Prologue
26th November 2011
The ball glided through the cold, winter air, with the elegance of a swan. It stayed airborne for what seemed to be a lifetime, drifting along the skyline until it landed, with a gentle thump, just outside of the penalty area on the pristine turf. The home team's striker controlled the ball crudely, with a combination of his shin and his knee, before holding off the defender, swivelling and shooting at goal. The ball flew through the air like a rocket, accelerating on its way to the stands, where it bounced harmlessly off a vacant seat and rolled down the concrete steps back towards the pitch. "For God's sake," growled his manager, from the home dugout, "not again!"
The home team were struggling to break the deadlock against very stubborn opposition, despite the introduction of their marquee signing on the hour mark. The marquee signing had a similar expression etched onto his face, cursing the missed chance from the other side of the pitch to his manager. He was not used to this standard of football: he was more accustomed to playing against superior opposition, and he was also used to playing with players of a better standard, and he was getting increasingly agitated and frustrated as the game wore on. It was blatant to all that he was the best player on the pitch, but he was visibly rusty, having seldom played competitively in the last few months: partly down to the gradual decline of his footballing skills; partly down to bad luck in the form of injuries. But this game was going to change all that, he was sure of it. It was his debut for the sixth club in the last two years, but it was the only game in the last couple of years in which he had felt good, the only game where he had not felt a tight muscle or was carrying a slight knock. Sure, he felt a bit of fatigue, but that was only natural for a player of his age, and for a player who had not played a full game in the last few months. For the first time in years, he felt alive again, and feeling nostalgic, he reminisced about that time, all those years ago, when he was a promising 21-year-old England-international fighting for a first-team place at Aston Villa, the club he had supported since he was a boy...
26th November 2011
The ball glided through the cold, winter air, with the elegance of a swan. It stayed airborne for what seemed to be a lifetime, drifting along the skyline until it landed, with a gentle thump, just outside of the penalty area on the pristine turf. The home team's striker controlled the ball crudely, with a combination of his shin and his knee, before holding off the defender, swivelling and shooting at goal. The ball flew through the air like a rocket, accelerating on its way to the stands, where it bounced harmlessly off a vacant seat and rolled down the concrete steps back towards the pitch. "For God's sake," growled his manager, from the home dugout, "not again!"
The home team were struggling to break the deadlock against very stubborn opposition, despite the introduction of their marquee signing on the hour mark. The marquee signing had a similar expression etched onto his face, cursing the missed chance from the other side of the pitch to his manager. He was not used to this standard of football: he was more accustomed to playing against superior opposition, and he was also used to playing with players of a better standard, and he was getting increasingly agitated and frustrated as the game wore on. It was blatant to all that he was the best player on the pitch, but he was visibly rusty, having seldom played competitively in the last few months: partly down to the gradual decline of his footballing skills; partly down to bad luck in the form of injuries. But this game was going to change all that, he was sure of it. It was his debut for the sixth club in the last two years, but it was the only game in the last couple of years in which he had felt good, the only game where he had not felt a tight muscle or was carrying a slight knock. Sure, he felt a bit of fatigue, but that was only natural for a player of his age, and for a player who had not played a full game in the last few months. For the first time in years, he felt alive again, and feeling nostalgic, he reminisced about that time, all those years ago, when he was a promising 21-year-old England-international fighting for a first-team place at Aston Villa, the club he had supported since he was a boy...
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