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

Chapter 8

With Mr. Simmons coaching again and an effective pep talk with Lorenzo, the team was back in full form and became a contender through the round robin playoffs. They had easily knocked off the competition and coasted through the quarterfinals and semifinals, and eventually they had made their way to the championship.

On the night of the big game, the team grouped together in a huddle at the request of the two coaches.

"All right, team," began Coach Wittenberg. "We've made it this far. All we have to do tonight is defeat Peavine Academy to secure our place as the immutable authority in soccer!"

"And don't forget to have fun, and try your best!" interjected Mr. Simmons.

Bemused, Coach Wittenberg grabbed Mr. Simmons in a headlock and gave him a light noogie. "Yes...your head coach is right. No matter what happens tonight, we're both very proud of you. Now go out there and have fun!"

The team cheered and put their hands in for a celebratory game cry. "Goooooooooo 118!"

As the kids arrive on the field, the Martinez twins brushed by Lorenzo. They regarded him coolly, then burst out laughing. Lorenzo froze a bit, but then relaxed when Arnold placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, man?" asked Arnold.

Lorenzo smiled and slowly nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay. Let's do this!"

Arnold smiled and gave him a thumbs up, then went to his position on the field.

"Is he gonna be alright?" asked Gerald.

Arnold turned to look at Lorenzo, who was taking his position in front of the goal. "He'll be fine," insisted Arnold. "He's ready."

The match began, and it was a tough one. By the first half, Peavine Academy was dominating, scoring one goal after another. But then halftime came and the kids at P.S. 118 really began to gel. Arnold scored one, then Gerald and Helga scored another. Pretty soon, by the time stoppage time began, both Peavine Academy and P.S. 118 had a tied score. Which could only mean one thing...

"A shootout," muttered Coach Wittenberg. "It always comes down to the shoutout..."

For the shootout, each team had 5 chances to score a point against the opposing team. First Arnold went first, and made the goal. Then Peavine went and scored a goal. Gerald was next, and he scored a goal, as did the second striker for Peavine.

Curly went up next, but his ball veered too far off to the left; Peavine answered with a successful goal. Helga scored a goal in the fourth attempt, and this time it was Peavine that missed.

It was now down to the final two goals. Coach Wittenberg took Harold aside to give him a quick pep talk.

"Don't be nervous, kid, " advised Wittenberg. "You may not be our most accurate striker, but you've got the strength, and I think that's all you'll need to get past their goalie."

Harold groaned. "Oh, please don't tell me you want me to start thinking about strained beets! I hate that stuff!"

"Forget about that!" said Wittenberg. "I want you to focus on whatever it takes to get that soccer ball sailing true and expeditiously between that goalpost."

"Okay, I'll try," grumbled Harold as he made his way back on the field.

"Come on, Harold!" yelled a voice. "Bend it like Berman!"

Harold turned to look at the crowd that stayed to watch the game, and was surprised to spot Rhonda cheering him on alongside Nadine.

Bolstered with newfound confidence, Harold charged at the ball and kicked it with all his might. The ball sailed true and right past the goalie, securing them their final point.

The team cheered. "Alright!" said Gerald. "Now all Lorenzo has to do is block the last one and we've won!"

"Yeah...except look who our last opponent is..." said Arnold.

As Lorenzo stood in front of the goalpost, he found himself with Gabriela Martinez.

"Well, well, well," she smirked. "How fitting is it that Loser-enzo will be the one to blow your victory?"

Lorenzo got into defensive position. "You don't frighten me, Gabriela – or your sister. Not anymore. And I'm not garbage – the only thing that's garbage is the way that you treat people. You can say a lot of hurtful things, but you cant affect how I feel about myself. And...I feel like I'm worth it!"

Gabriella frowned. "Oh yeah? We'll just see about that!" She ran at top speed at the ball and kicked it with all her might. Her approach made the ball's trajectory unpredictable, and it veered and curved in such a way where it seemed to be out of Lorenzo's reach...

"Oh no , I can't watch..." cried Sid, closing his eyes.

Lorenzo leapt at the ball, stretching his arms out as far as he could. Miraculously, the soccer ball bounced off the very tips of his fingers, and the ball was deflected away from the goal.

There was a moment of silence as the entire crowd processed what had happened, then everyone erupted into an uproarious cheer. P.S. 118 had won! Coach Wittenberg and Mr. Simmons jumped up and down in excitement, holding each other. (Helga was so elated she ripped her shirt off a la Brandi Chastain from the 1996 Women's World Cup).

Afterwards, the two teams did the obligatory handshake in a line while saying "good game". When it was Gabriela's turn to shake Lorenzo's hand she deliberately tried to avoid it. Unexpectedly, it was her own sister, Sophia, who stopped the procession of the line and would not budge until Gabriela turned around and shook his hand. Sophia punched Lorenzo hard in the shoulder. "Good game, huh?" she said, winking, before turning to rejoin her team.

Some of the other boys on the team noticed this and started egging Lorenzo on. "Hey now," teased Gerald. "Look like someone has a bit of a crush on you!"

Lorenzo blushed. "What? No way?"

"Everyone knows that when a girl picks on you, it's obvious she likes you," said Sid.

Helga overheard this and – while quickly putting her shirt back on - butted in. "W-what? Don't be stupid! There's no basis to that! The girl's just...weird! Honestly, her and Rich Boy would probably get along swimmingly.

Gerald and Arnold rolled their eyes.

"Excellent work, gentlemen!" Wittenberg praised. "Where should we go to commemorate this momentous location?"

"Let's go to Slaussens!" yelled Harold; and everyone seemed to agree.

Wittenberg laughed. "Sounds like a plan! Hey Simmons – be sure to bring your award-winning granola balls along – I gotta a mean hankering for some trail mix!"

Simmons beamed and dug into his cooler to retrieve his granola stash. In the corner of his eyes, Wittenberg, noticed Tish and her team exiting the field, and for a brief millisecond, he caught his wife's eye....

---

Later that night, Wittenberg practiced dribbling a soccer ball from one leg to the next, sweat pouring like buckets from his back. Tish stood beside him, whistle at the ready.

"Can...I...take...a...break...yet?" asked Wittenberg?

Tish responded by blowing the whistle loudly in his ear. "Not a chance, Granola Boy!" she yelled. "You expect to get more work as a soccer coach, you gotta know how to actually play the game! Now how many players are on a team? Go!"

"Uh...seven?" Wittenberg's wrong answer was met with another sharp trill of the whistle. "Eleven, Jack! For Cripes' sake – what do you think this is? Rugby? Now drop down and give me 50!"

Wittenberg dropped to his knees. "Why did I ever get re-married...?"

Offside, Peter and Mr. Simmons were sitting in lawnchairs and eating the granola balls. Peter turned to Mr. Simmons and smiled. "You're right, this IS quality entertainment. Better than the opera indeed."

THE END