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ONE
W A R R E N
FIVE YEARS AGO
“Warren, get stuck in there!”My teammate shouts as the sweat drips down my forehead, and my chest rises as quickly as it falls. I turn my head swiftly in the direction of his voice, ridden with urgency as he points across the field.
“Warren!” he yells again, causing me to divert my attention to where it should’ve been all along—the ball headed in my direction.
It’s midway through the season, and the pressure intensifies with every game that passes. Tonight’s game is the culmination of years of relentless training and dedication. It’s not just about beating the best team in the league; it’s about being the best player in it.
It’s always been about that.
I laser in on the ball, locking myself into the game the way I’ve done so many times before. As I rush towards the player in front of me, I’m reminded that it’s not just my team I’m playing for. It’s my shot at proving that I deserve to be competing at thehighest level. Playing amongst, against, and becoming one of the greats.
It only takes me a moment to gain possession of the ball, though the brunt of my opponent’s elbow collides with my shoulder as he grazes my chin.
He’s simple to think that I’d give it up that easily. It would take a bulldozer to knock me over right now. I push back against his frame in an attempt to break away.
“Give it up, Park.” He spits. “You’re not the only one they’re watching tonight.”
His words ignite a flame inside of me, but I suppress the urge to fire back as I give him a shove to create space.
I know I’m not the only one they’re watching tonight, but I intend to be the only one that they remember.
I huff out in frustration, given that he’s filled the gap and managed to kick the ball out of play. I turn to face him as the ref makes the call in our favor.
“You’re not as good as you think you are, mate.” I shrug as I push past him. “Remember that.”
Robby Clarke is no different than most guys in the league. I’m certain he only got into the sport for the reputation that comes with it, though I can’t judge too much. The life of a footballer in England is the life of the rich and famous. You’re treated like a king because football is royalty.
“Fuck off, Park. That’s not what your mum said when I was in bed with her last night,” he snaps in response, trailing me up the sidelines.
His words hardly phase me, a fact that I know will surely ruin his night. Saying you’ve slept with someone’s Mum is universally the laziest attempt at an insult one could muster up. Although, I’m not sure what else I expected from Clarke. I’m surprised he was even able to get his head out from under his arse long enough to think of a remotely entertaining response.
“She always did have a thing for guys with micro dicks,” I mutter under my breath, loud enough so that he can still hear. (Thankfully, that trait wasn’t hereditary.)
As I throw the ball back into play, I don’t have to look back at Clarke to know he won’t say anything else for a while.
“Pick it up, boys!” Coach yells from the sidelines, indicating that we’re about to begin three minutes of extra time. We’re drawing nil, thanks to the beauty of a play I set up in the second half of the match after Higgins gave away an easy goal thanks to an open net. But I know that’s not enough. As the seconds tick by, I realize there’s one thing that will set me apart from everyone else: being the reason we win tonight’s game.
A surge of adrenaline rushes through me as I dart across the pitch, inserting my way into the gameplay as I see my shot.
“Pass the ball,” I cry out as my teammate continues to dribble towards the net. “Pass it!” I plead even louder until he finally lifts his head, wasting no time in making the seamless pass over to my direction.
The ball naturally fits into the curve of my cleat as if it’s always belonged there. I’m confident I’ve never had such a clear shot on target in my life. My heart thumps against my chest as it all comes down to one final shot.
And it’s not just the shot on net.
It’s the shot I’ve dreamt about since I was three years old, after watching my first football match.
It’s the shot at making my dreams a reality and proving that the sport that has encapsulated decades of my life has all been for something.
“Shoot it!”
The crowd hushes in anticipation as I gear up to make the shot, feeling the weight of my future on my shoulders.
I set my eyes on the net, the goalkeeper bracing himself from side to side. I narrow in on my target for a final timebefore glancing back down at the ball and striking it with all my strength.
