Chapter 4
AJ
We’ve extended our lead at the top of the table to six points with ten games to go, including a match against our rivals…my boyhood club.
If truth be told, I have mixed feelings about it.
It’s always a tough game, tensions and tempers always skyrocket.
The worst battle, though, is the one internally, as for the past eight years I’ve been at City—the club that for most of my life, I’ve been told to hate.
I remember one time at school, a kid came in wearing a City top, and he was bullied so much his parents had to pick him up.
This is my job. And I have a responsibility to the fans to give them my all.
Money and morals are two things I don’t lack.
“Good work out there today, Johnson. How’s the knee?” Gaffer asks.
I manage to flex it without pain, despite the ice pack on.
“Feels good,” I say. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”
“Thank you for taking it. You hear what they’ve been saying about you?”
“No, sir, not yet,” I say honestly.
“You’re a wonderkid, the press were all praises for you, too.”
My face lights up at this.
“Doc, is Johnson going to be okay for the next game?”
“As long as he stays off it for the rest of the day and does light training tomorrow, he’ll be fine,” Doc says.
“Good. Johnson, you’re in the preliminary squad to face the Dragons in the cup next weekend.”
“Wow. Okay, thank you, Gaffer—I mean, sir.” Dad always told me to give my superiors the proper respect. Everyone, in fact. It doesn’t matter if you’re a cleaner or a director—you’re entitled to respect.
Gaffer is already leaving, and I hear him say, “Rest that knee,” as he strides down the hallway.
I head back to the locker room with the ice pack still in place and get ready to head home.
The physio has hooked me up with someone to drive me, and I take the opportunity, while a passenger, to check the other results from today.
It’s fair to say, football is my life. It consumes my every waking thought.
When people think you’ve bought your way into the most successful club of the past ten years, it lights a fire under your ass to be the absolute best. Today is only the beginning.
The next day, my knee is already feeling miles better, and I send a text to the physio to keep him updated.
He replies moments later, telling me to keep it elevated regardless.
I hate being stuck in the house with nothing to do, but it’s quite literally doctor’s orders.
I pad my way into the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee from the Nespresso maker that my parents bought me as a moving in present.
I add a little bit of caramel syrup—it is cheat day, after all—and then switch on the TV in the living room.
Flicking through the channels until something takes my fancy, I try desperately not to put the footie on. It’s supposed to be a rest day. I laugh to myself—I can’t even say that with a straight face.
I change the channel to football and am delighted to discover that there’s a game on.
There’s twenty minutes left of the Hornets match, and they're about to make a substitution. I almost choke on my coffee. Stretching on the touchline, and about to come on, is Kyle. Wow, he looks great. Truth be told, he always has, but he looks to be in tremendous shape. He’s wearing his jersey tight to his skin, so tight that you can practically make out his abs.
“And making his debut for the Hornets is Kyle Thurston. The young starlet has been banging in the goals for fun at youth level, and now the manager has put his faith into him. Perhaps he saw City take a chance on their young striker and are hoping they have a little dynamo of their own.”
“Well, they are from the same neck of the woods. Even played for the same team and went to the same school,” the other commentator says. There’s more back and forth from them but I’m too focused on Kyle to take much notice.
I lean closer to the TV and turn up the volume.
The crowd is going crazy for him already.
The camera pulls focus on a close up and his face looks determined.
He receives the ball with his back to goal, rolls the ball through the defender’s legs and peels off him.
I stand up, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
He buries the ball in the back of the net, and the crowd goes bananas.
“Oh my word! How about that for instant impact! Sensational from the young Thurston. He’s only been on the pitch for fifteen seconds, if that.”
“The record that AJ set yesterday has just been obliterated. And more importantly, the Hornets are now 2–1 up. This could be a huge three points for them.”
I sit back down with a smile on my face.
Sure, he’s just broken my record, but I’m happy for him.
Who would have thought two people from our part of the world would not only make it, but also score on our debuts.
I take another sip of coffee and pull out my phone.
