He turns to look at me.
“Sorry, but you’re just not
good enough. We have to
drop you.”
CHAPTER 3
I look up at the large
scoreboard that has been
erected next to the street-
soccer pitch outside Ma
Lettie’s shebeen for the
Streetskillz tournament.
I’m still giving myself a
hard time for missing that
easy goal in the opening
game and the scoreboard
makes me feel even worse.
It shows the four teams
and their points, plus the
top goal scorers for the
tournament. Unsurprisingly
Khaya ‘Young Star’ is at
the top.
I sigh. I would love to be a
real soccer player and
have a nickname. Khaya is
called “Young Star”
because he started playing
when he was really little
and his natural talent
shone through from the
beginning. Chippa is called
“Masterpiece” because he’s
an artist with a soccer ball.
But I don’t have one.
Sometimes I wonder
whether anybody even
knows my real name.
I trudge home along the
litter-strewn edges of
Potsdam road with
Ronaldo running happily
along next to me. Trucks
carrying equipment for
farms trundle past and
large military vehicles
rumble through on their
way to their base at
Ysterplaat.
I reach the corner of
Dumasani Road where Mr.
Isaac sells appliances out
of a large shipping
container. Right now he’s
sitting on an old lawn chair
smoking his tobacco pipe.
“Hey victor,” he shouts,
“Portugal is giving North
Korea a hiding, come and
watch.” Mr. Isaac has
balanced an old TV on a
broken washing machine.
He adjusts the TV aerial
and the picture flickers to
reveal Ronaldo passing the
Korean defense and
touching in an easy goal.
“Look, it’s you, Ronaldo.
Although you’re much
better looking than he is.”
Mr. Isaac pats Ronaldo,
who rolls over and lies
waiting to be tickled.
“Just like his namesake,”
Mr. Isaac says, “always
looking for attention. Oh
yes, how did your game go
Victor?”
I sigh and shake my head.
“Ag, never mind, you must
be like Bafana and keep on
trying.”
I watch until the end of the
game, with Portugal
hammering home an
amazing seven goals, and
then make my way home.
“Did you see their pro
boots?” I ask Ronaldo. The
little dog barks and I laugh.
“It’s ok, I’ve got the new
Barefoot Pro’s,” I say,
picking up a stone with my
toes and kicking it into the
bushes, “so comfortable
you feel like you’re hardly
wearing anything.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
a voice says from behind
me.
I turn to see Rose cycling
up behind me.

CHAPTER 2 The ball misses the goal by a mile. The Leopards laugh so hard they can barely stand. “I hope you don’t try score like that with girls,” Khaya shouts. I feel so humiliated I can barely move. My little dog, Ronaldo, barks on the sidelines. “Shut that mutt of yours up,” Khaya shouts. I barely notice as the game restarts. The Dynamites best defender stops the Leopard’s play, but he hits the ground hard as Khaya takes him down with a crushing tackle. “Get up,” says Khaya, “this isn’t Uruguay and you aren’t Suarez. You can’t just roll around on the ground and hope for a free kick.” I can see our defender isn’t faking. His ankle is already swollen as my teammates help him off the pitch. One of the ladies who sells cooldrinks at the nearby taxi rank gives him some ice from her bucket to help bring down the swelling. Rose’s younger brother is brought on as a substitute and the game continues. Eventually the final whistle blows with the result at 5-0. I look over to where an old man is standing leaning against a lamppost watching. He’s dressed smartly with an old- fashioned hat perched on top of his grey hair. His face is craggy and lined, but his mouth is curled in a smile as he hums along to the music that is playing from the small radio that he carries in one hand. I groan out loud. If there’s one person I wish hadn’t seen me miss, it’s the Professor. Rumour has it that he’d played for the Amakhosi when he was younger. He always watches when the kids play soccer, but he never says anything. Khaya says it’s because he missed a big penalty when he was younger and had gone crazy. “I can’t believe we lost our first game” Chippa says, slumping to the ground. “We’d better improve or we’re not going to make the final,” snaps Rose, kicking a cooldrink tin. “Well, I’m the captain and I say we have to drop the players that can’t play,” Chippa announces.

The whistle blows and Khaya comes racing down the pitch. I’m standing ready to tackle, but Khaya is too quick and sidesteps me easily. He blasts his shot in. 3-0 to The Leopards. “Hey Benni McCarthy,” Khaya shouts at me, “you must stop eating all that chicken your mother sells or you’re going to be dropped from your team too, Big Mac.” I feel my face flush with anger. I was a bit chubby as a younger boy and even though my body has since slimmed down as I’ve grown taller Khaya never lets me forget it. Rose, a team mate I secretly have a huge crush on, takes the kick off and dazzles The Leopards midfielders taking a long shot on goal, but the goalie punches it over the bar for a corner kick. Khaya grins at Rose. She’s a tomboy, but is very pretty with curly brown hair, light brown eyes and an explosion of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “Are you called Rose because you smell so nice?” he says standing close behind her. “How nice of you to think so,” Rose says smiling, “but no, it’s not because of that.” “Then why is it?” Khaya asks as the corner kick sails over the box. “It’s because I have thorns,” Rose says, elbowing him hard in the stomach as she jumps to head the ball to me. I stop the ball with my chest. Finally here is my chance. The ball drops to the ground and I kick.

pls your comments will be greaty appreciated

CHAPTER 1 My team squares off against our opposition for the start of the second half of the game. We’re playing on a stretch of dusty road and I can smell the salty tang of the sea and the bitter scent of the oil refinery on Koeberg Road. It’s the smell of my hometown, Du Noon township in Cape Town. I wipe the sweat from my brow and push my short dreadlocks out of my face. My eyes, are totally focused on the action that’s about to begin. The holidays are here - there’s no more school for the whole of the World Cup - but relaxation is the last thing on my mind right now. With the holidays have come Streetskillz, the greatest thing to happen to Du Noon since Ma Lettie hooked up satellite TV in her shebeen. Streetskillz is a street soccer tournament like no other. A local businessman has sponsored the event, creating a street pitch outside the local shebeen. At each end, the goal posts are wrapped in the flags of the countries participating in the World Cup, and the neighbourhood kids have taken to writing messages on them in marker pen. There is even talk of soccer talent scouts being here for the final game! The rules are simple: four neighbourhood teams play games against each other throughout the duration of the World Cup, with the top two competing for the title of Streetskillz Champions. Right now the only skill my team - The Dynamites - is showing, is in being beaten. The score is 2-0 to our opponents, The Leopards. Khaya, the tall and muscular Leopard’s captain is a lethal striker. He has his hair pulled back into cornrows and shiny earrings gleam in both ears. He grins at me menacingly. Khaya knows his team is going to win.

About: Victor is a soccer- crazy sixteen-year-old from Du Noon township in Cape Town. He wants only two things - to play soccer and to win the heart of Rose, a beautiful tomboy in his soccer team.