Hat-Trick Teddy, page 1
About Hat-Trick Teddy
A story bursting with fun, footy, family, friends and Nonna's meatballs from NRL superstar and Dally M Medal winner, James Tedesco.
For every kid who dreams big!
Twelve-year-old Teddy is a footy star in the making. He plays rugby league at home on the farm. He plays for the Menangle Meerkats with his friends from school.
But when a storm turns his team's playing fields into a mud-pit, Teddy is faced with the worst decision of his life: if he wants to keep playing, he will need to switch teams from the Meerkats to their arch rivals - the Camden Rams.
But can a Meerkat really be a Ram?
Based on James's own footy-playing childhood, Hat-Trick Teddy encourages kids to follow their dreams regardless of the obstacles in their way.
Perfect for fans of David Warner's The Kaboom Kid!, Tim Cahill's Tiny Timmy, Anh Do's Weirdo series and the Treehouse series.
Contents
About Hat-Trick Teddy
Title Page
Dedication
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Coming soon
Newsletter
About James
Copyright
To my parents, John and Rosemary, and my brother Matthew for all the support and help to achieve my childhood dreams.
CHAPTER 1
LAST TRY WINS
It’s game on! Two players vs three: Alex and Luke versus me, Ben and Gerard.
I told them that I was happy to be on the team of two, but they insisted. Oh well. Time to kick their butts.
The boys are here for a sleepover but, as usual, the game comes first. Dad mowed the cow paddock nearest to the house and painted the sidelines and trylines with white paint so we can have our very own footy field. At each end is a set of goalposts made out of old plastic PVC pipe from the bottom paddock.They sway a bit in the wind, but they make it look like a real footy field. The only things missing are the NRL emblem painted on the grass and a giant electronic scoreboard.
‘You guys kick off to us. Last try wins!’ yells Alex, sounding like an NRL referee. The pressure is on. I give the ball to Gerard – it’s his turn to kick. Ben and I stay behind him as he boots the ball downfield. Alex catches it on the full and takes long strides towards me. He’s a fast runner and covers lots of ground.
As he gets nearer, I watch his eyes dart from left to right. I can tell which way he’s going to step by the position of his shoulders. Just as I thought, he steps left, but I reach out to tag him in time. He stops where I tagged him, taps the ball and passes to Luke, who runs towards the sideline at full speed with Gerard chasing him. Gerard draws closer and closer until they’re ten metres out from the tryline. The rest of us are trying to keep up, but Gerard and Luke are long gone.
‘Dive!’
I say. And Gerard lunges forward, arms outstretched, landing in the long green grass of the paddock – right next to a fresh cow poo. But he’s managed to tag Luke on the back of the heel. Luke pulls up and taps the ball with a quick pass back to Alex. It’s started to spit with light rain, but we’re too focused on the ‘last try wins’ rule. Alex holds the ball, ready to kick back into the corner for Luke to score, but then he does something none of us expect. He moves from a kicking position and, like a flash of lightning, steps Ben instead. He sees Luke has an opening and throws a long pass out. If Luke catches it, we lose and tonight’s sleepover will be all about their victory.
Unfortunately for Alex and Luke, I’ve been playing footy with them since Under 6s and I knew that Luke would throw this pass. Not only that, I can see the plays before they unfold – both in attack and defence. If Superman has X-ray vision and The Flash can run at supersonic speed, I guess that predicting the play is my kind of superpower. Let me tell you what it feels like.
Before Alex passes to Luke, my eyes Zoom in on the ball. My vision is so sharp I can see the white bumps on the footy that help you grip it. I judge the length of the pass, the angle the ball is thrown and the distance between the two boys before the footy even leaves Alex’s hands. Rotate right and I now Zoom in on our defenders. Ben is flat-footed and won’t be in position if Luke catches it. Gerard is a good player but lacks the speed needed if Luke makes a break.
Zoom out and it feels like a gust of wind hits me in the face. We’re now playing footy in real time and Alex passes. It moves at the same angle and length that I saw in my mind only milliseconds ago. The muscle fibres in my calves twitch and I leap forward for the intercept, reaching for the ball before it goes whizzing past my head. I’ve judged the angle perfectly. The moisture from the rain spins off the ball but doesn’t stop it from falling firmly into my hands. The next part is easy: all I have to do is move my legs and run. The twitch in my calf muscles vibrates up and down my legs like a jackhammer. Once these legs start pumping, no one can catch me.
Alex lifts his knees to sprint but he’s wasted valuable seconds standing still after throwing the pass I intercepted. Just as I thought, Luke is standing flat, and I speed towards him before darting back out, just to make him change line. As I race down the paddock, the raindrops fly into my mouth and taste sweet. I barely notice the sting from the droplets hitting my eyes, especially when I know I’m going to score.
I score under the posts in the final seconds!
In Menangle, there’s no one faster than me, Teddy Tedesco.
Training makes you better
No matter where you are or what the weather is like, training gives you an opportunity to grow. Training when others make excuses not to gives you the edge.
