Man of the Match (14 page)

 

 

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 enough.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“How dare you drop your heads?” he began. He wasn't shouting, though. He didn't have to. The fact that his voice was so calm and measured somehow made him even more scary than if he had been hollering wildly.

“How dare you give me that look like this title race is over? You . . . every single one of you . . . have the chance to make history today. This football club has never won the league, and here you lot are, potentially forty-five minutes away from achieving it, and you look like you've already been beaten.

“I want you to imagine for just a second what it will be like if we do this today. If we really make this happen. Have you any idea what it will mean to those fans? And to you lot? They won't just be talking about this team for the next week or couple of months . . . they will remember you for decades. . .

“In sixty years' time, kids who are up there in the stands today will be grandparents, and they will be telling their grandkids about the day that Hawkstone United won the Premier League for the first time. Now, do you lot want to sit here accepting defeat before it's happened, or shall we go out there and make history?”

 

“Boss,” said Jamie as the players were heading out for the second half. “Have you thought about swapping me over to the right side? It's where I played at Seaport and it worked really we—”

“Archie!” called Harry Armstrong, cutting Jamie off in mid-flow. “Have a word with your mate, will you . . . dispense some wisdom for me – we've got a match to win.”

Archie Fairclough strode over and put his arm around Jamie.

“Let me tell you something very quickly, Jamie,” he said. “When you go out there on to that pitch, it's not about you versus Ashley Blake. Got nothing to do with that. You've got enough talent in your little finger to beat any defender. It's about you understanding how good you are. Once you do that, everything else will fall into place, trust me.”

“Thanks, Archie,” said Jamie. Sometimes Archie reminded Jamie of his granddad, Mike. They both believed in him. No matter what.

“Just take your time, Jamie,” smiled Archie. “You'll work out it . . . you always do.”

Then Archie put his hand behind Jamie's back and gave him an almighty shove, practically throwing him back out on to the pitch!

“Now go out there and make yourself a bloomin' legend!”

 

 

“And we cross over immediately to The Lair, where Foxborough are taking on Liverton. There's been a very early goal in the second half . . . Hawkstone fans, listen up!”

“Yes . . . thanks, Gary, you join us here where Foxborough have just conceded! It's now one to one!”

 

 

Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)

“Hugo Rodinaldo could have just done Hawkstone United a huge favour! So, with this game all even, it's now back in Hawkstone's hands! If they can find a way to come back and beat Brockburn, they win the leag – but hang on! Stay with us here, as now Foxborough are back on the attack! They've got a two against one . . . surely . . . it must be . . . it ISSSSSSSSSS!

“Foxborough go back into the lead! That's what champions are made of!”

 

 

Projected Premier League Table
(if scores stay the same)

As the drama of the events at Foxborough filtered through, the Hawkstone fans were glued to their radios, jumping up and down, screaming and booing. One fan even fainted. And if they were feeling the heat, so too were the players.

Sweat was running down Jamie's forehead. His heart was beating a thousand times a minute. And he was still getting no change whatsoever out of Ashley Blake.

His mind was a blur of questions. What could he do? How could he turn things around? He would give anything to inspire Hawkstone to victory today, but somehow he felt as though he'd hit a brick wall. . .

 

“I think I'm going to take him off,” said Harry Armstrong to Archie Fairclough. “What do you reckon?”

Archie Fairclough smiled. A big, broad smile.

“You know what I think, Harry. Same as always: I'd never bet against Jamie Johnson.”

“Yeah, and normally I'd agree with you, but look at him, Archie. Look at his body language. It's all over the place. His head's gone. He's not right. We have to do something . . . I'm making the change.”

Jamie looked at the board. His number was up. Literally. And although his stomach was plummeting through his body, he couldn't argue. Football wasn't about one player; it was about what was best for the whole team. He'd learned that much at Seaport. And while there was still a chance for Hawkstone, they had to take it.

“Substitution for Hawkstone United after seventy-three minutes,” said the stadium announcer. “Coming off, number eleven, Jamie Johnson, to be replaced by number twenty-six, Benny Kamara.”

Jamie clapped the Hawkstone fans and quickly ran towards the touchline to make way for Kamara.

In fact, he was barely an inch away from leaving the pitch when Archie Fairclough dashed out from the dugout and hurriedly put his hand out to stop Jamie leaving the pitch.

“Wait there!” said Archie to Jamie before turning to Harry Armstrong.

“Harry!” he shouted. “Look at Glenn! He's in trouble!”

They all turned to see that Glenn Richardson was lying on the ground, screaming out in agony. He was holding his knee and calling out for the physio.

“Aaah!” he was shouting. “Heard something snap! Think it's the cruciate!”