PHWEEEEEEEEET!
The referee's whistle was a tiny, sharp sound, immediately swallowed by the roar of 40,000 screaming Chelsea fans.
Michael Sterling stood in the director's box, his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest. His suit felt too tight. The expensive chair felt all wrong.
This was Stamford Bridge. This was the FA Cup Quarter-Final.
This was insane.
In his ear, the commentator was already going crazy, his voice cracking with excitement.
"AND WE ARE OFF! It is the 'Kings of Europe' versus the 'Barnsley Braves'! David versus Goliath doesn't even begin to cover it, folks! Chelsea, the billion-pound squad, look calm, they look arrogant, they look like they want this over by halftime!"
Michael watched as the Chelsea players, all [CA 85+] superstars, zipped the ball around. Their movements were so fast, so clean. It was like watching a different sport.
A jolt of pure, cold fear shot down Michael's spine.
They're so fast...
