AJ
My return game isn’t until tomorrow.Training has been a welcome relief from the isolated boredom I’ve endured.When I train, I put my headphones on and shuffle a workout playlist.I try to block everything out—despite generally being a people person.However, due to my newfound status as a “bad boy”—according to all the shitty papers—and my stint on the England squad, playing for the best team in the world, I’ve had to use gyms at night.I thought it would be awful, but I soon welcomed the quiet gym.
Going there at 1:00 am, I can run on the treadmill for forty minutes straight without anyone asking when I’ll be done.Same with all the other equipment.Most nights I was alone, save for one or two other people, and they had no idea who I was.When I wasn’t at the gym, I was at home with my parents: Dad trying to create an action plan, Mum feeding me up and telling me I seem lonely.Dad’s plan was for me to hold a press conference and tell the media I was drunk and that it will never happen again.
He’s been in contact with my coach, and according to Dad, he’s on board with this plan.Mum, on the other hand, is still insisting that Kyle comes over for dinner.I haven’t broachedthatsubject with him yet.Our conversations have been light, sending a meme of our “fight” here and there.According to social media, I should be sentenced to prison.
A lot of rival fans are thinking up songs to serenade me with, mostly calling me prison-bait.The flag shaggers still hate how I look, and they’re really going to hate my new look.My nails are a light blue, and my hair is now shaven on the sides, with a long fringe swept to the side in a very light blond.I like this look, it’s probably my favorite one so far.
With nothing else to do, I decide to watch Kyle’s game.Not that I was going to do anything else anyway.I wouldn’t miss his game for anything.The cameras keep panning to him on the bench.His face is focused, and he’s sitting alone.I know he’s thinking how he’s going to change the game when he gets on.His team are currently 2–1 down.Since our suspensions, my team has dropped two points and his team haven’t won a game.We sit in second place, and they are now in fourth.
“And there’s Kyle—as you all know, he’s been in hot water lately due to what is being called ‘Two Lions in a Brawl.’Even though, from the looks of it, Kyle was the innocent one in all this, he still got punished.This is his first game back, and it’s no secret his team has missed him.”
“You’re right there, the goals have dried up.They look as lost as they did most of last season.It’s incredible how much he has impacted the club already.”
“A lot of people raised eyebrows about him being bought.Those same eyebrows were raised when he was selected to play for England.But those eyebrows have suddenly looked a little sheepish.”
“There’s no denying his quality at all.I can’t wait to see what he does, if and when he comes on.”
Great, any hope of this dying down is not going to happen.Something bigger and more exciting has to happen first.But what is bigger than a perceived fight between two upcoming pros?
I head into the kitchen for a healthy snack and a bottle of water, and then park myself back on the sofa.The commentators are right, without Kyle, there doesn’t seem to be much shape.He has always had this uncanny ability to slot into teams and make everyone on his team work harder and run that little bit faster.One of his many amazing qualities.
“And here he comes, Kyle Thurston.”
“Look at his face.Eyes focused on the game.I bet he has been waiting for this moment since his suspension.”
Kyle sprints onto the pitch and barks orders to his teammates like a captain.He has always been great at that too, a real leader.
The ball is played into him, and he wriggles past an oncoming midfielder before playing a neat one-two with his winger around a defender.With his eyes firmly on goal, he shapes himself up for a shot, but the keeper is equal to it.The crowd are serenading him with songs, as usual, and then there’s a counter-chant from the away fans,
“Fight, fight, wherever he may be,
Kyle got decked in a back alley”
Not the most well-crafted of lyrics, but it picks up momentum.The commentators are doing their best to talk over it, and the sound engineers are trying to mute it without being suspicious.
Kyle picks up the ball in his own half, and I have never seen him, or anyone, run so fast with the ball.He looks possessed, weaving in and out of players, jumping over tackles, and now he has his sights on the goal again.
The keeper rushes out, but Kyle sidesteps him andwalksthe ball into the goal.He then does his trademark knee celebration in front of the home fans, which instantly silences the away ones.Job done.The score is now 2–2.
I don’t quite believe what I’m seeing, but Kyle wins the ball back from them instantly after their kick off and goes on another mazy run.This time the keeper stays on his line so Kyle belts the ball into the top corner.The stadium erupts into cheers.His song is sung out from the rafters.I can’t help but clap and cheer along.
“Kyle Thurston.He dreamed of playing for Union.
Scores goals in his sleep.
In hiiiis sleeeeep.”
Slightly more catchy, and it’s better than my song.
I am so proud of him.
The game ends 3–2 to his team, and all the talk after the game is about Kyle, as it should be.
Watching Kyle yesterday has lit a fire under my ass.I want to make as much an impact as he has, and I get my chance on the hour mark.Our away fans give me a warm welcome back.The home fans rain a chorus of boos onto me.The reception is polarizing.As soon as I get the ball, I’m tackled from behind, but to the sheer joy of the home fans, the ball comes to me again a few moments later.I nod it on to my winger—England teammate Rockwell.He runs down the channel and into traffic, forcing him to pass the ball back to the left-back, Millers, who plays a nice bit of passing with McIntyre.He then threads a ball to me, splitting the defense in half like a hot knife through butter.With the goal in my sights, I put my head down over the ball and smash it into the top corner, past the keeper's outstretched hands.
The goal puts us 3–0 up.We take our foot off the gas for the remainder of the game, but I manage to get an assist too, making the final score 4–0 The home side use me as their pantomime, villain-booing me every time I touch the ball.I should be happy with the result, but I want more.I know I can give more too.
