My Dating Disasters Diary by Liz Rettig Page A

taking them to the
gates of the park and waving them off while he went to
the pub for a pint to wait for their return. My plan was
to head him off before he got to the pub and speak to him
about joining the football team.
    I was in luck as he'd stopped for a fag by the park
gates. When he saw me he threw the butt away, muttering
something about having confiscated it from a pupil
and what a filthy habit it was.
    Yeah, right. I suppose he must have confiscated the
nicotine-stained fingers from a pupil too. He looked
annoyed at having his fag break interrupted but I pressed
on anyway, begging and pleading to be on the school
team.
    At first he just said no way, he'd told me before, but I
wouldn't let up. He kept looking at his watch, conscious,
I suppose, of his lost drinking time, until at last he gave
in. 'All right, Kelly Ann. Come to the practice at four
o'clock today and I'll give you a trial. Now I've really got
to get on with some lesson preparation and important
administration.'
    At that he hurried off to the pub without even acknowledging
    my shouted, 'Thanks, Mr Ferguson. Thanks a million. I won't let you down.'
     
    Turned up at the playing field at four. Didn't have any kit
so had to play in my usual school clothes and trainers but
I hoped Mr Ferguson would make allowances for that.
The whole school team were there doing various
exercises and practice stuff, but also keeping an eye on
what happened with me. Chris jogged up to wish me a
hurried 'Good luck' before moving off again to practise
penalty kicks at the other end of the pitch.
    I was quite nervous as I hadn't played any football in
ages. Used to play five a side with Chris and his pals until
Ian, who is over six feet and, as my dad puts it, built like
a brick shit house (very well built), fell on me and crushed
my ribs. Dad wouldn't let me play again after that but I
think he'll be OK about the school team as there's no one
as big or clumsy as Ian in it.
    Mr Ferguson turned to me and smiled, which was
really unlike him and a bit menacing somehow. Then he
told me to give him fifty. For a moment I thought he was
asking me for money as some sort of joining fee, so I
hoped he meant pence and not pounds, but then he
pointed to the muddy ground and made it clear he meant
push-ups. And he wouldn't accept knees-on-the–ground,
girly push-ups, like Miss Paterson, our gym teacher, does,
but toe and hand contact only. There was no way I could
do this and he knew it, but he made me try anyway. After
the tenth push-up I collapsed face down in the mud, so he
just barked 'Failed' and started to walk away.
    I ran after him. 'Wait, Mr Ferguson, this is just so
unfair!' He ignored me and carried on but I managed to
get in front of him. I walked backwards facing him, which
forced him to slow down. I knew this was a bit cheeky but
he'd been just so unfair and I wasn't going to let him get
away with it, teacher or not.
    'You're not being fair,' I gasped. 'I'm not unfit. I'm not.
I can do the splits. Look.' I did a perfect splits right there
in front of him so that he nearly tripped over me. I
scrambled up again. 'I bet no one else on this pitch could
do that. And anyway, no one needs to do press-ups to
play a game of football.'
    'No one needs to do the ruddy splits either,' Mr
Ferguson pointed out. 'But OK, fair enough. Let's have a
football test instead.'
    He dropped a ball at my feet and told me to take it to
one of the goal posts. Then he instructed me to kick it as
far as I could. If it got to the other goal I was in. He gave
me three tries but there was no way I was powerful
enough. I argued with him some more but he wouldn't
listen, just called Osman and Chris over. He told Osman
to 'give him fifty', and right away, even though he is
small and skinny like me, Osman dropped to the ground
and did fifty press-ups, no bother. Osman said, 'Sorry,
Kelly Ann.'
    Then Mr Ferguson told Chris to kick the ball to the
other goal. At first Chris kicked it way short but Mr
Ferguson just