Jamie sprinted out on to the pitch and leapt high into the air.

He had that warm feeling of confidence inside him; he knew he was going to play well.

As he passed the ball with Ollie to warm up, his touch felt secure. Jamie’s foot and the ball – they were made to be together.

It had been the same all his life: no matter what was happening, what kind of worries he had, they all seemed to dissolve away the minute he stepped on to a football pitch. When Jamie had the ball at his feet, he was free.

*

“Go on!” Jamie shouted to Ollie, who was on his side in the training match. “Pass it and go for the one-two!”

Ollie looked up and played the ball out to Jamie on the wing before bursting through the middle of the defence to collect the return. Jamie knew he had to get the ball back to Ollie quickly – otherwise he’d be caught offside – but, in the corner of his eye, he was aware of Dillon Simmonds rampaging towards him to make the interception.

Jamie’s football brain clicked into gear. There was only one way to get the ball past Dillon in time to play in Ollie for the return; he struck the ball right through Dillon’s open legs with enough power to perfectly place it into the path of Ollie’s run.

Dillon’s head twisted around to follow the ball. He could only watch as Ollie rounded the keeper to score. It had been the perfect one-two with a nutmeg on Dillon thrown in for good measure!

“Beautiful pass, J!” shouted Ollie as they did a high five. Jamie and Ollie would be a difficult duo for the opposition to cope with in the Cup Final.

 

For the whole training session, Jamie played the role of wing back without a hint of a complaint.

Despite the fact that he felt as if he could go around any defender today, Jamie didn’t do one dribble during the whole session. He just tracked back, marked his man, and struck the ball into the channels when he got possession.

He played it simple – played it Hansard style.

He even resisted the temptation to bring out his most prized new possession – the step-over. He’d save that one for the Final!

It worked, though; after Jamie had cleared a long ball upfield and then run the length of the pitch to try and get up with the attack, Hansard had clapped and shouted: “That’s it! Good play. Keep it simple!”

 

“OK,” said Hansard blowing his whistle to bring the practice game to an end. Jamie’s team had won 2 – 0. “Gather in,” he said.

“Now, the team we’re playing on Thursday – Breswell – are a good side; they wouldn’t have made it to the Cup Final otherwise. So, if there’s one thing that we can be almost sure of, it’s that it’ll be a tight game. We should be prepared for it to go right down to the wire. Preparation is the key to success and I want us to be prepared for anything.”

And, with that, Hansard made every single player line up and take a penalty. He even made the other boys boo and try to put them off as they went up to take their kicks so it seemed like a real penalty shoot-out.

Jamie remembered the article he’d found on the ’net and how Hansard’s old Kingfield team had won the Interschool Cup with a penalty shoot-out. He knew Hansard would be watching everyone’s penalty like a hawk, judging them. He knew he had to score.

When it was his turn to take one, Jamie switched off his ears to the shouts and taunts. He only used his eyes.

He stared at the ball and then stared really hard at the bottom left-hand corner of goal. He kept his eyes fixed there just long enough for the keeper to follow his line of vision. Then Jamie stepped forward and swept the ball high into the top right-hand corner of the goal. The keeper dived completely the wrong way. Jamie’s plan had worked perfectly.

 

Even after training had finished, Jamie still had miles of running left in his tank. With two days to go until the Final, his fitness was hitting its peak. His body was perfectly prepared.

Jamie galloped over to collect the furthest ball behind the goal. He flicked it into the air. He wanted to see if he could juggle it all the way back to the halfway line, where Hansard was collecting the kit.

He’d just done a back-heel high into the air and was about to control it on his thigh when Dillon snatched the ball away.

“You think you’re good now just cos you do one flukey nutmeg?” he said, pushing Jamie in the chest. “Well, you ain’t. You can’t do it in the real games. That’s the reason you’re never gonna be a proper player.”

Jamie just smiled and kept on walking.

“That’s what you think!” he said over his shoulder. He couldn’t wait to see the smug smile crumble from Dillon’s face when he heard that Jamie’s dad had sorted out a deal for him with a professional club.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Dillon, chucking the ball at Jamie. He missed.

“Let’s just say that you might not be the only one turning pro. . .”