Chapter 9: Fouled
The Reds scored another try in the first half but missed the conversion, so the half time score was twelve to seven. We were feeling pretty down, even though Mr Marlow was pleased enough with us.
‘You’ve had a lot of ball possession,’ he said. ‘You’re doing good. With the wind behind you, you’ll play even better.’
We’d have to play lots better if we were going to win.
The Reds kicked off the second half. Spike’s best friend, Taggart, the Red’s loosehead prop, got to the ball first. He kicked it forward before Chip had a chance to tackle him. Sprigs managed to grab hold of the ball – he’d scrubbed his hands during the half-time break – and now it was our turn to run with it.
Sprigs had a good head start. It looked as if Mr Marlow was right. We might be the first to score points in this half.
Then the Reds bunched up and swooped down on Sprigs from all sides. Their heavy forward pack was one of the most dangerous in the Junior Home World Cup. If Sprigs had had eyes in the back of his head, man, he’d have been dead scared right then. Grubber might have wet himself if he’d been the one holding the ball!
Taggart was angry that his kick hadn’t worked out the way he’d planned it. It was obvious that he was after Sprigs, big time.
I was the closest Green to Sprigs.
‘To me!’ I yelled.
Sprigs already had it sussed. He passed me the ball from mid-field. It was the prefect pass, great height, angled back just enough, and my hands reached out to grab it, sweet as, and I ran with it.
Then the ref blew his whistle and the ball went dead.
