"ONE NIL! THE PRINCE HAS RETURNED! BARNSLEY ARE IN DREAMLAND!"
The commentator's voice was practically vibrating inside Michael's earpiece, a hysterical, screaming buzz that matched the electricity coursing through his own veins.
Michael Sterling stood in the technical area, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
Danny Fletcher had just scored. They were beating Leeds United.
"Sit down, Boss," Arthur rasped from the bench, though the old scout was smirking so hard his face looked like it might crack.
"The game is not 16 minutes long."
"Let me enjoy it for thirty seconds, Arthur," Michael laughed, glancing back at the stands.
He saw his sister, Jessica, jumping up and down, waving her 'FLETCHER 9' scarf like a maniac. He saw his Mom, Catherine, clapping elegantly but with a wild gleam in her eyes.
But Arthur was right.
