Chapter 177: First Half
"Ooh! Number 19 is with the ball again..."
David Stowell’s voice crackled through the airwaves, brimming with anticipation.
"David Jones," added Michael Bridges, the co-commentator, his tone sharpening. "The 16-year-old making his debut tonight for Manchester United. He’s moving down the right flank... but he’s up against Tyrick Mitchell. That’s a real test."
David’s boots slapped against the slick turf, the ball tethered close to his foot. Rain clung to his lashes. Every stride sent a dull ache pulsing through his left leg—but he clenched his jaw and pushed on. Tyrick Mitchell was waiting. Calm. Calculated. Like a lion stalking prey, not pouncing—just watching.
David hesitated. His breath came in shallow gasps. Then—he burst forward, flinging in a sharp feint to the left.
"He’s tried to throw him with a shimmy," said Stowell.
"And he’s beaten him for pace again!" Bridges exclaimed. "That’s lovely footwork from Jones!"
But it wasn’t clean. Not like before. The burst had cost him. His left leg dragged slightly behind the right—just enough to throw off his balance.
He stretched, boot flashing out to reach the ball he’d knocked ahead. But Mitchell had turned. Quick. Efficient. The gap closed in seconds.
David gritted his teeth. He could feel the defender’s body now—pressing into him, forcing a reaction. Mitchell leaned in, the shoulder-to-shoulder contact more like a wall collapsing into him.
No way around. No way through.