The Ten Cent Soccer Ball #English Story

From humble beginnings, Jason Modjadju rose to become one of South Africas greatest soccer players and was compared with such famous players as Stanley Matthews and Pele. In this extract, he tells the story of how he obtained his first soccer ball

**The Ten Cent Soccer Ball**

When I was about nine years old, in my second or third year at school, my father took me with him to the little town of Duiwelskloof. This was the first time I had been more than a few kilometres from my own small village and this journey to Duiwelskloof, first on foot and then by railway bus, was a great adventure for me.
My father had to see the District Commissioner about some cattle which had been stolen. He said to me, 'I shall be busy most of the morning. You Can explore the town, but don't go too far away. He handed me a ten cent piece. If you are hungry, you can buy yourself some bread.
I walked along the main road looking for a place that sold food and almost walked past the general dealer's store without noticing a thing. A taint message did come through to me, though. There was something in the shop window I should have noticed. I stopped, turned back, and looked. I saw it at once. In the corner, half-hidden behind some trays and glassware, almost as though it had no place in a general dealer's shop window.. .a soccer ball, a leather soccer ball! I saw it and in that instant I forgot that I was hungry. I forgot everything except a dusty, forgotten soccer ball in a general dealer's shop window. I found myself walking into the shop, standing at the counter. The shopkeeper was busy with customers and did not notice me at first. I stood waiting. At last, he turned to me. 'Yes, little one. What can I do for you? I remember that shopkeeper very well. He had a round face, a round stomach and round, fat arms and hands. He had round horn-rimmed spectacles and a pair of round blue eyes peered through them at me in a friendly way. Yes, little one? I felt as though I was in a dream. "That soccer ball", I managed to say.
'Soccer ball?' I nodded.

His round blue eyes twinkled at nme. 'You are in the wrong shop. We don't have soccer balls here.' I just stared at him. Surely he knew about the soccer ball in his shop window! 'No soccer balls, sorry.' He turned to serve a new customer. I walked slowly out, still feeling as though I was in a dream. I stopped at the shop window and looked. There it was behind the tin trays and the
drinking glasses a soccer ball. No mistake. I turned and walked slowly back into the shop and waited. The shopkeeper finished with his customer and said to me rather shortly;* 'Yes, little one, what is it this time?'
'The soccer ball', I said. He looked at me as though I might be a little mad. 'I have already told you, we don't háve any soccer balls.'
Had it been anything - anything but that soccer ball - I would have said, 'I have seen it in your shop window.' But I couldn't say a word, not a word about my heart's desire.
The shopkeeper himself came to my rescue. Muttering to himself, he came round his counter and walked out. 'Little one,' he called. 'Show me this soccer ball.' I followed him out, still feeling as though I was in a dream, and pointed at my soccer ball in the window.
I heard the shopkeeper mutter to himself, 'How did that get there?', as he wheeled round and went back into his store. Once more I went into the shop. I seemed to be floating on air. He was calling his assistant to him.
'Moses, did you know we had a soccer ball in the window?' Moses appeared from the back of the shop. 'What was that, Mr Solomon?' The shopkeeper repeated his question, while I waited at the counter and wondered if the soccer ball was ever, ever going to reach my hands. Moses knew all about the ball. 'It was very old stock and had been in the window for at least two years and was probably in a bad condition
by now, having been exposed to the sunlight for so long..' The shopkeeper impatiently interrupted his assistant. 'Get it out of the window, Moses,' said Mr Solomon. "It seems we have a buyer for it.' He turned to me. 'Do you have money for the ball?' I put my hand, tightly clutching the ten cent
piece, on the counter. Moses came out of the shop window with the ball, which he placed on the counter. There it was at last, dusty and rather in need of pumping, but my soccer ball.
'How much do you have?' Mr Solomon asked me. I opened my hand and the ten cent coin rolled on to the counter, where it lay looking very
small indeed. "Is that all you have?' I nodded.
He seemed about to say something: then he changed his mind and turned to his assistant. 'Moses, come here a moment.' The two of them
moved away and stood whispering to each other. I did not hear what they were saying; I did not try to listen. All I was aware of was that beautiful soccer ball. 'Little one!' Mr Solomon was standing opposite me again. Moses smiling took a pump from under the counter and began to pump the ball up. 'You want this soccer ball very badly, don't you?' What a stupid question! I wanted that soccer ball - oh, how much I wanted it! 'Well, you can have it for ten cents if you can show me you are worthy of it. Come
with me.' He tucked the ball under his fat arm and walked to the back of the shop, where he opened a door and went out. 'Go,' Moses said. 'Go with him. He wants to test you.' I found Mr Solomon in the back yard of the shop building. He had already placed an empty oil drum up against a high brick wall. I watched as he measured out ten paces or so and rolled a second drum up against the wall. 'Thats a goal,' he said, turning to me. 'I used to be a goalkeeper. A good one. Now if you can kick this ball between those drums three times out of five, you can have the ball.' He walked fifteen paces from the wall and made a mark on the ground. 'You must kick from this spot. Here.' He tossed the ball to me and I, still feeling dazed and stupid, let the ball hit me on the chest before I moved.
Mr Solomon took off his jacket. He looked like a soccer ball himself, rolling on his short round legs to his position between the oil drums. He turned and faced me, crouched. 'Come on, little one. I'm ready' Round-faced Mr Solomon, the shopkeeper, crouching in his goal may have been ready, but I was not. I was far from ready. I felt now as though my dream had suddenly done a double somersault* and turned inside out!
What was I doing in the back yard of the general dealer's store in Duiwelskloof? What had happened that I should be looking stupidly at the shopkeeper, Mr Solomon, while he waited for me to kick the soccer ball?
'I'm ready, little one.' I placed the ball on the spot Mr Solomon had marked on the ground and stepped back. 'The best of five, remember!' I nodded. I looked at the ball, looked up at Mr Solomon, looked back at the ball. I stepped for ward and kicked. It was a feeble" shot; I nearly missed the ball altogether and it rolled gently forward into Mr Solomon's waiting hands. 'One to me, little one.' I placed the ball for the second shot. The feel of the ball in my hands, the thud when I had kicked it, were doing something to me. I still felt dazed but it seemed as though I was coming out of my dream. I raised my eyes from the ball and looked at Mr Solomon. There he waited, crouching and ready, his eyes behind the spectacles keen" with concentration. At that moment I realised a lot of things. I realised that it had been foolish to imagine that ten cents would ever buy a soccer ball. I realised that Mr Solomon had made a very sporting deal with me but, having made that deal, he was going to try his *utmost to beat me. The game was on and, as far as Mr Solomon was concerned, there was to be no soft-heartedness. I realised then that if I wanted the soccer ball I would have to play for it as hard as I could. I learned the saying many years later, but at that moment in the back yard of Mr Solomon's store I knew the meaning of 'Winner takes all'.
I stepped forward and kicked. My foot connected squarely and the ball Skimmed across the ground. 'I've  got it!' I thought with joy, but then I saw Mr Solomon scuttle to the side with amazing speed. He seemed even to
have time to spare as he bent down in the path of the ball and scooped it up into his arms. 'Better, much better, but you'll have to try harder than that to beat me. I used to be a top goalie.' Two-nil to him, and it was the best of five. Mr Solomon would have to save one more to keep his ball. One more, and back into the shop window the soccer ball-my soccer ball would go, Two-nil. My feeling that I was in a dream had gone, quite gone. The back yard of the general dealer's store, filled with empty packing cases and tin containers of various shapes and sizes, was hard and real in the bright sunlight. Mr Solomon's roundness was real; also real was
his speed in the goalmouth and his determination to win. And the soccer ball, asI took it and placed it on its spot, was real to the last stitch in its leatherwork.
I stepped back, took a breath, ran forward and kicked. Biff! The ball skidded away, spinning like a top over the ground, spinning in a curve towards the left goalpost. For a second, my heart stood still. My shot was going wide. Then it hit the oil drum with a hollow boom and bounced into goal. Mr Solomon had scuttled across and stuck out a foot to stop the ball, but the bounce off the drum had beaten him. He picked up the ball and threw it back with a grin. "Good, but you were lucky!' Two-one, I was still in the game! But my opponent was right, I had been lucky and I would need more than luck to win. I placed the ball for my fourth shot and stepped back. Mr Solomon was crouching, ready. For all his roundness of leg and body, he was fast and seemed to know beforehand where I intended placing the ball. I saw, as I slowly inhaled, with what concentration he was watching the ball. Yes, I would need more than luck, and more than just a hard kick. Biff! the ball flew hard and fast to Mr Solomon's right and in the instant my foot connected with the leather, Mr Solomon  flung himself to his left!

