1-0
I punched the air in exhilaration and jogged off to celebrate with the team. As I high-fived everyone, Pedro pulled my shirt and started rubbing my hair. Juan followed with a harsh pat to my back. I could only chuckle wryly before getting away and back to position for kick-off.
However, the excitement of our goal was wonderful but short-lived. We were not able to hold on for more than 5 minutes against a renewed intent and conceded in the sixth minute of the second half. Their star striker met a dipping cross at the near post and ran off to the corner to celebrate.
1-1
I will admit it took me a moment to comprehend what had just happened. I felt the wind chill my body when the realization dawned upon me. Prying my eyes away from the celebrations, I clapped my hands a few times. Coach Diego at the touchline was waving his hands at the team to return to positions for kickoff. Catching my eye, he raised an index finger to his mouth and tapped it before mouthing, "Speak up."
I understood that he wanted me to instruct the other players, but I couldn't. All my attention was dedicated to scanning the field and keeping a constant eye on their forwards. I did not understand how I could guide the team simultaneously. Out of the corner of my eyes, I looked at Uncle Ferran. I found him already staring at me. He nodded his head when our eyes met. No clever smile, no mysterious wink, but a whole lot of confidence. I guess I can give it a try.
…
I still could not split my attention through most of the match, but I would signal or shout an instruction whenever the ball went out of play. The game reverted to a balance with neither side gaining any advantage. The ticking stopwatch brought with it a sense of urgency for both teams. Nearing the 36th minute of the match, I noticed their fullbacks join the attack. Watching this trend continue, I signalled Juan to drift wider.
In the 40th and final minute of the match, I intercepted a through ball and, without a look, booted it forward to the left wing. I looked up to see the ball fall wider than I had intended it to, but Juan had plenty of space to reach it and carry it forward. He took one big touch towards the goal and another away from the first defender. The touch gave the second defender time to reach Juan. Under pressure, he shot with his left foot from a tight angle. Unfortunately, their keeper deflected the powerful shot out for a corner kick.
As I walked up to the box, I felt a tangible shift in the energy. The final chance of the game was ours to convert. I positioned myself at the edge of the six-yard box. The opponent's defender pushing back into me. I swivelled my head for one last scan before pinning my attention to Pedro, who was taking the first step of his run-up.
Pedro curved the ball into the path of Rico, who was running towards the near post. The opposition keeper also jumped to where Rico expected to head the ball. But then, Rico and the keeper slowed, their shouts quieted down.
I saw it clearly. The ball did not dip when it should have. My marker, with every other player, was too focused on the ball. I shifted my weight and sprinted in large strides to the far post.
I ran as hard as I could, but the ball was gradually dipping out of my reach, destined to go out for a goal kick. There was no time to think. The ball beckoned me. How could I not give in? So, I dove with an outstretched right leg. My left leg folded, and my left arm braced for impact with the ground.
Finally, I closed my eyes...