Jamie and Mike continued to watch the game from the sidelines. It was a tight match; still no goals and only fifteen minutes left.

Both teams seemed content to keep clearing the ball as far as they could up the pitch – happy just to make sure their goal was not under threat. Hardly anyone was taking the time to control the ball.

Hansard was prowling up and down the touchline, continuously cupping his hands around his mouth to bellow instructions at his players.

“Grind it out!” he yelled. “Win your battles!”

The vein in his temple throbbed with each shouted order.

Every time Hansard shouted, Mike just shook his head.

“What’s he talking about?” he said, looking at Jamie. “This is football, not war. Whatever happened to skill?”

“Yeah, but he’s not interested in skill, is he?” said Jamie. “He wouldn’t have taken me off otherwise.”

Mike snorted through his nose. “Well, if this is Plan A,” he said, “I’d hate to see Plan B.”

At that moment, Hansard turned around and stared, first at Jamie and then at Mike. It was almost as if he’d heard their entire conversation. Jamie could see the anger burning in Hansard’s eyes.

At first, Jamie thought that Hansard was annoyed with him again, but then he noticed that it was Mike he seemed to be preoccupied with. Mike and Hansard were glaring at each other like two boxers trying to stare each other out before a fight.

For a couple of seconds, time seemed to stand still. Jamie wasn’t sure what was going on; all he knew was that he had never seen this look in his granddad’s eye before.

Then Hansard turned away to hurl another command at his team.

“What’s his problem?” Jamie whispered to Mike, who had still not taken his eyes off Hansard.

“He’s forgotten how to enjoy football.”