The stands shook with the energy of the fans. The fans clapped, sang and shouted, but Arthur hardly heard them. He was fixated on the pitch.
Watching Alan Shearer control the ball was like magic to him. The way the striker kept his head up, always one step ahead of the opposition defense, was mesmerizing.
Shearer advanced, the defenders surrounding him, but he seemed to know exactly what to do. With a subtle touch, he pushed the ball away, struggled for speed, and shot with the inside of his foot. The sound of the ball hitting the net was like music.
Arthur let out a scream so loud that his throat hurt. "GOOOLL!"
"That's Shearer, my boy!" shouted a gentleman next to him, waving a Brighton scarf.
Arthur looked at his mother. She was smiling, her eyes full of pride at seeing him so excited.
"I'm going to play like that one day, Mom! And I'm going to be England's top scorer!" he said, pointing to the pitch.
