Lathan enters the Bridgeport locker room, where Coach Mantoonen a tall and burly individual wearing his favourite blue and white Quasarball cap with a whistle around his neck and clipboard on tow stood in front of the other players who were sitting on the benches. Coach gives Lathan a look of mock surprise and looks at his watch. Lathan feels the barrage of expressivities coming at the vein on the right hand side of his neck was starting to throb.

  “What time do you call this Thorne?” Coach says simmering with rage.

  “I’m so sorry coach I,”

  “Yeah you didn’t think did you Thorne? Didn’t you?” Coach creeping every closer with his bottom lip trembling with rage.

  Suddenly the five foot eleven inches of Lathan Thorne felt small and the larger presence of Coach Mantoonen who is was all the more larger.

  “No Coach I didn’t think.” Lathan said thinking that if he takes the blame early then the berating could be less severe.

  “I should drop you. Do you want me to drop you Thorne?”

  “No Coach!”

  “I mean everyone else was on time,” Coach looks at his watch once again. “You have come nearly forty minutes late. Everyone abided by their words and their pledge to this school and yet my number ten, my star player comes in nearly forty minutes late.”

  “I’m so sorry coach. I’m sorry.” Lathan said to everyone in the locker room. “I’m sorry.”

  “You know you can beat Starzancer’s record today?”

  “Yes coach.”

  “The press will be there. You do know that Thorne?”

  “No coach I did not.”

  Coach stays silent. The whole room stays silent and the tension is almost unbearable. Lathan feels beads of sweat come across his forehead. “Suit up we’re going to need you out there.”

  “Yes Coach.” Lathan said exhaling deep breath of relief and he goes to his locker.

  Lathan opens the locker door and sees his uniform which is a red and white armoured suit. The armoured suit including armoured helmet, elbow and kneepads. The armour locks linking the whole suit together also allows the mobility of the Quasarball uniform of bending, jumping and running.

  These were the same suits that are used by the galactic fleet in battle. The suit fitted isn’t tight as another layer inside the armoured suit bonds with the body the armour itself is bulky allowing even someone of little build to look like that they have a decent muscular structure. Lathan had at the back of his jersey Thorne 10 and at the front was just the number ten. His helmet which wasn’t pointed at the top, but more was like a rydercycle helmet which fitted the head shape of its wearer perfect, but still had enough padding between head and helmet to take a large amount of impact.

  While Lathan looked at his uniform and he realised that he had totally forgotten about Siran Starzancer’s scoring record which he could beat today with three goals. Starzancer’s record consisted of how many field goals scored in a season Starzancer remained at 51, before his graduation and his joining of the galactic fleet. Lathan was on 49 for the season and this was a record that even professional Quasarball players couldn’t beat in their time. Lathan looks at the triumphant picture he has of Starzancer lifting the Golden Quasar trophy a collegic trophy. A match which ironically was his last like Lathan’s and where Starzancer also beat the record set previously by Morton Slainhorst of New Copenhagen high.

  Lathan self admittedly modelled his game on Siran Starzancer and there was also a huge case of hero worship of the guy.. Lathan before every game as he does takes out his galactic fleet trade card of Starzancer who dark black hair and blue eyes indicated more of the look of a rebel then a much lauded hero.

  Lathan sits and puts the trade card which shows height, weight, date of birth, battles and kills on it as well as an accuracy rating Starzancer’s is an amazing 94% . Lathan admires Starzancer’s stats and near hero-worship he receives as the most popular and decorated member of the galactic fleet all the age of twenty one no less. Lathan thinks of the time he dreamt of being like his hero, admired and wanted and most importantly respected.

  By the time he put on his Quasarball uniform Coach was explaining the plays for the final game against Winterbrook high a New South East London a team that was known for their rough house tactics and extremely physical approach.

  “They will attack us hard down the wings and their centre perimeter is also very strong, all of the main four are over six three so any air passes will have to be kept at a minimum. Ground passes down the centre; we can use our speed to press them on each wing.” Coach barks using a computer screen acting out the words and plays next to him. He presses a button on the pointer he taps the screen with and there’s a highlight real of Winterbrook’s roughhousing plays.

  Many of the players wince at the back breaking and crunching tackles. Clotheslines which were all legal and necks were nearly or virtually broken, players being taken off by robot manned stretchers. Their coach, Coach Damon Myron is a cantankerous individual who barks orders with a voice that booms louder then Mantoonen’s.

  “I want you to look at these images, look at them hard, focus on them, and feel them. You can fear those images because Winterbrook are number one in this country. They have never lost all season and beat us.” Coach bellowed and most of team apart from Lathan groan, Lathan just keeps his eyes on the clattering of bodies and the destruction that Winterbrook can bring to the game. “I want you to know this because we were a different team then. Now we will lay the fear into them. We have the best attack, the best offence and scorer in Lathan Thorne; they have the best defence and one of the greatest young defenders in the national game Martolin Remson.” He presses a button and the images switch to a freeze frame on Martolin a huge six foot five inches well over fifteen stone of pure muscle. The uniform of Winterbrook which was the colours of white and blue melded across the huge torso of Martolin who has an omnipotent presence on the pitch of Quasarball.

  “We have to do one thing and one thing other then the passing movement I told you a lot before. We have to,” Mantoonen said as he moves closes and places his hand on Lathan’s left shoulder. “Protect Lathan because if I know Myron and I do, I know for a fact that he is telling Remson to find him, you,” he said to Lathan especially, “and take you out of the game even critically injure you.”

  Lathan nods.

  “We have to base a protection perimeter on Thorne. Two holding midfielders in and around five paces of Thorne. If we can hold him off Thorne, Hawken,”

  Hawken nods. Hawken, fresh faced, but with broad shoulders was the team captain and attacking midfielder.

