Hey Lasso! Arnold and the Gang Join a Soccer Team ⚽️

Chapter 4

The team had been chosen and the group went to the soccer field to practice. There were quite the murmurings to be had when, rather than sit at the sidelines, Lorenzo approached the team in a soccer uniform, ball in hand.

Helga scoffed. "Do my eyes deceive me? Since when does Rich Boy do anything besides bury his nose in his computer? We must be really hard-up for talent to resort to this."

Lorenzo didn't reply; rather he simply released the ball so that he could juggle it from one foot to the next without the ball touching the ground. After doing that for a while, he kicked the ball and it sailed into the nearby net, before Eugene could even react.

"You were saying?" asked Gerald. Helga folded her arms and "harrumphed", but said no more.

The other kids murmured in awe and approached Lorenzo. "Whoa – can you teach me to do that?" asked Sid.

"Sure, I guess," said Lorenzo, shrugging.

"How did you get so good at that?" asked Harold.

"My dad had taught me," explained Lorenzo, grabbing another ball and proceeding to bounce it on his head. "He had a lot of friends that he grew up with that played professionally, and they're now the best football players in the Premiere League."

"I ain't the brightest bulb," began Stinky. "But I'm pretty sure we're playing with a soccer ball and not a football."

"Actually, it's only in America where the sport is referred to as 'soccer'," corrected Phoebe. "The rest of the world, and even the Olympics, calls the sport by the more popular term 'football'."

"I guess that makes sense," said Gerald, looking at a soccer ball in his hand. "We do use our feet more than anything when we play. But we already have a sport named football – what does the rest of the world call that?"

The kids were silent for a moment, but then Curly spoke up. "Personally I think football should be called 'hand egg' – it just makes more logical sense."

Helga laughed. "Oh please – could you imagine if I had to call Arnold 'hand-egg-head'?"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Or you could just call me by my name..."

"Okay, children, gather round!" said Coach Wittenberg. "Our first game is this Friday and I want you to know is failure is not an option!"

Mr. Simmons stepped in. "I think what Coach Wittenberg is trying to say is don't worry too much about winning, just be sure to have fun."

"I know what I said, Granola Boy!" challenged Wittenberg.

"OK – I've told you not to call me that," said Mr. Simmons calmly.

"Call you what? Granola Boy?"

"This is your last warning, please stop," said Mr. Simmons. Coach Wittenberg gave him an innocent look and pretended to zip his mouth. "Thank you. Now let's—"

"Granola Boy!" yelled Coach Wittenberg, attempting to mask it as a sneeze.

"Okay, that is IT!" Mr. Simmons threw his clipboard on the ground and stormed off the field. Wittenberg laughed raucously, while Arnold chased after Mr. Simmons.

"Mr. Simmons – wait up!" said Arnold.

"I am sorry, but I cannot continue to co-coach with Wittenberg. The man is incorrigible! You're in good hands, but I need to talk to the soccer committee. Good luck." And with that Mr. Simmons left.

"Aw, who needs him!" said Wittenberg, waving him off as Arnold returned to the group. "I am perfectly capable of coaching you kids independently and with full autonomy of my faculties." He held a soccer ball in his hand and stared at it for several seconds before looking at the kids for help. "Any of you know how to dribble this thing without your hands?"

"We're doomed," muttered Sid.