CHAPTER 32
Angus' newspaper article garnered a mixed reaction from the Broxburgh faithful when it was published on Saturday morning before the final league match of the season at home to Stirling Albion.
Some were undecided, saying only it made for interesting reading, others dismissed it, a small number questioned its accuracy and even fewer swore outright they'd never trusted the sacked duo and believed in me all along.
Their faith was tested when Kyle and Drew both issued statements denying the allegations and accusing me of trying to destroy both the club and their hard-earned reputations.
I cheered the team on regardless, trying to encourage everyone to get behind them, as I jumped about incognito, hiding in plain sight due to the ferocity of some of the hatred I'd received in the last week and because of serious fears for my safety.
DeShaun led the team out for the second half, but he remained as a substitute.
With the extra man in midfield, Campbell Shaw and Leo Martin combined to send McAllister through on goal in the opening seconds, however his effort was easily collected by Stirling's goalkeeper.
Albion hit the ball from the 'keeper to their right-back, who hoofed it high over the 'Burgh midfield.
Our left back and their winger chased it down together, but it was Albion's winger who prevailed, crossing the ball into the middle and onto the head of their striker towards goal.
Ricky McQuillan palmed it away and Blair McKay cleared it.
My eyes drifted to DeShaun. He had his hands out, palms down, telling the players to cool it.
“Come on, our king!” shouted someone in the stands.
It turned into another chant as several more voiced chimed along.
McAllister was flagged offside, the youngster already looking despondent.
DeShaun started to warm-up with a couple of other players, as Lee Browne led the team from the touchline.
Stirling attacked again, winning a corner in the 51st minute.
I saw DeShaun stretch behind the corner flag as it was taken, the ball swinging over the heads of both defence and attack. Fraser Martin tried to clear, inadvertently clipping it with the back of his head and redirecting it to goal and past the hands of McQuillan into our net.
My heart sank.
Yet I clapped, moved and tried to gee the crowd up to get behind our team. We were losing, but we could still do this.
We tried to press our midfield forward to assist McAllister up front, but he was outpaced by the Albion defenders.
The home crowd's hopes were raised in the 56th minute when the bench signalled for a change. A frustrated McAllister was substituted, but sighs echoed around the ground when DeShaun sent on MacKenzie to replace him instead of himself.
I cheered regardless, remembering the important goal he'd scored last week.
Stirling's defence stonewalled every attack we started, thwarting the extra player in the middle by freezing MacKenzie out on his own up front.
I understood DeShaun's strategy. We'd discussed it beforehand. He wanted to manage the team, which meant using the other players at his disposal.
Still, the shouts for him to come on only grew louder.
67 minutes gone and we'd only had one shot on their goal.
Stirling easily dealt with another attack, then countered to send their forward towards goal.
Our defence couldn't catch him. He was one-on-one with the 'keeper.
McQuillan stood tall, but the striker tried to put the ball through his legs only for McQuillan to catch it with his ankle, leaving Fraser Martin to clear it upfield.
4-5-1 wasn't working. DeShaun could see it, and started to warm-up again. Yet the clock was still ticking, with twenty minutes remaining, and we needed two goals to give ourselves even a mathematical chance.
Blake Black had the ball in the middle. He, Leo Martin and Shaw shaped themselves like a triangle, advancing into the opponents' half and passing between themselves to keep possession.
MacKenzie was frustrated by the offside trap of the Stirling defence, having to hold his run until Shaw played the ball out wide to Jimmy Dunlop.
Dunlop crossed it back in. MacKenzie was marked out of the move, but Martin picked it up.
He led the trio and smashed the ball at goal, hitting the post.
The home crowd gasped.
Stephen MacKenzie tapped the rebound home only for the Stirling defenders and the goalkeeper to appeal for offside.
Every home fan in the ground knew he'd been with his marker and behind the ball when Martin had hit it.
And the referee saw it the same way too. The goal stood!
I listened to the sounds of the fans getting behind the team, cheering, shouting and telling them they could do it. Score it. Win it.
DeShaun was back on the touchline as play restarted in the 75th minute.
Stirling packed the midfield, happy to take a point, and frustrated the efforts of Black, Martin and Shaw to try out their triangle trick again.
There was just ten minutes to go when the signal was given for Shaw to come off.
Mascot Barry the Burgh cheered louder than anyone else when it was revealed DeShaun was coming on in his place as the team changed to a good, old-fashioned 4-4-2.
