["Manchester, Munich, Turin, Munich again and Manchester again. Now he's in an unfamiliar land in London, with sixty thousand strangers asking of him to be their savior. After a very unbelievable season had by Tottenham Hotspurs, they are looking at a man that has haunted them down so many times during his playing days for a miracle, will he be able to answer the prayers"]
Inside of a colossal stadium that housed sixty thousand screaming football fans, a match was currently taking place. Tottenham Hotspurs versus Everton Football Club. Such a match used to be a blockbuster fixture back in the day, but sadly it was relegated to what was known as a relegation scrap.
Matchday thirty eight in the Premier League and either side needed a win to see them have any chance of staying up for the next Premier League season. Tottenham, more than Everton.
"Come on, come on..."
At the section allocated to the visiting team, David Moyes paced all over the touchline, staring nervously at the proceedings on the pitch. Tottenham were dominating the proceedings of the match, and that made the Scotsman nervous as it meant that they could score a goal at any given time.
On the other side of the pitch, a relatively young looking manager stood with a calm and composed look on his face. He calmly stared at the players who were playing with confidence that didn't belong to a side under the looming threat of relegation.
After a few seconds he rubbed his eyes as he was feeling sleepy and squatted again.
88'
[A/N: There are two commentators talking, one is in the normal font and I've kept the other in italic to help everyone understand it]
["This match is a potential decider yet we've not had any goals between the two teams so far. It's been pretty one dimensional with Tottenham firing so many shots at the Everton goal, but it seems Jordan Pickford is in the zone today, as he has made so many wonderful saves to keep the scores level"]
["Everton have also had a couple of chances to take the lead but they really haven't been able to put their chances to bed now, have they? It would be really difficult for them to score now"]
["Not necessarily. You know, football matches are won in moments. Tottenham have been taking control of the match from the onset but Everton just need one moment of pure footballing quality to put the ball in the back of the net and put this game to bed"]
As if the footballing gods were listening to that particular commentator, a goal was scored not long after he finished talking, just not to the team he was speaking in favor of. In other words... he jinxed them.
Conor Gallagher, Tottenham's January signing, regained possession in the middle of the field and in a rare fit of brilliance sent a long pass down the left flank to Xavi Simons who had drifted towards that area.
Xavi got the ball under control with his first touch and started dribbling towards the penalty box. He didn't cover much distance before he was double teamed by a couple of Everton players. Seeing as he was denied entry into the box, he shifted his body position, making it seem as if he was going to run down the flank, before sharply cutting inside, creating a bit of separation that allowed him to send a floated cross into the penalty box.
There were a sea of blue and white shirts inside the penalty box, but in the end, it was someone wearing a white shirt, with the name Richarlison, who jumped highest and headed the ball into the corner of the far post.
["Ball's won back by Gallagher who's sent a very good pass out wide to Xavi Simons. The Dutch attacker is inching closer to the box now, and he's sent a good ball in, AND RICHARLISON IS THERE!!! AND RICHARLISON SCORES!!! GOAL TOTTENHAM! AND WHAT A TIME TO SCORE!"]
["You know, you were just saying how much football is about moments, and it absolutely is, because what a moment to score that was, what a moment it is right now inside of the Tottenham Hotspur stadium"]
While everybody, from the players to the fans, were going wild with celebrations, there was maybe one person inside the entire stadium who didn't have much of a reaction on his face.
William Hutchingson stood on the touchline watching the proceedings with a stoic expression on his face. While his bench and his assistants behind him erupted into cheers and went to the field to celebrate with the man who scored the goal, he remained behind.
It wasn't over, not yet.
While three points today could help with their survival, it wasn't guaranteed. They had to hope that other results went their way.
The rest of the match passed without any hiccups and when the full time whistle blew, the players rushed to check their phones. But they didn't have to. The pin drop silence that reverberated inside the stadium was enough for them to know... shit had gone down.
The silence only lasted for a few moments before the fans found their voice again.
You're so fucking shit
You're so fucking shi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-t
Tottenham Hotspurs, you're so fucking shit
You're so fucking shit
You're so fucking shi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-t
William Hutchingson, you're so fucking shit
William stared at the fans, and then after making an apologetic gesture, went down the tunnel and into the locker room.
Everything else was a blur to him. He barely remembered what happened during the interview. He just knew that he had been sacked after the match, and that some hours later, he was inside his room trying to find the bottom of the proverbial bottle.
And then everywhere went dark.