  “And Watszen,” Watszen lifts his head up, much older looking then most of the team thanks to a week’s hair growth across his jaw and thick eyebrows with his larger frame one of the larger players on the team. “Can influence the attack. Both can ghost in behind the defences and they will not know what hit them.”

  The team cheer.

  “We can beat these guys!”

  The team cheer louder.

  “WE WILL BE THE CHAMPIONS AND GO OUT ON A HIGH!”

  The team cheers and stand up.

  “WE CAN TAKE THAT TROPHY AND BRING BACK GLORY TO BRIDGEPORT!!!!”

  The team throw up their helmets and catch them with one hand, slamming their chests together, doing high fives and hugs, with some players grunting and others just yelling at the top of their lungs.

  “ALRIGHT GO TO THE CRUSIER LETS GET OUR TROPHY!” Coach yells and the players bustle out of the locker room also with the assistant coach and medics in tow. Lathan the last to leave is stopped by Coach.

  “Coach?” Lathan asks confused.

  “You have never been late for any team meeting. Ever in three years. Is something going on with you Thorne?”

  “No! No! Why would you say that Coach?”

  “I just hope your mind is on this game Thorne we have all including yourself worked hard over the last three years to get this far. This is the national championship. The first time that two teams from New London have ever competed in a national final, I need to know if your mind is totally on this game.”

  Lathan nods and sticks out a hand which Coach Mantoonen shakes. “Absolutely.” Lathan said with no hesitation.

  “Good, then let us get that trophy.” Coach said and both go out of the locker room and to the national final.

  The game of Quasarball was invented in 3121, intended for blood sports at the beginning; the improvement of the rules, technology and of the armoured suits had given the sport a much wider appeal. As with any sport Quasarball was founded by mistake or luck by three kids who were playing football and one angered by the others’ skill and slammed a forearm into the other more skilful player almost breaking his neck. The young boy who was hit by the forearm became angered and grabbed the ball, leapt up and threw the ball at the boy who so aggressively attacked him. He missed and the ball flew straight into the goal, the third boy who was the goalie actually tried to save it. The other two boys who were on the ground fighting were pulled apart and the goalie got an idea. It was then that Quasarball was born.

  Quasarball was played by eleven players on each side with three blocks; defence, midfield and attack. The pitch was a hundred and twenty yards long and at the left and right hand sides were twenty foot spring walls which thanks to the insoles of the boots which gave the players the ability to spring off the walls leap high in the air which was as high as twenty or thirty feet in the air.

  There were specific ways of scoring as players could play Quasarball with their feet as well as throwing it with their hands. There were specific blocks in yards though where you could shoot from any range from forty to thirty yards could only be shot by the foot and from fifteen to ten yards a player could score from chucking the ball at the goal.

  From twenty yards you could shoot the ball with either hand or foot and that was called the Quasar Shot.

  The pitch was made from soft and thin trimmed synthetic grass. There is a goal line and a centre line for each teams half. It was originally hardened plastic, but because of the velocity of the tackles, especially the one which were aerial there was an actual danger of permanent damage. Tackles can be as high as they like on the ground, but in the air had to kept low tackles from the waist as the distance from the ground and the landing after such ferocious tackles could cause more damage. Dribbling can change from dribbling on the ground with your feet to running with the ball in your arms it was this type of play that was the unpredictability of Quasarball as the defending team would have to switch their style of play in an instant to accommodate their own protection. Plus players cannot tackle an opposing player above the waist while they are dribbling with the ball with their feet. If a player did it was instant sending off with suspension.

  Goals counted as one point apart from the Quasar Shot as they counted as two point goal because of the difficultly of the shot.

  The Quasar Shot is the most spectacular shot in the entire game as from twenty yards if a player receives the ball as an attacker the player can leap high in the air and shoot with throw or a volley, but the player is only allowed to touch the ball to once to shoot. On other yards a player could take an extra touch to steady themselves, but the Quasar Shot can really be attempted near the end of the game as one defence may push up and could bit hit on the break. The shot was so exciting that on night games if a player would have to opportunity to score the Quasar Shot then as they would leap high in the air to shoot all lights would go off except the lights which came off the ball and players’ florescent pads and helmet.

  Quasarball is brutal and violent game, but the popularity of it is unparalled.

  The crowd loomed large around the New Willesden Stadium seating around forty thousand, the stadium circular with three large tiers accommodating each seat according to price plan was a sight when filled to behold. This wasn’t the largest stadium which was the New Giants Stadium in New York which held the world record gate of just over seven hundred and fifty thousand spectators for the world Quasarball championship between New America and New England, which the English comprehensively won by seven goals to three.

  In the players area the cheers and loud speakerphone can be heard and reverberated around the room. Lathan sat there twiddling his thumb trying to accomplish the usual exercise of not having the spectacle take over his mind and create even more nerves. Thankfully and honestly his mind gravitated towards his recent sojourn of knowledge of the martyr world of the mystical arts.

  Other players talked to him of course and Lathan was accommodating to them, for most who didn’t know him they would think that Lathan was an outsider in this team of men, but they do know him and Lathan was just being himself, being very methodical, being the strong silent type.

  Coach comes in and said with great calm and little foreboding “It’s time guys. It’s time.”

  Jaden and Zenden sit down on the lower tier right near the spring walls and have the closest view of the pitch. A couple seats away to his left Marcella sits down next two of her friends and smiles at Zenden brushing her hair past her eyes. It was an awkward smile, just like the one Zenden reciprocates automatically and both look away from each other at the exact same time.

  “So I guess that you have aren’t hooked up yet?” Jaden said.

  “What gave it away detective?” Zenden said with sarcasm abound.

  “Well she’s sitting way over there and you’re sitting over here. Twiddling your thumbs.” Jaden said looking at Zenden’s lap.

  Zenden looks down at his hands joined and thumbs twiddling and separates them with embarrassing function.

  “You have to do something. That’s why I really hope that we win tonight.” Jaden said with renewed enthusiasm.

