Shoot to Win by Dan Freedman Page B

win without him.
    He couldn’t bear the thought of just being an onlooker when he should have been out there playing. He thought about walking off to go and see how Jack was doing. She was in goal for Kingfield’s girls’ team, who were playing their own Cup Semi-Final at the other end of the fields.
    At least he would be appreciated there; she would love it if he went over to support her.
    But then Jamie thought about how bad it looked when professional players who had been substituted just disappeared down the tunnel instead of staying to support their team. It seemed as if they didn’t care about the game, only about themselves.
    Jamie didn’t want people to think that about him. He did care. He cared more than anyone.
    In the end, Jamie poked his foot into the black plastic bag by the side of the pitch and dragged out one of the footballs they had used for the warm-up. He rolled the ball between his feet as he made his way around the pitch to where his granddad, Mike, was standing.
    As far back as Jamie could remember, Mike had watched every single game that Jamie had ever played. He loved talking about football and always got into conversations with some of the other boys’ dads. Today, though, Jamie didn’t recognize the two smartly dressed men that Mike was talking to.
    When he saw Jamie coming, Mike said goodbye to the other men and walked towards his grandson.
    â€œHow come you’re off, JJ? Did you pick up a knock?” Mike asked. Jamie could tell he was worried. His forehead was rumpled across the middle. That only happened when he was concerned.
    â€œNope,” said Jamie. He kept his eyes fixed on the ball as he rolled it back and forth under the sole of his boot; he was embarrassed. Mike had been such a good player that he had probably never been subbed in his whole career. It made Jamie being hauled off at half-time seem even worse.
    â€œWhat? So he hooked you, did he?”
    Jamie nodded.
    He and Mike turned to see what was happening in the match. They let their disappointed silence fill the air as they watched Dillon Simmonds jump highest to make a headed clearance.
    The ball skipped out of play and sped straight at Mike. But he didn’t move. Or even alter his stance. He just let the ball bounce up on to his thigh before softly volleying it with his instep perfectly into the path of the Oak Hall winger who had come across to take the throw.
    The Oak Hall player looked at Mike for a second to make sure that what he thought he’d seen had actually happened. Had this old man just produced the best bit of skill anyone had seen the whole afternoon?
    Of course he had. What the Oak Hall player didn’t know was that forty years ago, this “old man” was a professional player with Hawkstone United and was rated as one of the best teenagers in the whole country. His knee injuries may have forced him to retire before he was twenty but, even now, Mike Johnson still had the touch of a professional. And everyone had just seen it.
    For a second, as he looked at Mike, Jamie felt a swell of pride. But it was soon drowned by a wave of doubt rising up within him.
    Now the same dark questions that always haunted him gathered once again around his mind: was it too late for him? Was his dream of following in Mike’s footsteps and becoming a professional footballer only a stupid fantasy? Was he going to be a . . . failure?

 

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    As an Oak Hall player did a neat back-heel, drawing applause from the crowd, Jamie’s frustration began to accelerate into anger. He should still be out there; he should be the one that people were clapping for.
    If Kingfield ended up losing this Semi-Final and Jamie missed his chance to prove himself on the big stage, he would never forgive Hansard.
    â€œAll I said was that we should try and keep the ball instead of hoofing it the whole time!” Jamie said to Mike, half-explaining, half-apologizing for being