T.J. and the Winning Goal Read Online Free PDF Page B

across the penalty area, always moving away from the goalkeeper, Fanshawe suddenly burst forward, rising above the helpless, out-of-position defender, and crashed the ball into the back of the net.
    For the whole of the rest of the match, TJ couldn’t stop watching Dwight Fanshawe. In the past his eyes had always been drawn most to the speed and skill of Marshall Jones, or the tricks and clever passing of Paco Sanchez. He had never realized before just how much work Fanshawe did when he didn’t have the ball. He didn’t score again, but his tireless running created the space for Marshall to score two and Sanchez another as Wanderers thrashed Roma 4–0.
    As the match neared its end, the PA system announced that Marshall Jones was the Man of the Match. ‘I don’t agree with that,’ said Rob, as they stood up to applaud the players off the pitch. ‘Dwight Fanshawe was terrific.’
    ‘You’re right,’ agreed TJ. ‘He never stopped running.’
    ‘But it doesn’t do him much good,’ said Tulsi. ‘Otherwise he would have won the award.’
    ‘He’s not bothered about the Man of the Match award,’ Rob said. ‘He was the best player on the pitch, and his manager knows it.’
    ‘I thought so too,’ said a deep voice behind them. The tall figure in the dark coat smiled briefly at them and then he was gone.
    ‘That was him,’ gasped Rob. ‘The England manager.’
    ‘You see,’ TJ told Tulsi. ‘Rob knows what he’s talking about. He really does!’

C HAPTER 9
    ‘YOU COULD PLAY like that,’ said TJ to Tulsi. ‘I know you could.’
    It was the following morning and he had arrived in the playground early, before anyone else. Tulsi was moodily banging a ball against the wall. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.
    ‘Yes you do. You watched Dwight Fanshawe just like me and Rob did. Don’t pretend you didn’t.’
    ‘But he knows what to do,’ said Tulsi suddenly. ‘And I don’t.’
    ‘Yes, you do. The runs you made on Friday were terrific.’
    ‘I didn’t know what I was doing, honestly. And anyway, no one passed to me.’
    ‘That’s not the point. Most of the time, no one passed to Dwight Fanshawe, but he made space for all the other players.’
    ‘Why do I have to change the way I play? It was good enough before. I knew what I was doing. People passed to me and then I scored. It was dead simple.’
    ‘That was when no one knew about you. You’ve scored so many goals that everyone knows how you play now. You could do it, Tulsi. I’m sure you could.’
    ‘Hey, you two!’ yelled a voice from above them. They looked up and saw an old lady looking down at them. A black cat was sitting on top of the wall beside her. ‘Did one of you kick a ball into my garden last week?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tulsi. ‘It was me. It was an accident.’
    ‘Well, it’s not good enough, young lady. You knocked over six flowerpots and they made a terrible mess. I’ve written to your head teacher and you’d better make sure you own up when he asks you about it. And make sure you don’t kick any more footballs into my garden.’
    ‘Tough luck,’ said TJ. ‘But I don’t suppose Mr Burrows will mind too much. Not now football has made us famous. And you are our star striker after all.’
    ‘Am I?’ said Tulsi gloomily. ‘I’m not so sure.’
    ‘Hey, look,’ said Jamie, running into the playground carrying a newspaper. He was closely followed by Rafi, Jamie and Rodrigo, all clutching copies of their own. ‘We’re in the paper,’ Jamie said. ‘All of us are. It’s fantastic.’
    TJ saw that more and more people were arriving now: little groups of mums and dads and children, some of the little ones squealing with excitement. ‘Where?’ said TJ. ‘Let’s see.’
    Jamie opened the paper and saw a whole spread of photographs right across the centre pages. SCHOOL CHAMPIONS said the massive headline. ‘See there,’ said Jamie. ‘There’s you shooting, TJ, and there’s me