Man of the Match (13 page)

 

 

“OK, Gary,” said the producer into the presenter's ear. “We're live in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. . . You're on the air. . .”

“So welcome to our very special coverage of this, the final day of the Premier League season. Now for those of you who have been living on another planet, let me remind you of the situation at the top of the table: Hawkstone and Foxborough are level on points. Foxborough hold the potentially all-important advantage of a better goal-difference. Which all means that Hawkstone must simply get a better result than Foxborough today to win the Premier League Title. . .

“We'll be switching live between both games to keep you right up to date with all the action, and joining us here in the studio to enjoy the afternoon with us, we welcome one of the real characters of the game . . . Raymond Porlock.

“So, Raymond, how do you see today's events unfolding?”

“Too close for me to call, I'm afraid. . . But I will tell you one, thing, Gary: sometimes football can be the simplest game in the world. In the end, today might just come down to which team actually wants it more.”

 

Down in the tunnel, waiting to walk out on to the pitch, Jamie Johnson was doing everything he could to relax: concentrating on taking deep breaths . . . trying to clear his mind of everything other than winning the League title for Hawkstone United.

“Eh, good luck, mate! See you out there, yeah?”

It was the Brockburn Rovers' young full-back, Ashley Blake, shaking Jamie's hand. Blake, like Jamie, was seventeen years old and was being hailed as the best young full-back in the country. He'd only been playing football for the last seven years. Before that he'd been a hundred-metre sprinter. He still held the schools' record. You could see it in his calf muscles. They were huge.

Blake was Jamie's direct opponent today. So why was he being so nice? And why was he smiling so much? Wasn't he scared of facing Jamie?

But there was no time to think about anything else.

It was 3.55 p.m. The players from both sides stared straight ahead as they walked out of the tunnel. There was a loud pop song playing, but it was completely drowned out by the gigantic blast of noise from the Hawkstone fans when they saw the players emerge. The sound – like a volcano erupting – rushed into Jamie's ears.

It told him that this was going to be like no other game he had played in his life.

 

As Brockburn got the game under way, Jamie looked around the ground. Almost every fan had brought a flag or banner. And most had his name on them:

 

Jamie J – He'll bring the League our way!

 

 

Jamie Johnson IS Hawkstone United

 

As soon as Hawkstone won possession, they immediately swept the ball out to the left to find Jamie, just as they had been instructed to do in every game since he had returned.

Jamie had the ball at his feet – and then suddenly the whole ground went quiet. All eyes were on the action. All eyes on Jamie . . . waiting. . .

The fans who had worked all week to have enough money to come and watch this massive game – they were all here to watch Jamie. To see some magic flow from his boots. To see him deliver.

Play your normal game
, Jamie ordered himself.
They're not here to put pressure on you – they're here to support you! Go for it!

Jamie knocked the ball down the line past Ashley Blake and raced off after it at maximum speed. But then something happened that had never occurred before: Jamie got to the ball second! In a straight foot race, he had been beaten to the ball.

Ashley Blake was faster than Jamie Johnson!

Blake knocked the ball out easily for a throw-in and then turned, smiling, almost laughing, towards Jamie.

“Is that all you've got?” he smirked, chucking the ball to Jamie to take the throw-in. “I heard you were quick.”

“Mate,” said Jamie, pretending to be unaffected, “I haven't even started yet!”

But inside Jamie felt sick. His whole body was squirming. He could feel a weakness invading his veins.

This had never happened before, and he didn't know how to deal with it. In his entire life, he'd never come up against anyone who was as fast as he was.

The next time Jamie received the ball – this time from a delicate Rigobert West chip down the line – he went for it again. If he could just find his turbo gear, maybe he could still beat Blake. This time he really turned on the afterburners, gave it everything he'd got.

But he just couldn't get away from Blake. The defender stayed with him, neck and neck, before sliding in to nick possession from Jamie with a perfectly timed challenge. He even kept the ball too. Jamie could see the grin on Blake's face as he sprinted forward out of defence.

“Come on, Jamie,” the Hawkstone fans were shouting, almost begging him. “Don't flop now! We need you, mate. Foxborough have just taken the lead in their game!”

 

Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)

Jamie's heart sank. There was a long way to go, but everyone knew that if Foxborough won their game, there was no way Hawkstone could take the league.

Jamie sprinted infield in search of the ball. But everywhere he went, Ashley Blake followed. It was as though Blake had taken him prisoner and Jamie had no way of finding the key to set himself free.

As it became increasingly obvious that Blake had Jamie in his pocket, the Brockburn fans began taunting Jamie.

Soon, they were in full voice, mocking Jamie with Barry Digmore's criticism from today's paper: “One-trick pony, he's just a one-trick ponyyy!”

Jamie was angry. He could feel his temples pulsating as he fumed at his own inability to get the better of Blake.

It was only now that he realized how much he had always relied on his pace. It was his super power. His way of always beating his man. But now that had been taken away from him.

Jamie could only look on, helpless, when right on the cusp of half-time, the Brockburn centre forward belted a volley towards goal from twenty yards out. It was a great strike, but it didn't go in.

It hit the crossbar. But then the rebound smacked into the back of the Hawkstone goalkeeper's head and bounced in.

It was a horrible, ugly goal. The Hawkstone crowd had been silenced. Their hopes extinguished. They looked to Jamie. Prayed for him to do something. But Jamie had no idea how to bring back the magic.

 

Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)