No point looking for him in my contacts, we lost touch a long time ago.
That realization hurts a little… Of course, I don't have him in my contacts, it's been eight years since proper contact. Hell, can’t remember the last time I sent him a Happy Birthday message; and that makes me feel guilty.
I load up Insta and search for him there instead.
The last DM I sent him was over six years ago, and it was a dumb meme about our club, Union. I feel warm at the memory.
AJ
Hey, you’re looking great out there!
Not like, good looking.
Shit, you know what I mean. Anyway, congrats on breaking my record! I hope you know, next season, I’m going to win the Golden Boot! ??
I pocket my phone just in time to see him bag his second goal.
Kyle was always my best mate, regardless of the eight-year gap.
Why the hell is my subconscious trying to flirt with him, though?
It feels good to be texting him again, despite putting my foot in my mouth. He probably won’t pick up on it.
“You really couldn’t make this up. Kyle Thurston has arrived. The Hornets have a new hero!”
“You’re absolutely right, it’s about time they had a new hero. It’s been so long since they’ve had someone to look up to. But let’s not get carried away. He’s only been on the pitch for seven minutes and he’s not even twenty-one yet. I’d like to see how he does with a full season.”
“He’s in the hearts of these fans tonight, though. Two huge goals. Two goals that clear them away from that relegation trap door.”
I shoot a text to my gaffer, telling him I’m feeling great and more than ready for the next game. Seeing Kyle has lit an even bigger fire under my ass.
The game ends 3–1 to the Hornets, and they grab the goal hero, Kyle, for an interview.
“So, two goals on your debut and you’ve broken a record that was set just yesterday by your childhood friend. That must feel good?”
“I’m just happy my team got the win. The three points are huge for us. And sure, it’s nice to break records and score goals. That’s what the coach wanted me to do, and I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Well, go and enjoy this feeling with your teammates. You are today's player of the match. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I turn off the TV. A record breaker and a player of the match award. A swatch of jealousy invades my heart, but it is quickly chased away with pride. I should be happy for him, and I am, I really am. But the competitiveness in me is vying to be the best, always.
I decide to take myself out for a run—mostly to test my knee—but I also want to push myself to my limits.
There is no way I can rest on my laurels while Kyle is already ripping them up.
And besides, if I want to be the best, I have to train like the best. Got to push through that pain barrier, right?
I don’t let the thoughts of me fucking up my knee for a silly run get in my way.
I can’t let those kinds of thoughts ever enter my head.
Next thing you know, I’ll be ducking out of challenges and be a step slower than everyone else.
I can see the headlines now: Mr. Silver-spoon thinks he’s too good to practice.
The fresh spring air hits my face, and I zip my team branded tracksuit up to my neck and pull my black cap over my eyes.
Sure, it would be nice to sign a few autographs, but I need to focus.
Once my run is over, and if people feel compelled to, then sure, I’ll sign stuff and take pictures with the fans.
Today’s goal is to run. I want to be quicker, and I want to be stronger than I was before the knock.
That’s always my aim, to be better than my last match.
My favorite place to run, is the park my house backs onto.
I start jogging lightly, testing my knee.
It responds fine to the pace, so I decide to ramp it up a notch.
The only thing missing now is a ball at my feet and a goal to aim at.
The way Kyle brushed past those defenders was nothing short of brilliant.
Everyone always said he was better than me.
And there is nothing I love more than proving people wrong.
I pick up the pace, and my heart thuds in my chest. Everything is a blur: the trees, the people, the birds by the lake.
I leave nothing in my wake, and I love it.
I run around the lake twice at full pace.
There truly is nothing like running in nature.
It beats running on a treadmill every time.
I get home and put another ice pack on my knee as a precaution. It feels fine, but the last thing I want is for my over eagerness to cost me a game in the cup.
Pulling out my phone, I see I have a few messages back from Kyle, and my heart does a little skip.
Kyle
Thanks! And you looked great out there too ??
You know what I mean
Golden Boot, eh? Not a chance. It’s already got my name on it.