Post match

David Jones' sneakers pounded the pavement as the chilly morning air filled his lungs. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps on the quiet Derby street was his only companion. It was the day after the match, and he needed this run—not for fitness, but to clear his head. The memories of the previous evening clung to him like a shadow.

After jogging for what felt like hours, David returned to his modest apartment. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face. The kitchen was bare, save for a box of cereal and a carton of milk on the counter. With a sigh, he poured himself a bowl and sat at the small dining table.

"I can't keep doing this," he muttered to himself. Now that his paycheck had come in, he made a mental note to visit the grocery store. Living off cereal and whatever the stadium's cafeteria offered wasn't sustainable.

Just as he took a bite, his phone rang. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Mom. A soft smile broke across his face as he swiped to answer.

"Morning, Mum," he greeted, his voice lighter than he felt.

"Morning, my star," Tabitha's warm voice came through the line. "You were incredible yesterday. That run down the flank? Brilliant!"

David's smile faltered slightly. "Thanks, Mum. But—"

Before he could finish, her tone shifted. "How are you?"

The question hung in the air. David's mind drifted back to the match, to the moment everything changed.

The referee's whistle pierced the air. David stepped up to the ball, his heart pounding in his chest. The stadium was silent, the weight of thousands of eyes pressing down on him. He adjusted his stance, focused on the ball, and exhaled.

He struck it with his left foot, the connection crisp. The ball soared over the wall of defenders, spinning with precision. The Bristol goalkeeper leaped, his outstretched fingers grazing the air. Time seemed to stretch as the ball curved towards the top-right corner of the net.

Clang.

The sound of the ball hitting the post reverberated through the stadium. David froze, his arms half-raised in anticipation. The ball rebounded into play, bouncing off a defender's leg. The defender reacted instantly, volleying it upfield.

"Go back! Head back!" Wayne Rooney's voice thundered, cutting through the fog in David's mind. But his legs felt like lead. He stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as a Bristol striker sprinted onto the loose ball.

The away fans erupted as the striker coolly slotted the ball past Derby's keeper. The scoreboard blinked: 3-2.

The referee's whistle signaled the end of the match. David's world blurred. The jeers of the Bristol players, the supportive pats on his back from teammates, even Rooney's consoling words—all melted into white noise. He avoided the press conference, slipping out of the stadium unnoticed.

At home, he showered in silence, the hot water failing to wash away the ache in his chest. He couldn't remember crawling into bed, only the endless replay of the missed opportunity haunting his thoughts.

Back in the present, David's grip tightened on his phone. "I'm fine, Mum," he said, forcing a smile she couldn't see. "It's just one game. You win some, you lose some."

Tabitha's silence was telling. "Hmm," she replied softly. She knew her son well enough not to push him when he was like this. "Alright. Just don't keep it all inside, okay?"

"I won't. Love you, Mum."

"Love you too, my star."

As the call ended, David's phone buzzed with a message. It was from Jason Knight, his close friend and teammate.

Jason: No training today. Gaffer's given us the day off. Fancy coming over? We can play some FIFA.

David stared at the message for a long moment. He didn't reply. Instead, he lay back on the couch, his mind drifting once again to the freekick. What if I had scored? The thought looped in his mind, refusing to let go.

He closed his eyes, the sound of the post's clang echoing in his memory.