The ball slammed into the wall behind him, and he turned and looked first at the ball, and then at me. He did not say a word. There was a thoughtful Expression in his eyes; it was as though he was seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time. Slowly, he smiled and said, 'That was good little one really good, You had me going the other way.' He booted the ball back to me and I placed it. 'That makes it two-all. Now for the decider.' He planted his feet a little apart, bent his legs at the knees and leaned forward. 'I'm ready.' I Was also ready. The ball was nearly mine, just one more winner: I ran forward, kicked and as my foot sank into the leather. I knew I had beaten him, knew as he flung himself across the goalmouth that his timing was a split second out, that no matter how far he dived through the air, how much he reached for the ball, he would miss. The ball smacked into the brick wall a metre above him as he rolled over My heart was thumping. I was trembling all over. I watched Mr Solomon as he slowly replaced his spectacles and stood up. He hitched his jacket over his shoulder picked the soccer ball up and crossed the yard to me. His round face was shiny with sweat and he was puffing. His shirt and trousers were brown with dust 'How old are youu?' I told him nine, nearly ten. There was an exclamation" of surprise from behind me. Moses, Mr Solomon's assistant. was standing in the door way at the back of the store. Mr Solomon asked. 'Did you watch Moses?' Moses giggled. 'I watched. He is good.' 'Yes.' Mr Solomon said quietly. 'He's very good.' He looked down at me 'I was determined to beat you. That is what soccer is about - winning. But you have beaten me and the ball is yours.' He handed me the soccer ball with a smile. 'There is just one more thing. Your cash slip.' I followed him back into the shop and waited clutching my soccer ball while he wrote out a slip. There he said. 'This says that you have bought a soccer ball from me for ten cents.' I glanced at the paper. At the bottom of the slip Mr Solomon had added a short message in capital letters: WELL DONE. KEEP IT UP!

#The Ten Cent Soccer Ball Quetions

1. a) What kind of goods are kept in a General Dealer's shop?
b) How could it be possible that the shopkeeper had forgoten about the football in the window?
2. The shopkeeper obviously wanted the boy to have the ball, so why do you think he made him win it first?
3. What do you think would have happened if the boy's last shot had been saved?
4. Why did Mr Solomons give him a cash slip for the ten cents?
5. Write the conversation that could have taken place when the boy showed his father his new ball.
6. Write a story explaining how you once obtained something you really wanted very much.

Special Thanks To *Peter Blink*

The End.