The referee's whistles echoed across the pitch as he blew for full time immediately after Jeremiah Hayes restarted the match. The entire stadium fell silent for a moment, the weight of the whistle's significance hanging heavily in the air, before it erupted into cheers. The Young Dragons Academy players and their supporters were jubilant, their voices filling the stadium with triumphant roars. On the other hand, the Jeremiah Hayes Football Institution players and their supporters stood still, their joyless expressions and quiet demeanor reflecting the disappointment of the result.
[That's the referee's whistle, and it's over. Well, it was over quite a few seconds ago, but now it's official. I have no doubt that hearing the referee's whistle is going to sting a lot more than seeing that third goal hit the back of the net.]
[To be fair, I think both sides gave it their all. Like I said earlier, either side winning would be harsh on the other, given the level of performance we witnessed today. But that's football for you. The match is over, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.]
Jerry slumped to the ground as soon as he heard the final whistle. His legs felt like lead, his heart heavy with disappointment. He stared up at the sky, unmoving, the weight of the loss pressing him into the ground. The noise of the stadium felt distant, muffled by his swirling thoughts. Moments later, he felt someone plop down on the pitch beside him.
"You did well, you know," Moses said, his voice calm and steady. "You tried your best. We all did."
"But we didn't win," Jerry replied, his voice quiet but filled with frustration. "And that's what sucks the most."
After a few moments of silence, Jerry stood up abruptly, brushing the dirt off his shorts. He began walking toward the locker room, his head slightly bowed. On his way, several Young Dragons Academy players stopped to shake his hand, offering words of encouragement or praise. Despite the bitterness of defeat, Jerry stopped to acknowledge each of them with a nod or a quick handshake.
By the time he entered the locker room, Jerry realized he was the first one there. He hesitated at the doorway, wishing he hadn't been so quick to leave the pitch. The room felt too empty, too silent, amplifying the weight of his thoughts. As he stepped inside, his eyes landed on someone standing at the far end of the room.
It was Jeremiah Hayes, his father, the man who owned the academy. Jerry froze in his tracks, startled by the unexpected sight of his father. They locked eyes for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Jerry shifted uncomfortably under his father's gaze.
The silence stretched until Jeremiah finally broke it, his heels clicking against the floor as he crossed the room. Jerry's eyes widened as his father approached him, and before he could process what was happening, Jeremiah wrapped him in a hug.
"What the—?" Jerry stammered, his surprise evident.
"I'm sorry," Jeremiah muttered under his breath. "I know you tried your best."
Jerry was stunned into silence. His father's embrace felt foreign, the words even more so.
"Wow."
The moment was broken by an incredulous voice from the entrance. Both Jerry and Jeremiah turned to see Moses standing there, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"I can come back if you want," Moses said slowly, his hands raised as if surrendering.
"No, it's alright," Jeremiah replied, releasing Jerry and stepping back. He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. "I needed to talk to all of you anyway."
Over the next few minutes, the rest of the team and staff trickled into the locker room. Victor, the coach, entered last, his eyes widening slightly when he saw Jeremiah. The players, who had been subdued after the loss, suddenly perked up when they noticed the academy's owner in the room. Excited murmurs rippled through the group; for many of them, it was their first time seeing Jeremiah in person.
Jeremiah raised a hand, signaling for silence. The room quieted almost immediately, the players' attention fully on him.
"Alright, boys," Jeremiah began, his voice steady and authoritative. "You did good out there. Forget the result for a moment—I liked every bit of what I saw. I didn't see a group of fifteen-year-old boys trying to play football. I saw men. Men who wanted to win. Men who deserved to win. But football is a cruel sport. You don't always get what you deserve."
He paused, letting his words sink in. His eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of each player.
"Regardless of the result, I'm proud of you," he continued. "Remember that. You've shown heart, determination, and skill. That's all I can ask for. Keep working hard, and the results will come."
Jeremiah took a step back, nodding slightly as if to emphasize his point. "That's all for now. I'll leave you in the hands of your coach." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a lingering sense of encouragement in his wake.
Victor didn't feel the need to say much after that. Jeremiah's speech had done more for the players' morale than he could have hoped. He offered a few brief words of encouragement before dismissing the team.
As the players began packing their things, the mood in the locker room was noticeably lighter. The loss still stung, but Jeremiah's words had given them a renewed sense of purpose.
"My mum's on her way," Jordan said to Jerry as they walked toward the exit together.
"No thanks," Jerry replied with a small smile. "I want to walk today."
Jerry stepped out of the locker room and into the evening air. The parking lot was quiet, the sounds of the cheering crowd now a distant memory. As he made his way toward the road, he was stopped by a familiar figure.
"I never did get a call from you," James said, stepping into Jerry's path.
"Oh." Jerry scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "That's my bad. I was so caught up with the tournament I forgot to get back to you."
"That's alright," James said, waving off the apology. "I just want to know your decision. What will it be?"
Jerry hesitated for a moment, the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I'll… I'll join the under-sixteens."
A smile spread across James's face. "That's nice to hear. Training starts tomorrow, but you'll get a week off because of the tournament. We expect you back by next Monday."
"Alright then," Jerry said, matching James's smile with one of his own.
"That'll be all," James said. "See you soon."
Jerry nodded and continued on his way. The walk home felt longer than usual, his thoughts replaying the match over and over again. He had given everything he had, scored two goals, and done everything right, but it still wasn't enough. The loss overshadowed his personal performance, filling him with frustration.
As he walked, he clenched his fists, the determination in his heart growing stronger with each step. There was nothing more he could have done in that match, but he resolved to make sure there would be no doubts in the future. He would train harder, push himself further, and become the kind of player who could singlehandedly change the outcome of a game.
He just had to get better. A lot better.