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  “What’s up, Leo?” asked his mum, looking up from some paperwork she was studying. They were sitting on the small balcony, Leo with a look of thunder on his face.

  “I didn’t get picked for Thursday’s match and I really thought I would. That idiot Gavin Mathers is playing instead.”

  “But you’ll be on the subs bench, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll probably stay there for the whole game. It would be just my luck for Gavin to play a blinder and score the winning goal. Then I’ll never get a game.”

  “I’m sure it won’t happen like that,” said his mum gently, “you’re a great player. You’re so dedicated to the game; you’re always playing or training or working on your skills. Those things get rewarded. You deserve a break. Just…don’t forget you’re all on the same side.”

  Leo managed a half smile. “Thanks, Mum,” he said, glad that she was supporting him, but not really believing a single word she said.

  The next day Leo moped about school. When Mac tried to talk to him he replied with one-word answers. When he got home he sat in his room looking at some stats for Geoff Hurst on his phone, but he couldn’t really concentrate.

  • Hurst made over 400 league appearances between 1959 and 1972, scoring 180 goals.

  • Winner of the FA Cup (1964) and European Cup Winner’s Cup (1965) with West Ham United.

  • He played for American “soccer” side, the Seattle Sounders, in 1976, scoring 8 goals and making 4 assists in 23 games.

  Leo kept imagining Gavin winning the game with a spectacular bicycle kick. He was in the middle of this bitter daydream when he glanced back at the photo of Hurst, his hair neatly combed and arms folded. Without warning, Leo’s bed began to shake. Books and school work spun into the air and he shielded his face to avoid being struck.

  A second later the rumbling sound stopped and Leo opened his eyes.

  He was standing on the touchline inside a football stadium on a sunny afternoon. He saw the stadium’s two towers and recognised it as the old Wembley Stadium. On the terraces were people wearing clothes about fifty years out of date. Leo turned his gaze at the pitch and saw two teams battling it out – one in red shirts, the other in white.

  And that’s when it hit him.

  This was no ordinary game.

  It was the 1966 World Cup Final between England and West Germany!

  CHAPTER 7

  WEMBLEY, 1966

  There with his hands on his hips was Geoff Hurst, decked out in his full England kit. He had an anxious look on his face. The ball had just gone out of play and a ball boy was racing to retrieve it.

  Hurst saw Leo, smiled and then did something remarkable. He stepped from the outline of his body and ran straight over! Apart from Leo and Hurst it was obvious that no one else in the stadium had seen this.

  “Delighted you could make it,” said Hurst, patting Leo on the back. “Your timing is spot on.”

  “Why’s that?” asked a shocked and confused Leo.

  “I’m scared that things are turning against us in this game,” answered Hurst edgily.

  “What’s the score?” asked Leo.

  “West Germany went 1–0 up on twelve minutes and then I scored with a header on eighteen minutes to level it at 1–1.”

  “And then?” asked Leo.

  “In the seventy-seventh minute, a shot I hit was deflected and fell to Martin Peters, who smacked it in: 2–1. For the next twenty minutes we held our lead. Then on the eighty-ninth minute Wolfgang Weber knocked one in for the Germans: 2–2. The whistle for full time went very soon after, and shortly after that, we started extra time; we’re five minutes in.”

  “What did your manager say?”

  “Alf Ramsey is a man of few emotions, but he said one thing that hit us all like a rocket and raised our spirits. He said, ‘You’ve won it once, now go and win it again.’”

  “So why am I here?” asked Leo.

  “My legs are losing the will to keep going,” said Hurst. “I need a break and this is the perfect opportunity for you.”

  “ME?” blurted out Leo. “You want ME to play?”

  “Absolutely!” nodded Hurst. “Take what I taught you; go out there and use those skills.”

  Leo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Geoff Hurst was instructing him to play in a World Cup Final – a World Cup Final featuring England; it was madness. Hurst quickly went over the names of his team-mates so Leo would know who was who.

  By now, the ball boy had got the ball and a throw-in was about to be taken.

  “This is your moment!” urged Hurst. “Go and make some history!”

  Leo took a deep breath, ran onto the pitch and stepped into Hurst’s outline.

  CHAPTER 8

  GOAL-LINE DECISION

  “Come on, lads!” shouted Jackie Charlton from somewhere behind him. “We can do this. We HAVE to do this! There is NO WAY we are going to let our country down!”

  West Germany were passing the brown leather ball around, looking for a way to break through the England defence. Leo was taken aback by the running styles of the players and the pace of the game in 1966; it seemed slower than in the modern Premier League.

