On the Whistle

1

The Quest

‘I’ll smack him around a bit if he doesn’t come up with anything after a week.’

It was great being back at the Bear Pit, home ground of the mighty Bears. I had spent countless cold winter nights training here over the past four years, making good friends as well as learning the bulk of the skills that would hopefully get me a place in the Tri-Nations team.

But I was glad that my time with the Bears was over. Although I saw less of Lochie, Jemma, Scratcher and Simon these days, I knew I’d be facing more challenges now in my football career. I wouldn’t have swapped being a Bear for anything but I’d finished with them at just the right time.

Getting the scholarship to St Helen’s had been the start of that new journey. Vinny Taranto, once our arch enemy when he played for the Vipers, was now pretty much a friend of mine at St Helen’s. Lochie and the others hadn’t quite got used to Vinny being around but they didn’t say anything. Vinny had scored a scholarship to St Helen’s as well.

There were still some things about Vinny that I didn’t like but now that we were sort of on the same side, at the same school, things were certainly different between us.

Jemma was constantly reminding me that soon she would be at St Helen’s. She was supposed to have started at the beginning of second term, but that was four weeks ago. The delay had something to do with waiting for Jemma’s dad to return from overseas. It was a shame as it looked like Jemma would miss out on a season of league.

We were at the Bear Pit for a club reunion. It wasn’t actually an anniversary or anything, but the club was recruiting new players and there was nothing like a barbecue, free skills coaching, games, competitions and a few give-away prizes to get families down to the Pit. Last year the Bears had got up and won a rare premiership, beating Vinny and his Vipers in the grand final.

Vinny and I were telling Lochie, Jemma and the others about the rivalry that had suddenly sprung up between rugby league and soccer at St Helen’s.

‘They call us the All Sorts. They reckon we’re just a mixed bunch of no hopers—we look okay but never perform.’ Lochie laughed. I looked at my former teammate. ‘It’s okay for you. You’re not surrounded by idiots trying to continually knock the sport you love.’

‘But you’ve won your first three games,’ Jemma said. She leaned across the table and grabbed another piece of cake.

‘Hey, Sam,’ Vinny said, pulling a plate of sausage rolls towards him. ‘Tell them about that amazing assembly. You know, when they told us about the Sports Quest.’

‘Sports Quest?’ Scratcher said, eyes wide.

‘It was a pretty strange way to start the term, that’s for sure,’ I said, making room at the table for Simon and a couple of other kids who had walked over to join us. ‘First day of term, this guy—’

‘Which guy?’

‘Scratcher, shut up and stop interrupting,’ Jemma said, glaring at her brother.

‘What was his name, Vinny?’ I asked. Vinny shrugged. ‘Mr Brussels or something.’

‘Like brussels sprouts?’ Scratcher laughed, slapping his leg.

‘Shall I kill him now or wait till after lunch?’ Lochie mumbled, giving Scratcher a friendly shove.

‘Yeah, well it was actually someone talking on video. You just saw this shadowy head; like on TV. It was as if he didn’t want to be identified. Maybe they want to keep the organiser’s identity a secret.’

‘Even his voice was muffled,’ Vinny added.

‘So what did he say?’ Lochie asked.

‘He was talking about this massive Quest.’

‘Yeah, a quest for a league and soccer ball, and a couple of other sports things too,’ Vinny said, enjoying the attention he was getting from the rest of the group.

‘So a teacher has organised a treasure hunt for you and the treasure is a couple of footballs,’ Jemma said slowly. A couple of kids sitting next to us laughed.

‘Hey, it’s way bigger than that,’ snapped Vinny. ‘Mate, this is huge! It’s this big competition between the soccer players and the league players. We call the soccer players the Silks.’

‘What does Silks mean?’ Scratcher asked.

‘Silks are the soft, really bright tops that jockeys wear,’ Vinny said. Scratcher looked confused. ‘You know. Fancy, soft, pink—girlie.’ I watched Jemma bristle but she was refusing to get riled up.

‘I don’t get it,’ Lochie muttered, keeping one eye on Franky, the Bears coach, who was carrying a sack full of balls and cones outside. The games were about to start.

‘Yeah, why would the school bother to organise this Quest?’ Jemma said. ‘How weird.’ She looked across at me.

‘It’s in honour of Jimmy O’Brien. It’s his last year of teaching there. He left for a couple of years but they asked him back. He’s been teaching at St Helen’s for thirty-two years and the school has let him decide the prize for the winner.’

‘So it’s Jimmy who’s running it?’ Simon asked.

‘That’s what I thought—that it was Jimmy on the video,’ I said.

Vinny grinned, giving me a nudge.

‘Anyway, this dude Jimmy O’Brien used to be head of sport way back in the 1970s and ’80s. He’s a bit of a local legend at the school,’ explained Vinny.

‘So?’ Lochie had got out of his chair and was edging towards the doorway.

‘He’s arranged the most amazing prize. The team that wins the Quest gets to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to the next World Cup.’

‘You’re joking,’ Lochie said, pausing and staring at me. ‘The next rugby league World Cup? Where does the school get the money to send kids to a World Cup?’

‘Dead set,’ Vinny said smugly, nodding. ‘Something about a bequest, whatever that is,’ he added.

‘A former student of the school left a heap of money for a school trip. And if the Silks win then it’s the soccer World Cup,’ I added.

‘The entire team?’ Simon was staring at me, his bottom lip almost below his chin.

‘Yep. And staff. The school council has agreed to a sporting trip and they’ve decided that this Quest is as good a way as any to decide who goes.’

