Lincoln City's fans came into this game with the understanding that they were the odds on underdogs at every turn. They have nothing to lose, but everything to gain from this match, including a chance to scrap with the big boys of the Prem in the 3rd Round.
They have done so well to start the match, even scoring a goal. It's just that things have gotten away from them quickly since then.
Now, the fans of Lincoln City were still adamantly shouting, doing their best to boost their team's morale. However, they looked like they were automated robots, only doing so because it's what they are supposed to do to support their team.
They stole glances at the scoreboard, where their team was already down seven goals, even before the game was over. It wouldn't be this much of a sorry sight, if they are down this big against top flight clubs.
But their FA Cup 2nd Round opponent was a club from a tier above them… and they're getting spanked 8-1...
Blaise Atkinson was the main perpetrator of the demolition in the eyes of the Lincoln City supporters, as he fully took the game over after scoring the fourth goal for them. He was at the thick of every single attack Sheffield had. He was the hub in which their football blooms to life. So to these downtrodden Lincoln fans, he's the most unsightly person on the planet right now. Some of the more irrational fans even wanted to go haywire and throw flares and bottles at him.
He scored the fourth goal via a counter. He scored the fifth goal through another set piece a few minutes after the second half restart.
Blaise himself wanted to show no mercy whatsoever on the League Two minnows. This game was just a stepping stone, a great first step to show English football what he's capable of.
So, the sixth goal came as fast for Sheffield with Blaise locked in.
After another onslaught of shots in the Lincoln net, an inch perfect cross from the right wing found Atkinson arriving late into the box. He didn't wait for the ball to bounce, as he smashed it with unparalleled ferocity into the hapless top left corner of the net.
Goals number seven and eight came and went, along with a light drizzle that further dampened the already low spirits of the home side.
Some home fans have already left, saving themselves from both the rain and what had been further humiliation from their ruthless League One opponents.
Building up from the back again, Sheffield's pace had slowed down dramatically. Since the game's already at its last few minutes with the addition of the rain, both teams had no choice but to slow down a little.
Blaise though, was still firing on all cylinders. He continues sending balls down either of the flanks. His passes continued finding all the right angles, like a perfectly thrown football machine. Only the more limited movement due to rain stopped those balls from being any more dangerous for the Lincoln defense.
His soaked stature cut a magnificent figure in the middle of the pitch for the Sheffield faithful.
The time slowly whittled away as the rain fell harder and harder on the pitch.
Atkinson received a throw-in from the right side. He's quite exhausted now, after shouldering a lot of responsibility in keeping the team running. But he thought about giving a last hurrah to send off their also weary away support.
'Can they even see what I'm gonna do from the stands in this rain?' He doesn't trust a lower league level floodlights at all.
He picked out a pass to their right winger Ahmad Traore, subbed on late after returning to fitness. The ball landed and stopped at an already waterlogged part of the pitch, making it easy for Traore to collect.
Without much thought, the man centered it to Atkinson, only for it to stop way short of him due to the pitch conditions.
Blaise kept his motor running and collected the ball running a few extra yards more, with two players hounding him. The wet pitch and wet ball made it that much harder to gain control of the ball and stand his ground.
However, Blaise's intention wasn't to hold the ball and waste time. He brute forced his way through the two tired men stuck onto him, causing the first one to slip and taste wet grass.
The other had a much better fate, managing to cling on and chase at Atkinson's tail.
He pushed the ball several more yards forward, which is vastly harder than it was a few minutes ago. A little shimmy motion downed the final defender in a growing puddle of water.
The visibility was slowly vanishing in the pitch, but for Blaise, who had experienced the fabled harsh cold and rainy nights at Stoke several times during his career, a little challenge like this he could take.
Oh man, I can't see jack shit.
He sprinted the shortest way to the goal, which is a long way away. He noticed that after downing the final man yards ago, there's no one around him anymore.
None in front, beside him, or closing in at the back.
It's like he's playing all alone in the wet, grassy expanse.
At some point within the short few moments he's sprinting, Blaise closed his eyes— not caring about the increased chance of falling, slipping, and injuring himself— to breathe.
With raindrops falling on his head, his brown eyes refocused as it reopened. He was almost taken by surprise by the goalkeeper, who was almost upon him at the edge of the area.
He didn't use any hard to execute skill move, with the rain in full swing. He just dipped his toes into a puddle of water and floated the ball with just enough force.
The ball traveled very slowly in the air, as if time started slowing down to a halt. The keeper clearly saw how slow it was moving above his arms, but found that he was powerless to do anything to deflect the shot away.
He had screwed up several times today, so he promised himself not to concede another one after the eighth. It's just that the man he's about to collide with… is a goddamn pain in the arse…
9-1!
"Man, take it easy on us in the rain…" The keeper was helped up by the goal scorer Blaise Atkinson, as the latter didn't celebrate the last goal.
For several seconds there, he actually thought about not scoring and giving them some of the mercy that they deserved. His renewed killer instincts stopped him.
"I'm sorry mate, it's what I have to do."
The final whistle was blown by the first official, putting the curtains on the game that saw a downpour of goals for the away side, and a downpour of rain from the home city.