Tie stands at 1-1 on aggregate.

90 minutes are up.

Injury-time is being played.

If the score remains the same, Madrid go through on the away goals rule…

Hawkstone had so very nearly done it. Jamie Johnson’s sublime first-half chip – which had seemed to kiss the underside of the crossbar on its way into the net – had, for so long, looked as though it might have been enough to send the Premier League side through to the first Champions League quarter-finals in their history.

There had been other chances too. Jamie’s stunning wing-play had created countless opportunities for his teammates but, somehow, each of them had been spurned. And then, with just over ten minutes remaining, Gazzi, the Madrid poacher, had latched on to a loose ball in the box, turning it into the net from only six yards out.

It had been a dagger into the ribs of the Hawkstone fans, with the Madrid coach, Fernando Nemisar, running the full length of the touchline and sliding along the grass on his knees to celebrate with the fans.

Although Harry Amstrong had tried to rouse his troops for one final push, there was a sense in which the chance had gone. They had been so close – just minutes away – only for the dream to snatched away at the last moment.

Many of the fans were in tears. And now, with the referee checking his watch, the final whistle loomed. Hawkstone United, this proud club, this institution that meant so much to those who loved it, was about to draw its final breath.

Jamie picked up the ball just inside the Madrid half and tried to go on one final run, but his legs simply refused. Harry Armstrong had kept him on for the entire game. However, these last ten minutes had been too much for Jamie; his body had been out of action for too long. He had nothing left.

He flicked the ball out to Glenn Richardson on the right wing and staggered towards the box. As he took possession of the ball, there was just something about the lightness of Richardson’s movement, the ambition in his stride, that brought one final flurry of hope to the Hawkstone fans. As one, they stood up, straining to get a better view of the action.

In a whirl of skill and agility, Richardson beat his man and bent in a cross to the far post.

It was a powerful, deep centre and it was heading for the exact space where Jamie was now arriving.

The ball drifted over the goalkeeper’s head. It hit the ground and bounced up.

It was in the air, just five yards out from the goal. Suddenly it was there for the taking. Everything.

Jamie and the last Real Madrid defender began sprinting. They both knew whoever got there first would win the tie for their team.

Jamie powered forward, injecting every last jolt of pace he could conjure into his sprint. But the defender had a two-yard head start; the distance was too short for Jamie to make up the gap. The defender was already launching his boot at the ball to clear it.

Jamie’s football brain quickly clicked into action. It told him that there was now only one way Jamie could reach that ball before the defender cleared it for ever.

He had to go with his head.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew every piece of logic said he should protect himself. He knew the fear in his chest was a warning sign for him to stay on his feet…

But Jamie let his heart rule his head. He let his spirit lead his mind. And as he dived head first into the air, the world seemed to turn in slow motion.

He could see himself from above, diving towards the ball, just as the defender lashed his boot in the exact same direction.

As he glided through the air, Jamie understood that it had all been building up to this moment. Not just the last few months, but his whole life … ever since that day when his granddad had first given him a football. This was what it had all been leading towards…

The ball was on the line.

The defender swung his boot. Jamie Johnson dived forward. The crowd held their breath.