Keep Going

"You've bloody done it, you arsehole!" Blaise hugged his pumped up friend. He knows how much this goal meant for him.

"Fuck! You went and scored ahead of me!" Terry put his arm around Cam's shoulder.

The away side was ecstatic, and their fans were in cloud nine. On the more populated side of the arena, the home fans were despairing.

In it were Cam's own family, torn as to whether to celebrate their boy's goal or get sad about their team getting pushed aside.

***

Halftime.

The boys from downtown are in a celebratory mood. They know they are killing this game.

It was a performance that had even gone beyond the expectations of their manager, who hyped them up before the match.

"Hey, bro." Terry put his right hand on Blaise's left shoulder. "You also have to set me up with a pass in the second half."

"I've set you up a couple of times! You've missed it all!" Blaise's accurate retort drew the laughter of their teammates.

"Fuck you guys! I'm what they call a diesel engine! I need to warm up first!"

"So… you need more than 45 minutes to get going?" The blunt question of goalscorer Cameron drew another wave of laughter.

"Fuck you too! I don't have ED!" Terry's cheeks turned red.

"What the fuck is ED?" Cam actually rubbed his chin in curiosity.

"What's with this erectile dysfunction thing? You're talking about me innit?" The balding youth manager Ryan Cassidy entered like he's defending himself from getting accused of something. "I don't have that you arseholes!"

Another wave of laughter broke out.

***

The lively band of Blades youngsters got out of the dugout in high spirits. On the other side, was a tense, and chilly killing intent emanating from the home side. Blaise picked up on the different attitude of their opposing side quickly. He knows that something must've happened in the locker room for them to look like hungry wolves waiting to pounce.

The ruthless smirk on every single Sheffield Sunday player gave Blaise a bad premonition…

Contrary to Blaise's expectations though, Sunday didn't go full nuclear on them at the start of the second half. Instead, he saw patience that was something nonexistent in the first 45 minutes of the game.

They didn't break their formations too much, nor did they chase around people too much. They also didn't even mark their opponents tightly, and instead they just dropped back, and maintained the team's structure and balance.

The Sheffield Blades' players took this as an opportunity to wantonly attack without caution, but Blaise erred on the cautious side when it seemed that their opposing team didn't even have the initiative to retake the game.

He doesn't think this is what it seemed.

He's right.

James Ritchie stole the ball from one of the Blades' midfielders near midfield, and as if there's a switch that's flipped on, a swift and decisive counterattack began.

Blaise ran alongside Ritchie, trying to dispossess and make it hard for him to go forward.

Well… at the very least Blaise finally knew the reason why this guy was being scouted by the big money clubs…

Ritchie was suddenly someone Blaise cannot catch, unlike in the first half where he can match him in speed. But that's not the only thing that terrified Blaise.

What terrified him more was James' strength. Blaise was literally in a pushing match against him, and was cleanly floored with the referee not blowing his whistle. The fact that he did this while dribbling the ball, speaks to some ridiculous overall body strength.

Blaise, who's barely gotten up, looked on as his backline struggled to control this unleashed one man wrecking ball.

'This guy… he's pretty terrifying.' If Blaise was being honest, he also can't remember anyone from the Premier League with a name like him, so he's stuck there wondering what could've gone wrong for this man in his previous life.

Ritchie once again knocked the ball past the final defender, leaving him with a short distance from the keeper. His eyes burned with decisiveness, especially when he saw the keeper coming out to meet him at the edge of the area…

He carefully chipped it above the head of the keeper, who managed to slow it down even more with barely a tip of his finger. His defenders chased in a mad frenzy to keep it out of the goal.

To no avail.

James Ritchie jumped and punched his fists in an uppercut motion as he celebrated near the corner flag. His teammates rejoiced with him, and all the previous iciness seemed to have vanished into thin air. What replaced it was both relief and confidence.

"We've cut the goal lead down! On to the next!" Ritchie told his teammates as they hugged him.

"Now this is getting spicier." Cameron said to Blaise as the two of them stood at the center circle.

"Yeah, it wouldn't be a great derby if it isn't close, innit?" He smiled at him. Since the goal happened less than ten minutes after the restart, it fueled once again the determination to do something for both sides.

The home side wanted to equalize, and maybe steal a win after. The away side wanted to deal the final blow and finish the game off.

Tit for tat. Shot after shot. Tackle after tackle. Foul after foul. The number of yellow cards have climbed to 8, as the two competing teams fought for every blade of grass in the pitch.

Until an errant goal kick found Terry Quinn near the midfield sideline.

Terry's first touch was heavy on purpose, he wanted to chase after the ball at a faster speed than he can while dribbling the ball. The other team's left back was gunning for the ball too.

He's already too tunnel visioned to care about anything else other than the ball and the left back. He put on another heavy touch to the ball, sending it rolling for them to chase again.

'Keep going…' Terry's breathing was already in chaos when he finally made contact with the ball again.

The next second though, he landed face first to the grass with the sound of the whistle being his saving grace.

The referee brandished the yellow card for the ninth time in this chaotic game, with the Sheffield Sunday defender helpless and guilty enough to not even argue about the call.

It was gonna be a free kick in a dangerous area, not because you can attempt a direct free kick from here, but a simple cross is enough to give you a good chance for goal.

Blaise Atkinson was the main man on free kicks. He licked his lips and thanked his friend Terry for sacrificing his life— face— for the greater cause.

Nine players for Sunday are defending in the box while only six are on the offense for Blades. The tensions reached a fever pitch when the outswinging free kick came through…

It was not the cross everyone expected.

Instead of being floated high, the ball was whipped with some speed, taking all the players in the box off guard… except one.

Terry Quinn, lurked on the far post on the left, even if that's not his proper position on the right. He had the inkling unto what his friend wanted to do.

He's glad he managed to catch on.

The ball avoided everyone in the air, and as the keeper scrambled to cover his far post, the ball bounced sweetly into the lurking Terry.

His foot met the ball, and as it missed the keeper's fingertips and nestled into the bottom left corner of the goal… Terry did a wild backflip into the edge of the pitch, barely stopping himself from raising his middle fingers to the crowd...