Frank Cheetah

 

My name is Franek Cheetah, but even so, now everyone calls me Frank. It all started a few years ago. I was 18 then, the same age as some already good footballers. I, on the other hand, played football poorly, if only... I played terribly. I'd even say I didn't play at all, I just ran, and clumsily at that. But man doesn't live by football alone.

I once read a book called "The Power of Your Subconscious." I took its content personally, but I never thought the human mind could do so much. Until...

...Or rather, until the day when my classmates forced me to play on the school playground. It was a game like any other, with complaints from my peers at every turn... it's pointless to say... But at some point, the tipping point was broken. The opposing goalkeeper started mocking my play... Everything would have been normal; I would have left the field and ignored the jerk, if it hadn't been for... Exactly. While we were playing, many people were sitting around watching the game. Among those gawkers was Paulina... I really liked her...

Oh no! That's not how it's going to be... I'll show that donkey how to play football. He won't embarrass me in front of my love. (Considering the short love story, I warn you that the rest of this story will be devoid of any such elements.)

My determination was so great that I immediately grabbed the ball. As I started bobbing and spinning around, I passed all the players myself and from 11 meters away I kicked such a bang that the goalkeeper, trying to catch the ball, went into the goal with it. And that was my first GOOOOOOOOO!!! But the moose pissed me off so much that I decided not to stop there. For the rest of the match, the ball was mine and every shot resulted in a goal... exhausted, I collapsed on the grass, and everyone looked at me like I was some kind of alien.

A few boring days later...

The phone! It's ringing... And no one answers. Damn it! Why do I always have to answer when no one calls me anyway?

"Excuse me!" I said so unpleasantly that there was a moment's silence.

"Mr. Franciszek Gepard?

" "Who's this?"

"Good morning! My name is Henryk Kasperczak...

Kasperczak, where do I know that name from... hmm... maybe some famous actor.

... I'm the manager of Wisła Kraków. And I'd like to... "

"Wait! This football team?

" "Yes.

" "Well, I think you're mistaken, I have little to do with football.

" "And your name is Franciszek Gepard?"

"Well... yes, that's why I say it's a mistake. If my name were Lampard, it would be... oh well." "

Anyway, we received a tape from an anonymous person, recording a match in which you scored six goals in magnificent style."

"Well, maybe I did, but it was an accident... I didn't mean to... I mean, I meant to, but..." "

Never mind," Kasperczak said. "We want to sign you a 10-year contract."

"How much? With me? To pass the ball... no... you have youngsters there.

" "Witty, sir... Okay, you mean the salary... we'll discuss the details when we get there, but with the kind of play you're making, you can count on up to 2 million złoty a year.

" "How much???

" "Not much... We can't give you more because our budget is limited. "

"No, it's a lot, a lot!"

"So, do you agree?"

"Me? Um... Well... can I think about it until tomorrow?

" "Yes.

" "Well, then, call me tomorrow.

Tomorrow." The coach called, and I agreed. Here are some of the details of my contract:

Salary: 2 million złoty.

Bonuses: 10,000 złoty for scoring a goal and 5,000 złoty for an assist.

Gifts: A trip to Egypt, a sports car (BMW), a house in Masuria, and an apartment in Krakow.

Also: a yearly cinema ticket in Krakow, free lifetime admission to the Wisła Kraków and Kotwica Kołobrzeg stadiums, if possible. A year's supply of jelly beans (not peek-a-boo or stuffed inside, just regular teddy bears)... I don't know why I need them when I'm going to be earning two million, but my manager advised me... a buddy from the bench... he likes sweets...

LOCKERROOM TEAMMATES... they welcomed me warmly. Majdan even took my autograph, and Żurawski wasn't very happy because now he and Franek have competition.

The first training session went disastrously; I immediately lost the teammates' sympathy. Only the coach believed in me and said I'd show my best side in the match... an optimist.

CHAMPIONS LEAGUE QUALIFIERS - SEASON: 2004/2005 My first match against Real Madrid. It must be admitted that if it weren't for me, the team could have fought.

We leave the locker room... we line up, at the white line... Oh, Mommy! Daddy! Oh! Even my classmates are here! I'll wave to them... oops. I'm waving, and the UEFA anthem is playing, and they're filming us one by one... I made a fool of myself, but whatever... they'll throw me off after this match anyway.

Here we go... the match, of course... I mean, they're starting, because no one wants to pass me the ball anyway.

20 minutes! My teammates still aren't passing me the ball. I'm basically running around, but I don't know why. I'll just throw it all away and leave because I'm tired. In the whole 20 minutes, I only touched the ball four times. One of those was a handball, twice I passed it to my teammates for throw-ins. And once I passed it for a free kick, and it was so bad that my teammates had to correct it because I kicked it in a completely different direction. Oh! And the fans whistle every time the ball passes within three meters of me, and that line keeps getting wider. Soon they'll be whistling when I'm on the pitch.

