Cauliflower Ears Read online

  Cauliflower Ears

  More books by the same author

  Younger readers

  Emily’s Penny Dreadful

  Going bananas

  Hippo Ears and the Stargazer

  Older readers

  The Field

  Hot money

  Old bones (Storylines Notable Book)

  Young Adult

  Demons

  The Houdini Effect

  Sitting on the fence (Finalist, NZ Post Awards)

  Translations from the Dutch

  Eep! (by Joke van Leeuwen)

  Timeline (by Peter Goes)

  The day my father became a bush (by Joke van Leeuwen)

  Who’s driving? (by Leo Timmers)

  Cauliflower Ears

  by

  Bill Nagelkerke

  This edition first published in 2016 by Bill Nagelkerke.

  Copyright 2016 Bill Nagelkerke

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted. This book is copyright. All rights reserved. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

  Chapter 1

  Getting ready for the big game

  All over town, members of the Green Team, sometimes called the Cauliflower Ears, were getting ready to play their final game of the season.

  At Number 13 Lucky Street, I was eating breakfast, wondering if Mum was going to make it back in time for the kick-off.

  At Number 54 Hoani Street, Sprigs was inspecting his boots, holding them up by their lucky laces.

  At Number 217 Templeton Drive, Grubber was wondering if he could get his dad to wake up in time to take him to the big game. He was also wondering if he could manage, for once, to get his dad to stay and watch.

  My name, by the way, is Wings. You’ll have guessed that Wings, Sprigs and Grubber are our rugby nicknames, not our real names.

  It was Saturday. The Saturday, the day of the big game, the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup.

  The game in which we, the Green Team, were playing our arch rival, the Reds, sometimes known as . . .the Devils.

  ‘It’s just a game,’ my dad said as I wolfed down a great big plate of porridge.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ I said. ‘It’s not just any game, it’s the game. It’s the Grand Final. In more ways than one,’ I reminded him.

  You see, Mum had got an important new job in the capital, in fact she was already working there a few days each week, and we would soon be moving cities. This was going to be my last game with the Greens, ever.

  ‘I know it’s important . . .’ began Dad, but I didn’t give him a chance to finish.

  ‘This is the one game we have to win,’ I said.

  ‘Well, just remember this,’ said Dad as he tidied away the breakfast things. ‘You’ve always given it your best shot, one hundred percent plus. No one can do more than that.’ He looked at me. ‘And don’t they say that the most important thing isn’t winning or losing, it’s how you play the game?’

  ‘Huh,’ I said. ‘Not when it comes to the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup. No way.’

  Chapter 2

  Lucky laces

  ‘Mum!’ yelled Sprigs. ‘One of my lucky boot laces has just snapped.’

  ‘Snap back at it,’ said his mother.

  ‘That’s not funny!’ said Sprigs.

  ‘I thought it was,’ his mother said. ‘Go and find another lace then,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’ve looked,’ said Sprigs frantically. ‘There aren’t any spares.’

  ‘Take one of the laces out of your school shoes,’ his mum said.

  ‘They’re not the right sort. They’re much too short!’

  Sprigs’ mum sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll get the car. If we leave straight away we should have time to stop off at the mall to buy a new pair.’

  Sprigs looked unsure. ‘What if new ones bring me bad luck?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be so superstitious,’ said his mother.

  ‘I can't help it,’ said Sprigs. ‘These laces have taken

  us right to the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup. It could be disastrous for us if they miss the game.’

  Sprigs’ mum raised her eyebrows. ‘Get real,’ she said.

  Sprigs took no notice. Instead, he poked the broken lace into the turned-over top of one of his rugby socks. ‘There,’ he told it. ‘Now you’ll still be able to help us win the game.’

  ‘My son who talks to bootlaces,’ sighed Sprigs’ mum.

  Chapter 3

  Butterflies

  Grubber felt sickish. He always did before a game. His stomach had gone swimmy, his head felt light and floaty like a helium-filled balloon.

  ‘Maybe you’d better stay home,’ said his mother.

  ‘No chance,’ said Grubber.

  ‘But if you’re feeling crook wouldn’t it be more sensible?’

  ‘It’s not that sort of crookedness,’ Grubber explained.

  ‘Crookness,’ his mum corrected.

  ‘Whatever. It’s butterflies I’ve got. I can feel them dancing around.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all it is? If you’re not fit to go, then sit the game out. It’ll keep your dad happy. ’

  ‘Course I’m fit!’ said Grubber. ‘I wouldn’t miss the game even if I really was sick.’

  ‘In that case, go and try waking your dad again.’

  Grubber went to the bathroom where his dad was

  fast asleep after doing his nine hours on night shift.

  Grubber shook his dad’s shoulder.

  ‘Come on, Dad. The big game’s starting soon. I need you to run me over.’

  His dad groaned.

  ‘Hurry Dad, please, we’ve got to be there in less than an hour.’