  “For the long awaited title?”

  “No old man, Jesus do you listen to the way you talk?”

  “Shut up and spill the macron beans.”

  “Well if the team is victorious the school is planning to hijack not literally mind, but get a cruiser ship and have a party at Vennesula!” Jaden said with real excitement with small juvenile giggle surrounding the dialogue spewing from his mouth.

  “Vennesula? Party? Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Nope! As long as we leave the place where we partied unblemished the world council doesn’t care. Plus it would be nice to take a risk.”

  “Risks are dangerous.”

  “Says the man who never takes any. Come on Zenden this is your fricking chance tonight! I know she’s going to go on the ship, you can cosy up to her and talk and do that entire high jazz thing you do!”

  “What?” Zenden said with utter confusion written across his face.

  “Look are you coming or not?”

  “It would really matter all it depends is if we win the national title.”

  “Said by a man with real confidence.” Jaden jokes.

  “Shut up.”

  “Zenden, the party was planned ages ago, it’s going to happen whetever we win or lose, I mean it’s a miracle for our school to get to this point. So it’s a win-win situation for all involved so are you coming or not?”

  Zenden then looks past and sees Marcella looking at him whilst talking with one of her friends. She smiles as does he with that gaze the answer to the question pops into his head “Yeah I’m coming.”

  “Now that’s what I like to hear. You want some popcorn? My treat.”

  “Sure.”

  “Coolion, any beverages of any kind?”

  “Pheallion tropical juice.”

  “Good, be back in nineteen parsecs.”

  “Cool.” Zenden said looking at the one of the two giant video screens on the two opposite sides of the stadium.

  Jaden stands up and shuffles his way through the other spectators sitting along the row. He shuffles past Marcella and she taps his leg. Zenden notices this as Jaden bends down and they whisper something to each other and laugh amongst themselves. Zenden knowing the reputation of Jaden Sparrious gives a look of distrust and stern frustration as his look to the big screen.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the loud speaker erupts, “CAN YOU PLEASE STAND FOR THE RESPECT FOR THE TWO TEAMS COMPETING FOR THE NATIONAL QUASARBALL CHAMPIONSHIP,”

  The crowd cheers and forty thousand stand up in unison.

  Lathan and his Bridgeport team stand alongside the Winterbrook team with Lathan stand alongside the larger framed Martolin Remson standing over Lathan like he was a little boy towered over by a giant.

  Lathan looks at Martolin and breathes in and sticks out a hand. “Good luck.”

  Martolin turns his head slowly almost robotic like in movements and gives a blank stare giving nothing away. “You’re going to need it Thorne,” Martolin said cocking his head to the left like Lathan was a spec or nothing to him. A boy compared to a man. “You aint scoring this night Thorne. Not past me.”

  Lathan felt like saying something back, but kept it to himself.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE A WELCOME TO TEAMS OF BRIDGEPORT AND WI NTERBROOK HIGH!!!!!!”

  The players run out to the pitch and the roar for the crowd of forty thousand was immense. Rockets go for and flares fly onto the sides of the pitch and fireworks go off above the stadium illuminating the evening sky split between two different colours and shades. This was a spectacle beyond words of any comprehension for Lathan whose little intricate heart beats now raced along with the bombast of it all.

  Lathan knew that since the rise of Starzancer from great Quasarballer to the being the most popular Galactic Fleet member and greatest pilot was done to the transition, but the fact that this season which culminated with these two clubs fighting it out, brought in a new popularity. Lathan sees the TV cameras flying about and some in robotic stands moving up, down, left and right themselves staying stationary.

  This was going out live Lathan thinks as he runs about to the half way line with the rest of the team and they stand along their half facing the crowd to the right. This could be going national he thinks again as they bow to the crowd and turn to their left and bow turn behind and bow as they bow to each side of the stadium.

  Lathan looks up and sees his two best friends well one of them Zenden clapping with the rest of the crowd, Jaden with two tubs of popcorn and two cups of Pheallion Tropical juice walks and holds all precariously measuring himself each time he makes a step. He sits and passes Zenden his tub and drink he claps also at his friend and whistles. Jaden also shouts something to Lathan, but because of the roar of the crowd he cannot hear, but he reads his lips C’MON LATHAN!!!! THORNE NUMBER TEN!!!! THAT’S THE MAN RIGHT THERE!!!!!!

  Thank you Lathan thinks.

  The referee wearing the classic black and white shirt and black trousers comes up and waves to the crowd which almost immediately elicits several choruses of boos from the crowd. For most referees slow down the constant flow of the game which for many fans takes out the exhilaration of it.

  The two captains come up Hawken and Martolin and the referee flips a coin in the air.

  “Heads.” Calls Hawken whose eyes never leave the coin spinning in the air.

  The coin lands on tails and Martolin chooses to start off the game which last for eighty minutes, forty minutes each half.

  Hawken runs to the team who huddle around in a circle at the centre of their half. “Okay guys, their going to start which means they’re not going to wait for us to attack. We have to have a strong hold on our defence because they are going to come at us with plenty of power. Hold your positions mark your players and we should take any counter attack and make them pay. Thorne?”

  Lathan looks at Hawken.

  “The record’s yours tonight.” Hawken said and Lathan smiles and nods, his face changing to a more serious and more focused Lathan Thorne. “Alright guys for the championship and the last shot for glory! FOR BRIDGEPORT!”

  “FOR BRIDGEPORT!!!” booms the rest of the team including Lathan loud inside the circle, but thanks to the crowd could barely be heard amongst the cheers and clapping as the match is about to commence.

  The referee passes the ball to one of the Winterbrook players who place the ball near his feet. Hawken places two fingers on his feet on his right thigh. Lathan nods and does the same on his right as others on the Bridgeport team nods. This was an indication that Winterbrook were going to play it to feet for the first attack.

