Hot Shots FC



  Discover the world of A M Layet at https://amlayet.co.uk/

  Read the most ridiculous book reviews ever at https://booksfc.blogspot.co.uk/

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  Other books in the series:

  Hot Shots FC v Dynamite FC

  Hot Shots FC v Toffs FC

  Hot Shots FC v Semi Pro FC

  Hot Shots FC v Aerial FC

  Hot Shots FC v Underdogs FC

  Hot Shots FC v Hammers FC

  Prologue - Introducing...

  Hat Trick Boy

  When Hat Trick Boy was born, he wasn’t given a teddy to cuddle. He was given a football. He loved his football. He loved it so much he started playing with it straight away. He scored lots of goals, using the ends of his cot as goal posts.

  Hat Trick Boy is now nine. He still has his first football. In fact he now has a collection of over 500 footballs. He has footballs the size of marbles for playing football on the table, during dinner. He has footballs the size of tennis balls for playing football under the table, also during dinner. He has footballs the size of peas for losing under his bed. He has footballs the size of space hoppers for squashing his little sister. Finally he has footballs the size of footballs for playing football.

  Sid

  Hat Trick Boy met Sid on his first day at preschool. Sid was wearing a full suit of armour, ‘in case the teachers attack me’. After a month, Sid decided the teachers were not hostile and changed into a tracksuit ‘because I might need to run away very fast.’

  When Sid started school he had to wear uniform. But instead of carrying a school bag like everyone else, he has an emergency backpack. This is twice as big as he is and contains everything he might need, such as a sleeping bag, if lessons become too boring, and a water pistol, also if lessons become too boring.

  Uno

  Hat Trick Boy met Uno on his first day at school, and has sat next to him ever since. Uno’s brain is the same size as Hat Trick Boy’s football. Uno is so intelligent he knows everything. Uno and Hat Trick Boy work very well together at school. Uno knows all the answers and Hat Trick Boy knows all the questions.

  Uno is also a big fan of maps. He likes reading maps, collecting maps and making maps. He has a map of his house, a map of how his breakfast table should look in the morning, a map of the way to school and a map of where people should stand in the playground.

  Sometimes people really annoy Uno and move. This messes up his map of the playground. Uno tries to explain they are standing in the wrong place but people don’t listen. The only people who do listen are his friends.

  Cowpat

  Hat Trick Boy and Cowpat are next door neighbours and they have known each other since they were babies. But they are very different. Hat Trick Boy talks out his mouth. Cowpat uses his mouth, his armpits, his feet, his hands, and, most often, his bottom. Hat Trick Boy knows Cowpat language better than anyone else. This is a brief summary:

  The other important gesture is when he sticks out the palm of his hand. This means ‘give me all your sweets.’

  Chapter One - 1 4 All and All 4 1

  It began like any other day. The four friends were together. Hat Trick Boy stood in the wrong place. Uno got out his map and showed him where to stand. Sid was handing out gas masks, just in case. Cowpat was looking in his pockets, and then in everyone else’s pockets, for sweets. He made a snuffling sound as he did this, like a pig. This was quite normal. All the friends were used to it. Hat Trick Boy calls it purring.

  Then Jon Jamerson walked past carrying a football. Uno pulled out his map and looked at it unhappily. But he didn’t say anything. Jon Jamerson was the biggest, toughest kid in their class. He was so tough he left cracks in the pavement when he walked. He had hair that looked like it had been used to torture someone, a ring through his nose, and a mouth as thin as wire. Cowpat had a special name for Jon Jamerson; it was a fart that sounded like an air raid siren. Cowpat had the amazing ability to make his farts sound like almost anything at all. Even farts.

  Jon Jamerson stopped in front of Hat Trick Boy.

  ‘Football trials tonight, 5pm, at Hammers FC, only the best get taken on,’ he told him. ‘Why don’t you come along? I could do with some soft opposition to make me look good.’

  Jon turned and walked away. Cowpat followed him, doing his best impression of someone with spiky hair, a nose ring, a wire mouth and a brain the size of a nit egg. Suspicious, Jon stopped and turned round. Cowpat suddenly found a very interesting blade of grass to pick up and show his friends.

  ‘Don’t listen to Jon Jamerson,’ Sid told Hat Trick Boy. ‘You’re much better at football than he is.’

