One Final Chance

Chapter Four

Tony Matthews sat down on the bench next to Marc Hancock, Trentside's young, chiselled, ambitious assistant manager. There were a few dozen supporters watching the match, far less than had watched Tony in Barcelona's youth matches. Hooper's fan girls were on the opposite side of the pitch in their leather miniskirts, waving their pink and white banners, this time with added glitter. There were a few old men behind the goal, dressed for the weather in thick waterproof coats, taking a break from walking their dogs. There were a few family members, and then there were the most important spectators: the half-a-dozen scouts from premiership clubs who had come down to watch the game. They were dressed normally, but everyone knew they were scouts. Matthews wondered if he would ever get the chance to impress them, he tried to guess which teams they represented.

"Hey, Matthews," Hancock said, "Focus on how their number five plays, work out his weaknesses. If you come on, it'll give you the edge."

He watched as their number five started the game well, blocking a pass from Coulson and then playing a through ball for Kingston's number ten.

"Don't think you are special just 'cos you played for Barcelona," said Hancock, "Hooper played at Manchester United for a while before joining us. He's still convinced they're going to call him up and say that they made a mistake letting him go."

"Why did they release him?"

"Too arrogant, didn't apply himself in training. He thought he was the best player at the club, I don't even think he's the best player at Trentside. There's a lesson for you in that somewhere."

Hooper controlled the ball on his chest before laying it off to Bannister who shot straight at the goalkeeper.

"Who do you think is the best then?" asked Matthews.

"I reckon Coulson could go all the way, maybe even play for England," Hancock said of Trentside's number six, "A few of the scouts are here to watch him specifically. He's got it all: vision, touch, composure..."

Kingston were on the attack now. A one-two between their winger and number eight caught Gill out of position. The cross came in and Kingston's striker headed it past Reed who was diving the wrong way. The striker lifted his arms up in celebration. Then held his head in disbelief as somehow Finlay Reed had got a hand to the ball and kept it out. The ball went behind for a corner. Dave Bryan ruffled Reed's bleached white hair to show his appreciation.

"If Reed were taller, he'd be at a top side already," said Hancock.

The resulting corner came in and Coulson went to volley it clear. Suddenly there was a loud snap and an awful howl of pain. Louis Coulson was lying in a heap on the floor; the knee of his standing leg had taken the full force of Kingston's number ten. It was mangled like a horror show. One of the fan girls was in tears. Coulson was in tears too. Hancock was already off the bench and by his side. The look on his face said it all. Coulson's injury was bad, very bad. His footballing career was over.

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