31 minutes... oh, even more interesting... I even scored a goal. And it was like this. Ronaldo runs, and I follow, about a meter behind him. And he shoots... Maidan kicks the ball back towards me, and I... I hit it beautifully, and GOOO ...

45th minute... 0-1 to Real Madrid... I stagger to the locker room... with my teammates... although they wouldn't want me to call them that. I stagger... stagger and... the grass smells so good. I don't get up... I don't go to the locker room... let them take me away... surprisingly, no one tried. The journalists ran up:

"Franek... when will you finally show that you are what they called you... the event of the year...

" "The discovery of the year..." her colleague with the camera corrected the impulsive journalist. "

It doesn't matter... so when."

I stood up, dusted myself off, and said:

"Never!... If you put that kind of pressure on me, then never! I'm sensitive."

"And how do you explain the fact that your teammates won't pass you the ball?"

"They're not my teammates! They're jealous, that's why they won't pass me the ball.

" "Aha! Thanks for the conversation." "They've gone."

I look around... my teammates are coming back from the locker room, all pissed off. The coach will replace me soon, and I'll have some peace and quiet. Finally, silence, not these whistles. Announcer: We kindly ask that the whistles stop and that they be quiet, because player number 13, Franek Gepard, can't... .... .... excuse me... ... .... He thinks he's playing poorly because the pressure is too great. Moreover, he can't get himself together. Sorry... concentrate.

And why is he even bothering, I'll be off soon anyway. Oh! Technical with the board! 20 for 12/4 for 7 - and where for 13? Someone made a mistake. But no. The match is starting. He didn't replace me... How could he? What is he thinking! I can barely walk, let alone run, and he's holding me. The stadium is so quiet you can hear a fly flying, not... it's a mosquito. They took the announcer's request to heart.

50th minute. I know! I have an idea. I'll gain speed... I'll run... I'll run... straight at goal... I'll ram the goalkeeper if he doesn't jump back, I'll run full speed into the goal and hang in the net, just like those fans who illegally run onto the pitch. Let them take me down. I don't care!

Or not... maybe it's better to just mow down the referee, he'll give me a red card, suspend me for the next 30 matches, and I'll be fine. They won't terminate my contract anyway, and if they do, they'll fine me anyway...

But no... I can't mow down. I'll do what I wanted at first.

55th minute. Kamikaze mission. I'm running... I'm running... I'm running... I don't know what the others thought, because I wasn't looking, but they were probably looking at me like I was an idiot. I'm running... there's some action in the penalty area... I'm passing the 16, I'm running... I'm passing the 11. The terrified goalkeeper was about to catch the ball, but he panicked and it flew right into my face, and I almost fell to the ground, but surprisingly, the ball went in. A roar of joy! People started chanting "Franek, Franek."

Real Madrid were in shock, not knowing what had happened. I was bruised and didn't have the strength to get up... besides, how am I supposed to get up when 10 people are on top of me, celebrating... and I just wanted to get down.

85th minute, 1-1, Real Madrid still in shock and playing like crazy. The fans don't even think about whistling anymore, but they cheer like civilized fans. They've finally gotten down to some useful work! I don't even dream of running anymore. I just walk here and there... until the 89th minute. A corner kick, and I happened to be passing by the Real Madrid penalty area. So I decided to get up and pretend to play. A cross... and I don't remember... I mean, I remember... terrible pain, and I collapsed to the pitch. And then some cheers! Joy, I think! When the match was over and I was recovering, the doctor told me I'd been hit in the face... hard (not that I'd fall to the ground from a mere blow), and the ball bounced, fooled the goalkeeper, bounced back to him, then off the post, and into the net. I scored my second goal and became the hero of the match and the black sheep of the team.

A broken nose... the doctor's diagnosis... and I can't even dream of playing right now, that's what he told me. Except I'm not even trying, dreaming... playing either. The return leg ended 1-1. We advanced.

I'm lying at home, and they bring me an envelope. I open it, and what...? I've been called up to the national team. Oh no! Don't let them dream of playing... The national team is too serious for me to embarrass it with my play...

For now, I'm just lounging in bed. I don't know if, or when, I'll be back playing, but the coach said he's still counting on me. How did he put it at the post-match press conference? Aha! Franek may not be playing spectacularly, but he's effective, and no matter how you look at it, he brings our team luck, so I plan to use him in future matches.

Which, of course, didn't exactly spark enthusiasm among my teammates, but whatever... I earn a lot of money. The fans like me! I've been dubbed Frank the Cheetah and maybe soon I'll be playing for Chelsea alongside Frank Lampard...

I never dreamed of a football career, but as you can see, dreams do come true... even the ones we don't dream of... For now!