CHAPTER 2
BMX, BATMAN & BAD NEWS
Everyone is tucked up in their sleeping bags on the floor of my room. They’re all sound asleep except for me.
The rain is hitting the tin roof and I think of a waterfall gushing down a cliff face and landing on the rocks at the bottom. Amazingly, the thunderous downpour hasn’t woken the boys. Then I must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing I know the phone in the kitchen wakes me. I can hear Dad talking in hushed tones, trying not to disturb the whole house.
I look at the bodies on the floor and imagine what the fellas are dreaming about. Sometimes I store these thoughts in a pretend hard drive that only I have the password to. It’s good to have these mental notes ready to download, just in case one of the boys makes fun of me and I need a good comeback. Not that this happens much. We’ve been friends for ages. Four of us are from the Under 12s Menangle Meerkats rugby league team and Alex plays soccer. He’s got the skills to play club footy but his mum won’t let him play league. She thinks it’s too rough.
So, here’s the line-up:
Ben Sarkis is probably dreaming about rolling the hundreds of lamb kofta balls that his family will serve at their restaurant this weekend. Ben, his two brothers and three sisters all help in the kitchen. Lucky there’s a lot of them – they have the busiest Lebanese restaurant in the western suburbs.
Gerard Quig is starting to twitch in his sleep. He’s moving his lips, trying to say something. It looks like a bad dream. Last month, someone stole his brand-new competition BMX Haro Racelite – the bike he’d saved all his pocket money to buy. He’d just finished a training ride and stopped at the bakery for a pie. When he came out, the bike was gone. He’s still devastated. That bike was his baby (without the dirty nappies).
Alex Banasik is dreaming of the number seven, I reckon. It’s a number that Alex and I use as code when we are messaging.
If there’s something really important to say, I’ll message him with a:
7
And he’ll do the same with me. It’s also the shirt number of his hero – Cristiano Ronaldo. He’s a forward for one of the world’s most successful soccer teams, Juventus.
Although I love rugby league, I like watching Alex play soccer. His footwork reminds me of an ice skater, skipping, skimming and twisting with the round ball through the defence. At lunchtime, he always pulls a soccer ball out of his bag and juggles it with his feet. He scoops it up behind him with the toe of one foot and the heel of the other. Alex then catches the ball with his right foot and taps it twice before transferring it over to the left. Then he kicks it up in the air and catches it on the back of his neck. He goes on like this until he does three of these perfectly. After that, he puts his ball away and meets us on the oval. Alex the perfectionist.
I can see Alex’s mouth curling up into a slight smile. He’s probably thinking of standing on the winner’s podium next to Ronaldo, holding the UEFA Champions League trophy, his black and white shirt all dirty, grass in his studs and a stadium full of people chanting ‘AL-EX! AL-EX! AL-EX!’ Streamers and confetti shoot from cannons on either side of the stage.
Luke Pollard is an easy one to imagine. He’s in a deep, heavenly dream about his number one crush, Breeanna Lee. Just like Alex, I can see a small smile on his face, but then his lips pucker up and he’s smooching his Batman pillowc
Dad walks in just as Luke shouts, ‘I’M A WINNER! I DID IT FOR YOU!’ Dad gives Luke a strange look and steps over the boys.
‘You awake, mate?’ he asks, crouching down next to my bed. Even in the dark I can see that he looks worried.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s the footy fields,’ he answers.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘You’d better come and see for yourself,’ Dad says.
Water is the key
Drink lots of water. I always had a 1L water bottle in my lunchbox at school.
CHAPTER 3
BLOOD, MUD & TEARS
It’s 3.00 am.
Dad and I are in the car, driving in the dark through the rain to the Menangle footy fields. The windscreen wipers are turned up to high speed and they squeak back and forth as Dad squints through his glasses at the downpour. He hasn’t said a word and I still don’t know what’s happened. My older brother Matthew would usually know the gossip before I do but Matt’s away at a mate’s house tonight. He knows about everyone in Menangle. I think he gets it from Mum. She knows everything about everyone as well. Maybe it’s part of growing up in a small town.
The car slows at the intersection and the headlights reflect off the crooked sign that reads, Football fields – turn left. The sign is lopsided because Matt and I once found an old truck tyre in the bush and we rolled it down the hill. Unfortunately, it bounced off a tree stump and nearly knocked over the post holding the sign. It could have been worse – the post could have been a car. We learnt our lesson and would never do it again. Well, I wouldn’t, but my big brother might. That’s where Matt and I are different. I hate getting into trouble.
We drive down the gravel path and past the big tin sign that says:
It also has a big meerkat in a blue and yellow footy jersey, alert and looking for danger. I’ve always wondered what he would find in Menangle that could hurt him. We don’t have hyenas here, so maybe a brown snake?
On the other side of the meerkat sign is a banner attached to a wire fence. It says:
Mum, Dad, Matt and I go to the show every year. We also take Nonno and Nonna. Nonno always slips Matt and me extra cash for showbags, as long as we share the KitKats with him. Nonna enters the cake-making competition. Last year she beat her archenemy, Mrs Miani, who had won the contest 23 years in a row!
