The ball was in the air.
Soaring high over rain wet bangs and heavy breathing coming from twenty two sweaty, smelly teenagers, running around on the grass field. Happily ignorant to the fact that it was what it was really all about- the one fixed point in the universe that everything else revolved around. That it was the star of the show, the compass of the field- the sun itself.
As the star made of polyurethane from Nike, began its journey down to the pitch Ichiro was already on the run.
He was sprinting.
Maybe not as fast as he could, but fast enough so that he would be the first to reach the ball when it decided to return to mother earth.
Their left-back was running as well. The guy had already cut Ichiro down from behind a few minutes earlier, and had been shown a yellow card.
Now, just like then, he was behind him. He was running as fast as he could. Ichiro could hear how he was panting and groaning as he tried to squeeze out just an ounce more from his big body, so as to catch up to Ichiro.
But he wouldn't. There was no fucking way he would catch up this time. He was way too slow and he was too far behind.
A little to the right ahead of Ichiro, there came this tractor of a center-back rushing, as if he had caught the smell of a fellow female tractor. His tractor-face was scrunched up, almost like he was constipated with the century´s biggest shit.
Had Ichiro had a little more time, he might have stopped and laughed at the tractor-defender- maybe even made a joke of some sorts. Reality though, was far too cruel. There was rarely enough time in football to take your time to make a joke or laugh at your opponent, something Ichiro thought was unfortunate.
Anyway, the ball was on its way down and despite two angry defenders trying to hunt him down, it was pretty clear that Ichiro would reach the ball first.
So, then the question that popped in his head was; what was he going to do once he got there first?
As Ichiro saw it, he had three options:
He could bring down the ball with his right foot, burst down the left flank, and try to whip it in with his left. Now the problem was, his left foot was not the most reliable, and to be fair, there weren't exactly many teammates in the box either. Actually, there was only one- Ryan. And if Ichiro was completely honest, he would probably let the ball go over the sideline than pass it to that rat.
He could hammer the ball on the first touch and score a volley. That was to in no way say that would be easy. It would be very difficult and the chances of him skying the ball was relatively high.
He could bring the ball down and on the first touch cut inside in front of the tractor, and then from the corner of the box curl it in the top corner. Sort of a reverse Mo Salah.
Now, Ichiro didn't really have the time to think all this while he was storming down the pitch. He didn't even have time to think Worcestershire- if he had wanted to.
However, something like that must have been going through his head, because when Ichiro reached the ball he knew exactly what to do.
Bringing down the ball with his right foot, Ichiro cut sharply to his right. The tractor-defender tried to change his direction, but his large body wouldn't let him. So as he passed the tractor, Ichiro was tempted to stick out his tongue or maybe gift him a wink accompanied with a million dollar grin.
He held it back.
Having passed the center-back, Ichiro had the goal in his vision- and as he had thought, he did. He hit the ball as hard as he could, hitting it so that it would curve inwards. And as synthetic leather from Puma met polyurethane from Nike, Ichiro knew he had hit it perfectly. The collision between the two brands sent an electric current from my foot, through my leg, up into my chest and straight into my brain where it exploded like fireworks.
The ball cut through the air, curling past the fully stretched out Liverpool keeper and buried itself in the back of the net- the beautiful sound of the net rustling singing the confirmation of his goal.
Yeah!
His body screamed of Ecstasy. He dived forward, sliding on the rain-wet grass, feeling like he was on cloud nine.
After all his hard work, after all his lows, after all the struggles- he had done it. He had sealed the win. He alone had decided the final, in overtime, and with a spectacularly beautiful goal as well. As his teammates jumped upon him, joining in the celebration, Ichiro basked in the cheers of the 90 000 supporters on Wembley.
Actually that last part wasn't exactly true. It was more like 25 000, but that number also felt huge. Ichiro felt like he had peaked, like life couldn't become any better. It was birthday, Christmas and New Year's Eve all at once.
He had won it for them in the FA Youth Cup final, 2-1 against Liverpool. And this, in a season that they had struggled. They had finished in the middle of the table in the league, and was knocked out early in most of the other competitions they had participated in. So it was cool to finally win something. And it was even cooler to be the one to decide it.
It was like Ichiro was hovering over the wet grass on Wembley, his head in a cloud of confetti and sunshine, as his teammates was patting his back, smacking his ass, screaming and singing him praises with giant grins on their faces.
And in the middle of the cheers, praises, patting and smacking, Ichiro heard a sound.
"DING!"
"…."
"WHAT THE FUUU…"