Jamie flung his body across the turf to make the tackle. He had tracked the Oak Hall midfielder all the way and, when the time was right, he’d made his move.

But Jamie Johnson was not a defender and he never would be.

Jamie was the best left-winger in the whole of Kingfield school. He had the pace to beat any defender. So why was Mr Hansard playing him at wing back? And how could he do it in a game as important as the Interschool Cup Semi-Final?

It was stupid. Pointless.

Jamie should have been Kingfield’s most dangerous weapon, not the one doing all the defending. If they were going to go out of the Cup, they should at least go out trying to win the game.

It was 0 – 0 and, with ten minutes left until half-time, Jamie realized that the Oak Hall keeper hadn’t made one save yet. It was actually embarrassing.

Jamie looked at the crowd watching the game from the touchline. There were probably about a hundred people there. He dreaded to think what they were making of Kingfield’s long-ball tactics.

There had been a few whispers that some scouts from professional clubs might be coming to check Jamie out today. But even if any of them had turned up, there was no way they could have been impressed by a winger who wasn’t allowed to enter the opposition half.

It was as if Mr Hansard wanted to play him so deep that no one would spot his talent.

Jamie wiped his shirtsleeve across his forehead to soak up the sweat. He was waiting impatiently for Oak Hall to take their throw-in.

Deep down, he knew this cup run might be his last chance of earning a trial with a professional club. He was fourteen. If it didn’t happen now, it probably never would. It was time for him to show what he could do.