Saturday, October 2nd. 3:00 PM. The Hawthorns.
Premier League. Matchday 7.
West Bromwich Albion vs. Sheffield United.
The Premier League is a tough competition with 38 matches that feel like a balancing act over a deep chasm. Every mistake can become a global sensation in seconds, and each point seems like captured territory in a battle. The October air at The Hawthorns was tense as the game remained tied at 0-0 in the 70th minute.
Sheffield United set up a strong defense. They filled their penalty area with tall, experienced center-backs, challenging West Brom to cross the ball.
Ethan Matthews wiped sweat from his forehead. His legs felt heavy from the intense pace of the top flight, pulling at his hamstrings. But his mind was clear.
"Stop crossing it!" Ethan shouted at his full-back, who had just sent another ineffective ball into the box, easily cleared by a 6-foot-3 defender. "Keep it on the ground! Draw them out!"
Julian Vance stood on the sideline in his tailored suit, arms crossed, nodding in agreement.
75th Minute.
Ethan dropped back to get the ball from the center-halves. This time, he didn't look for the wingers. He went straight down the middle. He moved the ball forward, forcing the Sheffield United midfield to come out and challenge him.
When their defensive midfielder stepped up, Ethan made a quick, sharp pass to Jaden Kalu in space. Kalu returned it immediately—a perfect one-two.
Ethan didn't touch it to control it. He was twenty-five yards out, and the ball was sitting nicely on the slick grass.
He planted his left foot—the knee felt solid—and struck through the center of the ball with his laces. He locked his ankle, putting no spin on the shot.
The ball shot from his boot like a cannonball. With no spin, the air created strange drag over the seams of the leather. It stayed flat for twenty yards, then dipped suddenly and swerved violently to the right.
The Sheffield United goalkeeper dove, stretching out every inch.
He grasped at empty air.
The ball crashed into the top corner, rattling the metal stanchion.
GOAL.
West Brom 1 - 0 Sheffield United.
The Hawthorns erupted in a wave of sound. Ethan didn't run to the corner flag. He sprinted toward the dugouts, letting out a roar of pure adrenaline. He slid on his knees, kissing the West Brom badge on his chest. Then, he kissed the white tape on his right wrist—the tape that covered the watch Mason and Callum had given him in Ibiza.
For the boys in the trenches.
5:15 PM. The Home Dressing Room.
The music was loud. Julian Vance was actually smiling—a rare sight.
The door opened, and a club media official walked in with a bottle of champagne. "Man of the Match, Ethan," the official smiled, handing him the heavy green bottle. "Great strike. Sky Sports wants a quick interview in ten minutes."
"Thanks," Ethan said, taking the bottle.
He sat down at his locker and grabbed his phone. The thrill of the Premier League win was fading, quickly replaced by the usual anxiety he felt every Saturday at 5:00 PM.
He opened the group chat.
Status: League Two.
Crestwood United 0 - 2 Colchester United.
Ethan stared at the screen. Another loss.
He didn't text the group. Instead, he navigated to his contacts and called Mason. It rang four times before Mason answered.
"Hey," Mason's voice sounded flat, tired.
"Hey, Mase. Saw the score. Sorry, mate."
"It's fine," Mason replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. "We were terrible. The Gaffer locked us in the dressing room for forty minutes. He threw a tea tray at the wall."
"How's the ankle?" Ethan asked quietly.
"Still swollen. I watched from the stands again with Cal and Mia. It's a miserable way to spend a Saturday, Eth. Watching your team struggle and not being able to play." Mason paused. The line was quiet except for the sound of the Crestwood team bus engine starting. "I saw your goal on the TV. Unbelievable strike. Top corner."
"Thanks," Ethan said, glancing down at the Man of the Match champagne by his feet. Suddenly, he felt guilty about it.
"Don't sound so sad about scoring in the Prem," Mason chuckled dryly. "One of us has to be winning."
"It feels wrong to celebrate when you guys are facing trouble," Ethan admitted.
"Stop that," Mason insisted, his captain's authority coming through. "You earned it. You're carrying the flag for us right now. Cal is in a brace for six weeks. I'm limping around like an old man. You keep scoring against the big teams. It's the only thing keeping us sane."
Ethan tightened his grip on the phone. "I'm coming down to Eastfield tomorrow. I'll bring lunch. We'll watch the Sunday games at Callum's flat."
"Sounds good," Mason replied. "Bring something unhealthy. We need the calories."
Ethan hung up. He looked at the bottle of champagne. He didn't want to open it. He carefully packed it into his duffel bag.
"Ethan! Sky Sports is waiting!" the media officer called out.
Ethan took a deep breath, put on a professional smile, and walked out into the corridor. The Premier League was his playground today, but the real pressure he felt was far away in a League Two relegation zone.