  The referee blows his whistle which thanks to a small speaker near his collar on his shirt can be heard all over the stadium and a big cheer erupts around the stadium.

  Winterbrook’s forwards pass the ball feet to feet and let their wingers run and leap off the side high into the air and going across the pitch and leaping and bounding across the walls. The defensive wing track them across the air well with some tackles come thick and fast. One tackle almost breaks the left wing back’s neck and he slams onto the pitch screaming clutching his neck.

  Lathan sprints and leaps in high into the air a drop kicks one of the wing back causing the ball to miss its intended target. Hawken picks up the ball with his hand and Martolin makes the signal on his left hand with his chest palm showing indicating that play has now moved from feet to hand.

  “SPREAD Manoeuvres!!!!!” Martolin yells as the formation of Winterbrook changes which is more spread out then the closed down formation of the 4-4-2 they had for their previous attack.

  Hawken darts through the centre avoiding one, then two and then three challenges he throws the ball to Lathan who sprints along the left hand wing, but is being tracked by his marker another large Winterbrook centre. Lathan checks his run shifting his body weight to the left and drop his left shoulder to the right and the marker loses his footing as Lathan runs to the other side catching the ball taking on his stride. Lathan sprints and throws the ball with his left across the goal clearing most of the players’ heads except for the oncoming Watszen who runs and sprints off the wall leaping high into the air and slamming a volley into the net.

  BRIDGEPORT 1 – 0 WINTERBROOK!!!!!

  Watszen celebrates “COME ON!!!!! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!” as the Bridgeport section of the crowd scream out as the other players leaps across Watszen’s back and hug.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The match is soon underway and Winterbrook are again on the offensive and their central midfielders bulldoze right through the centre line of Bridgeport’s midfield. Lathan sprints past the players left on the attacks wake and tries to catch up to the attacker sprinting with the ball. Lathan gathers pace and gets close to make a tackle, but a flailing arm by the forward slams across Lathan’s jaw causing to buckle back and fall. He lands hard with his mouth bleeding, he watched on as the forward comes across and pass it to the winger who arrows in a throw right to the left hand corner of the Bridgeport goal flying in at an impossible speed.

  BRIDGEPORT 1 – 1 WINTERBROOK!!!!!

  Lathan spits out some blood from his mouth not once, but twice. He gets up as he watches the Winterbrook players celebrate and the Winterbrook section of the crowd starts to cheer and chant “THE CUP!!! THE TITLE GOES BACK TO THE BROOK!!!!”

  The forward who slammed his arm at Lathan shakes hands and takes in hug and looks at Lathan rubbing his jaw and pretending to wipe some tears laughing at Lathan mockingly.

  The play start again and Bridgeport pass the ball along with their feet, one player gets taken out by a vicious sliding tackle that bends his back in a rather unattractive and quite painfully angle, but the ball still moves along and the ball slides to Lathan who sprints past one, then two players and passes the ball to Hawken, still running with some pace passing Hawken’s right, Hawken sees the run flips up the ball and heads it to Lathan oncoming who catches the ball and lands with his left foot leading with, but he shifts his body to the right cannily avoiding a tackle from the left and sprints to clear ground and throws the ball bending to the right, but suddenly shifts to the right and the keeper gets a finger, but cannot stop it from flying into the net.

  BRIDGEPORT 2 – 1 WINTERBROOK!!!!!

  Lathan does two flips and somersaults landing perfectly raising his right arm high into the air.

  “YEAH!!!!! CAN’T STOP THAT!! BRIDGEPORT ALL THE WAY!!” Lathan screams to the crowd as he gets the congratulatory back slaps and hugs from his fellow players not noticing that Martolin was giving a gaze that was not friendly.

  The first half was more for near misses as both attacks were potent enough to create chances, but after the first twenty minutes where the three goals came, both sides keepers were inspired showing amazing feats of athleticism with diving saves and taking knocks and just getting up. There was real tension out there as Martolin kept on creeping closer on Lathan whose sheer speed was causing the wing defence many problems.

  The referee blows for the end of the first half and the players trudge off the pitch, some running off with boundless energy and other clutch their backs and look like they’ve been beaten thoroughly.

  “Guys,” Coach Mantoonen said looking quite happy with himself, “We’re doing well, but we’ve got be careful, its only one goal in it right now.”

  “They’re strong down the middle coach.” Hawken said rubbing a ice pack on his bruised right shoulder.

  “And we’re strong down the wings and they cannot handle our speed. Take the hits down the middle make sure that they have knock most of our team to get to thirty yards. Lathan.”

  “Yeah Coach.” Lathan pursing a ice pack on his jaw after that hit for the Winterbrook goal.

  “You’re getting freedom right now, but Martolin will come for you. Remember added protection and more crosses from the wings and when you do crosses some players can come up and don’t leave Hawken up the pitch on his own! Take a risk we can always score with more up field!”

  The players nod.

  “Alright let’s go and win this thing.”

  “Yeah!” says the players.

  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

  “YEAH!!!!”

  “Now that’s better.”

  The second half carried on at a relentless pace. The whole game was filled with bloodlust and the crowd became baying lecherous fools.

  Cries of “TAKE HIS FRICKING NECK OFF!!!!” and “DISMANTLE HIM LIKE HE WAS A MERCHON 540 BORG!!!!!”

  Lathan was being taken out of the game by a series of crunching tackles by Martolin who seemed to make it his own personal mission to dismember Lathan Thorne. The first challenge was when Lathan was sprinting along the left hand wing like he always does and he did a no look pass to Hawken before being clotheslined across his neck by Martolin giving a cold smirk to Lathan who lay on the ground near unconscious.

  The second was a devastating sliding tackle from behind that almost had taken out Lathan’s knee from his socket. Again Lathan undeterred and focused beyond any sort of comprehension got up.

