Striker Boy Kicks Out Read Online Free Page A

day,” smiled Inés, “and I’ll be around to chauffeur you other places if you need.”
    Nat, who loved his independence, baulked slightly at this. “You don’t have to take me
everywhere,”
he replied. “I’d like to catch a Spanish bus sometime and I’m sure I’ll travel some places on the team coach.”
    â€œWhatever suits you,” replied Inés.
    Nat ate three pieces of toast spread with tasty peach jam and poured himself a cup of strong coffee.
    â€œThere’s a piece about the tournament on the back pages of the paper,” said Inés. “Would you like to see it?”
    â€œEr . . . my Spanish is very basic,” responded Nat. “I’d hardly be able to read a word.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Inés, taking the paper and scanning the story.
    â€œOh,” she said after a minute.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Nat.
    â€œIt’s . . . er . . . just something from Talorca’s captain, Alberto Tieras. He loves the sound of his own voice. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”
    â€œNo, go on,” said Nat.
    â€œAlright,” she sighed, “here goes. Tieras claims that Talorca should easily win their group and progress to Saturday’s final. ‘Marseilles and Hamburg should be no match for us, and we’re confident of progressing,’ he declared. Asked about the teams in the other group, Tieras paid a minimum of respect to Celtic and Lazio, butreserved some biting criticism for the late replacement, English team Hatton Rangers.”
    Inés looked up from the paper. “Are you sure you want me to go on?” she enquired.
    â€œAbsolutely!” nodded Nat.
    â€œIn Tieras’s words, ‘Hatton Rangers are a tiny outfit from the backwoods of English football. They’ve only just made it to the top level and spent a whole season facing the drop. We would have much preferred Everton to have been here because they are a big-name club. I mean, Hatton who?’ said Tieras.”
    Inés grimaced and put the paper down. “I don’t think a diplomatic career will beckon for Tieras after he’s finished with football,” she smiled apologetically, as if his words were her fault.
    â€œDefinitely not,” agreed Nat, a bit shocked that the captain of the tournament’s host team would be so liberal in spreading bile about Hatton Rangers before a ball had been kicked.
    A few minutes later, Nat was inside Inés’s red Fiat, on his way to training. They cut through olive groves and dusty hills, finally picking up a more substantial road until Inés pulled up in front of the El Mar Stadium. It was no La Plaza, but it was surrounded by four pretty chunky stands. Nat knew its capacity was 20,000. That was 10,000 less than Hatton Rangers’s Ivy Stadium, but it still looked big. Its front facade was painted in El Mar’s colours – purple and white.
    As Nat climbed out of the Fiat and thanked Inés for the ride, the Hatton Rangers team bus came into view.
    â€œI’ll see you tonight,” said Inés, giving him a wave and driving away.
    The Rangers players started filing off the coach.
    â€œHey Nat!” called Adilson, Rangers’s skilful Brazilian midfielder. “How’s it going? Did you miss us?”
    Nat laughed.
    â€œDon’t worry,” grinned Adilson, “the boss had us going to bed early like good boys. But I bet him and Evans stayed down in the bar for a few drinks!”
    A red sports car pulled up, driven by an older man with a grey ponytail and large sunglasses. Emi got out of the passenger side. “See you later, Pedro!” he called out, before the sports car sped off. Nat got on well with Emi – a six foot three nineteen year-old, who’d already made ten appearances for the Ivory Coast senior side. There was often a spark of mischief in his intense dark brown eyes.
    â€œThat guy is a serious