Ash couldnât get to the ball.
That was a shock. Ash was the second-fastest player in the Kingfield squad. Only Jamie was faster.
The Breswell goalkeeper collected the ball and threw it out to his full-back. Then the defenders began to play the ball between themselves. They had no intention of letting Kingfield get the ball back.
âLetâs get into these midgets!â Dillon demanded angrily.
But it wasnât as simple as that. The Kingfield players sprinted forward and put as much pressure on the ball as they could but it didnât make any difference; Breswell just passed faster. They never panicked.
Everything that Breswell did was one-touch. Pass and go. Receive and release. The Kingfield players couldnât get near them. They were being toyed with.
âThis lot know exactly what theyâre going to do with the ball before they receive it,â Mike said, nudging Jamie. âThatâs the sign of a good team.â
Â
Soon fifteen minutes had gone and Kingfield had still hardly had a touch of the ball. Even when they did get it, they just punted it aimlessly into the channels for Breswell to reclaim.
âWork harder!â Hansard yelled at his team. He was going red in the face and was getting more frustrated by the second.
Jamie smiled ruefully to himself. The sad thing was, he knew how to make things better for his team. If he could get on that pitch, he could change things; turn the game around.
But, even though he was only standing on the touchline, he may as well have been standing on the North Pole. Thatâs how far away from the action he felt.
Jamie had his face pressed up against the window of the game. Even if he shouted at the top of his voice, no one would hear.
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It wasnât until twenty-five minutes into the game that Kingfield managed to win their first corner.
Finally, it was a break from all the defending and chasing that they had been forced to do and it gave Dillon the chance to come up from the back. As he chugged into the Breswell penalty area, it was clear how much taller he was than everyone else. If they could find him with the corner, heâd have a great chance of getting a header in on goal.
Jamie was the regular corner-taker, so when he saw his replacement, Tom Walker, raise both hands into the air as he stepped up to fire in the ball, Jamie knew exactly what that meant â the corner was going to the far post.
Sure enough, Walker whipped it in, hard and fast to the far post. Dillon fought his way through the mass of Breswell defenders towards the ball; none of them were strong enough to stop him. He dived forward, full length, through a flurry of raised boots, stretching every muscle in his body towards the ball, meeting it with a diving header towards the goal.
The crowd in the stands held their collective breath, Jamie stood on his tiptoes to try and see what was happening, then THUMP, the ball smacked against the outside of the post. It bounced away for a goal-kick. Dillon had missed. Just.
The Kingfield players held their heads in their hands. Six inches â thatâs how far they had been from taking the lead.
âUnlucky!â Hansard shouted from the sidelines, clapping his hands. âThatâs more like it.â
As the players dispersed from the penalty area, only Dillon was left in the box. He was still lying on the ground. At first it looked as though he was just upset he hadnât managed to score. But when the referee started frantically blowing his whistle, it was clear that there was a problem. Something must have happened when Dillon went for the header.
âCan we get a medic on here, please?â shouted the referee. âHeâs done something to his thumb. I think it might be dislocated.â
Dillon was sitting up now, cradling his left hand. Even from where he was standing, Jamie could see that Dillonâs thumb was poking out backwards from the rest of his hand. It looked as
That was a shock. Ash was the second-fastest player in the Kingfield squad. Only Jamie was faster.
The Breswell goalkeeper collected the ball and threw it out to his full-back. Then the defenders began to play the ball between themselves. They had no intention of letting Kingfield get the ball back.
âLetâs get into these midgets!â Dillon demanded angrily.
But it wasnât as simple as that. The Kingfield players sprinted forward and put as much pressure on the ball as they could but it didnât make any difference; Breswell just passed faster. They never panicked.
Everything that Breswell did was one-touch. Pass and go. Receive and release. The Kingfield players couldnât get near them. They were being toyed with.
âThis lot know exactly what theyâre going to do with the ball before they receive it,â Mike said, nudging Jamie. âThatâs the sign of a good team.â
Â
Soon fifteen minutes had gone and Kingfield had still hardly had a touch of the ball. Even when they did get it, they just punted it aimlessly into the channels for Breswell to reclaim.
âWork harder!â Hansard yelled at his team. He was going red in the face and was getting more frustrated by the second.
Jamie smiled ruefully to himself. The sad thing was, he knew how to make things better for his team. If he could get on that pitch, he could change things; turn the game around.
But, even though he was only standing on the touchline, he may as well have been standing on the North Pole. Thatâs how far away from the action he felt.
Jamie had his face pressed up against the window of the game. Even if he shouted at the top of his voice, no one would hear.
Â
Â
It wasnât until twenty-five minutes into the game that Kingfield managed to win their first corner.
Finally, it was a break from all the defending and chasing that they had been forced to do and it gave Dillon the chance to come up from the back. As he chugged into the Breswell penalty area, it was clear how much taller he was than everyone else. If they could find him with the corner, heâd have a great chance of getting a header in on goal.
Jamie was the regular corner-taker, so when he saw his replacement, Tom Walker, raise both hands into the air as he stepped up to fire in the ball, Jamie knew exactly what that meant â the corner was going to the far post.
Sure enough, Walker whipped it in, hard and fast to the far post. Dillon fought his way through the mass of Breswell defenders towards the ball; none of them were strong enough to stop him. He dived forward, full length, through a flurry of raised boots, stretching every muscle in his body towards the ball, meeting it with a diving header towards the goal.
The crowd in the stands held their collective breath, Jamie stood on his tiptoes to try and see what was happening, then THUMP, the ball smacked against the outside of the post. It bounced away for a goal-kick. Dillon had missed. Just.
The Kingfield players held their heads in their hands. Six inches â thatâs how far they had been from taking the lead.
âUnlucky!â Hansard shouted from the sidelines, clapping his hands. âThatâs more like it.â
As the players dispersed from the penalty area, only Dillon was left in the box. He was still lying on the ground. At first it looked as though he was just upset he hadnât managed to score. But when the referee started frantically blowing his whistle, it was clear that there was a problem. Something must have happened when Dillon went for the header.
âCan we get a medic on here, please?â shouted the referee. âHeâs done something to his thumb. I think it might be dislocated.â
Dillon was sitting up now, cradling his left hand. Even from where he was standing, Jamie could see that Dillonâs thumb was poking out backwards from the rest of his hand. It looked as
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