  The third challenge was an aerial one with both Lathan and Martolin challenging for the ball high in the air. Martolin grabbed the collar of Lathan’s uniform and rammed down his neck to the ground.

  The challenge was so bad that Martolin had to get a ten minute suspension. Again with a lecherous gaze Martolin pulled off a smirk that seemed a lot harder to do for an individual whose mouth never seems to curl.

  “It was worth it.” he said before entering the suspension box a small seating area at the side of the pitch with strong glass on each side and a timer inside the box and outside ticking the suspension limit.

  Lathan is picked up be Hawken. “You okay Lathan?” Hawken asked Lathan still woozy, but again alright.

  “Yeah alive barely. That frick is really gunning for me.”

  “No shame in that frick. We got ten minutes to make them pay before the beast comes out to play once again.”

  “Well let’s do it.” Lathan said as they both get into position as the referee blows his whistle once again to resume play.

  Bridgeport starts of passing it from feet to feet, but a pass goes awry and Winterbrook have the ball and their fast and efficient striker Clint Ozona passes with all the speed an New Peninsula native can muster going past challenge after challenge, skipping over tackle sliding and grabbing and he slots the ball home from twenty two yards.

  BRIDGEPORT 2- 2 WINTERBROOK!!!!!!!

  Coach Mantoonen slams his digiboard on the pitch floor is frustration and some of the players slump their heads it was a bad goal to give away.

  Winterbrook were on the attack once again, passing and moving with pace and real power, their strikers off the ball movement was intricate and precise and the powerhouse central midfield who seemed like grown men in comparison to the teenaged wunderkids of Bridgeport kept on taking out the midfielders of Bridgeport with painful exuberance. They fire a shot which hits the bar of the Bridgeport goal and the follow up a quick pick up and throw by Clint just fizzes past the post.

  A siren goes off and the suspension doors open. Martolin was free to play once again. He charges up the field and Lathan whose back is turned is rammed right in his spine by Martolin who wails “I’M BACK!!!!!” psychotically.

  Lathan screams “uurgh!!!” as he lands hard on the ground and Lathan rolls around the grass the pain excruciating running up from his lower back to the upper portion of his neck. Bridgeport’s crowd react with anger especially Zenden who sits up with the rest of the 20,000 who travelled from New North West.

  “YOU FRICK!!!! YOU BETTER NOT DO THAT AGAIN OR I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND KICK THE CRAP OUT OF YOU!!!! YEAH YOU, YOU JERK!!!!!” Zenden yells with his veins popping out of his neck and rage fuelling his emotions.

  “Calm down Zenden. It’s only a game.” Jaden said.

  “Shut up Jaden! Our friend almost got paralyzed down there!”

  “You so need a girlfriend Zen.”

  “I’ll only say it once Jaden.”

  Lathan is pulled up and looks at Martolin who smiles at Lathan as he gets ready for the next attack from his team. Lathan feels the rage boiling from his heart, his bowels feels hot and he perspires with fury he has never felt before. Try that again you frick. See what happens he thinks to himself.

  Winterbrook get the ball and pass it to Clint who with the ball in his hand passes one player then two, but then he is clipped by Lathan who retrieves the ball grasping it quick on the ground and he sprints five paces with it before passing it to Hawken who sprints with it as Lathan who passes one oncoming challenge and Hawken passes the ball once again to Lathan as he passes with great dexterity to avoid a challenge, by just the little shift of his waist and the player files the other way.

  Lathan being chased by Martolin passes him once and then Lathan drops the ball to his feet passes the ball through Martolin’s legs and carries on his run as the Bridgeport section of the crowd laugh at Martolin on his back after that particular piece of skill, by Lathan who flicks the ball over a sliding leg and catches the ball with his right hand in mid air and throws the ball arrowing to the left hand corner and flying straight past the goalkeeper.

  BRIDGEPORT 3-2 WINTERBOOK!!!!!

  Lathan celebrates with the rest of the team as Martolin looks up; now the anger was seized onto his mind and his body. “You’re dead Thorne.” He mutters to himself spitting some undesirable saliva onto the thin cut grass. “You’re dead.”

  Winterbrook attack again once again passing and moving on their half before Martolin launches a long ball high into the air, Clint runs along the right wing and leaps high off the spring walls and from forty yards throws in a shot which slams across the post back onto the field when a Winterbrook player comes bustling out of nowhere and slots it into an empty net as the keeper who dived the other way could not recover in time.

  BRIDGEPORT 3-3 WINTERBROOK!!!!!

  The Winterbrook crowd now become the loudest and Lathan and the rest of the team sip on their flasks at around their side of the pitch near the coach’s technical area. Coach Mantoonen walks near Lathan as they both watch Winterbrook celebrate their third equaliser.

  “You tied the record Thorne.” Coach said.

  “I know.” Lathan said douching some of the water onto his face closing his eyes letting the cold water cool the heat searing from his skin.

  “You need one more to pass the record.”

  “I know.”

  “Then go get it. It’s yours. Like this cup. Go get it.”

  Lathan looks at Coach and he understands exactly what he meant. Lathan runs out with renewed vigour clapping and patting the backs of his fellow players. Lathan nods at Hawken who nods back, a total understanding between the two done with non-communication.

  Bridgeport takes the ball and passes it around leaping around the wall with the ball, without the ball. Lathan takes the ball and runs along the wall with the ball defying gravity itself and the entire crowd clap and show their appreciation for the skill, Lathan chucks the ball to Hawken running past the forty yard line and catching before being tackled.

  Lathan still running along the wall, but thick rasping breaths now catch up with as his eyes itch once again; he rubs them while running along and then his vision changes to the bright blue from when he saw the crash at the aeroway.

  Each figure has an eerie white glow with their edges drifting off with a soft wind in the air. Oh know it’s happening again.

