It all comes together against Port Peterson. We use the skills Coach taught us and the tricks that we honed on each other to cut down our opponents. We’re unstoppable. Determined. United.
It’s how we could’ve played all season. Crisp passing. Pretty touches. Strong cuts to open space. Three options for every pass. As unpredictable as a pinball game. Everything we practiced, using every player.
Julio scores off a corner five minutes in.
I steal the ball back and angle a pass upfield. Danny sends it down their throats.
Gil catches a long ball on the volley and bam! It’s in.
I jet into space to score the last goal. Roll the ball past the keeper and just inside the far post.
Port Peterson never gives up. It takes every man and three yellow cards to fight them off. But when the final whistle goes, the score is 4–0.
We’re going to the semis.
The celebration on the field doesn’t stop on the bus. If anything, it’s louder.
“We Are the Champions” blares at the back.
The chirping and the chatter. The thump of someone hitting the floor. The laughter. This is how it’s supposed to be. This is a team.
Alex comes to sit with me.
“Too loud back there for you?” I ask.
“Too rowdy. I got tackled less by Port Peterson.”
Alex leans back with his hands behind his head. “You know, a month ago I wouldn’t have said it. But the way we played the last two games, we might just pull this off.”
“We’re a million times better.” I pause for a moment, considering. “We’re even better than when Jonesy was playing with us.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Me neither.” Feels disloyal, but it’s true. We’ve all improved. Even Gil.