Jim Smith - Barry Loser is the best at football NOT!

‘Fanks!’ grinned Bunky, who thinks he’s the best at football out of all of us, probably cos he is.

‘Tell you what,’ said Tarquin. ‘We’ve got a little stadium up in Avo Hill - nothing fancy, just a few hundred seats. You lot fancy a game next Saturday, after the World Cup final?’

Bunky looked at the ball in Tarquin’s hands and gulped. ‘Oh, er . . . I’m busy then,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ squawked Sharonella. ‘I’m going to the, um . . . toilet.’

‘With me!’ burped Darren, putting his hand up in the air.

Gordon pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘Do you know what,’ he said, tapping the screen. ‘I’m fully booked for the next three weeks.’

‘He’s my boss,’ said Stuart, pointing at Smugly. ‘So looks like I’ll be tied up as well.’

I looked round at my friends. ‘How come I didn’t know about all these plans?’ I said.

Tarquin peered down at me. ‘You’re a funny little specimen, aren’t you?’ he chuckled.

‘What’s that sposed to mean?’ I asked.

The kid next to Tarquin rolled his eyes. ‘Your pals are making excuses,’ he explained. ‘They’re just afraid to play the Green Giants.’

You know when you’re the last person to work something out and it makes you feel all stupid, so you say something cocky to make yourself look keel?

‘We’ll see you on Saturday,’ I said, twizzling round to face the Green Giants. ‘And we’re gonna smash you avocados into a paste!’

The Green Giants wandered off and Bunky glared at me. ‘What in the name of unkeelness was that all about?’ he cried.

‘What are you afraid of, Bunky?’ I said, pretending it was no big deal. ‘I thought you were the best footballer in Mogden School!’

‘I spose that IS true,’ said Bunky.

‘But we don’t even have a team,’ warbled Stuart.

‘Well then,’ I said, still trying to make up for looking like a loser three minutes earlier. ‘We’d better make one!’

Bunky stroked the bit of his face where his beard’ll be when he’s older. ‘Hmm, let me see,’ he said. ‘I’d be up front, of keelse. Darren, you can go in midfield. Shazza and Stuart in defence and Gordon in goal.’

‘Wait a millisecond,’ I said. ‘What about me and Nancy?’

‘Leave me out of this,’ said Nancy, not even looking up from her book.

‘You don’t want to play do you, Barry?’ asked Bunky.

Darren cracked open another Fronkle. ‘Yeah Loser,’ he said. ‘You’re rubbish at football!’

‘No I’m not!’ I said, even though it was true. I scratched my head, and my brain wriggled inside its skull, immedikeely coming up with one of its amazekeel ideas.

‘I’ve got it!’ I cried. ‘I can be your football coach!’

‘You have got to be kidding,’ laughed Gordon.

Darren took a slurp of Fronkle. ‘Forgeddaboudit, Loser,’ he belched.

‘Oh PLEEEASE,’ I said, immedikeely losing my keelness and dropping to my knees. ‘Don’t leave me on the sidelines with nobody to talk to!’

Nancy looked up from her book. ‘Ahem?’ she ahemed.

‘No offence, Nance,’ I said, peering up at Bunky. ‘What d’you reckon, Captain?’ I smiled, calling him that so he’d go along with my plan.

Bunky ruffled my hair like I was his son. ‘It’s a nice idea, Baz, but you don’t actukeely know anything about football, do you?’

‘That fact might be ever-so-slighterly true,’ I said, getting up off my knees. ‘But I’m pretty good at bossing people about!’

‘And you think that’s all it takes to be a coach?’ said Gordon.

‘Oui,’ I said, showing off I could say ‘yes’ in French, because I’ve been learning it in school.

Sharonella’s nose crinkled up. ‘Urgh, we don’t need to hear about your toilet habits, Barry!’ she said.

‘Yeah, Losoid,’ said Darren. ‘Nice idea about the team, but I don’t think we’ll be needing your services, okay?’

‘Right that’s it,’ I said, stomping my foot and preparing to activate Operation Pain au Chocolat. ‘I didn’t want to do this, but it looks like I’m gonna have to.’

I rotated myself on the spot like a tray of pain au chocolats in a bakery shop window and walked away from my ex-friends.

I was putting on a fake limp to make them feel extra sorry for me.

‘Oh don’t be like that, Barry!’ called Bunky.

‘No you’re right,’ I mumbled over my shoulder. ‘What do you lot need a useless old Loser like me for?’

‘Just let him go, Bunky,’ said Gordon Smugly, who’s always trying to steal my best friend off me and probably thought this was the perfect time to put his evil plan into action.

I spotted a piece of gravel lying on the floor and wondered if I should fake a trip over it to really get them feeling bad.