  The helmets make the players look all the more ghoulish. His hand as he looks down hearing his heart beats as loud as the crowd noise which fades easily into the background. Players pass by in whites and greys. The sky was in a blue filter drifting him from the lighter colour mixed in with darker navy textural feel.

  Everything was moving in slower then slow motion everything close to a freeze framing motion. The cheers sounded like dumbfounded gibberish, yet one thing could be heard if Lathan just focused very carefully.

  L-A-T-H-A-N!!!!! W-A-T-C-H O-U-T!!!! The voice sounded just like Hawken’s. Then a ghoulish figure flies towards Lathan’s face and he snaps out of that world and in that instant Martolin slams across his throat and another player comes across his lower half taking him out in the air from both sides.

  All three players crash to the ground, but it is Lathan who doesn’t not move. His body crumpled up with his upper body going one way and his lower half spread to the other. Lathan remained unconscious.

  “Son of a bitch.” Zenden said standing up as an eerie silence falls across the stadium.

  Martolin and the other player high five until they look at the unconscious body of Lathan. The celebratory manner disappears in an instant. Guilt shudders across the face of both players as Bridgeport’s team run towards Lathan pushing and trying to fight the two Winterbrook players.

  “SON OF A BITCH!!!!! MARTOLIN!!!!!! YOU’RE DEAD!!!! I’M GOING TO GET YOU!!!! YOU SON OF A….” Zenden screams as Jaden struggles to hold down the large frame of Zenden Tenstraighter.

  “CALM DOWN MAN!!! CALM DOWN!!!”

  Coach Mantoonen looks at Lathan who was breathing, but unresponsive. The robot clad in metal with long arms and legs come onto the pitch with red and blue sirens on the top of the heads and they fold out a stretcher and put Lathan on it. They carry him out to the recovery section right near the coach’s area.

  Martolin and the other player are both shown yellow cards and are suspended for another ten minutes.

  The robots pass an X-Ray analyser which looked like a mini TV, but with blue light flashing showing the bone structures of Lathan as they pass it above his body about a foot above.

  “No structural damages to bones.”

  “Then?” Coach asked frantically, taking off his cap and scratching his bald head.

  “Concussion. We need to revive him and keep him awake.”

  “Okay, Jonah have you got any smelling salts?” Coach asks Jonah his assistant.

  Jonah fresh faced and eager, searches in his inside pocket and takes out a packet of smiling salts. He passes it to Coach Mantoonen who gives Jonah a concerning look.

  “I thought you would take it out of the first aid box. Not in your pocket.”

  “I go out a lot.” Jonah said.

  “I bet you do.” Coach Mantoonen said while taking off strip of the packet and passing the highly potent smell around the nose of Lathan. The crowd erupts as Winterbrook score another goal.

  I WANT IT THORNE!!!!! GIVE IT TO ME!!!! TELL ME WHERE THE ANALYAN IS!!!! Screams a powerful male voice in the subconscious of Lathan Thorne.

  NO LATHAN!!! DON’T TELL HIM!!! HE’LL KILL US ALL!!!! Screams a female voice and Lathan feels light in his head and flashes of red dance across his mind like a faded illusion. Then other voices filter through, many voices and his eyes which were once weak now open and a blazing of light comes across and Lathan springs up looking at Coach, Jonah and the medical botics.

  “The Lords of Andula! Are you okay Thorne?” Jonah said with some surprise.

  “Yeah,” Lathan said slightly disorientated, “Just a big hit.”

  “Are you sure you want to continue Lathan?” Coach asked.

  “Yeah, I just need a minute Coach. Just to get my bearings. What’s the score?” Lathan said looking at the match being played without him.

  “Aren’t you concerned about how long you were unconscious?” Jonah asked Lathan who turns to the exuberant, yet slightly befuddled assistant.

  “Shut up Jonah!” Coach yells.

  Jonah looks hurt personally by that outburst and bows his head and wipes his nose. Coach realises this. “I say that with love Jonah. With love.”

  Jonah raises his head smiling.

  Coach just shakes his head as does Lathan. “They equalised about a few moments ago and we’ve been on the ropes since and….”

  Winterbrook have a break across the pitch with only one defender back for Bridgeport. The two attackers keep passing the ball and Clint Ozona comes get the ball while his other attacker takes out the defender with a vicious clothesline taking the defender off his feet. Clint with a clear run on goal blasts the ball home with almost professional ease.

  BRIDGEPORT 3-4 WINTERBROOK!!!!

  “Andulan lords.” Jonah said gasping for more words.

  “Lathan,” Coach asks as Lathan looks on with rage building because of the comeback from Winterbrook as Lathan looks at Martolin who celebrates with only two minutes left on the clock in regulation time. “Lathan.”

  Lathan who’s focusing on Martolin causing his entire upper body to shake with rage. “Yeah.”

  “We’ve only got two minutes to go! GO!! GO!!! GO!!!!” Coach screamed as he presses a button on his wrist which catches the attention of the referee whose own wrist band flashes with green.

  The referee looks at Bridgeport technical area and looks at Lathan primed and ready to go and he blows his whistle and ushers Lathan to come on.

  Lathan with true focus and unbridled rage looks directly at Martolin and the other player who took him out of the game. Martolin turns and looks at Lathan ushering to come to him. “Take them out.” Coach said chillingly.

  Lathan sprints out to the chorus of loud cheers from the Bridgeport section of the crowd. Zenden breathes a sigh of relief that Lathan is okay. Jaden pats him in the back for added reassurance.

  Lathan charges at Martolin who charges towards Lathan, both coming in with real power and pace. Lathan screams with rage as his legs pound the grass, every muscle tensed and ready for the collision. I’m not going to lose this one. You tried to take me out Martolin. I’m going to take you out you son of a Parillean slut.

  Lathan slams his right forearm across the throat of Martolin who spins a fully three hundred and sixty degrees and crashes to the ground. Lathan doesn’t stop running he slams another forearm across the chest of the other player who tackled him knocking him to the ground where he laid unconscious.

