternoon Mattie had gone to play for his team, while Joseph led Beckenpool out onto the pitch with his head held high, feeling prouder than ever. It was a glorious sunny day, the ground was packed.

All of Joseph’s friends supported Beckenpool. Rather a lot of boys at his school were United supporters. Actually they followed whichever team was top of the league. Unfortunately that meant United!

The match kicked off with Beckenpool in their customary red. United were wearing their change strip, or at least one of the 3 or 4 different colour combinations they wore each season. The first half was exciting but no goals. Joseph joined in the singing about how great Beckenpool were, and for once the home supporters meant every word.

Into the second half and still no goals. Both teams played well, with chances at both ends, but the goalkeepers were inspired, saving certain goal-bound shots from going in.

Two minutes to go. Beckenpool’s supporters cheered their team for a final big effort. Joseph alone had a secret smile; he knew it was Beckenpool’s day.

Another Beckenpool attack. Their whole team, including the goalkeeper, were in United’s half. A thumping shot, the United goal netting shook, and half the ground erupted.

“Goal!”

Joseph’s roar of delight was heard over a hundred miles away, in Manchester! The United supporters were finally silenced. “Goal!”

* * * * *

“I don’t believe it!”

Mother was half listening to the radio as she prepared the boys’ tea. She was well used to the crashing disappointment of another Beckenpool defeat, that was repeated by the doleful look on Joseph’s face when he got home.

At first the excited reporter’s voice passed her by. But then came the thunderclap ecstatic roar of approval from the match crowd (well half of them anyway), that was heard in the next county, and Mother’s attention was well and truly engaged. She switched off the radio and continued making a truly “Triumphant Tea” with a happy smile.

There was just enough time to make another sponge cake topped, of course, with Beckenpool-red icing. As Mother was adding the final touches, Joseph slouched into the room.

“Well done” beamed Mother, “Beckenpool won. I heard it on the radio.”

“We lost” said Joseph.

“What? How; you were winning with a minute to go!”

“It was offside” continued Joseph. “Their goalkeeper booted the ball. I’ve never seen such a big kick, it ended up in our goal, the whistle went for full-time...”

Joseph slumped down in a chair. “How did it happen? I spent all week thinking ‘Win, win’, nothing but victory. When I was awake I dreamed of winning, when asleep I thought of the ball in the net. At school my teacher told me off for not listening, and she supports Beckenpool too!”

Mother encouraged her desolate son with a sad smile, and moved closer to console him.

Joseph gazed at the table top teeming with terrific tea treats, but for once didn’t feel hungry. He didn’t feel anything. “Hello!” A boisterous shout broke the silence.

Joseph looked up to see Mattie walk in. His brother’s face was still flushed from playing in his match.

“I suppose your result was 1-0 too” sighed Joseph.

“Yes” said Mattie, “and I scored the winning goal.”