Junior Gangland
Children's Story
Frank was against the plan from start. He hated the kids from the Baptist Sunday School, mostly because there were more of them and they always seemed to have such a good time. The Church of England Sunday School was OK, although Frank found it boring at times. But at least there were some other boys there, enough to form a reasonably good five-aside football team.
Frank was particularly good at football, so he was the captain of the team and the chief goal scorer. They did quite well in a number of small five-aside tournaments, so that the curate, who fancied himself as a football manager, began to arrange some individual matches for them. The more they played together, the more the boys began to bond, until all five of them became very firm friends indeed. Soon the five of them began to meet for all sorts of other activities, and got into the habit of hanging out together.
The war with the Baptist Sunday School started when Frank threw a stone in the general direction of the Baptist kids. He didn't really mean to hit anyone, but they'd all been exchanging taunts and he'd run out of good jibes. As the leader of the C E gang he couldn't afford to allow the Baptists the last word, so he'd picked up a stone and lobbed it into the midst of the rival group. That had been months ago, and ever since the taunts had accelerated into fists and stones and some very nasty moments.
The curate and the Baptist leader, who were good friends, knew nothing about the two gangs, so arranged a five-aside match fully expecting the boys to be delighted. But Frank was in a quandary. The curate had told them very firmly how they must welcome all strangers to their home ground, and Frank didn't know how he was going to welcome his sworn enemies.
The day of the match was very hot, with the sun streaming down onto the players. The Baptists had brought a large supporting crowd of youngsters, who stood on the touchline and very soon began to chant, "Up the Baptists, down CE." Frank was livid, especially as they had no supporters at all. He was determined to win, and to win so convincingly that the Baptists were crushed once and for all. He set off at a furious pace, the ball at his feet almost as though it was attached by glue. He tore down the field and slammed the ball into the goal.
It was the start of many goals. The Baptist goalie was only a little boy, who hadn't a chance against Frank's skill. Frank played as he'd never played before, almost like a one man team. The Baptist team was no match for him, and very soon were looking scared of his feet and his boots.
But just after half-time, something happened to Frank. He suddenly felt very weird, and his legs began to feel like lead. He felt terribly tired and terribly hot, and he discovered he couldn't run any more. The Baptist team took full advantage of his difficulties, and before long the score was level.
Frank was in despair. Without him the CE team was ordinary, with him it was extra-ordinary. Without him it had no more chance of winning than the Baptist's had. With him it was certain to win. But he'd given his all much too soon. He was so keen to thrash the Baptists that he'd exhausted his energy and had nothing left to give.
Then, during a lull in the game when Frank was tottering down sidelines, a little Baptist lad ran out from the crowd and handed Frank a glass of water and an energy sweet. It made all the difference. With his energy restored, Frank was back to his former self. But he suddenly realised how selfishly and how meanly he'd been playing. Throughout the rest of the match he played as a member of the team instead of taking it all on by himself. And when he got to the goal he kicked the ball quite gently towards the net.
The CE gang won the match, by one goal. But somehow, winning didn't seem to matter quite so much. And as the two teams shared tea together after the match, Frank discovered he no longer had enemies but quite a number of new friends.
Frank was particularly good at football, so he was the captain of the team and the chief goal scorer. They did quite well in a number of small five-aside tournaments, so that the curate, who fancied himself as a football manager, began to arrange some individual matches for them. The more they played together, the more the boys began to bond, until all five of them became very firm friends indeed. Soon the five of them began to meet for all sorts of other activities, and got into the habit of hanging out together.
The war with the Baptist Sunday School started when Frank threw a stone in the general direction of the Baptist kids. He didn't really mean to hit anyone, but they'd all been exchanging taunts and he'd run out of good jibes. As the leader of the C E gang he couldn't afford to allow the Baptists the last word, so he'd picked up a stone and lobbed it into the midst of the rival group. That had been months ago, and ever since the taunts had accelerated into fists and stones and some very nasty moments.
The curate and the Baptist leader, who were good friends, knew nothing about the two gangs, so arranged a five-aside match fully expecting the boys to be delighted. But Frank was in a quandary. The curate had told them very firmly how they must welcome all strangers to their home ground, and Frank didn't know how he was going to welcome his sworn enemies.
The day of the match was very hot, with the sun streaming down onto the players. The Baptists had brought a large supporting crowd of youngsters, who stood on the touchline and very soon began to chant, "Up the Baptists, down CE." Frank was livid, especially as they had no supporters at all. He was determined to win, and to win so convincingly that the Baptists were crushed once and for all. He set off at a furious pace, the ball at his feet almost as though it was attached by glue. He tore down the field and slammed the ball into the goal.
It was the start of many goals. The Baptist goalie was only a little boy, who hadn't a chance against Frank's skill. Frank played as he'd never played before, almost like a one man team. The Baptist team was no match for him, and very soon were looking scared of his feet and his boots.
But just after half-time, something happened to Frank. He suddenly felt very weird, and his legs began to feel like lead. He felt terribly tired and terribly hot, and he discovered he couldn't run any more. The Baptist team took full advantage of his difficulties, and before long the score was level.
Frank was in despair. Without him the CE team was ordinary, with him it was extra-ordinary. Without him it had no more chance of winning than the Baptist's had. With him it was certain to win. But he'd given his all much too soon. He was so keen to thrash the Baptists that he'd exhausted his energy and had nothing left to give.
Then, during a lull in the game when Frank was tottering down sidelines, a little Baptist lad ran out from the crowd and handed Frank a glass of water and an energy sweet. It made all the difference. With his energy restored, Frank was back to his former self. But he suddenly realised how selfishly and how meanly he'd been playing. Throughout the rest of the match he played as a member of the team instead of taking it all on by himself. And when he got to the goal he kicked the ball quite gently towards the net.
The CE gang won the match, by one goal. But somehow, winning didn't seem to matter quite so much. And as the two teams shared tea together after the match, Frank discovered he no longer had enemies but quite a number of new friends.