  Winterbrook were again on the attack trying to score a fifth and kill off the game indefinitely. Lathan running towards the action then stops. Patious On Thel Momentous is uttered by his own mind.

  Lathan stops as the ball is cleared, by the Bridgeport defence, but is immediately picked up by the Winterbrook midfield who keeps up the attack. Their midfield was pushed up which still nowhere near Lathan who was holding the line between midfield and defence. Lathan keeps in line with the other defenders who were well into the Bridgeport’s half.

  Bridgeport’s defence was becoming overawed as the clock was ticking getting ever closer to the end of the dream for Bridgeport. Lathan’s heart was telling him to run back, but his head was still uttering those words Patious On Thel Momentous and he head had won out in that particular battle.

  ONE MINUTE LEFT!!!!! Screams the tannoy around the stadium.

  Just one clearance. Get the ball out. Get it to me. Get it to me. He thinks as he looks at the giant scoreboard at behind the Bridgeport goal 55, 54, 53…

  Oh my god we’re not going to do this….

  The ball slams across the post of the Bridgeport goal and Hawken back defending picks up the ball he skips one challenge and then another, Watszen takes out two Winterbrook midfielders who go in for a challenge as Hawken runs as far up the pitch to throw up the perfect pass for Lathan who starts to track back looking at the play in front of him.

  Come on Hawken just a little more. Just a little more. He looks at the clock less than thirty five seconds.

  Hawken rides one more challenge as he gets near the half way line. Lathan starts to sprint away towards the Winterbrook goal, another Winterbrook player goes to charge Hawken who steadies himself and throws with all the force he can muster up the pitch. The defender tracking back with Lathan keep looking back at the ball travelling towards them, but this slows them down and Lathan sprints ahead.

  The ball passes over the head of the defender and Lathan finally looks back at the ball travelling along at a trajectory that Lathan expected. Lathan gets to forty then thirty yards as the ball starts to drop Lathan runs faster getting the necessary power in his legs to leap up.

  12!!!! 11!!! 10!!! 9!!!! Screams the tannoy.

  Lathan is almost airborne as he catches the ball.

  OH MY GOD THE QUASAR SHOT!!!!!!!

  Lathan with quite some flamboyance passes the ball over from his left hand to his right by lifting his left leg over passing the ball from hand to hand as all the lights go off apart from the light coming from the ball and the Winterbrook goal. The crowd stay quiet in anticipation. Lathan starts to drop down after hanging in the air for what it seemed like an eternity. Lathan knows his spot and picks it well in advance. He throws the ball with all the power his right arm can afford and the ball flies past the keeper ripping the net slamming on the wall behind the goal.

  The buzzer rings signalling the end of regulation time. The lights come on and the roar from the crowd is immense so loud that any other sound is reduced to a small dim.

  BRIDGEPORT 4-4 WINTERBROOK!!!!!!

  Lathan lands perfectly and does a triple somersault in celebration. The other players run up to Lathan and clamber on him and scream cheers of delight to Lathan’s spectacular equaliser. They rub his head and hug him to the point where the adrenalin rush stops and actual pain comes around. Lathan winces amongst the smiles.

  “Now that was something I did not see coming.” Jaden said.

  “Yeah well when it comes to Lathan. It isn’t over until it is over.” Zenden says looking at the stretcher picking up Martolin and carrying him off the field. Zenden looks on with a smug grin.

  In Quasarball no extra time was played. It was straight to penalties. This was simple yet tense exercise. A player taking a penalty will take have ten paces from thirty to twenty yards away to throw the ball past the keeper, it was that simple, but it was tense as it was a keeper’s game and their chance to be real heroes. Plus after the bruising encounter of the regulation time strong arms would have to be used to defeat the keepers.

  Winterbrook goes first their player and scorer of three goals himself Clint Ozona of the New Peninsula which tanned skin and deep brown eyes stands straight to take his run up and shot. He swings his right arm around just to make sure it is not tight. Clint looks focused at the Bridgeport keeper Alain Prestona whose arms are spread out wide making himself larger on the goal line. The referee blows his whistle and the crowd muttering and chanting goes silent suddenly. From this point when Clint moves his left foot to when he throws with all his might. The crowd out of respect of the moment and of the player will stay silent.

  Lathan looks around. He was fourth of on the list of five main penalty takers. The silence gave an eerie chill.

  Clint starts to move one pace, one step he runs and throws with no abandon and the ball flies past the goalies left resting and falling on the net behind the goal. Clint screams with delight and the Winterbrook crowd start off again with cheer with groans coming in from the Bridgeport end.

  The large Winterbrook Goalie Claude Millster a tall and heavily shouldered man whose origins lay in New Kingston, New Jamaica comes on the goal line and spreads his arms across looking directly at the Bridgeport player coming to the thirty yard line.

  Watszen stands and is picks up the ball which was on the line. He rubs his chin with rough strands of facial hair coming across his palm. He winks at the team who all give him thumbs up and takes a step forward. The whistle blows and Watszen immediately runs up and throws the ball to the keeper’s right and flies in unchallenged.

  The roar and the laughter come from the Bridgeport crowd and boos come from the Winterbrook crowd and Claude comes rushing over.

  “Hey!! Hey Ref!! I wasn’t ready for that pen!” Claude yelled.

  “I’m sorry, but you clearly heard my whistle and you should have been prepared before hand anyway. It’s in the rules Millster. Once the whistle is blown a shot can be taken. Goal stands.” The Ref says with the mixed chorus of clapping and booing all around.

  Thereon in it was tension Winterbrook scored to make it two penalties to one and then Bridgeport missed their second penalty after Millster did a spectacular save to deny Marious Johnson. Winterbrook went three pens to one ahead when Larry Pontius scored and then James Benzaar slotted home his pen to score another for Bridgeport making it three to two. Winterbrook then had one penalty taken by Donrus Barrett saved by Alain.