  Hat Trick Boy knew Sid was right. He was better at football than Jon Jamerson. He was better at football than everyone he knew and he liked the idea of going to the football trials. But he didn’t want to go to the trials without his friends. And because his friends weren't as good as him at football, Hat Trick Boy guessed they didn't want to go to the trials.

  But Hat Trick Boy was wrong about this.

  ‘You should go to the trials,' Sid told him, 'We should all go.’

  Suddenly Hat Trick Boy was smiling.

  ‘You’ll all come?’ he asked. ‘Really?’

  The other three nodded their heads.

  ‘1-4-all,’ said Sid.

  ‘And all-4-1,’ said Uno.

  And Cowpat burped.

  Chapter Two - The Trials

  At 4.45 that afternoon, Hat Trick Boy’s door bell rang. He opened it, saw his friends, and had a horrible feeling the trials were not going to go well.

  He was wearing his new Tottenham Hot Spur away shirt and shorts, his new Powercat shin pads and his new Victory SP2000 football boots. Sid was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, home-made shin pads made out of cardboard and string, and his emergency backpack. Uno was still wearing his school uniform. He had also brought with him a pen and paper to make some more maps, and his favourite magazine, Maps Monthly, in case he got bored. Cowpat was in his pyjamas.

  The first thing Hat Trick Boy did was untie the string around Sid’s home-made shin pads.

  ‘You don’t need these,’ Hat Trick Boy told him. ‘I’ve got some spares.’

  Next Hat Trick Boy turned to Cowpat.

  ‘Why are you wearing your pyjamas?’ he asked.

  Cowpat smiled and pointed to a tiny blob stitched onto the top. It was so small Hat Trick Boy needed a magnifying glass. Luckily Sid had one in his emergency backpack. The tiny blob turned out to be a tiny football.

  ‘But you need to be wearing a proper football kit,’ Hat Trick Boy explained.

  Cowpat farted. This meant ‘no’. Hat Trick Boy sighed and gave up.

  The Hammers FC home ground was next to a car park. It was a strange car park because no one ever parked in it apart from a Burger Van that never moved, and one car. The car was big, green, looked like a tank, and belonged to the manager of Hammers FC, Big Al. Big Al was also big, and he looked like a tank, but he was not green. Well, maybe his bogeys were. I don’t know. I don’t think we want to know, do we? We do! Okay, let’s have a quick look. Yes, they are green. And yes, there are quite a lot of them.

  When the four friends turned up at the Hammers’ home ground, there were already quite a lot of boys on the pitch, kicking balls around. Hat Trick Boy grabbed a ball and joined in. Uno got out his pen and paper and started asking boys for their names and addresses. The boys told him because they thought he was doing this for Big Al. But Uno wasn't doing this for Big Al. Uno was doing this because he wanted to make another map. On the sidelines, Sid was doing some press-ups. Cowpat was practising his goal celebrations.

  Big Al emerged from the clubhouse, blew a whistle, and ordered everyone to line up. He gave them each a nu
mber to remember. Hat Trick Boy was 12, Sid was 13 and Uno was 14. Cowpat had no idea what number he was. He had never been any good at maths, or any other subject, at school.

  ‘Stand in line,’ Big Al told them, ‘and don’t forget your number. When I call your number, it’s your turn to play.’

  Standing not far away from Hat Trick Boy was Jon Jamerson. Jon gave Hat Trick Boy an evil smile. Hat Trick Boy felt a sudden sick feeling in his tummy.

  Big Al called out the numbers 1-10 and the first ten boys took to the pitch. Hat Trick Boy, Sid and Uno watched as they played 5 a side football. Cowpat didn’t watch. He was only interested in the shoelaces of the boy next to him. He was busy tying them together.

  Big Al blew his whistle again and the first ten boys walked off, only two of them were smiling. They were the only two who had scored.

  ‘Numbers 10 – 20!’ Big Al shouted.

  Hat Trick Boy, Sid and Uno started for the pitch. So did Jon Jamerson. The horrible feeling in Hat Trick Boy’s stomach grew worse.

  Big Al blew the whistle and threw in the ball. With luck, it landed right at Hat Trick Boy’s feet. What a fantastic start! The horrible feeling in his stomach was instantly gone. He went tearing up the pitch, ball at his feet, glancing left and right, looking to make a pass.

