Saturday. Matchday 3.
11:00 AM. WBA U18 vs. DERBY COUNTY U18.
The academy game was a lesson in efficiency. Derby County was organized, tough, and stubborn, but they lacked excitement.
West Brom operated like a well-tuned machine and broke them down.
Ethan played 75 minutes. He didn't score a stunning goal or make a highlight-reel assist. He simply moved the ball around. Pass, move, scan, pass. He was the steady beat.
In the 40th minute, he received the ball in a tight space, drew two defenders, and sent a reverse pass to Tyrell. Tyrell squared it to the striker. Goal.
Final Score: 2-0 West Brom.
"Good job," Gareth said as Ethan came off, handing him a water bottle. "Professional. Rest up. We go again next week."
It was efficient. It was successful. And it felt oddly quiet. The forty parents on the sideline clapped politely. The players high-fived. It felt like finishing a day at a well-run office.
Ethan quickly showered, tossed his kit into his bag, and ran to the car park where his dad was waiting.
"Step on it, Dad," Ethan said, buckling his seatbelt. "Kickoff is in forty-five minutes."
2:55 PM. The Crestwood Stadium.
The contrast was striking.
As the car approached the ground, the air thickened with blue smoke. Oldham Athletic—a club with a rich history and dedicated fans—had brought 1,200 supporters.
The streets around the small stadium were crowded. Ethan squeezed through the turnstile, and the roar of the crowd hit him hard.
"OLDHAM! OLDHAM! OLDHAM!"
He climbed the steps of the Main Stand, scanning the rows of wooden seats. He wasn't sitting alone today.
"Ethan! Over here!"
He saw a hand waving. Mia was sitting near the halfway line, wrapped in a thick scarf that suspiciously resembled Callum's. She held a cup of tea with both hands.
Ethan shimmied past a row of knees and sat down next to her.
"Hey," Ethan grinned. "Are you braving the cold?"
"I'm freezing," Mia laughed, her nose pink. "And I think I'm deaf. Is it always this loud?"
"It's a big game," Ethan said, looking out at the pitch. "Oldham is huge."
He pointed to the center circle. Mason stood next to Sully. He looked small next to the Oldham striker, Gary "The Tank" Thompson.
"Look at Mason," Mia whispered, sounding worried. "That striker looks like he eats people."
"Mason will be fine," Ethan assured her, though a knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. "He likes the big ones."
Callum was on the bench, huddled in a coat that was too big for him, staring intently at the game.
"He's been pacing the living room all morning," Mia said softly, looking at Callum. "He's terrified he's going to mess up in front of the ultras."
The whistle blew.
For twenty minutes, it felt like a siege. Oldham attacked relentlessly.
Thompson, the striker, tested Mason immediately. A high ball came in. Thompson didn't jump; he just backed into Mason, using his elbows to create space.
Mason bounced off him. Thompson turned and smashed a shot against the bar.
"He's going to get crushed," Mia gasped, gripping her teacup.
"Watch," Ethan said.
Five minutes later, the same ball came in. Thompson backed in again.
This time, Mason stepped aside. Thompson fell backward into empty space and lost his balance. Mason nipped in, stole the ball, and made a calm pass.
"See?" Ethan smiled. "Brains over brawn."
Mia exhaled. "Thank God."
60th Minute. 0-0.
The game was a test of endurance. The pitch was falling apart.
"Sub!" The Gaffer shouted.
Callum stripped off his tracksuit, and a cheer rose from the Shed End.
"Here we go," Mia said, sitting up. She pulled out her phone, ready to record. "Come on, Cal."
Callum ran onto the pitch. The Oldham fans immediately started chanting "Who are ya?" at him.
"That's mean," Mia frowned.
"It's football," Ethan replied. "He's got to silence them."
Then, it happened.
Sully cleared a corner. The ball dropped over the halfway line. Callum turned. The Oldham left-back turned.
It wasn't a contest.
Callum unleashed his speed. He zipped past the defender like he was standing still. The chants died out instantly.
"Go on!" Mia screamed, jumping to her feet. "Run!"
Callum was through. One-on-one.
Ethan stood up next to her. Shoot, Cal. Just shoot.
Callum took a touch. He saw the massive keeper rushing out. He hesitated. Just for a split second.
In that moment, the defender slid in.
Whistle.
Ball won. Callum went flying.
Mia winced as Callum hit the mud hard. "Oh no."
Callum lay on the grass, pounding the turf with his fist. He knew the chance was lost.
Full Time: Crestwood 0 - 0 Oldham.
It was a hard-earned point. The Crestwood fans celebrated like they had won the league.
Ethan and Mia walked down to the tunnel area. Mason came over first, bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow.
"You look terrible," Mia told him, though she was smiling.
"Thanks, Mia," Mason grinned, wiping mud from his cheek. "Battle scars."
Then Callum walked over. He looked defeated. Shoulders slumped, head down.
"I froze," Callum muttered, avoiding eye contact. "I had it. And I froze."
"You were amazing," Mia said immediately, reaching over the barrier to squeeze his hand. "You were so fast, Cal. The whole stand stood up."
"I missed," Callum insisted.
"You got a point against the league leaders," Ethan stated firmly. "And you didn't hide. That's what matters."
Callum looked up at Mia. She wasn't looking at the scoreboard. She was looking at him with complete pride.
"I'm cold," Callum said, a small smile finally breaking through.
"I'll buy you a hot chocolate," Mia promised. "With the little marshmallows."
The Clubhouse. 6:00 PM.
The bar was packed.
Ethan sat in the corner with them. Mason was telling a group of older men about his fight with Thompson.
Callum sat next to Mia. She had her arm linked through his, resting her head on his shoulder. He looked tired, bruised, and disappointed, but he didn't look lonely.
"We missed you on Tuesday," Callum said to Ethan. "On the bus back from Gateshead. It was rough."
"I know," Ethan replied.
A silence fell. The gap was there again.
"Well," Callum said, raising his plastic cup. "To clean sheets."
"And marshmallows," Mia added softly.
Ethan clinked his bottle against their cups.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably Rick asking about engagement stats or Kofi posting about his assist.
Ethan looked at Callum and Mia. He noticed how she fixed his collar. He saw how Callum relaxed when she was near him.
Ethan realized then that while he was winning on the pitch, Callum was winning at something else entirely. And as he sat there in his clean, expensive tracksuit, Ethan felt a pang of jealousy that had nothing to do with football.
"To clean sheets," Ethan echoed quietly.