  Eleven minutes into extra time, a small England player called Alan Ball, with curly ginger hair, set off on a run down the right flank. Leo raced forward into the West German penalty area. He had to be in the right place if Ball managed a cross. Hurst’s words buzzed in his head. “Control before the shot, shooting on the run, follow through.”

  Ball raced towards the by-line and floated in a cross. As Leo watched the ball fly through the air he knew what he was going to do. He brought the ball down with his right boot, and letting it roll a couple of paces forwards, Leo swivelled round. He smacked the ball hard with his right foot, following the shot through. As it left his boot he toppled over backwards.

  Time seemed to stop for a second and then the ball hit the underside of the West German crossbar, bounced on the goal line and flew out.

  “GOAL!” screamed Leo and his team-mates. The cap-wearing German goalkeeper, Hans Tilkowski walked out of his goal, looking bemused.

  Leo got to his feet and raised his arm in the air, but the referee didn’t seem to know whether the ball had crossed the line fully. If this wasn’t the case, the goal would be disallowed.

  Leo was stunned. “Please don’t rule it out,” he thought in desperation.

  The ref ran over to the linesman and had a quick discussion, using hand signals because they clearly didn’t speak the same language. The ref then nodded his head, blew his whistle and pointed a finger towards the centre circle.

  The goal stood!

  The stadium erupted. The noise from the crowd was deafening.

  Alan Ball ran straight over to Leo. Both of them were laughing and cheering.

  England players surrounded Leo, chanting praise in his ears and grabbing him by the shoulders.

  West German players pursued the ref, insisting that he and the linesman had got it wrong, but he waved them away.

  Then Leo heard a voice that was calmer and quieter than the rest. It was the England captain and defender supreme, Bobby Moore.

  “It’s nowhere near over!” he called out to his team-mates. “Don’t forget they scored in the eighty-ninth minute and they’ll go like crazy for another goal now. Let’s keep our shape and win this game!”

  Moore was a natural leader. He commanded total respect from his players. Leo nodded at Moore. Moore winked back.

  A few seconds later everyone was ready for the restart; could England hold on or would West Germany nick the game?

  CHAPTER 9

  THEY THINK IT’S

  ALL OVER…

  The first half of extra time was over a few minutes later, and England hadn’t conceded. They were still winning 3–2. Leo grabbed a quick drink and Ramsey ordered the team to keep their discipline and shut the Germans out.

  Before Leo knew it, the second half of extra time had started. It was clear that
West Germany were going to attack, and they did in force. Leo tracked back to help the defence. Bobby Moore, Jack Charlton, George Cohen and Ray Wilson played superbly as a defensive four, with Nobby Stiles playing just ahead of them, going in for the crunching tackles and fending off West Germany like a warrior.

  Just then Leo heard someone on the England bench shouting out that there was just a minute left. One minute until England could win the ultimate football trophy.

  A whistle sounded and loads of the players and spectators thought it was the ref’s final whistle. But it had come from the crowd, and the ref waved play on.

  At that second, a long ball was whacked out of the England penalty area. Leo was fifteen yards into the opposition’s half. The ball hit the top of his shoulder and fell onto the pitch.

  Control before the shot, shooting on the run, follow through.

  Leo didn’t need to be told what to do. He immediately started sprinting forwards with the ball at his feet, aware that a West German defender was racing after him. Dribbling at top speed he flew into the left side of the German penalty area, pushed the ball forward and struck it with as much power as he could muster with his left foot. He watched as the ball crashed into the top-left corner of the net. There was no goal-line controversy this time, no agonised waiting for the ref’s decision.

  It was a goal – a brilliant goal.

  The England players, the England staff and the England supporters went completely crazy. Their shrieks and cheers and clapping exploded around the stadium. The whole place was filled with waving arms and England flags. And in that moment, Leo realised he, along with the real Geoff Hurst, had scored a hat-trick and won the World Cup for England.

  A few seconds later, the ref blew for full time and as some supporters raced onto the pitch, Leo felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and found Geoff Hurst standing beside him.

  “You did it!” beamed Hurst. “You took on everything I told you and you made the difference. No one in this stadium or throughout our country will ever forget what you just did.”

  “Thanks,” smiled Leo, his heart pounding, his senses alive to the madness that had broken out around him.

  “I reckon we’d better swap back now,” laughed Hurst. “I can’t miss getting my hands on that beautiful trophy.”

  They shook hands. Leo stepped out of the outline and Hurst walked back in.

  A moment later, the Wembley turf began to shake violently. As grass flew into Leo’s face he shut his eyes.