  Sid and Uno had run up the pitch with him. Sid was hanging back, keeping level with Hat Trick Boy, but Uno had gone straight to the penalty box. While Uno had been watching the other boys play, he had come up with a law of football. The law was: the closer you stand to goal, the more likely you will score. So Uno ran all the way to the goal posts. It was a good idea. Sadly, there was one flaw. Uno had forgotten he also needed the ball. When he remembered, he looked back at Hat Trick Boy. But it was too late. Jon Jamerson had tackled Hat Trick Boy so hard Hat Trick Boy was on his back and wondering why the grass had turned blue.

  Meanwhile Jon Jamerson dribbled the ball the entire length of the pitch. He didn’t dodge past defenders. He didn’t need to. He just knocked them out of the way. When he reached the penalty box he shot the ball straight at goal. He hit it so hard and fast the keeper didn’t have time to move. The ball flew past his ear and into the back of the net. Goal! 1-0 to Jon Jamerson, thought Hat Trick Boy.

  Play restarted at the half way line with Hat Trick Boy in possession of the ball. He passed to another boy, who passed it straight back to him. Hat Trick Boy ran on towards goal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jon Jamerson heading his way. Before Jon Jamerson could reach him, Hat Trick Boy passed the ball to Sid, who was in a good position to score. But, instead of booting the ball towards goal, Sid stopped the ball with one foot, stuck a finger in his mouth and then held it up to check the direction of the wind. This gave Jon Jamerson all the time he needed to reach Sid and make another bruising tackle. Sid landed on his back, just as Hat Trick Boy had done, and lay there wondering why he could see stars in the daytime.

  Once again Jon Jamerson ran the ball to the other end of the pitch, knocking over everyone in his path. The goalkeeper, scared after Jon’s last blast, dived out of the way and left an open goal. Jon scored a goal a baby couldn’t miss, and celebrated by jumping on top of the nearest boy (unfortunately the goalkeeper). Jon injured him so badly Big Al had to call an ambulance.

  For the rest of the trials, Big Al was a bit distracted by the cries of the injured boy and the ambulance paramedics arriving. He sent the remaining numbers, 20-30, onto the pitch to play, but found it difficult to concentrate on their football.

  Big Al also didn’t notice that a few boys never made it onto the pitch. They were too busy kneeling down, trying to untie their shoelaces that were knotted together. Also, there was a strange boy (Cowpat) running around in his pyjamas and sniggering. Big Al thought he must have come with the ambulance crew, because he seemed to spend a long time in the back of the ambulance while the paramedics were helping the injured boy.

  On the way home later, Hat Trick Boy was not happy. Things had not gone well. He had not scored a hat trick. He not even scored once! But his friends thought differently. They were pleased with the trials. Cowpat had had lots of fun, Uno had made a new map, and Sid had enjoyed the exercise.

  ‘Let’s meet up for a run tomorrow,’ Sid suggested. ‘We need to get fit for our first game with the Hammers.’

  Uno nodded happily.

  ‘I’ll map out a route for us.’

  Hat Trick Boy rolled his eyes. Uno hadn’t even touched the ball. He had no chance of being picked to play for the Hammers.

  ‘Weren’t you listening to what the manager said?’ Hat Trick Boy asked. ‘He said we’d get a letter telling us if we’re in the team by the end of the week.’

  ‘Yeah, we heard,’ Sid said. ‘What’s your point?’

  Hat Trick Boy shrugged and gave up. If his friends thought they were going to be in Hammers FC, they were going to have to learn the hard way.

  Chapter Three - Learning the Hard Way

  Sid and Uno were still talking about being in the Hammers the next day, and the next day, and the day after that. Cowpat was also excited about being in the Hammers, even though he hadn’t bothered to play at the trials. He pulled up his shirt and showed Hat Trick Boy a picture he had drawn on his vest of a large hammer. Underneath the hammer was a squashed stickman. Cowpat pointed to the stick man and did a fart that sounded like an air raid siren. Hat Trick Boy understood this meant the stick man was Jon Jamerson getting hammered.

  Hat Trick Boy liked the vest, he liked the idea of Jon Jamerson getting hammered even more, and he liked the idea of him and all his friends being in Hammers FC the most. He just didn’t believe it would happen.