  Chapter 4

  Jitters

  Kick-off was at eleven. At ten thirty both teams, the Greens and the Reds - the Cauliflower Ears and the Devils - were warming up at opposite ends of the playing field.

  We needed the warm up, and not just to get our muscles loose and supple. It was really chilly out on the field. Our breaths were puffs of steamy white.

  ‘Just listen to that,’ said Grubber.

  ‘What?’ asked Sprigs.

  ‘The roar of the crowd.’

  Sprigs and I looked round. The single stand had several dozen people in it, their hands wrapped round thermos flasks. There were also about fifty supporters standing in little groups on the sidelines, marching on the spot to keep warm. The Red Brigade and the Greenies. But you’d hardly call it a crowd. And it certainly wasn’t roaring.

  ‘That’s not a crowd you’re hearing,’ I said. ‘It’s

  your heart drumming.’

  ‘That’s what it is,’ agreed Sprigs.

  ‘Is not,’ said Grubber, but he clutched his chest all the same.

  ‘It’ll be because your dad’s staying to watch the game,’ I said.

  I was right, even though Grubber wasn’t going to admit it. He’d managed to drag his dad out of bed and make him solemnly swear to stay for the whole game. Now, Grubber wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea. He always felt queasy before a game. Today he felt worse than usual. His lips were dry and his stomach was doing flip-flops. His heart, now that he had his hand over it, was definitely banging away like a jackhammer. Grubber wouldn't have been surprised if Sprigs and I had heard it. Actually, he’d never felt this bad.

  ‘I thought I was going to be late,’ said Sprigs, as we stretched our legs and swung our arms. ‘Man, it was hard finding matching laces.�
�

  This time Grubber and I looked at each other. ‘Can’t have been as hard as me having to wake my dad up,’ said Grubber.

  ‘You two can laugh,’ said Sprigs, ‘but no way was I

  playing without a matching bootlace.’

  ‘We’re not actually laughing,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Not yet you aren’t,’ said Sprigs.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ Grubber said, forgetting his jitters for the moment, ‘is why you only replaced one of the laces. They come in pairs. You could have put in two new ones.’

  Sprigs shook his head. ‘I just had to leave one of the old laces in,’ he explained. ‘They’ve been my lucky laces all season.’

  ‘Don’t we know it,’ I said.

  Sprigs was our top scoring fullback. He hadn’t missed a goal kick all season. We were all depending on him, and his lucky laces, in the Grand Final.

  Chapter 5

  Team talk

  ‘Listen up now,’ said our coach, Mr Marlow.

  We stopped exercising and listened up.

  Mr Marlow had been a top player in his day. We knew this was true because of his cauliflower ears. The left one especially was flattened and lumpy from having been in too many scrums and rucks.

  Mr Marlow’s ears had given the Green’s our other name. We didn’t often use it as a name ourselves. It was the rival teams, especially the Reds, who did. Whenever they called us the Cauliflower Ears, which was each time we played them, they used it as an insult. But we took it as a compliment, just as Mr Marlow suggested. We’d even put it into our team slogan to show how proud we were of it. Grubber had written the slogan. He was good at writing poems.

  ‘This is a noteworthy day,’ Mr Marlow continued.

  We all nodded. It couldn’t get any more noteworthy than this. The Greens were in the Grand Final for the

  first time ever.

  ‘Repeat after me,’ said Mr Marlow.

  ‘This is a noteworthy day,’ we repeated.

  ‘It’s the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup.’

  ‘It’s the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup.’

  ‘And furthermore . . . ’

  Mr Marlow paused for a second or two, then went on.

  ‘. . . it’s Wings’ last match with the Greens.’

  I felt really weird when Mr Marlow said that. It made it seem more real than ever.

  When Mum and Dad had first announced that we were going to live in the capital I had felt:

  like a stunned mullet

  angry

  sad

  more angry

  a little bit excited.

  All of those things, all at once.

  But I knew we didn’t really have much choice. My

  parents were from there originally and they’d always said they’d go back when they got the chance. Now

  the chance had come. Besides, both sets of grandies and most of my aunts, uncles and cousins lived there, too.

  ‘You’ll find another team to play in,’ said Mum.

  ‘Maybe.’ I said. ‘But they’ll be nothing nearly as good as the Greens.’

  ‘Wings’ last match with the Greens.’

  Everyone turned to look at me as they repeated Mr Marlow’s words. I turned away and gazed at the muddy ground. We’d played together for so long, it was going to be tough to quit. That’s why we had to win today. Mr Marlow had called this game my swansong, my final appearance.

  ‘We can do it,’ Mr Marlow said.

  ‘We can do it,’ we repeated as one.

  ‘We can win.’

  ‘We can win.’

  ‘All it takes . . .’

  ‘All it takes . . .’

  ‘Is applying the skills we’ve learnt and practised...’

  ‘The skills we’ve learnt and practised . . .’