Mrs Miani won’t speak to Nonna anymore, not even at bingo. Nonna beat her at that too.
Nonna is so gangster.
In the distance, there’s a bright glow coming from the end of the path. As we get closer, it’s so bright that Dad has to hit the brakes.
‘Holy mackerel!’ says Dad.
He always says this when something surprises him.
‘Quick, James, come with me,’ he yells. We jump out of the car and run like two traffic cops chasing down a suspect on foot. My Sydney Roosters tracksuit jacket billows out like a cape behind me as we approach the lights.
As my eyes adjust, I can see that the field’s floodlights are on and there are rescue trucks with spotlights shining brightly on the field where the Menangle Show is set up.
Men and women in high-vis jackets move about quickly, some carrying shovels and a couple driving diggers. The glare is so bright I have to turn away. In fact, there are so many lights it reminds me of one of those movies where a UFO has crashed and the army is investigating, looking for aliens.
‘Here, grab one of these!’ says Leanne, the club’s president, who comes hurrying over wearing a bright yellow raincoat. She hands Dad and me a shovel each. ‘Everything is sinking into the field,’ she cries. ‘We’re trying to rescue the dodgem car platform.’
Dad and I rush over to Field 2, where I’ve scored most of my tries. There are about 30 people there, all armed with shovels, desperately trying to dig the dodgem car ride out of the field.
Dad thrusts his shovel into the muddy ground and the mud splatters our legs.
‘That’s it, mate,’ says Dad as I do the same. We dig and dig but no matter how hard we try, the holes fill with water and the rides keep sinking deeper into the ground. The Mirror Maze is halfway under and the large truck wheels of the trailer that the Haunted House is sitting on are submerged in mud. Even though his house is sinking deeper into the ground, the Dracula dummy continues to look menacingly out the window. Everything else, including the dagwood dog and showbag stands, has virtually…
No more KitKats for Matt, Nonno and me, I think sadly.
We dig for more than three hours, until the rain stops and an apricot-coloured sun starts to rise from beyond the parting grey clouds. Everyone is exhausted and, as the sunlight hits the field, Mr Coleman, our PE teacher, wipes the mud from his face, leans on his shovel and nods at me and Dad. ‘I think we’re done,’ he says, looking around. ‘We’re fighting a losing battle.’
Dad’s work boots squelch as he jams his shovel into the ground and stretches his aching back. ‘I think you’re right,’ he says. Leanne and her helpers are handing out bottles of water and cups of coffee to the mud- and sweat-covered crowd. By now, everyone has stopped. Mr Coleman lifts a cup to his lips and takes a slurp. Steam billows from the hole in the plastic lid.
‘You know what this means?’ he says to no one in particular, glancing at the half-submerged dodgem cars, buried Haunted House and the large plastic hotdog sticking out of the ground, still attached to the top of a caravan now completely swallowed by mud.
‘What?’ says Dad.
‘The Meerkats,’ says Mr Coleman. ‘They’re finished.’
The Meerkats! Finished! The words crash together in my head.
I look up at Dad. Is Mr Coleman for real?
Dad nods sadly and places his hand on my shoulder.
Sleep tip
Resting is just as important as training. To help me get ready for a good night’s sleep, I drink water, I stretch to keep my body relaxed and, of course, I brush my teeth!
CHAPTER 4
RISE & SHINE
When I wake up from my mid-morning nanna nap, the pain hits me. My exhausted body feels heavy from the night-time digging and my hands are covered in blistery bubbles from gripping the shovel.
The Sydney Roosters clock on my bedroom wall says it’s 12.00 pm.
I push back my Roosters doona cover and slip on my Roosters ugg boots.
‘Rise and shine, sleepyhead,’ says Mum, who’s sipping tea in the kitchen with Nonna when I go in. Mum’s just come back after taking the boys home.
‘Buona sera, bambino,’ says Nonna, smiling.
I sit down at the dining table and she puts a plate of her homemade cookies in front of me.
‘Mangia, mangia,’ says Nonna.
I take a bite from a cookie and the crumbs hit the newspaper that’s lying open on the table. The front page has a freaky-looking picture of the Haunted House ride, sunken into the ground, with Dracula still peering out from the top window with painted blood on his fangs.
I start reading.
Menangle’s Horror Night Spells End of an Era
A one-in-100-year weather event wreaked havoc on the small western suburbs town of Menangle last night. Residents swarmed on the Menangle Rugby League Club in the early hours of the morning to assist authorities attempting to rescue rides and carnival equipment already set up for next weekend’s Menangle Show. Nearly 300 mm of rain was recorded over an eight-hour period but instead of flooding, the water caused a quicksandlike effect and the fields subsided, swallowing everything set up on them. By sunrise, rescuers had given up trying to save the show and admitted that Mother Nature had won.
‘The more we dug, the more it sank,’ said local PE teacher and Menangle Meerkats first-grade halfback, Brian ‘Cooties’ Coleman.
