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Untitled Document
Mr. Bronston was really looking forward to the first
Neo-soccer practice. The Draik had loved Neo-soccer ever since he was a young
lad, and he had always been quite good at it. He smiled and pulled his light
windbreaker tighter around his scaly body to keep out the cold. It was a brisk
day, the Draik’s fiery breath emanating from his mouth and nostrils as thin
plumes of steam. He glanced at his wristwatch, It was almost time for the practice
to begin, and the Pets would be arriving any minute.
Atyur was the first to arrive. He greeted Mr.
Bronston, and plopped down on a wooden bench. Not long after, more and more
Pets began to arrive, all of them wearing their jerseys and ready to play. Mr.
Bronston ticked them off on his clipboard as they came, nodding to each and
everyone one of them. The Draik tapped his pencil against the clipboard. The
only pet missing was Zarrelian.
Mr. Bronston idly twiddled his thumbs as he
waited for Zarrelian to arrive. Finally, he spotted a bright red blur on the
horizon. As it moved closer, the Draik could see that it was Zarrelian, stomping
bad-temperdly down the field. The Draik grinned as the Ixi drew ever nearer,
clad in the bright jersey. He waved a paw at the miserable Ixi.
"About time you got here, Zarrel. Now sit down,
we’re going to begin our first practice."
Muttering something about pushy coaches, Zarrelian
seated himself in front of Mr. Bronston, who grinned and began explaining how
the practice would go.
"Okay, today I’m going to decide which positions
you all play. We’re not really going to play a game; I just want you to kick
the balls around and pass to each other so I can determine your skill level.
Okay, go!" He blew into his whistle, tossing a few balls onto the field.
With a loud roar of excitement, all the Pets,
including Zarrelian, jogged enthusiastically onto the pitch and attacked the
balls. Atyur delivered a powerful kick to a Neo-soccer ball, passing it to Muerte,
who whacked it into the goal with his powerful tail. The two of them exchanged
high fives and ran back into the fray.
Zarrelian hesitated, and then dashed tentatively
over to a ball. He kicked it with his rock-hard hoof, the force of the blow
causing the ball to sail over the heads of all the Pets and land with a splash
into a nearby pond. Mr. Bronston slapped his forehead with a paw.
"Not again!" The Draik groaned. Zarrelian carefully
inched away from the irritated Draik and hid behind Muerte’s massive striped
girth. The Grarrl, not noticing the Ixi hiding behind him, stepped backwards
so that he could hit an incoming Neo-soccer ball with his head.
"AIIIEEE!"
Zarrelian rolled quickly out of the way, gasping.
"Watch where you step, you big lummox!" He shouted angrily. Muerte chuckled.
"Sorry Zarrel, I didn’t see you there," he apologized.
Mr. Bronston came storming onto the field, flailing his arms wildly.
"Alright, alright! Break it up, I’ve seen enough!"
he snapped. Everyone froze and quickly sat down. Mr. Bronston sighed.
"Thank you. Anyway, I have selected your positions."
He shoved a claw into the pocket of his light windbreaker and pulled out a somewhat
crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out on his clipboard and cleared his
throat.
"Atyur, Muerte and Kybalt will be centers…"
The three centers cheered and exchanged high-paws. "Poloroe, Kiitsay and Doreetoa
will be our attackers…" The two Gelerts and the Wocky grinned. "…Serrigra and
Zaveeni will be defensive…" Serrigra, a Tyrannian Kougra, wagged her tail excitedly.
Zaveeni, a robot Acara, just sighed and continued polishing his metallic paw.
"…And Zarrelian will be the goalie. Okay, that’s all."
A murmur of discontentment rippled through the
Pets. Zarrelian, a goalie? That was one of the most important positions! Atyur
scurried a bit closer to Mr. Bronston and whispered something in his ear.
"Uh, sir… are you sure that Zarrelian should
be the goalie?" the Lupe asked nervously. Mr. Bronston chuckled.
"Would you rather have him out on the field,
kicking balls out of the pitch? No, it’s safer to have him in the goal. Besides,
I made you, Kybalt and Muerte the centers because I’m pretty sure that you’ll
be able to keep the ball in our possession, anyway." The Draik replied. Atyur
still looked uncertain, but he knew better than to question his teacher’s judgement.
Mr. Bronston glanced at his clipboard.
"Okay, our first game is in a week against a
team from Mystery Island, the Tsunamis. They’re pretty tough, but I think that
we can handle it. We have a practice tomorrow after Neoschool, so don’t be late!
Any questions?"
Kiitsay, a green Gelert, timidly raised her
paw. "Excuse me sir, but what’s the name of our team?" She asked. Mr. Bronston
grinned.
"Why, Bronston’s Bashers, of course!" the Draik
cheerfully replied.
