Chapter 5
Kyle
Game day. My favorite day of the week. And now, I’m meeting AJ after the match.
I was a little wary at first, seeing as it’s been so long and because he turned his back on our childhood club, but I’m trying to get over that.
It goes without saying that I haven’t told my parents—well, more so my dad—that I’m meeting AJ.
Not that I want or need their approval; I just don’t want an extra layer of hassle on top of an already deep layer of nervous energy I’ve got going.
I’m a level-headed guy. People see that as stubborn. I don’t agree.
While in the dressing room, I begin my pre-match ritual, which I haven’t altered since my very first game: I slip my shorts on, put my shin guards in place, and pull up my socks.
Then I put my boots on—left one first, then the right.
I tie up my right boot and then my left.
Lastly, I pull on my jersey and rub the club crest for luck.
I used to kiss the badge when I played for my school side, and whenever I used to play in the park wearing my Union colors, that crest would get a kiss too.
It feels disingenuous to kiss the badge of a club you don’t truly love…
let alone grab it in front of a camera beaming it into millions of people’s homes, but I digress.
Letting my feelings go about him being a traitor and turning his back on our childhood club is going to be quite a bit harder than I first thought.
I try to remind myself that I shouldn’t hold grudges.
The coach finishes up his team talk, and I’m a ball of excited energy.
If you'd asked twelve-year-old me if he thought he’d be here—in a semifinal of a cup game and in the starting eleven—he’d have said, well, duh.
Not to sound conceited, but I’ve worked my arse off to get here.
Sleepless nights, in the gym till 3:00 am, missing out on family and friends’ weddings and birthdays—hell, missing my own birthdays.
I’d do it again and again. Football is my life.
My friends have also said I need someone to keep me grounded, but when Football is your true passion in life, it’s hard for anyone else to compete.
In all honesty, it would just be as unfair to them as it would be for me.
So yeah, I’ll stay a bachelor. Maybe not forever, but at least until my playing days are over, then I can come out and be who I truly am.
“Thurston! Big game. Go out there and be a fuckin’ nuisance. Make those runs behind the defenders. Fuckin’ play with your heart. If we win this game lads, we make history. Now let’s fuckin’ do this!” The coach bangs his hand on the wall, and we all stamp our feet and cheer.
The adrenaline is now molten hot in my veins. We walk out from the tunnel, and I can hear the roar of our fans on our right-hand side. They’ve filled their allocation in the away end, and are already serenading us with songs.
“Listen to them, Thurston. Let that sound be your guide,” Rabiot, our resident philosopher, says as he puts a hand on my shoulder before sprinting away to his center back position.
I make my own way to my position on the field.
The wait for the ref to blow his whistle to signify the start of the game sends an added rush of adrenaline through me.
The game begins, and I sprint past two opposing players in the hope to receive the ball, but I’m barged out of the way before it gets to me.
The home crowd cheers at this and that spurs me on.
I attempt to latch onto another ball, but this time I’m shoved to the floor, just outside the box.
The ref grants us a free kick, much to the chagrin of the home fans.
Our captain steps up to take it and tells me to be ready at the back post. There’s lots of jostling for position in the box, my shirt is being pulled covertly but I manage to get away from him just as the ball comes in.
I leap above the defender and get my head on the ball and guide it to the back of the net just as the goalkeeper clatters into my face with his fist.
Blood gushes onto my jersey, and I’m marshaled off the field by the team doctors while the ref and VAR deliberate on whether it’s a goal or not.
I’m checked over for a possible concussion and pass the test. Lights go into my eyes.
“Can you see Kyle? Follow my light,” says the physio. I think his name is Eric.
“Yes. Fine,” I say, trying to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Is he okay to carry on?” Coach asks Eric, I’m certain that’s his name.
“Looks good to me,” he says.
“Thanks, Nige. Kyle, get back out there and keep playing with your heart.”
Nige? Well, damn, that’s his name. I was never good with names.
I’m waiting to be waved back onto the pitch by the ref, who’s taking his time. I just want to get back out there. With a fresh jersey and two bungs of cotton wool up my nose, I’m allowed back on the pitch after what seems like an eternity.
“You all right?” Rabiot asks me.
“Yeah, fine, it’s only a bit of blood, nothing to worry about.”
Rabiot nods and trots off back to his position.
I see the ref looking at the VAR monitor, and my coach is shouting instructions to us. The home fans and ours are doing duel chants. The atmosphere is electric, and it reaches a crescendo when the ref makes his way to the center circle and points to it. Goal.
Our fans go wild, and the home fans ring out a chorus of boos.
One goal down, two to go if I’m going to win the bet with AJ.
The most important thing is the team, I know that, but I also want to prove something to everyone, and the best way to do that is to score the “perfect hat trick”—a goal with the head, left foot, and right foot.
Not to mention a hat trick on my cup game debut will do wonders for my chances of a starting place next season.
The next twenty minutes go by in a flash and, thankfully, my nose has stopped bleeding, so I take the cotton wool out of it. The home side pull a goal back on the stroke of half-time, and we trudge back into the dressing room tied 1–1.
The team's body language ranges from frustration to concentration. I’m the youngest player on the team, and I make a point to listen to every word Coach is saying. I want to win this game for the team and the fans. If we get to this final, it will be huge.
“And Thurston, keep doing what you’re doing. Your pace is killing their center backs. Gus, I want you to play him in every chance you get, okay?”
“Yes, Coach.” Gus, the Brazilian dynamo, pats me on the shoulder and gives me a smile.
