The changing room on Saturday buzzed with a different kind of energy. It was just Eastfield—last in the league and still looking for a win. Yet for Crestwood, it felt like a classic "banana peel" game. For Ethan, it was his first real test in a new, complicated situation.
Coach Shaw stood in the middle of the room. "They're at the bottom of the league. They have nothing to lose and will play freely. If you are complacent, you won't be ready for that. They want to be the ones who end our unbeaten streak."
His gaze shifted, landing directly on Ethan, silencing the room. "And you, Matthews. You need to focus on this pitch for ninety minutes. Not in Spain. Not at West Bromwich Albion. Here. With us. Show me."
The blunt warning hit Ethan hard. As he stepped onto the pitch, the cheers from the home crowd mixed with the familiar faces of Eastfield parents he had known for years. He felt a desperate need to avoid mistakes.
For the first forty-five minutes, he barely made an impact.
He didn't play poorly, with no misplaced passes or lost balls. But he hesitated. He was holding back. Instead of driving into open space, he passed backward to Mason. Instead of attempting a risky pass to Callum, he took the safe option and passed to the fullback. He played not to lose, anxious about making a mistake that would prove Coach Shaw right or affect the West Brom scout, who wasn't even present.
The team was flat. Their creativity was nonexistent. Eastfield grew in confidence, defending well, and the half ended in a frustrating 0-0 draw.
In the changing room, Coach Shaw didn't raise his voice. He walked straight over to Ethan's locker. "What did I tell you?" he asked quietly. "To be focused, Coach," Ethan replied, feeling a sense of dread. "No," Shaw snapped. "I told you to be present. That player out there," he pointed toward the pitch, "is a ghost. He's afraid. You're too worried about your future. You're so scared of making a mistake that you've become one. I don't need a cautious player, Matthews. I need my number ten. Now, go out there and figure out who you are."
Those words hit more than any shout. Ethan returned to the pitch as the second half began, his mind clearer. He was angry at himself.
In the 51st minute, he received the ball in midfield. The same safe pass to Mason was there. The risky pass to Callum was also an option. He didn't waver. He trusted his skill and his teammate, threading the ball with precision.
It broke through the defense. Callum was in. He scored easily, placing the ball in the bottom corner. 1-0.
This time, Callum didn't just acknowledge Ethan; he ran over, grabbed him by the head, and shouted, "That's it! That's the pass!"
The goal lifted the pressure. The fear vanished, replaced by a simple joy in the game. Ten minutes later, Ethan got the ball just inside Eastfield's half. He saw space open up and ran for it. He feinted past one midfielder, nutmegged a defender, and as the keeper rushed out, he calmly chipped the ball over him into the empty net.
It was a goal of pure brilliance, the kind he hadn't scored since he was a carefree kid in Eastfield.
The game finished 2-0. As the team walked off, Callum put an arm around Ethan's shoulder. "So, are you back with us?" "Yeah," Ethan replied, breathing heavily but smiling. "I'm back."
He spotted Coach Shaw by the tunnel, who gave him a quick nod before disappearing. Ethan had faced a challenge and succeeded. He had shown his coach, teammates, and himself that the pressure of the future wouldn't distract him from the present. Now, he could allow himself to think about West Brom.