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The Next Big Thing

"Football isn't just a game"—it's life. For 16-year-old David Jones, football is more than a sport; it's an escape, a calling, and the only thing that makes sense in a world full of challenges. The electric thrill of scoring a last-minute winner, the roar of the crowd—it’s the closest thing to freedom he knows. But David's journey is far from simple. Blessed with extraordinary talent yet burdened by fiery anger, he’s fighting battles on and off the pitch. Growing up as the son of a Nigerian immigrant and a British mother, David navigates the pressures of cultural expectations, the weight of his own ambitions, and the scrutiny of a sport that demands perfection. Passion drives him forward, but his temper holds him back. Can he channel his emotions and prove himself worthy of being football's next big star? David Jones: The Next big thing is a gripping coming-of-age story about resilience, identity, and the unrelenting pursuit of dreams. Disclaimer: This work is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All trademarks, brand names, and other proprietary rights mentioned or depicted are the property of their respective owners and are used for illustrative purposes only. This work is not affiliated with or endorsed by any brand, company, or individual mentioned. All rights reserved.

David_Adetola · Sport
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37 Chs

FA CUP

David arrived at his apartment late that night after scoring the match-winner against Barnsley. His body was sore, his energy drained, but he was smiling nonetheless. After a quick shower, he collapsed onto his bed, eager to sleep. But just as he was about to close his eyes, his phone rang.

It was his mom.

"Hey, Mom," David answered, his voice soft but cheerful.

"How are you, baby? How's your body holding up?" she asked, her concern evident.

"I'm fine, Mom, just a bit sore. Nothing major," he assured her with a smile, enjoying the sound of her worry.

"Aww, my baby. Maybe you can ask Wayne to rest you for the next match?" she suggested.

"I'm good, Mom. You know how much I love playing," David replied, brushing off the suggestion. "I'll take care of myself. The players are all visiting the physios tomorrow, so I'll be alright. By the way, how's Dad?"

Just then, a drunken voice broke through the line.

"Is that David? Let me talk to him!" His dad's voice slurred, followed by his mom trying to quiet him.

"Dear, go back to sleep," his mom gently chided.

David chuckled as he heard his dad protesting in the background. "No, I want to talk to my son!"

David's dad continued, his voice full of emotion. "I love you so much, son. Your game was beautiful—even though the ref was after you. You showed them, and that goal... Christ! You're going to be the next Messi. No, forget that. You're going to be the first David Jones, my son."

David couldn't help but laugh at his dad's drunken antics, his heart swelling with pride at the praise.

"Okay, that's enough, go to sleep now," his mom insisted, though she was still amused.

After a few more minutes of protests, his mom came back on the line, a bit apologetic. "Sorry about that, honey. Your dad had a few drinks after the match. Anyway, congratulations! You played brilliantly."

"Thanks, Mom," David replied, his heart warm from her praise.

"Your birthday's coming up soon, too," she said wistfully. "I wish we could be there to celebrate with you."

David smiled. "It's okay, Mom. We'll have plenty more birthdays together."

"Okay, sweetheart. Get some rest now. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom. Goodnight."

After the call, David lay back, still grinning. His dad had never been drunk before, but hearing him so carefree brought a sense of happiness. He closed his eyes, drifting into sleep with a smile.

The next morning, David woke up early, had his bath, and dressed in the team's training kit. He jogged to the stadium, arriving at the gates where the guard who had once been skeptical of him now greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Hey, kid, I watched the match last night. That was something," the guard said, opening the door. "Sorry for earlier. You're clearly a professional."

David smiled. "Thanks, sir. Just keep watching—this is just one of many to come."

"Can't wait, kid. Have a great day," the guard said, chuckling as David walked inside.

Heading straight to the cafeteria, David was greeted by the same elderly lady who had always served him food. She handed him an extra portion, nodding toward him. "You need your energy, boy. I watched the match. Guess you're not just all talk."

David took the food, grinning. "Thanks, ma."

"How about I introduce you to my granddaughter? You two would look good together," she teased, making David chuckle awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm good," he replied, quickly moving on to his meal.

Soon, several first-team players entered, including Jason, who came over to sit with him.

"We're seeing the physios today," Jason said, offering advice. "If you feel any discomfort, don't hide it. It's always better to tell them."

David nodded, appreciative of the advice. He didn't feel anything major, but it was good to stay on top of things.

After breakfast, the team headed to the physio room. Dr. Richard, the team's physiotherapist, checked David and gave him a reassuring nod. "You're on the right track. Just eat well and keep up the good work."

David smiled. "I've been training for this since I was a kid. Nothing new."

After checking in on the rest of the players, Dr. Richard finished with a thumbs-up. "Nice match, by the way. You're doing great."

Just then, Wayne entered the room, greeting the players with a smile. "Alright, lads, great performance last night. But now it's time to focus on the next match. We're up against Crystal Palace in the FA Cup at their place."

David felt the excitement building again. There was no time to rest. The road ahead was long, but if his debut was any indication, he was ready for whatever came next.

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