I’m in my brand-newretro room,as Trish calls it.On the walls are single shelves with vinyls on them and a classic looking record player on an old varnished oak sideboard.I would say I varnished it myself, but after watching two hours’ worth of very unhelpful videos and one “gargantuan meltdown”—Trish’s words, not mine—I think it was a reasonable response.I hired someone to do it for me.
I did feel a slight pang of “poor family guilt,” but I tipped him generously, which, in hindsight, made me feel worse, as I didn’t want him to think I was a privileged tosser.
I have my big headphones on, and I’m fully reclined in my classic brown leather La-Z-Boy chair when my phone buzzes from under my hand.I pauseJefferson Starshipand read the Instagram message.
AJ The Diver??
Hey, I know you’re still ignoring me, but we live closer to each other now.Can we please work out whatever issues we have with each other?Like I said before, I miss us.
I put my phone away without replying.When will people understand that just because they have access to your DM’s, you do not owe them your time or your response.Especially cheaters who dive to win cup games.I’ll do my talking on the pitch.Trish has asked me why I haven’t gone ahead and blocked him.I don’t know why I haven’t.I have thought about it, but then, I also thought about replying to him.Maybe I want him to see he’s not blocked and that my not replying is hurting him more than a block would.My mind is an irrational beast, always intent on causing me misery, and yet I can’t help it.
I put the album back on and close my heart a little more to AJ.
I’m actually here.In the hallowedUniondressing room.My exterior is hardened, as I don’t want to look like a kid who won a contest, but my insides are as giddy as a goat doing backflips.I go through my pre-match ritual, but with one small change.I can finally kiss the crest, like I used to when I played in the park.
The blood red kit warms my heart.It was surreal seeing my name on the back of the shirt and the number I've had since I was a kid: Thurston 9.I think about all the other famous number 9’s that have played for this club—and some awful ones too—and hope I can fall into the good famous side once I finish my career.
“First game of the season lads.We need to be up for it this year.New owners.New faces.Same passionate fans.We will not let them down this year.Every single game is going to be a cup final.I want your blood, sweat, and tears to be left on the pitch after every game.I want you to remember that people spend their hard-earned cash to watch you play.For some people, this is all they have.YOU are all they have.So don’t let them down.”
“YES COACH!”we all chant and stamp our studded feet on the concrete floor.
Now that’s a speech!We burst out of the changing room and head down to the tunnel.I can already hear our fans.They’re up for this.It sends a wave of anxiety down my entire body.I can sense the world getting small.I can hear voices near and far.Fuck.Fuck.Fuuuck.
“Thurston, you good?”Whitney, our Welsh keeper has his giant mitt on my shoulder.
“Yeah, all good.This has just been a dream for me, taking it all in,” I say, not so sure how the words sound, so I give him a stoic look.“I’m ready.”
“Good,” he says, and pats my back, hard enough to jolt me out of my funk.
We run out onto the pitch, and the noise of the crowd takes my breath away.They’re magnificent.This is my life.Nothing is going to take this away from me.I’m going to make sure of it.I join the huddle with my Union teammates, and Captain Shippers leads the team talk.He fires us up as much as Robins did.I love this club.
I make my way to my starting position, and the ref blows his whistle to start the game.Our fans are in fine voice.I was once a voice in that crowd, and now I’m on the pitch, playing for this club.I don’t have time to revel in it as the ball comes at me.I’m instantly surrounded by four Seasider players.I drop my shoulder to two of them, and back heel the ball through one of their legs, and peel off the final one.The crowd erupts at this, and a smile blooms on my face.I charge down on the goal.Another of their players comes in hot, and tries to slide tackle me.I dink the ball over his legs and continue my pursuit to goal.The keeper comes rushing out, I give him the eyes and slot it under him.I watch as the ball trundles into the back of the net.
I’ve scored.
I’ve scored for Union.
I’ve scored for Union at home.
I’ve scored for Union at home in my first game in the first minute.
I run to our fans—making sure not to dive into them.Wouldn’t want a yellow card to accompany my first goal.I use all my restraint, but I manage it, just, and slide on my knees while kissing the badge.I’m swamped by my teammates.
For the next fifteen minutes I’m marked harder, and a few heavy tackles are attempted on me, but the extra runs with Trish have paid dividends as I’m quicker than all of them.
In the thirty-seventh minute, Jackson finds me in a space outside the area, and I let fly with my favored left foot.The ball goes into the top corner.This is unreal.I repeat my knee slide and badge-kiss celebration, and the crowd eats it up.
We go into the break, two goals up, and I’m still on cloud nine.I’m thrown a banana by the fitness coach, and I eat it, and then wash it down with a bottle of water.Robins is praising us, but demanding more.
By the seventy-ninth minute, we conceded a goal, making it 2–1 to us.I can sense the fans' nerves.This would be the time when we would crumble.But not anymore.I dribble the ball past three players, play a neat one-two with Bradley, our right winger, and he lobs the ball over the top.I take it down with my right foot, shift to my left, and bury the ball into the bottom right corner.
I have just scored a hat trick on myUnion debut.I find myself at the bottom of a pile-on, and I couldn't be happier at this moment.This is the stuff of dreams.A hat trick on my debut for my hometown club.
The ref blows the final whistle, and I head over to our fans and celebrate with them.I take a few pictures and sign a few shirts.I listen for some homophobic slurs, but don’t hear anything.I ride this high all the way home.
Trish is in the living room with the evening game on; AJ’s City, and some post game snacks.
“Welcome home, superstar!”she says with a huge grin on her face.