  When he opened them, Wembley was gone. He was in his bedroom. The craziness of the 1966 World Cup Final had totally vanished.

  CHAPTER 10

  HOTSHOT SUB

  The match against Heston College kicked off on Thursday after school. Gavin was playing centre forward while Mac was playing in midfield. Leo was a substitute, and he stood on the touchline, watching the action and feeling miserable.

  The first thirty-five minutes were patchy. Both teams played nervously, neither wanting to concede a goal. To Leo’s delight, Gavin had been marked out of the game by a tough Heston defender, which was great. But it did mean Leo’s team hadn’t managed many shots on goal.

  Then Mac wrested the ball from one of the Heston strikers and floated a pass upfield. Gavin chested the ball down and raced round the Heston right back.

  Mac sprung forwards to join the attack.

  Gavin cut inside another defender and entered the penalty area.

  “Over here!” yelled Mac, waving his right arm.

  Gavin had a quick look up, feigned a pass to Mac and then struck the ball. It wasn’t a great strike, but it rolled under the keeper’s body and trickled into the net.

  Gavin raised his arms in the air and shouted with joy. As he ran back for the Heston kickoff, he grinned at Leo on the touchline and hissed, “You could never have done that!”

  Leo seethed with fury, while Mr Lawson looked on.

  Soon it was half-time with the scoreline at 1–0. Gavin strutted around as if he was the most important player in the team.

  Mr Lawson did the half-time team talk, concentrating on the defence because it had lost its shape and discipline on a few occasions. Then he turned to the attack.

  Gavin grinned, waiting for the praise.

  But Mr Lawson’s face suddenly looked deadly serious.

  “Our attack has been far too static,” began Mr Lawson. “We need more movement to slip away from that Heston defender. Plus, we need someone willing to track back and support the defence. Gavin, you’re off. Leo, you’re playing upfront in the second half.”

  A stunned Gavin said in a trembling voice. “B…b…but I scored the only goal.”

  “You did,” nodded Mr Lawson, “but we need to talk about your team spirit – there’s no room for individuals, we play as a team.”

  Gavin looked as if he’d just been sat on by a hippo.

  Leo’s spirits soared dramatically, and a few minutes later he was lining up for the kickoff.

  Control before the shot, shooting on the run, follow through.

  He had to heed these words.

  For ten minutes Leo hardly had the ball, despite his movement. Then it was fed to him in the centre circle. He trapped the ball with his left instep and then started running at the Heston defence. He rounded one player and then another backed away from him. He was now bearing down on the penalty area. He made as if to shoot, but then slid the ball to Mac, who thumped it into the top-right corner.

  “Amazing pass!” grinned Mac, high-fiving with Leo.

  “Amazing goal!” laughed Leo.

  Gavin sat on the substitutes bench looking like a poodle in a rainstorm.

  For twenty minutes it was end-to-end stuff and after a defensive error, Heston pulled a goal back: 2–1.

  It was a midfield battle after this, but with five minutes remaining, Leo’s keeper took a mighty goal kick. Leo was just inside the Heston half and he started hurtling towards the Heston goal.

  The ball bounced just in front of him. He flicked it over a defender and brought it down with his chest. As Leo raced into the penalty area, two Heston defenders sprinted to close him down. He knew what he had to do. He pushed the ball slightly ahead, pulled back his left foot and blasted the ball with a follow-through for power. The ball sailed between the defenders and beat the goalie into the top-left corner: 3–1!

  Leo’s team-mates went mad, leaping on him and screaming wildly.

  “Top goal, Leo,” called out Mr Lawson. “Great technique!”

  Leo ran back to his own half, noticing a furious-looking Gavin, who was standing on the touchline. “So what, Leo?” Gavin shouted. “It’s not the World Cup Final!”

  Leo ignored him and got ready for the kickoff. He’d learnt with the hottest shot of them all – the only player to score a hat-trick in a World Cup Final. Nothing could take that away. And besides, there were still five minutes left of this game to play. Plenty of time to score another goal.

  This ebook edition published in 2014

  First published in 2014

  by Franklin Watts

  Text © Jonny Zucker 2014

  Illustrations by Jacopo Camagni © Franklin Watts 2014

  Cover design by Peter Scoulding

  Franklin Watts

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  Franklin Watts Australia

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  Sydney, NSW 2000

  The author and illustrator have asserted their rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  (pb) ISBN: 978 1 4451 2618 0

  (ebook) ISBN: 978 1 4451 2622 7

  (Library ebook) ISBN: 978 1 4451 2626 5

  Franklin Watts is a division of Hachette Children’s Books,

  an Hachette UK company.

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