The new Bronston’s Bashers exchanged uneasy
glances. Zarrelian snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "Just
great. I finally get the chance to be named after some destructive element,
but our genius coach decides to swell his dumb ego even more by giving us his
stupid name. Honestly, Bronston’s Bashers? I could’ve pulled a better name out
of my left ear!"
Mr. Bronston had them run a few laps around
the field before letting them go, repeating, once again, that they had another
practice tomorrow. Zarrelian sighed as he trotted down the darkening lane that
led to his NeoHome. He allowed his thoughts to linger to the game that was looming
ever closer. He sighed sadly and rolled his eyes skyward.
"I’ll never steal asparagus cookies again!"
***
The practices were horrible. Mr. Bronston had already affixed the idea of
supreme victory in his head, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his
way. He forced his team to run three laps per practice, and that was just a
warm up! Then, he had them kick countless balls at a small target, forcing them
to do it over if they missed. It was extremely difficult to concentrate on kicking
with the maniacal Draik standing behind you, hissing instructions in your ear
and breathing down your neck. The only Pet who wasn’t fazed, and even seemed
to thrive on Mr. Bronston’s gruelling training sessions, was Atyur. The powerful
orange Lupe had certainly proved his worth to the team. He was their best player,
an excellent kicker and a fast runner.
Zarrelian, on the other hand, was floundering.
His practices consisted of him standing in the net while Mr. Bronston kicked
Neo-soccer balls at him from different angels and at varying speeds. Zarrelian
let them all into the goal, even the ones that traveled about as fast as a Slorg
stuck in molasses. Mr. Bronston nearly gave up on him during a particularly
bad practice.
Fortunately, Atyur was a competent enough player
that he was able to keep the ball away the net at all times. The entire team
had high hopes for their first game.
The day of the game was sunny and warm, but
with a pleasant cool breeze. The opposing team didn’t look all that intimidating.
Most of them were painted island, but a few of them were orange, white and gold.
Mr. Bronston treated his team to an encouraging pre-game pep talk.
"Okay kids. Now, according to the board of sports,
I’m supposed to tell you that it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you
play the game. However, if you lose, you all get detention. Understood? Good.
Have fun, kids."
The referee, a rather frazzled Skeith, began
the game with a shrill screech from his whistle, plugging his large ears with
his claws to block out the sound. The Pets rushed towards the ball, gnashing
their fangs and making their best "scary faces".
Atyur gained possession of the ball early on
and passed to Kiitsay, who managed to send it soaring past the Tsunami’s goalie
and into the back of the net. From the sidelines, Mr. Bronston cheered himself
hoarse, embarrassing the entire team.
Then, Muerte managed to steal the ball from
a snarling island Kougra and kicked it into the net. This process continued
for the next forty minutes or so, the game’s score standing a solid twelve to
zero, for the Bronston’s Bashers.
From his position in the goal, Zarrelian yawned
and twiddled his hooves. He had been pretty dormant for the entire game, the
defensive line was so good that there wasn’t any need for the Ixi to move and
stop a ball. He gazed at the sky, then at the ground, and then yawned.
"Ah well," he thought to himself. "At least
I haven’t messed anything up…"
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Bronston’s team had
won the game. Due to the amazing offensive plays by Atyur, Kybalt and Muerte,
and the rock solid defensive tactics of Serrigra and Zaveeni, the Tsunami’s
hadn’t managed to score a single point.
Throughout the soccer season, the Bashers won
every single game in a similar fashion. Zarrelian would sit in the goal and
not destroy any plays, and Atyur would lead the team to victory. The Neopian
Times called them, "The most accomplished team in the league" and praised the
"brilliant" and "compassionate" coach. Obviously, Mr. Bronston was overjoyed
at the success of his team; the principal of the school had even given him a
raise! But, despite the constant string of victories, the fiery old Draik still
put them through exhausting practices. It was on one of these team meetings
when Mr. Bronston announced the best, yet worst, news that any of the pets could’ve
received.
"We’re in the championships," he growled. "We
win that, we’re the Neo-soccer champs of all of Neopia. I don’t think I need
to stress on how extremely important it is that we win." He folded his arms
over his chest and stalked up and down the field in front of his team.
"We are going to train like crazy, because this
is going to be the hardest game of your young lives. We’re up against," he paused
for dramatic effect. "The Chet Flashes. The best of the best, the worst of the
worst. They go to any means to win their games. But don’t worry, Ezanna and
me are going to go spy on them while they practice, and we’ll learn all their
secrets…" He seated himself on the wooden bench and checked the time.
"—I will reveal those secrets to you on the
day of the game. Until then, practices are at the same times, and the same places.
Don’t be late." He allowed a wide grin to stretch across his face.
"Have a nice evening, kids."
The members of Bronston’s Bashers whimpered
fretfully. With that speech lingering in their minds, they doubted that any
of them would have anything remotely close to a "nice evening."
To be continued...
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