  ‘Our determination . . .’

  ‘Our determination . . .’

  ‘And consideration . . .’

  ‘And consideration . . .’

  ‘For each other . . .’

  ‘For each other . . .’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘The opposition.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m waiting guys.’

  ‘The opposition,’ we said, knowing that consideration was the last thing the Reds would show us.

  ‘Great stuff,’ said Mr Marlow.

  Then we chanted the Green Team’s slogan. It was short but sweet.

  Three cheers

  for the Cauliflower Ears!

  ‘Remember,’ said Mr Marlow, ‘you’ve come this far by fair play and by following the rules, so don’t let

  yourselves down.’

  Then Grubber said the thing we’d all be thinking.

  ‘But the Reds give me the jitters Mr Marlow. They’re thuggish. That’s why everyone calls them the Devils.’

  ‘And that’s why you’re proud if they call you the Cauliflower Ears,’ said Mr Marlow.

  ‘Why?’ asked Sprigs.

  ‘Because you know how to play the game,’ said Mr Marlow. ‘And a good game played by Cauliflower Ears will always beat a bad game played by Devils.’

  ‘They foul all the time,’ I said, ‘and they always try to make sure the Ref doesn’t see what they’re up to.’

  ‘Then they’ll be the losers, whether they win or not,’ said Mr Marlow, which sounded strange but true at the same time. Not that we wanted the Reds to win, of course.

  ‘I’ve got to go to the toilet,’ said Grubber, his jitters back again.

  Chapter 6

  Countdown

  Five minutes to kick-off.

  I checked the sidelines as we got into our positions. Yep, I could see Dad, and Mum had arrived as well. Choice! I’d been worried her plane would be delayed by bad weather.

  They’ve both always come to watch me play and I was glad, and relieved, that today wasn’t going to be any different.

  Sprigs checked his bootlaces one last time. The new one looked much too clean compared with the old, so Sprigs poked his fingers into the soggy grass and dirtied the fresh lace until he couldn’t tell the difference between the old and the new. Now he felt a lot more confident, except his fingers were wet and dirty and slippery and it was too late to clean them.

  Grubber tested his stomach by cautiously poking it.

  Butterflies gone?

  Check.

  He held his hand over his heart again.

  Flip-flop drumming stopped?

  Check.

  Lips moist?

  Check.

  He felt perfectly fine.

  That was the way it always happened. As soon as a match was about to begin he became instantly better. Full of confidence. Couldn’t wait to start.

  He wished he was like that before a game. If he was, chances were his dad would worry less about him playing. It was too bad.

  Chapter 7

  Kick off

  We were playing into the wind for the first half, which was good. It meant that the second half, when we’d be tired, would be easier for us.

  Spike Maynard, the captain of the Reds, stared over at our captain, Chip Butterfield.

  ‘Got the collywobbles?’ he asked.

  Chip stared blankly at him.

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ said Spike. ‘Colly as in cauliflower.’ He turned to the Reds. ‘Not only thick ears but thick between the ears as well.’

  Some of the other Reds laughed maliciously.

  ‘We’re going to flatten you lot,’ said Spike. He turned to look at me. ‘And you’d better keep out of the way if you know what’s good for you.’

  ‘Takes more than a bad haircut to frighten me,’ I said to him.

  Grubber, listening to this exchange of compliments, momentarily thought he might have to dash for the

  toilet again but then something happened which made

  him forget all about it. The Ref had blown his whistle.

  Danny Millwall, our first five-eighth, kick
ed the ball into play. The Reds and Greens both dived for it. Sprigs grabbed it but it slipped between his slippery, muddied fingers. The ball bounced and twisted like it was alive, but luckily ended back in Danny’s outstretched hands. Then Spike suddenly rammed into Danny - it looked like a high tackle to me - and bowled him over. The ball popped from Danny’s hands, bounced again and was picked up by one of the heavy Red forwards who spun round and raced into our territory. He was too quick for any of us. He threw himself between the goalposts for a perfect try.

  Five points to nil.

  Half of the spectators cheered. The Red Brigade.

  The other half, the Greenies, stayed silent.

  Five points to the Reds, and another two for the easy conversion that followed.

  Seven to nil.

  Seven points on the scoreboard, in the first few minutes of the game. What a way to begin the Grand Final. What a way to begin my final game.

  Chapter 8

  Wings

  ‘Did you see how he tackled Danny?’ I asked Sprigs. ‘The Ref should’ve spotted that, he was right there. If I’d been the Ref I would’ve done something about it.’

  ‘It was legit,’ said Sprigs.

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘But legit.’

  And I knew he was right.

  Things improved a little after that bad beginning. Grubber scored a try and Sprigs’ place kick converted it sweetly between the posts.

  Seven - seven.

  ‘At least my leftover lace is still working its magic,’ said Sprigs. If he could have bent down far enough to kiss that lace I’m sure he would have.