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

‘I’ll be alright,’ I mumbled. ‘Don’t you worry about Barry Loser, he’ll get over it in a couple of weeks or so.’

I carried limping off for a couple of milliseconds until I heard Sharonella’s mouth opening.

‘“Coach Loser”,’ she said, trying the name out for size. ‘I suppose it has got a tiny bit of a ring to it . . .’

I chuckled to myself. ‘The old Pain-au-Choc trick never fails,’ I muttered, widening my earholes by 0.3 millimetres each, trying to hear if anyone was nodding their head to what Shaz just said.

But heads nodding aren’t as easy to hear as mouths opening.

I carried on facing away from my friends. ‘What do you reckon, Bunk?’ I croaked, shortening Bunky’s name to show Gordon Smugly how much of his best friend I was. ‘How about doing an old pal a favour?’

Everything went quiet for a billisecond.

‘Oh alright,’ sighed Bunky, as his bum started to cry.

‘Hey, you alright, little fella?’ said Bunky, pulling a Crying Freakoid out of his pocket.

Crying Freakoids are the latest craze at school - apart from football, of keelse. They’re these tiny football- shaped toys which sort of act like pets you have to look after.

They’re the size of a gobstopper with batteries inside and a mini speaker on the back. On the front are little screens with faces on them that show what mood the ball’s in.

Whenever one starts to cry or act unhappy at all, the owner has to work out if it’s hungry or needs the toilet or wants a little cuddle to make it feel better.

‘Hey that’s a point, better check in with Barry Junior,’ I said, pulling my Crying Freakoid out of my pocket.

I held Barry Junior up and looked at his face. His eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth was grimacing.

‘Argh, I think that means he needs a poo!’ I cried.

‘You’d better wipe his bum then, Baz,’ said Shaz, pulling her Crying Freakoid out of her pocket.

I scraped my finger along the bottom of my Crying Freakoid, which is what you’re supposed to do when they need the toilet. Barry Junior did a happy beep and his grimace turned into a smile.

‘I don’t know what you lot see in those things,’ said Nancy. ‘Looks like a lot of hard work to me.’

‘Oh it is,’ said Stuart, all seriously.

Stuart’s Crying Freakoid is called Stuey No Legs. It was sitting in the palm of his hand doing a sad face, which meant he’d have to sing to it to make it happy.

‘It’s really rewarding once you get used to it though,’ he sang, and Stuey No Legs did a grin.

‘Stuart’s right, I can’t imagine not having my Mini Shaz,’ said Sharonella, giving hers a peck. ‘And they grow up so fast, don’t they!’

Bunky, whose Crying Freakoid is called Bunky Two, nodded. ‘Life’s never the same once you’ve had one of these little critters,’ he sniggled. He patted Bunky Two on the head and it immedikeely stopped crying.

‘Uh-oh, looks like somebody’s hungry,’ said Gordon, pointing at his Freakoid. Its mouth was wide open, digital drool dripping out of it.

He poked his finger at the mouth bit, which is what you do when one of them needs feeding. ‘There, that’s better isn’t it, Lil Gordy?’ he cooed.

‘Ugh, I can’t take any more of this,’ said Nancy, slamming her book shut. ‘I think I’ll go and find something more interesting to do.’

‘It’s your life, Verkenwerken!’ shouted Darren as she wandered off, and he whipped Dazzy Rascal out of his pocket. Its eyes were closed and it purred quietly.

‘Ooh you are lucky Daz,’ whispered Shazza. ‘Wish my one’d sleep through like that.’

‘It was a different story last night Shaz,’ yawned Darren. ‘I was up with him every two hours.’

‘Worth it though, innit,’ I said, sounding like my mum when she talks to her mum-friends about my baby brother Desmond.

The sun was going down and my nose twitched, sniffing the smell of my dinner wafting over from my house, mixed in with the stench of Mogden Sewers.

‘I’ll see you lot bright and early Monday morning,’ I said, plopping Barry Junior in my pocket. ‘If we’re gonna beat those Green Giants we’ve got a lot of work to do!’

Suddenkeely it was Monday morning and we were all standing in the playground at school.

‘First things first,’ I said, clapping my hands together. ‘We need a team name.’

‘Ooh you should be good at this Bazzy,’ said Shaz. ‘You’re always coming up with stupid names for stuff!’

‘Thank you Sharonella,’ I said, thinking back on all the amazekeel names I’ve come up with since I’ve been alive, including for my nine hamsters, all of which are now comperleeterly dead.

‘How about The Darrens?’ said Darren, and I scoffed.

‘Nice try, Darrenofski,’ I said. ‘But no banana.’

‘Gordon’s Giants?’ said Gordon, and Shazza shook her head.

‘That sounds exackerly like Green Giants,’ she said.

‘Yeah, expect it’s Gordon’s instead of Green,’ snapped Gordon.