The World's Loudest Armpit Fart (6 page)

A large group of spectators had gathered in the centre of the pitch, including a photographer and reporter from the
Penleydale Clarion
. Danny and Matthew’s parents had turned up to help the boys and to watch the wave.

Matthew nudged Danny. ‘Look out, Sally Butterwart’s arrived,’ he whispered.

‘Hiya, boys!’ called Sally. ‘I’ve got something special for
you
, Dan.’ She presented Danny with a pink box decorated with a huge shiny pink ribbon.

He lifted the lid and peeked inside. The box contained a big red lip-shaped jelly. Danny glanced nervously at Matthew. ‘Er . . . thanks Sally,’ he mumbled. ‘Um . . . what flavour is it?’

Sally smiled. ‘Passion fruit.’

Danny gulped, and quickly put the lid back on the box.

‘Aren’t you going to try it?’ she asked.

‘Er . . . yeah . . . maybe later. I know. I’ll put it in with the others. We need all the jellies we can get for the wobble-wave.’

Sally gently placed the jelly-lips in the centre of the stand, and Danny and Matthew filled up the space around them.

At last all four stands were full. If Danny was going to succeed, he had to get all the jellies at the beginning to wibble at the same time and pass on the wobble to the next row, and so on right around the ground. Matthew checked his Multiple Coordinated Jelly-wobble Starting Device: a contraption made of wood, springs and old slippers that would, at the pull of a lever, set the Mexican Jelly-wave in motion.

‘It’s ready,’ announced Matthew.

Danny flexed his fingers, stood in front of the device, and the countdown began.

‘Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . GO!’

Danny yanked the lever. All the way up the concrete steps of the Walter Widget Stand, the slippers flipped over, each one slapping simultaneously, with a wonderful wet whack, into the first jelly on each row. The wobble-wave spread with amazing speed along the terrace, around the first bend, and across the Stubbins’ Sticky Buns End behind the goal.

‘Ace!’ yelled Danny.

‘Cool!’ shouted Matthew.

‘Go, wobble, go!’ screamed Sally.

The crowd roared as the ripple raced around the next corner and charged down the Donkey Lane Stand, heading towards the red jelly-lips.

And that was when it all went horribly wrong.

Sally’s jelly was thicker, the lips less floppy, and didn’t transmit the wobble. The rhythm was ruined and chaos spread through the jellies like an infection. Soon they were wibbling and wobbling in all directions.

Danny spun round to face Sally. ‘Your lips have wrecked my wobble!’ he cried.

‘You should have eaten the jelly, like I wanted you to!’ countered Sally. ‘And when I score against you tomorrow, I’ll wreck your clean-sheet record too.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah! I’ve already scored against you, and this time it won’t be just beach football!’ Sally stomped off towards the exit. ‘Urrgh! Boys!’

By now, the random, uncontrolled wobbling of the jellies had reached crisis point. Row by row they tumbled forward in a huge jelly cascade that went on and on until every single one had been deposited in a quivering orange pile, right around the touchline. Only Sally’s wobble-proof lips remained in place.

Mr Eckersley stormed up to the boys. ‘Look at all this mess on my grass,’ he fumed. ‘We’ve got the tournament tomorrow. What are you going to do about this jelly?’

Danny and Matthew gazed around the ground.

‘Eat it?’ suggested Danny.

Next day, the jelly still lay around the pitch like a glistening orange moat.

The Bunbury Bantams arrived, but their manager looked unhappy. ‘The team’s been hit by an outbreak of the Bunbury Burping Bug,’ he complained as he got off the bus. ‘We’ve had to bring a load of substitutes.’

Sally Butterworth, however, was burp-free and strode past Danny and Matthew without a second glance or a single, ‘Hiya!’

‘It was worth missing out on the Mexican Jelly-wave record just to shut Salty Buttybum up,’ commented Matthew.

Danny frowned. ‘It won’t be worth it if she scores past me today,’ he said. ‘Sally’s good.
And
she’s mad.’

The first game of the tournament pitched Coalclough Sparrows against Bunbury Bantams. Danny didn’t have to save a single shot. He leaned against his post, watching, while his team slaughtered the weakened Bantams. Sally Butterworth was well marked by Matthew and she rarely touched the ball.

Then, with three minutes left and the Sparrows winning eight–nil, Sally broke free. Dodging desperate tackles, she cut through the defence and was through with just Danny to beat. Memories of their last goalmouth clash flooded Danny’s brain. As Sally charged towards him, he repeated, ‘Beach football doesn’t count, beach football doesn’t count, beach football doesn’t count.’

He moved out to narrow the angle as Sally lifted her right foot to shoot. Only
this
time she dragged the ball to her left and shimmied past him. Danny dived and lunged at her feet, but she was too fast and dodged round him.

It was an open goal. His clean-sheet record was surely gone.

Danny sprawled on the grass, saw Sally look up at the empty net, pull back her left foot, and blast the ball . . .
over the bar
!

She stood for a moment staring at the open goal, then turned and winked at Danny. ‘I missed,’ she said. ‘Looks like the record’s yours.’

There was a commotion in the stands as Maradona Potts and his father shoved their way through the spectators, down to the touchline.

‘They cheated!’ yelled Potts. ‘She missed on purpose!’

Danny was furious – he didn’t want Sally’s help and would
never
cheat to break a record. He scooped up a handful of jelly from the sidelines and launched it at his rival. Potts ducked and the missile whizzed over his head and splattered all over Mr Potts instead.

‘You’re useless, Baker!’ snarled Maradona.

His face disappeared in a gooey orange splodge.

‘
I’m
not,’ crowed Matthew. ‘I’m the Puddlethorpe Junior Cowpat-chucking Champion.’

The other kids on the pitch seized their chance, and Maradona ‘The Cheatboy’ Potts and his bullying dad vanished under a barrage of jelly-bombs. The pair skulked out of the ground to the cheers of everyone there, and the sticky battle began. Soon the Three Hills Stadium resounded with the split and splat of hundreds of jelly-missiles. Danny’s mum and dad joined in gleefully. Word of the hullabaloo spread to the changing rooms, and players from the other six teams in the tournament poured on to the grass to join in the fun.