Man of the Match by Dan Freedman

got?” he smirked, chucking the ball to Jamie to take the throw-in. “I heard you were quick.”
    â€œMate,” said Jamie, pretending to be unaffected, “I haven’t even started yet!”
    But inside Jamie felt sick. His whole body was squirming. He could feel a weakness invading his veins.
    This had never happened before, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. In his entire life, he’d never come up against anyone who was as fast as he was.
    The next time Jamie received the ball – this time from a delicate Rigobert West chip down the line – he went for it again. If he could just find his turbo gear, maybe he could still beat Blake. This time he really turned on the afterburners, gave it everything he’d got.
    But he just couldn’t get away from Blake. The defender stayed with him, neck and neck, before sliding in to nick possession from Jamie with a perfectly timed challenge. He even kept the ball too. Jamie could see the grin on Blake’s face as he sprinted forward out of defence.
    â€œCome on, Jamie,” the Hawkstone fans were shouting, almost begging him. “Don’t flop now! We need you, mate. Foxborough have just taken the lead in their game!”

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    Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)

    Jamie’s heart sank. There was a long way to go, but everyone knew that if Foxborough won their game, there was no way Hawkstone could take the league.
    Jamie sprinted infield in search of the ball. But everywhere he went, Ashley Blake followed. It was as though Blake had taken him prisoner and Jamie had no way of finding the key to set himself free.
    As it became increasingly obvious that Blake had Jamie in his pocket, the Brockburn fans began taunting Jamie.
    Soon, they were in full voice, mocking Jamie with Barry Digmore’s criticism from today’s paper: “One-trick pony, he’s just a one-trick ponyyy!”
    Jamie was angry. He could feel his temples pulsating as he fumed at his own inability to get the better of Blake.
    It was only now that he realized how much he had always relied on his pace. It was his super power. His way of always beating his man. But now that had been taken away from him.
    Jamie could only look on, helpless, when right on the cusp of half-time, the Brockburn centre forward belted a volley towards goal from twenty yards out. It was a great strike, but it didn’t go in.
    It hit the crossbar. But then the rebound smacked into the back of the Hawkstone goalkeeper’s head and bounced in.
    It was a horrible, ugly goal. The Hawkstone crowd had been silenced. Their hopes extinguished. They looked to Jamie. Prayed for him to do something. But Jamie had no idea how to bring back the magic.
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    Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)

 
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    It was a boiling-hot day and the results were going exactly the wrong way for Hawkstone, but Harry Armstrong still looked like the coolest man in the ground.
    He was wearing a brand new grey suit and there was not a crease on it.
    He stood in front of his players in the Hawkstone United dressing room, staring each one of them dead in the eye. Jamie could see that his manager’s shark eyes had returned.
    It reminded Jamie of the occasion when Harry Armstrong had been playing for Hawkstone and there had been a ruck during a match against Crayhall. He’d taken on three of their team – and dealt with all of them. He’d been given a four-match ban for his troubles, but after that day, everyone in football knew never to mess with Harry Armstrong.
    Armstrong was a warrior and his troops were waiting for him to unleash his fury on them. Would he pin them up against the wall and shout in their faces? Would he fling a tray of teacups across the room to frighten them into action? Harry Armstrong was capable of anything. . .
    But instead, for two whole minutes, he said absolutely nothing. His stare was more than threatening