Real men don't look at explosions, they walk away from them.
Even before the shot went through the net, Blaise had walked back and clenched his fists in stride. Maybe it's his cockiness, but his thought process was the same as that of shooters in basketball.
Right when the shot left their hands, they just knew instinctively that it would go in.
It's the same thing. Blaise was confident the keeper would never touch that.
Goal! Sheffield takes the lead!
When the ball struck the bottom right corner of the goal, Blaise was already in front of James Patton at the back.
That's when the latter reacted by carrying Blaise up while yelling at him.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT! HOW ARE YOU HERE ALREADY? AND WHAT WAS THAT STRIKE?" James couldn't believe it. This guy knew it was going in? How in the fuck?
"Just a hunch."
"Just a hunch, my ass!"
"That break on that shot… it's the sharpest I've seen…" Damian Potts arrived with a shocked expression. He had seen many things throughout his footballing career, but this one… was among those that truly perplexed him. "That was disgusting."
One by one, his teammates celebrated with him despite the whistling and booing of the home crowd. Manager Steve Bronson was pumping his fists in the air, while the rest of the bench was in cheers as well.
Their opponents grabbed the ball from the net and rushed toward the center circle for the restart, only for Sheffield to continue celebrating.
"That was fucking nuts, dude!"
"Holy banger, mate! What was that?"
For any losing team, this is annoying, and disrespectful behavior. However, they were helpless about it. Since if they were in their shoes, they would absolutely celebrate and try wasting as much time as possible, knowing it will be killing two birds with one stone.
The opponent would not only have less time to try to make a comeback, it would destroy whatever morale they had left and pressure them more too.
A minute later, the game resumed. Sheffield has successfully shaved a couple of minutes off the clock.
This Sheffield lineup had steeled themselves to shithouse a win no matter what.
***
The game had burst to life once again, in stoppage time.
"See, that's how it's done." Blaise whispered with a smirk on his face as he went past Jahzir White.
Jahzir White felt like that disgusting free kick goal from Blaise Atkinson was a direct provocation to him, that he had already imagined a scene of Blaise talking smack at him.
In reality, Blaise had passed by him and returned to his natural position, wondering why Jahzir was looking at him with pure hostility. We've just met in this life!
He sighed, and actually muttered, "Good thing we're almost done…"
Of course, he had no idea that Jahzir only heard the last word and made up the rest to fit his agenda.
This is not done yet, you cocky bastard! I'll show you!
Jahzir received the ball at an advanced position, and took a couple of touches before surging forward while hugging the sideline. His electric pace showed no signs of slowing down despite being in full display for ninety minutes. He dribbled past the right back with relative ease, and was alone on the left side after pushing through.
His face was burning with determination, as he tried picking out his teammates on the center of the pitch.
There's a single one, in a sea of Sheffield players.
Shit! Have I broken through so fast?
"He's out of sync with his team again. How many times has that been tonight? He's too disconnected and selfish." A higher division scout evaluating some prospects in the stands shrugged. That alone is a dealbreaker for many clubs. The scout wrote his evaluation of White in his notebook.
"Rating: B-. Great prospect, with excellent speed, creativity, and ball skills. However, he's a detriment until he learns how to play within a system, or with his team."
White has effectively reached a dead end. He had no more grass left to run into, and the defender he left behind had caught up. However, his options in the middle remained unflattering.
What are these fuckers doing?
Fuck this, I'll cut inside!
Shuffling his feet, and moving closer to the goal, he came face to face with the guy he wanted to beat the most.
Blaise Atkinson!
Blaise wanted to run the guy out of bounds, because as much as there's a man advantage in the middle, Doncaster had a sleeping force of nature in there.
A beautiful ball to Ben Price's head would cost them dearly.
"Man, you're really pesky!" Blaise announced his arrival with a small quip. Of course, he's moving in tandem with his right back right now.
However, his arrival had an adverse effect.
There's no way for him to know that Jahzir White had fostered such enmity against him that he wanted nothing more than to beat the double team.
His waning confidence, and doubt about his own abilities disappeared as if it were never there, and was replaced by a strong desire to kick this guy's smug grin off his damn face.
Contrary to what he's seeing though, Blaise was not grinning smugly. His face was a mask of undeterred focus.
"Watch me." Once again, the left winger said something to Blaise.
Before Blaise could even think about anything, he saw Jahzir move like a blur. Besides getting away from the double team, he was unsure what else he's trying to do.
A simple stepover, and a nutmeg did the trick, as Blaise reacted a beat late to the sudden change of direction. Blaise's mind remained fast, but his waning stamina, and his athleticism were at its limit after all the pounding he'd received tonight.
I'm still lacking!
Don't think too much, just move!
Jahzir's quick getaway gave him the freedom to aim his cross properly, and he knew just where to send this ball.
The men inside the box pushed each other around for positioning, as they all anticipated the spot the ball would land.
From afar, Blaise noticed that one guy stood out on the mass of bodies. His movements were firm, yet subtle. Powerful enough to create separation, yet firm enough to keep steady.
Benjamin Price leapt like a salmon for the ball, and beat even the tallest defender James Patton, to it. His forehead slammed the ball with force enough to send it hurtling down the goal like a missile.
The power on that header was enough to make Doncaster's intentions clear: We will not lose tonight.
Goal!
***
"What kinda defending was that?"
"Dear, haven't you seen that sub forward's jump?" The elderly woman laughed innocently at his husband's zealous fandom. "He's like a hurdler!"
"Damn that ogre! I'll remember his name!" The elderly man fumed.
"Grandpa, calm down, okay?" Serra arrived at the living room with a smile on her face. "That sequence was really good, right Grandma?"
"Oh, indeed it was, honey." The old lady smiled.
"Good enough to break my heart!" The old man seethed at the television showing the highlights. "They have the gall to replay it? These punks!"
Serra laughed meekly, and reached for a tray with two cups at the table. "Grandma, grandpa, some tea to calm your nerves."
"You always know what to do, my Serra."
The family of three enjoyed another night of their daily lives.