Albion did everything in their power to hold the ball, and the sudden lack of 5 in the middle for us made their job easier.
DeShaun barked orders from the front. McKay hurled them from the back. Leo Martin bossed the middle like he did for 90 minutes every Saturday, yet hearts began to sink when the fourth official held up the board indicating just 3 minutes of injury time.
The home fans booed the bad call. There should've been more. There needed to be more.
We won a throw in Stirling's half. Black took it quickly, sending it over the heads of their players. Before it'd even bounced, DeShaun hit it on the half-volley and sent it crashing towards goal and past the goalkeeper.
Gasps bellowed around the ground as it bounced off the outside of the post and wide.
Into the 92nd minute and the away team launched an attack down our right flank, only to happily waste time down at the corner flag. Murray Robertson hit a crunching tackle, sending the ball out for a throw.
We hit the final minute of the match, and I was no longer moving. I was barely even remembering to breathe.
McKay won a header in midfield, pushing himself into a holding role and leaving us vulnerable at the back. It didn't matter. A draw or a defeat wouldn't get us the 3 points we needed. We had to win.
McQuillan ventured far from his box, daring to play that sweeper-keeper position he'd picked up from watching too much TV.
Leo Martin received the ball from McKay.
He looked to the wing. Our wingers were already forward, pushing Stirling's defenders into their 18-yard box.
DeShaun called for the ball. Martin passed it to him.
DeShaun was blocked by defenders in almost every direction.
He saw a gap, went for it and fed the ball into the path of MacKenzie.
MacKenzie couldn't get the shot away first time.
He surged forward and stepped into the box only for a Stirling defender to lunge for the ball. He missed and tripped MacKenzie.
The ref blew his whistle.
Then pointed to the spot.
Crazy cheers in the stands soon turned to the eeriest of hushed silences.
“Come on, DeShaun,” I whispered behind my mask, my sphincter tightening.
DeShaun had the ball in his hands. He put it in the palms of MacKenzie. The young lad looked confused. DeShaun put his arm on his back, leaned into his ear and said, what I learned later to be, “You won it, kid. You take it. You got this.”
The crowd looked bewildered. DeShaun was our star player, and he was backing out of the penalty area as MacKenzie placed the ball on the spot.
The ref ordered the Albion players to retreat outside the box as well.
My heart was doing cartwheels under the heat of the suit.
MacKenzie had the weight of a whole town on his shoulders, and it told on him. He looked worried.
DeShaun clenched his fists behind him. “You got this, kid!”
MacKenzie started his run-up, struck the ball hard and drove it straight down the middle.
Stirling's 'keeper was already committed, diving left.
The ball thudded into the back of the net and 1,900 voices erupted in celebration.
The match restarted, but I couldn't take it anymore.
I had to know what was happening elsewhere, and tore off my furry arm so I could check the scores.
The other matches had all finished. As it stood, Broxburgh had actually leapt from 5th place to 3rd because the other teams lost. We just needed to hold on for the win.
Stirling rattled our crossbar in the 5th minute of the allotted 3. The ref ruled the shot had taken a deflection. They quickly took their corner. McQuillan came to collect the ball and fell deliberately on top of it, smothering it for a few seconds to run the clock down.
The ref gave three blows of his whistle.
It was official. We were into the play-offs!
The home fans were delirious, the players were celebrating on the pitch, so were the substitutes and the coaches.
I couldn't help myself. I did it without thinking. I threw off the top half of my Barry the Burgh mascot outfit and ran onto the pitch to a mixed reaction from the crowd.
Stephen MacKenzie laughed when he realised it'd been me all along and we hugged.
I lost count of the amount of players who threw their arms around me after him.
“Ms Liu,” was all DeShaun said, shaking my hand and patting me on my bare arm.
“We did it!” Lee Browne yelled.
“You did it for us, mate,” Blair said to DeShaun.
“No,” DeShaun replied, lifting MacKenzie off the ground and onto his shoulders. “The kid did it, and he's gonna keep doing it for us.”
“Are we in the play-offs?” Sean Kirk asked.
“Yes!” I squealed, clutching my phone. “We play second place on Wednesday night.”
“Wait, what?” Leo Martin asked. “Don't we play-”
“No, they play East Fife... We finished third! We're away to Dumbarton in the semis!”
Blair and big Blake Black lifted me up as well, the bottom half of my furry outfit falling away.
I didn't care – I was too full of elation to be embarrassed – and figured the world had seen me in a lot less than a tiny thong and a baggy t-shirt before.