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That’s 5,400 seconds of extreme nail-biting, whistle-blowing, and the opportunity where I seek out to use my profound list of cuss words that only make an appearance on game day.
We’re approaching the last five minutes of the match.
The score is 2-1 in our favor.
Wilks hammered in an absolute beauty of a shot shortly after the second half, followed by a free-kick play, set up by yours truly, that prompted Hart to sneak in a quick shot on net, one that barely passed the goalie's grasp, but low and behold, went in.
Unfortunately, the peace of mind that two-nil gives a person can get easily lost, especially after our keeper let in a lucky shot on net—one I can’t blame him for.
Ira always had an interesting saying to me. One that reminded me that in order for the ball to pass the keeper, it must pass every single person on the field. Now, I see opposing goalsscored as an opportunity to learn what went wrong and how we can fix it rather than a means of pointing the finger. Something my younger self most definitely fell victim to.
As not only a season debut win looms ahead of us but the end to a curse of a ten-game losing streak—I’m confident that there are two reasons why we’ve done so well today, and as much as I hate to admit it, they both draw me back to Delaney.
The first is Ira. Knowing that this is the first season we’re going into without him. He has to be looking down on us right now, making sure we’re doing alright. And even if he wasn’t, I sure as hell had the lads believe he was.
But with Ira always comes her.
Delaney.
The girl who made today a possibility by bringing in this crowd to cheer on the lads and, even better, believe in them, something I aspire to do every single day.
It pains me to know that until now, some of the boys have never experienced quite what it’s like to have a crowd of people cheer in your favor. Honestly, I’d almost forgotten what it was like myself. It’s been years since I was in their shoes, yet the flare-up of my knee earlier in the week reminds me that the past always has a pleasant way of making its way into the present.
I’ll admit. I’ve been a complete twat to Delaney since then. Ignoring and avoiding her any chance I get. Really, it’s not her fault—it’s no one’s but my own. I should’ve known not to overdo it, yet when I have those moments where I get back into the game, it’s so hard to break myself free from it. Truthfully, nothing has surmounted the feeling of the sport, and with full transparency, I’m not sure anything else ever will.
When it comes to this formidable use of the word “knee” that seems to exist within the group, I want to set the record straight to say that I’ve never explicitly told anyone not to talk about my injury. That would be ridiculous.
I’d always thought that I’m notthatemotionally fragile, but I suppose my actions the other day say otherwise, proving to the group why they’ve chosen not to mention it.
But I think they’ve got it all wrong. You see, rehashing my injury isn’t what stings, nor is it the reminder that I’ll never be able to play the way I used to. I’ve come to peace with that—I have.
It's the pity that comes with it. The look on people’s faces as they stare down at me and see this version of Warren Park I’m trying to learn, as much as I’ve grown to despise. Before the injury, no one looked at me that way. People saw me as a threat, a sheer powerhouse in the sport. Now they see me as this fragile damaged good from the past, and you can say it’s all in my head, and hell, maybe you’re right. But when you’ve lived this way for the past five years, it’s hard sometimes to separate the truth from the reality that lives within.
I know deep down I should apologize to her. Tell her it’s alright, I’m not upset, and that we should just move on. I mean, that’s what Wilks talked to her about earlier, right?
Clearly she's been moping about ever since, and Wilks was the first to have the balls to address it. He’s always been good with the soppy stuff, whereas I have never been good at apologies—and right now, with these last few minutes of this game remaining, I don’t intend to change that.
“It’s looking good.” Alf nudges me at my side as I come to realize I’ve been far too focused on this internal dialogue than the game at hand. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s not over yet,” I tell him, knowing more than anyone else that you don’t get your hopes up until you hear the final whistle blow.
“Alright, enough of your mood.” Alf has no problem telling me off. “Try and be happy for once, will ya?” he looks down at the stopwatch in his hand. “We’re forty-five seconds away froma special moment, and for some of the lads, their first win on Crawley. So, now you’ve got…” He looks down again. “Thirty seconds to shift your mood. Got it?”
“Yes,Dad,” I mock, prompting him to swat my shoulder as I playfully roll my eyes.
Alf smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and like I promised him I would, as the final whistle blows, I let out an overwhelming cheer, watching as the lads race off the field and towards my side.
“We did it! We fucking did it, boys!” they shout in unison as the crowd joins in on the excitement. There’s nothing quite like a team embrace.
Your team is your family. Sure, you’ll fight, have favorites, go through ups and downs, but at the end of the day, you accomplish things as one, and that’s what family is all about.
“You know what this means, right?” Hart pulls back from the hug, prompting my stomach to drop as each of the boys’ eyes light up in mutual delight.
“No!” I catch onto exactly what they’re anticipating to do, stumbling back with my sore knee as they reach for their water bottles that line the bench.
“Stop him!” Wilks shouts. “Don’t let him go!”
Alf places his hands on either side of my shoulders, halting me in place as the team douses me with what’s left of their bottles by squeezing the water all over me—sending chills down my body.
