Billy was thirteen and mad about football, but he was rubbish playing it.
When the boys picked teams at school or over at the Rec. they always picked Billy last. Then they made him play in goal, that’s how useless he was.
One day, his gran got him to clear out her shed. Grandad had gone to the great football match in the sky and gran was moving on.
Hidden away in a corner under crates and old tins of paint, Billy found a pair of big, black, clunky football boots. They were made of thick leather and worn down. Written on the side of each boot was the name, Stanley Matthews.
Billy kept the boots for a laugh and later at the Rec. he put them on to amuse his pals. For once he wasn’t in goal – a kid called Becks played even worse than Billy – and they let Billy have a kick of the ball.
Billy had no control over what happened next. He took a pass at speed and dribbled the ball down the wing, he swerved past one boy, then another, before shooting from the edge of the penalty area. GOAL! The goalie was left on his bum.
Billy scored four goals and from then on Billy with his magic boots was picked first.
The talent scouts came flocking, rubbing their hands with glee.
Then, Billy met Sandra, a precocious girl, who weaved her own kind of magic, and he didn’t care about football any more.
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Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 