“Get your top off and start doing your warm-ups, JJ,” said Mike, squeezing Jamie’s shoulder. It’s half-time in a minute, he’s got to bring you on. “The game’s crying out for a player like you.”

Jamie smiled.

“Here, hold this,” he said, giving Mike his tracksuit top.

He sprinted as fast as he could down the line past Hansard. He was as quick as any of the Breswell players. And as skilful.

He just had to be given the chance to show it.

 

 

“What’s the matter with you lot?” Hansard demanded as the Kingfield boys trudged back into the dressing room at half-time. “You’re giving them way too much respect.”

Jamie looked at his teammates. They were all staring at the ground as Hansard strode menacingly around them.

Jamie just kept quiet and looked eager. He was sure Hansard was going to make the change.

“We’re 1 – 0 down and we’re going to do something about this situation,” said Hansard.

Jamie stood up and started doing his stretches. He started to feel that tingle of excitement, that buzz that nothing else in the world gave him.

“We’re going to try harder,” said Hansard. “You’re the ones that have got us into this mess and now you’re gonna get us out of it.”

Jamie sat back down.

“You may think you’re good players because you’ve managed to get to a Cup Final. Well, I’ll tell you something: good players – real players – are the ones that show themselves when things aren’t going well.”

“Football’s easy when you’re winning. But we’re not winning now. We’re on course to lose this Cup Final so, what I want to know is, what are you lot going to do about it?”