Man of the Match by Dan Freedman Read Free Book Online Page B

had been the best day of his life. Jamie had done the most amazing overhead kick in front of a full Hawkstone United crowd!
    It had been that day – that moment – that had given Jamie the confidence to believe, perhaps for the first time, that he really could make it as a professional footballer. . .
    Except tonight the dream was different. In it, instead of being himself, this time Jamie was a member of the crowd, watching on from the stands.
    He was out of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the pitch. He saw the young mascot flick the ball up and then leap into the air to execute the most perfectly beautiful overhead kick that you could hope to see. The ball flew into the back of the net, as though it was somehow desperate to get there.
    The supporters in the stands instinctively rose to their feet and clapped, all of them asking the exact same questions: “Who is that boy? What’s his name? He’s going to be some player. . .”
    And then Jamie saw the boy turn to each corner of the ground and drink in their applause.
    But in tonight’s dream, when the boy turned around, when he finally revealed his face, it was not Jamie’s eleven-year-old features that he saw. Instead it was those of the little kid he had met today, Robbie.
    In the dream, it was now Robbie who was lost in the joy of scoring a goal, bouncing around in ecstasy shouting the words, “I love football! I love football!” exactly as Jamie had done that day.
    Jamie woke up with a jolt. It was a jolt of both fear and realization.
    Fear that he might be letting his football career slip through his fingers.
    And realization of exactly what had been missing from his game for the last few months. What it was that he had lost.
    It was his love for football.
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    â€œI’m not interested, James,” said Raymond Porlock before Jamie had even begun his speech.
    â€œI know your ban’s finished. But that doesn’t make any difference to me. I do what’s best for this football club. And at the moment, that does not include picking you. End of story.”
    Jamie nodded. “I know,” he said. “And you’re right, Mr Porlock. Like you said: the team comes first. There’s just a few things I think I need to say. Need to get them off my chest. It’ll only take a couple of minutes . . . will you just hear me out?”
    Porlock took off his glasses and rested them on his desk. “Go on, then,” he said and, with a wave of his hand, motioned for Jamie to continue.
    For a second Jamie shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. He felt as though he were in a school play and he’d forgotten his lines. When he’d walked into Porlock’s office he’d known exactly what he’d wanted to say, but now his mind had gone blank. He couldn’t access a single word.
    â€œWell, come on, then!” ordered Porlock. “Stop prancing around like you’re in Riverdance and get on with it!”
    â€œWell. . . What it is, Mr Porlock,” started Jamie. “The last few days I’ve been, like, asking myself what I would be doing if I wasn’t a footballer. Maybe I’d be working in a sports shop, maybe I’d be a PE teacher, I don’t know, maybe I’d be a bin man. . . But my point is, whatever else I could do, nothing would be as good as being a footballer . . . and that’s not cos of the money, or being famous. It’s because I love it.”
    Jamie tried to remember the last time he had actually scored in a match. It had been too long. Way too long.
    â€œPlaying football – it’s the only thing I can do, Mr Porlock. The only thing I want to do. So let me play for Seaport Town again. Please . . . I’ll play anywhere you want me – in goal, I don’t care – just let me play football again. Let me show you what I can really do.”
    Raymond Porlock rested his elbows on his desk,