Free Shoot to Win by Dan Freedman

slipped his boot under it instead. He was going for the chip.
    Everyone had expected him to go for the pile-driver, including Calum Fogarty, the Kingfield goalkeeper, who had come off his line. Now Calum was caught in no-man’s-land, only able to look on helplessly as the shot curved and arced above him towards the goal.
    The ball glided gloriously, almost softly, through the air, and, for that second, there was complete silence as all the players on the pitch and all the supporters in the stands watched it follow its seemingly pre-programmed path.
    Then the swish and ripple of the net broke the silence as the ball found the top corner.
    The Breswell supporters started jumping up and down, celebrating; they were going crazy!
    They unfurled a big banner, which read: “Breswell – it’s like watching Brazil!”
    Meanwhile, Hansard was chasing the referee up the touchline.
    â€œThat was a rolling ball, ref!” he shouted. “Bring the play back!”
    â€œI gave the attacking team the advantage,” said the referee. “The goal stands.”
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    â€œGet 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.
    â€œHere, 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.
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    â€œWhat’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.
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œFootball’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?”

 
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    â€œNo luck?” asked Mike as Jamie walked back towards him with his head bowed. “He must just be giving them five more minutes. Keep yourself loose, though – he could bring you on at any time.”
    â€œMike,” said Jamie. “Give it up, yeah? He’s not gonna put me on. He hates my guts. He hates our guts.”
    Mike looked sad.
    â€œI’m sorry, JJ,” he said. “I really am. You don’t deserve this.”
    Jamie could see Mike’s face redden with anger as he caught sight of Hansard coming out for the second half.
    There were two birds circling in the air above Hansard. Jamie prayed that they might splat their droppings all over his bald head.
    â€œI’m going to have a word with him,” said Mike, kicking over an empty water bottle. “Maybe old Hilary needs a little shock to help him change his mind.”
    â€œNo point, Mike,” argued Jamie, pulling him back. “If you get involved, it won’t change anything. It’ll just make it worse.”
    Mike shook his