Blaise Atkinson watched from afar as things unfolded for Ahmad and the Shrewsbury winger. He raised his hand when Ahmad was tripped up, like a reflex action to call for a whistle.
He's quite far off and busy with defending, so he had no inkling as to what actually occurred. Nevertheless, he saw the Shrewsbury winger that cut inside speed away, into a one against one opportunity.
'He's gonna chip it.' His mind was processing several things at once. Most of his attention was stuck to his marker, but as it was also a foot race on his side, he had his eyes forward, allowing him to see what was unraveling near their goal.
The chip… wasn't as pretty as he intended it to be.
It lacked the height to clear the keeper's outstretched fingers, and the power to continue forward to the goal even after Sheffield's number 1 managed to tip a strong finger to the ball, slowing its movement almost to a standstill, and saving a precious goal for his team. At the end, Ahmad recovered from his earlier blunder, and hacked the ball away near the corner flag for a throw in.
Oof…
A collective sigh of relief echoed through the small contingent of Sheffield fans in the stadium, the beads of sweat that threatened to fall down didn't. That exchange had shaved at least a day off of their collective lifespans. Some of them can't help but be annoyed at their manager's tactics again.
'Why does our manager do this every year?!'
'Does this fucker think this is fun?'
'What if I punch our manager in the face?'
Atkinson ended up with the same sigh of relief. However as a player, one should always remain on the move. He swiped the throw in through a quick burst of speed, and lumped the ball forward for his team's offense to restart.
***
The half continued on with both sides not giving an inch to the other.
Patton's screamer earned him more of the attention from the opposing team, as Shrewsbury adopted a more structured approach to their play. The defensive line had been moving as one, curiously opening up an offside trap for the Sheffield frontline.
However, the structured approach of their opponents gave Sheffield another thing to exploit. They continued their free flowing attacking style, this time it's working because the experimental team had found their rhythm due to the equalizer.
As the momentum shifted, possession started to be heavily dominated by Sheffield. The players had a renewed pep on their step, the ball started zipping side by side, and front to back. Amusingly, Blaise Atkinson felt that he's not doing a lot.
Maybe this is how defenders feel when the team is dominating.
He stood in the center circle, just a little off the center line, as his team managed to pin the entire Shrewsbury line up deep into their own half. This prompted Blaise to take a quick glance at his goalkeeper at the other end of the pitch.
Maybe he should rephrase what he's thinking and factor in the goalkeeper's feelings into it...
The man's drinking water beneath his post! Bro's been chilling!
This is how boring it is to be a keeper under these circumstances!
Blaise is torn. Whatever it is they're doing, I should be feeling fantastic, right? But what is this ominous feeling...
A ball was sent back to him in the center broke his trance, and the overlapping right winger on the corner of his vision made him send the ball deep into the final third accordingly instead of just swinging it to the right back a few yards away.
After sending the ball on its way, he figured that he had never pondered nor considered how everyone else experienced a game of football before.
Maybe this is what the manager's true aim is?
It was like how several people remembered the same event differently. The specifics, the conversations, and their points of view change with it. There's always another side to everything.
To him, his World Cup winning strike had been the epitome of the greatest moment of his young life.
To the French goalkeeper whose outstretched hand failed to stop it, it was a nightmare, a blight, a memory that had grievously scarred him for life.
To his love Serra, who at that time watched with wide eyes and admiration in the packed stands, it had been a joy to behold. Blaise recalled how Serra told him what happened in the stands with delight, and with passion, years later.
To a young, would-be footballer on another end of the world, watching behind a small television screen… it became the moment that would change his life forever. The moment that made him say, "I want to do that in the future!"
Maybe during the times that he said he's ready to play wherever he's needed, he still hadn't really understood the magnitude of playing a position far removed from your comfort zones. It's terrifying, yet exciting at the same time.
Even while daydreaming, Blaise did not stop moving his feet. He scanned the field from his wider perspective at the back, and acted right as the ball was cleared off the goal line.
His positional awareness was the only thing he relied on as a new defender. He thwarted the counter attack just by being at the landing spot of the ball at the right time. A quick left turn allowed him to recycle the possession deep into the left wing, where their left winger made another assault.
It was a thing of beauty, with every single Sheffield player looking more and more comfortable with their roles as the match went on. Fresh legs from both sides were added as the clock struck eighty.
The left winger, which was surprisingly the sturdy Damian Potts, bullied his match up after he revved up his engines in the second half. He forcefully broke through by giving the poor wingback a cheeky push to the side to gain a little separation before crossing the ball.
It was a move that lacked finesse, something that Damian Potts and his physical game had been known for decades. It's always worked for him, up the leagues, here in the hinterlands of the third division, everywhere. Well, it seems like it's working now too in the left wing.
He wasn't fast enough anymore to burst ahead, but the space he gained afforded him a cross that he wasn't used to doing as an anchor at central defensive midfield.
Potts' left foot swung, however the cross looked weird and awry…
But James Patton was at the end of it!
The header!