How It's Done

Once the ball left Jahzir White's foot, he knew he'd score a goal. Maybe barring some ridiculous circumstances, that he had no time to think about.

A hat trick in a local derby? Isn't that too familiar?

It was the same circumstance that catapulted a no name teenager Blaise Atkinson to the national spotlight.

He's now on the cusp of replicating the same achievement.

Well, his rival Blaise Atkinson stopping him from achieving it out of nowhere would be absolutely fucking poetic. It would be among those ridiculous circumstances.

As if he's jinxed it, Blaise Atkinson's superb reactions— more like prediction— allowed him to deflect the shot attempt. It was just a weak foot in, but it was enough to alter the speed, power, and the angle of the shot.

No fucking way, man!

This guy!

The ferocious smirk on Jahzir White's face was replaced by shock. Despite his shock though, his feet never stopped moving.

He followed the deflected shot to get another shot attempt off, only for the Blades keeper to reach out and clutch the errant ball safely to his chest.

"Stay focused!" Blaise muttered underneath his breath. He reminded himself that this was a game they had to win no matter what, and a tiny slip in concentration would be fatal. They were already down a goal, after all.

If he had reacted to that strike a moment later… man… he could already envision how loud this small stadium would be.

He can't lose focus now!

Blaise wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, as he jogged upfield, leaving Jahzir with his eyebrows knitted.

Were those words directed towards me? Stay focused?

Am I not focused enough? Is that how you managed to sneak up on me?

Before Jahzir finished his distorted thought, the ball flew over his head and into their half from the goal kick.

The game continued its lively pace all the way up to the end of the first half. Both teams slugged it out on both ends, with shots peppering each goal, and goalkeeper's hands.

Jahzir White was the eye of the Doncaster storm, but Sheffield's pack defense stopped him from dealing any further damage this half.

The Rovers' defense also frustrated Blaise Atkinson on the other side, not allowing him the freedom to run with the ball, and create opportunities. The way they dealt with him had turned aggressive, and on several occasions, borderline personal.

The half ended with Blaise stinging the keeper's palms through a desperate attempt from thirty yards out. He had gone past a player that pulled his shirt hard, a diving tackler with raised feet, and another one who almost tackled him to the ground.

Blaise's frustration was written all over his face. He walked down to the locker rooms while pulling at his shirt, which had become loose at some areas, due to so much pulling by the opposing players. His arms also had a lot of scratches, there's even a bruise near his shoulder…

Derbies aren't really for the faint of heart.

"They roughed you up, eh lad?" Trent Hastings walked over and patted his slightly bruised shoulder. "Expect more of the same from them in the second half!"

"Don't let them get to your head." Captain Damian Potts chimed in. "If you do, then you've lost. Buckle up, kid."

Blaise nodded. Of course he knew all this, however, it doesn't make it any better. Even the most well-mannered players can lose it in derbies.

Fisticuffs, biting, racist insults, personal attacks, headbutts, and all that.

His captain is right, with this much passion in a single game, anything can cause ignition.

"Zero yellow cards. Keep it up." Manager Steve Bronson's first words were of praise, but his next weren't. "Awful defense, and wasteful offense, that has to change."

The locker room stayed silent.

"Here's my challenge for you, guys. Play with the same level of passion and aggression as them, and turn the game around. Keep in mind, I don't want you to fall prey to their cheap tricks, and lose your head." Bronson's eyes were dead serious, and his tone dire. "What I want is for you to not get swept up by their deliberate provocations."

"Be passionate, and aggressive, yet disciplined." Potts summarized.

"Well put. However, you forgot the most important word."

"Win." Blaise muttered with his balled fists beside him.

"Win." Bronson echoed Blaise's words.

This derby is just beginning.

***

Alain Prosser had mixed feelings toward this game so far.

First, he was delighted that he's been given a chance at the wing. But second, he's annoyed because he was unable to do much after their first goal.

Maybe I should change my approach?

Every time he tries to take the right back on, he gets stuffed.

This asshole had learned my tendencies!

But Alain Prosser is best known for being a nuisance on the pitch.

Time for a reverse, reverse, reverse, reverse, reverse psychology! They won't know it!

With a casual flick of his boot, Prosser sent the ball between the right back's legs. He wanted them to remember that he's also here, and he can get past this fucker.

You got a fantastic left winger? We also have a fantastic left winger!

After sending the wingback the wrong way, Prosser sped towards the opened up space, attacking the sideline like a hawk that found its prey.

It fucking worked!

Prosser had enough time to survey the field for his next course of action.

"George near the box, Blaise surging forward behind him, Ahmad at the far right, and Trent standing still…" Alain made up his mind. "All of them are covered… huh…"

I will be the catalyst for the second goal, no matter what.

The Rovers' defense had reacted a bit late to Prosser's run forward, but their central core stood firm. They know that they have the middle locked down.

Alain Prosser was decisive. Upon seeing that his options were unavailable, he abandoned his run to the sideline, and cut inside. His head swiveled left to right, scanning the field while remaining on the move.

The opposing right back was still behind him, and the defender nearest him had to choose whether to cover, or keep on marking George Williams. He chose the latter.

Alain smiled.

This is just what I wanted.

As he neared the box unimpeded, the frontmen of Sheffield finally made their move.

George went left diagonally, Ahmad continued his run wider right, Blaise surged to the position George vacated, and Trent ghosted a bit behind them.

It was chaotic to the extreme at the front, but it was expected by the Doncaster defense.

What the men of Doncaster didn't expect was for the rampaging Alain Prosser to carry the ball straight to the box.

"You can't stop me!"

The precocious youngster yelled, before rifling in a confident shot underneath the noses of everyone in this packed stadium.