  Finally it was Friday; the day the letters were supposed to come out. If you got a letter, that meant Hammers FC wanted you. If you didn’t get a letter, that meant you could move to Mars for all Hammers FC cared. But only one person arrived at school on Friday morning with a smile on their face. That person was Jon Jamerson.

  None of the friends received a letter. Uno was so upset he didn’t notice when everyone stood in the wrong place. Sid was so upset he headed off to the bottom of the school field, got a shovel from his emergency backpack, and started building a bomb shelter. Cowpat was so upset he forgot to fart and burp, and actually said, ‘Yes Sir,’ when their teacher, Mr Hound, called out his name in registration.

  Hat Trick Boy was not upset. He was relieved. He had known this was coming. He felt better now the worst was over, and his friends knew the truth. He just wanted to forget all about Hammers FC.

  He continued thinking he wanted to forget about Hammers FC all through the day, all the way home, and right up to the moment his Mum handed him a letter. She had forgotten to give it to him earlier. It had the words Hammers FC stamped on it.

  Then Hat Trick Boy forgot he wanted to forget about Hammers FC. He kissed his letter, his Mum, and his little sister but then remembered he had sworn never to sully his mouth by kissing girls. So he rinsed his mouth out with several glasses of orange juice, and tore open his letter. He had been invited to return to Hammers FC and be a part of the team.

  He howled with delight, ran outside and did twelve victory circuits of the garden, holding his water bottle up in triumph as a kind of home-made World Cup. Tilly decided to copy him and ran behind him holding up her pink cup in triumph too. This totally ruined the moment for Hat Trick Boy. He stopped his victory circuit at once, and returned inside to read, and reread, every word of his letter. Soon he knew the letter off by heart and he had read the words, ‘Hat Trick Boy will be the best footballer in the world ever,’ even though they were not actually written in the letter.

  He was happy every second, of every minute, of every hour, until Monday morning when he told his friends his fantastic news.

  ‘Hammers FC,’ he said, ‘want me, Hat Trick Boy, to be their star player and sign a contract to play for them and be a brilliant footballer for all eternity.’

  Hat Trick Boy was happy right up to the moment when he realised hi
s friends were not as happy as him. Their sad and long faces burst his bubble of happiness. He stopped being happy. He suddenly realised he had the most difficult decision of his life to make. He had been invited to join Hammers FC but they hadn’t. He was going to have to choose: his friends or his football.

  Chapter Four - Training with Hammers FC

  He chose football. He chose Hammers FC. He chose wanting to be the best. And Cowpat, Sid and Uno chose not to be Hat Trick Boy’s friends any more. They didn’t actually say that. They didn’t have to. Hat Trick Boy understood it. He could see it in their eyes. He could see it in their faces. He could read it in Uno’s maps and he could smell it in Cowpat’s farts. So Hat Trick Boy stayed away from them and joined Jon Jamerson instead, kicking a ball around the field.

  The first training session for Hammers FC was on Saturday morning. Hat Trick Boy walked up to the training ground all by himself. It was strangely quiet. He noticed things he would never normally have noticed, like birds singing and dollops of dog poo on the pavements. He felt like Sid would, without his emergency backpack: vulnerable. He hoped there wouldn’t be a natural disaster, like a volcano or a tidal wave. It would be just his luck if, on his first day of going out without Sid, there would be a disaster. Hat Trick Boy thought about what Sid would do if he read about Hat Trick Boy’s accident in the newspaper the following day.

  ‘I should have been with him,’ Sid would say.

  Or maybe,

  ‘I could have helped him.’

  Or even,

  ‘Why didn’t he go to the toilet before he left home?’

  There were about a dozen boys already at the Hammers’ home ground when Hat Trick Boy got there. The only boy he knew was Jon Jamerson, so he went over and stood next to him.

  Big Al appeared and got them warming up. The warm up consisted of a couple of laps round the pitch, then press ups, sit ups, and almost a punch up when Hat Trick Boy accidentally stood on another boy’s fingers.

  Next Big Al gave them a welcome speech.

  ‘We’re called the Hammers,’ he told them, ‘for a good reason. And now you have to live up to the name. Some say football is played with your feet. I say you have arms, elbows, shoulders and fists. Use them. Do whatever it takes to win the ball, and then hammer it home. Got it?’