“Let’s make them sweat.” He finishes, and I give him a smile back.
Gus is one of our best midfielders, and he’s wanted by a number of high-profile clubs, including the giants of Spain.
For reasons unknown to the rest of the club, he likes it here.
I rub the club crest again for good luck before heading back out onto the field. We’re now playing against the sun and toward our fans in the away end. Perfect.
My heart is a drum against my chest. The opposing team kicks off, and I chase down the ball, forcing them to kick the ball out for a throw-in.
Gus throws it to me, and I get past the defender with a step over.
The keeper comes racing out and collects the ball from my feet.
I swear in frustration. The away crowd roars in encouragement, and I’m back to chasing the ball down again.
This time their midfielder blasts the ball into my chest, winding me.
I go down, pressing my hands against my chest and trying to breathe normally.
The play goes on, to the adulation of the home fans.
Our captain shouts at the ref, but he’s booked for dissent.
This enrages our supporters even further.
Gus races over to me to ask if I’m all right.
I say I am and get back to my feet. Nothing like being blasted at point blank range in the chest with a cold ball.
Still, it could have been worse. My breathing gets back under control, and I jog off the residual side effects.
Seventy minutes have gone by now, and we’re still tied one each. The tackles have been flying in from both sides, and I’m one of the few players now to not be booked.
Eighty minutes in, and we have a corner.
Coach has instructed that I stay on the edge of the area and wait for my chance.
I’m unmarked, luckily. The corner comes in, and Gus manages to get his head onto it, nodding it out to me.
This is my chance, I take a deep breath and let fly with my right foot.
The ball sails into the top left-hand corner.
I run to our fans in celebration, and I’m swamped by my teammates.
I race back to the center circle, and the ref is thrusting a yellow card in my face.
“Ref! What’s that for?” I shout at him, and he runs off the other way. “Ref!” I ask, “what was that for?”
“Another word from you and it’ll be your second booking—and a sending-off—for dissent!
” I know full well what it’s for; running to the fans and celebrating with them, as they clamor to get over the security guards, and advertising hoardings is prohibited.
But I couldn’t help myself. It’s a stupid fucking rule.
I’m about to plead my case when our captain comes over, “Leave it, Thurston. We need you on the pitch.”
I listen to our captain and make my way back to my starting position, my blood boiling, and my anxiety running high. I can’t fuck this up. I think of AJ and what he must be thinking. God knows why. My heartrate steadies.
My first start and I’m booked. This is not good. Coach fines us a quarter of our weekly wages if we’re booked and half if it’s a red. If it’s a straight red, he forces us to go door to door in the community and apologize.
The last few minutes tick by agonizingly slowly.
The home side are piling on the pressure.
I chase a ball down and block a shot with my body, which is definitely going to sting in the morning.
The fans are getting frustrated. Our fans want the final whistle, and are making whistle-like noises.
The home fans are doing their best to rally their team but we manage to dig down deep.
The ball comes to me, and I take it to their corner, shielding the ball with my smaller frame.
My shirt is being pulled and two players are trying to snatch custody of the ball.
I hold onto the corner flag for leverage.
They manage to blast the ball with the intent of making it rebound off me for a goal kick, but I maneuver myself out of the way, and we have a corner.
Only there’s no time to take it. We’ve done it.
We’re in the final. I don’t care if I didn't win my bet with AJ, I’m in a bloody cup final!
We all celebrate on the pitch and with the jubilant away fans chanting songs in the stands.
Some of them storm the pitch and celebrate with us, and the security do little to stop it.
It’s a pure moment, one that I will cherish.
Up to now, this is the single greatest moment of my life and of my career.
We make our way back to the dressing room, and the coach is all smiles.
“We did it! We fuckin’ did it lads! That’s exactly what I want to see from you all.
From every game. Passion. Desire. Commitment.
You played as a fuckin’ family out there today, despite the ref being an absolute wanker.
Don’t get me wrong, the fines still stand, but just know, the ref was way out of line.
” Fuck, I mutter to myself. That’s going to hit my family hard. I try not to let it show on my face.
“And Thurston.”
Fuck. He’s seen my face. I gulp. “Yes, Coach?” My voice lilts a little.
“Great work out there. You showed the reason why we’ve put so much fuckin’ effort into you over these years. Your goal has sent this team to the next level. Win or lose in the final, we’re history makers tonight.”
The team cheer and jostle me, ruffling my hair and giving me digs in the arm. There’s a huge smile on my face.
Once all the excitement dies down, I fish my phone out of my pocket and search for City’s result. Just typing the name sends an annoyed shiver down my spine, and I tell myself to stop being childish.
“They’ve won.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until Gus asks who. “Oh,” I say, “City. We’re playing City in the final.” I then check to see who scored. AJ. He got the only goal of the game. I shoot him a text on Insta.
Kyle
Looks like with my two goals, yes, two, and your one, yep, one, we have a hat trick. Still wanna meet up later?
I’m about to put my phone back in my bag when it vibrates in my hand. I see that it’s AJ, and I smile.
AJ
I’m so glad your mathematical ability allows you to count up to at least three. Proud of you. And yes. I’m up for it if you are?
Kyle
Haha. You know we had the same state school education, right? Where do you fancy meeting?
AJ
Touché. You know The Old Rec Pub in town? It’s a little out of the way, but at least we won’t get bombarded by people.
Kyle
Sure. See you there in an hour or so?
AJ
Great. First one there is the winner.
Kyle
Is everything a competition with you?
AJ
Of course.