‘Wow,’ Scratcher sighed. ‘You reckon I can go to St Helen’s?’

‘You will be in two years, little brother,’ Jemma said. ‘It’s me that’s going to miss out. I guess it’ll be too late if I don’t make it till term 3,’ she sighed.

‘What’s the hold-up?’ Vinny asked.

‘Dad. He’s still overseas. He wants to meet the new principal and have another look at the place. But I could start helping now since I might be there soon,’ Jemma said. ‘I like puzzles and things.’

‘You won’t like these,’ Vinny said. ‘The clues are crazy. No one understands them. I grabbed that really smart kid in Year 9 and threatened to beat him up unless he found one of the objects. I gave him a week to come up with something useful.’

‘And did he find anything?’ Scratcher asked, leaning forward and staring in awe at Vinny. Vinny shook his head.

‘Vinny, did it occur to you to actually try a more friendly approach?’ Jemma asked, frowning.

‘What do you mean?’

Vinny had changed a lot from last year, but obviously not completely.

‘I mean,’ said Jemma, patiently, ‘that you say, Hey. I’ll give you ten dollars if you can find one of the items inside a week.’

Vinny thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘Nah, wouldn’t have worked.’

‘How do you know?’ Jemma asked, exasperated.

‘He’s rolling in cash. Plus he never understood the clues anyway.’

‘Well that’s most likely because you’d put him under so much pressure. He was probably scared witless.’

‘Who’d be scared of Vinny Taranto?’ Lochie added, smiling. I looked at Vinny but he appeared not to have heard. He and Lochie had had their differences over the past year or so; they got on okay now, but were still not great mates.

‘Anyway, what if no one finds anything? Is the school trip still on?’

I looked across at Simon. ‘Yeah, but they’ll decide a different way. They didn’t tell us how. I guess they’ll wait and see what happens. We’ve got till the end of term.’

Vinny started talking again. ‘There are all these rules. Each of the balls is worth 10 points. The other two items for each sport are worth 6 and 3 points. You have to find 17 points worth of stuff to be eligible for the prize.’

‘Well I sure wouldn’t mind seeing the clues. Are they poems or riddles?’ Jemma was right into it.

A bell was ringing out on the oval. The games and competitions were about to begin, so we jumped up and headed out.

‘Hey, I’ll email them to you,’ I said quietly to Jemma. Maybe she’d discover something that I hadn’t—or anyone else for that matter. The Quest notice board where updates were to be posted hadn’t changed in the past three weeks and the score still stood at Soccer 0, League 0.

We spent the next hour playing kicking, passing and relay games. Pretty well everyone managed to get a prize of some sort, even if it was only a drink bottle. Franky and Paul Crowther, the Bears club president, were giving special attention to the new kids, which was fair enough.

The Bears had suddenly become the most popular league club in Blackwood. I recognised a few kids from other clubs who’d come down to get a feel for the place.

Mr Crowther took me aside while the Under 10s had a goal-kicking competition.

‘Sam, any news yet about the Tri-Nations squad?’ I shook my head. I watched his face carefully as he turned to look at the kicking. Was there a hint of a smile on his face, or was that my imagination?

‘I think the letters are being sent out on Monday.’

‘And how did you feel you went at the trials?’ he asked. I thought back to the exhausting sessions we’d had down at Southport Stadium. Training and playing for the Country team had been gruelling, but it was a gentle game of touch on a sunny day at the beach compared to the try-outs for the national Under 15 team.

‘Okay, I think. One of the kicking coaches said I was too reliant on my right foot and that I’d never make it unless I learned to use both feet.’

‘He said that to you?’ I nodded. ‘That’s good, Sam. That’s very good.’ Mr Crowther had me confused.

‘Why is that?’ I asked, turning to look at him.

‘Because I’ve heard they don’t even bother talking to the kids they know won’t make it,’ he said, smiling at me.

‘Are you sure?’ I racked my brain, trying to recall who else had been taken aside. Some of the coaches or officials had definitely come across as pretty aloof. They had stood around in groups of two or three, their arms folded, watching us go through our paces, occasionally making notes on a clipboard.

‘No, but that’s what I’ve heard.’ He gave me a slap on the shoulder and walked off towards the goalposts.

‘Hey, Sam,’ Vinny said, as we rode our bikes through the gates of the Bear Pit and out onto the road. ‘I reckon I might try Jemma’s idea.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’ll get that kid in Year 9. You know—Timothy Fryers. Tell him he can have twenty bucks.’

‘Vinny, are you sure that’s a smart move?’

‘Course it is. It’s how you get on in life,’ Vinny nodded, satisfied. ‘I’ll smack him around a bit if he doesn’t come up with anything after a week.’

‘Vinny!’ I cried. ‘That’s the whole—’

‘Joking!’ he laughed, whacking me on the arm and almost sending me and the bike toppling. I recovered my balance.

‘Race you!’ I shouted, already 5 metres ahead. He still beat me by thirty seconds.

2

Stuck with Clueless Clive

‘Listen, Sam. Watch out for Isobel,’ he whispered, suddenly grabbing my arm.

We were ten minutes away from kickoff and Vinny still hadn’t shown. He’d told me yesterday that he mightn’t bother since our opposition, Mooraput High School, had been flogged in their first two games and he’d be better off earning some cash down at the Blackwood Hardware Store where he helped out doing odd jobs for the owner. Vinny loved making money.

I turned my attention back to Jimmy O’Brien, our coach.

We were only two weeks into our season, but I was surprised that we weren’t seeing more of him. He’d only attended two of our training sessions, leaving halfway through the