Barry Loser is the best at football NOT!. Jim Smith
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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.
‘Guys, guys, guys,’ I said in my Coach Loser voice, which is just my normal, regular voice. ‘Let’s try and support each other’s ideas, shall we?’
Bunky scratched his no-beard.
‘The Mogden Maniacs?’ he said, and I clicked my fingers.
‘I’ve got it!’ I cried. ‘The Mogden Maniacs.’
‘That’s what I said,’ muttered Bunky.
‘Is it?’ I said. ‘Well shall we just go with my idea instead?’
Bunky squinted, his tiny little brain getting all confused. ‘Erm, o-kay . . .’ he said. ‘We should probably get on with some practice anyway.’
‘Good point, Captain,’ I said. ‘Everybody drop and give me a hundred.’
‘A hundred what?’ asked Stuart.
‘Press-ups, of keelse,’ I grinned.
‘Why don’t you give ME a hundred press-ups?’ said Darren, as Bunky got on the ground and started pumping his arms up and down.
‘Good boy, Captain!’ I smiled, wondering if I was overdoing the whole Captain thing a bit.
‘One, two, three . . .’ he panted, his face going red.
Sharonella joined in. ‘That’s the spirit, Shaz!’ I boomed. ‘Shmendrix, Smugly - don’t hold back. You too, Darrenofski!’
Stuart and his sort-of boss dropped to their knees next to Shazza. ‘One, two . . .’ gasped Gordon. ‘I’m doing this for the TEAM . . . three, four . . . not for YOU, Loser!’
‘That’s COACH Loser to you,’ I said.
‘If you say that one more time . . .’ said Darren, not finishing his sentence.
‘Right, that’s a hundred more press-ups for you, Darrenofski,’ I shouted. ‘What are you, a Maniac or a mouse?’
I was really beginning to get into this being a coach thing.
Darren looked down at the ball in his hands. ‘You want me to act like a maniac?’ he asked.
‘Yes please,’ I smiled.
And he booted the ball right at my shnozzle.
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