  It was now that Lathan Thorne had the opportunity to equalise once again this time in penalties. The scenario now could not be any clearer, score and it would be all tied for the game miss and all Winterbrook had to do was convert the next penalty to win the National Cup.

  The pressure was etched across Lathan’s face as his name is called out to the forty thousand in the filled stadium. Lathan does the long walk from the technical area to the thirty yard line. His heart beats fast and he sweats not from tiredness, but from nerves starts to spill. Lathan gets to the thirty yard line. He picks up the ball and feels it. Touching every bit of the ball surface with his fingers. He closes his eyes and brings the ball close to his lips.

  Don’t let the pressure get you. Don’t let the spectacle get you. You can do this. You’ve picked your spot. You can do this. Ameara Zanta impidioum. He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath.

  The referee blows his whistle and Lathan stands there for a couple of seconds. Lathan looks at the goal and not the keeper. He nods as calls of come on Lathan!!!! Come from the crowd and the Bridgeport technical area. Lathan starts his run up and he runs feeling every muscle in his body blending to one, his mind now and absolutely focused. One pace, then two, then three as Lathan lifts up his right arm grasping the ball tight ready to throw loosen his fingers every step.

  Zenden and Jaden look on in silence, but in mind willing their friend on as Lathan gets to the twenty yard line and flings the ball with all the power the powers that be can give. The shot is thrown with such power that Lathan flies off his feet and crashes to the pitch, his vision still focused ahead.

  The ball travels at an abnormal speed heading to the keeper’s right and the keeper’s guessing seems right as he step to his right and is about to leap and save, but then the ball’s trajectory shifts and flies to the left confounding the keeper who wails “NO!!!” as the ball flies into goal.

  “YESSS!!!!!” Lathan screams as he flips up punching the air with his raised right hand. The Bridgeport crowd cheer again as Lathan equalises the score.

  The Winterbrook team’s coach looks like he’s going to explode slamming down his clipboard and his cap swearing something intelligible doused by the cheer of the Bridgeport support. Winterbrook’s final penalty taker takes that long and lonely walk to the thirty yard line. He stands by the ball and picks it up. The nerves across the young man’s face are telling. He is ill at ease with this situation.

  Lathan tapping Hawken who’s up next says “He’s not focused. Look at him he’s quivering. He’s not going to score.”

  “How do you know?” Hawken asks.

  “Look at his feet,” Lathan said and Hawken looks. “They are not spread. He’s too rigid. He hasn’t made up his mind of where he’s going to shoot.”

  The player standing very still looks up and down fiddling with the ball. The referee blows his whistle and the crowd goes to a hush.

  Hawken looks at Lathan and nods in silent agreement.

  The player wiping even more sweat pouring like his pours had finally gave way to the rivers of sweat demanding to escape wipes his neck and takes one of several deep breaths. He closes his eyes and starts his run up. He throws a curveball special, like the one Lathan threw and it hurtles along one way, but its deceptive turn starts as it flies past the eight yard mark, The Bridgeport keeper goes the other way, he won’t save it the ball flies straight into… the post. The ball bounces off and into the left hand side.

  The player drops to his knees as the Bridgeport team and crowd both erupt. Hawken runs onto the pitch knowing that the fate of the National Cup lay in his hands. Unlike the last player the run up showed confidence and Lathan and Hawken exchanged a look of real solidarity as the keepers switch and Hawken flips up the ball with his right foot catching it with his left hand. This was his usual exercise. His feet were spread and his vision was directly focused on where he was going to hit it.

  At this point Lathan saw the whole sequence of events as if it was in slow motion. His memory would be able to collaborate with the images he has just seen and if asked he would be able to give a very detailed analogy of what is happening now.

  The slow touching of the ball by Hawken, wiping the little beads of sweat across his own brow. The crowd standing on each corner of stadium, the eerie silence which fell as the echoing and piercing sound of the whistle, the sound of his own heart beat racing. The brushing of the grass beneath Hawken’s feet as he began to sprint.

  Every bit of his muscles moving with the power and grace afforded to a young athlete coming to the peak of his ever-burgeoning skills, his right arm raised and ready to shoot like a soldier in the midst of battle ready to take the shot of his life, the ball flying like a pulsar ray flying fine and assuring heading towards its target with all the speed and grace required. Hawken trying to balance after the shot trying to stay on his feet, but his eyes staying averted to the Quasarball, the keeper sidestepping to his right bending his knees read to make that ever so pivotal leap of faith.

  The ball swerving slightly a bit almost knowing that a save was going to be attempted, every single person holding their breath as breathing was not an option when it came to such a life changing moment like this, the keeper spreading his long arm stretching every bit of his hand, stretching every little inch of that hand within trying to make it strong to pull the ball away, the ball making one last adjustment, the keeper screaming with all the strength he can muster as the ball flies past him rifling into the net. The keeper crashes to the grass burying his head in his arms, the eruption taking over the silence, the bombast taking over the mundane, the power of victory mixed in with the despair of defeat.

  The power of greatness now thrust upon his captain who scored the winning penalty, the anger of Winterbrook losing for the very first time this season and at the final hurdle causing that much pain. The celebration of winning with fellow team-mates telling Lathan emotional quotes you wouldn’t normally hear from them, the proudest moments of the coach as he hugs Lathan, the gleaming of the large yet angular National Cup was reflecting off every colour from the stadium fireworks.

  The resolution of receiving that winner’s medal for Bridgeport, caressing it as Lathan grasps it like it was the only medal he had ever seen let alone have. The proud feeling Lathan got from watching his friend scream his praises that he was glad that they were for him. The triumph of watching Hawken lift the cup and the sadness that was his last act at Bridgeport, but Lathan thinks I left a winner. It cannot be any better then that.