More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Six

I was upset about not being in the England squad for the international break.  It wasn't disappointment about not being selected, because I had known there was no possibility of that happening; it was more the idea of missing out on the experience that had me bitter.

The week of training was unusual: without so many big personalities in the team and, most importantly, with none of my closest teammates there, training felt almost soulless.  Frank did his best to try and lift the spirit at Cobham, but even he gave up on Friday and called training off early.

England were playing at Wembley on the Saturday night.  I'd been planning to go since the fixture was announced, and throughout the day my anticipation as well as my envy grew.  It would be hard sitting on the stands watching my team play, but I loved going to Wembley and watching the side too much to miss it.

Emma Washington had instantly snapped up my extra ticket.  I had known Emma since I was eight: we grew up together playing for the Wolves academy and stayed exceptionally close even when I left for Chelsea when I was seventeen. She had broken into the Wolves first team the season that I'd been injured, so thankfully we hadn't had to face enough in the Premier League yet.  It was tough having her far away, but with her parents living in London greater, she still had plenty of reasons to come visit me.

Emma had been at my house for most of the day already by the time we departed for Wembley.  We ate at a restaurant on route to the stadium and then decided to walk the rest of the way instead of getting a taxi.  Spending time with my mate and soaking up the atmosphere meant my spirits were high when we arrived at Wembley.

Thanks to one of my sponsors, I'd managed to score tickets in a box, which was an added bonus.  A couple of familiar faces greeted me and Emma as we entered and after snacking on a selection of free platters and making some small talk, we took our seats for the game.

From our vantage point, I made out Mason instantly.  He was standing between Kyle and Hannah Kingsley, my rival in more than one way. The City left back had taken my place in the team, obviously, and it pained me to admit that she had been doing a pretty good job.  My stomach twisted as I watched Mason throw an arm around her shoulder before the opening chords of God Save the Queen sounded around the ground. 

The anthem was what threw my good mood out of the window.  I yearned to be on the pitch with the rest of the team; I needed to be back with them. As good as Hannah's current form was and as nice of a girl as she was, I sent silent hate towards her as the team stripped off their jackets and lined up for the picture.

"You good?  You look like you're about to murder someone, Beck."

I had been so caught up in the moment that I'd almost forgotten Emma was next to me.  She was pointing towards the pitch, her eyebrows raised in amusement. My thoughts had clearly been easy to read on my face and I felt my cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"I just want to be out there," I muttered. "And it's easy to hate Hannah from up here."

"She's so sweet, though," Emma laughed. "When we played City, she tackled Ruiz pretty badly and for, like, ten minutes after the game she apologised."

"Maybe she should toughen up."  Emma laughed at my sulky voice. "Weakling."

"Don't hate the player; hate the game."

"Why did I invite you again?"

Our laughing almost drowned out the sound of the starting whistle, but my attention was fully focused back on the pitch below us as the stadium echoed with cheers.

The game was relatively good.  Bulgaria weren't a fantastic team and it was clear that, even with us not playing our best, we would come away with a simple win. The first half ended with us two nil up, with goals coming from Marcus Peterson and a pen from George Carroll. Emma and I shared a plate of snacks in the break and as the second half progressed, I started losing interest in the game.