size of the line was frightening — the more experienced fans had slipped out just before the halftime whistle. I walked around to stretch my legs, then returned to my seat.
Although they were a goal down, Tommy’s team looked more confident when they came out after the break. They attacked from the start of the half, knocking their opponents off the ball, pushing them back, driving hard for a goal. The game grew heated and three players got yellow cards within the first quarter of an hour. But their newfound hunger was rewarded in the sixty-fourth minute when they scored a scrappy goal from a corner to tie the score.
The stadium erupted when our team scored. I was one of the thousands who leapt from their seats and punched the air with joy. I even joined in with the song to the silenced fans of the other country’s team, “You’re not singing, you’re not singing, you’re not singing anymore!”
Five minutes later, I was chanting even louder when, from another corner, we scored again to go two-one up. I found myself hugging the guy next to me — a total stranger! — and jumping up and down with glee. I could hardly believe I was behaving this way. What would the Vampire Generals say if they saw a Prince acting so ridiculously!
The rest of the game was a tense affair. Now that they were a goal down, the other team had to attack in search of an equalizer. Tommy’s teammates were forced farther back inside their own half. There were dozens of desperate defensive tackles, lots of free kicks, more yellow cards. But they were holding out. Tommy had to make a few fairly easy saves, but apart from that his goal wasn’t troubled. With six minutes to go, the win looked safe.
Then, in virtually an action replay of the first goal, a player slipped free of his defender and found himself in front of the goal, with only Tommy to beat. Once again the ball was struck firmly and accurately. It streaked towards the lower left corner of the net. The striker turned away to celebrate.
But he’d reacted too soon. Because this time, somehow, Tommy got down and across, and managed to get a few fingers to the ball. He only barely connected, but it was enough to tip the ball out around the goalpost.
The crowd went wild! They were chanting Tommy’s name and singing, “It’s not unusual, he’s the greatest number one!” Tommy ignored the songs and stayed focused on the corner, directing his defenders. But the save had sapped the other team of their spirit, and though they kept coming forward for the final few minutes, they didn’t threaten to score again.
When the whistle blew, Tommy’s team wearily embraced each other, then shook their opponents’ hands and swapped jerseys. After that they saluted their fans, acknowledging their support. We were all on our feet, applauding, singing victory songs, a lot of them about the incredible Tom Jones.
Tommy was one of the last players to leave the field. He’d swapped his jersey with his opposite number, and the pair were walking off together, discussing the game. I roared Tommy’s name as he came level with the dug-outs, but of course he couldn’t hear me over the noise of the crowd.
Just as Tommy was about to vanish down the tunnel to the locker rooms, a commotion broke out. I heard angry yells, then several sharp bangs. Most of the people around me didn’t know what was happening. But I’d heard these sounds before — gunfire!
I couldn’t see down the tunnel from where I was, but I saw Tommy and the other goalkeeper stop, confused, then back away from the tunnel entrance. I immediately sensed danger. “Tommy!” I screamed, then knocked aside the people nearest me and forced my way down towards the pitch. Before I got there, a steward reeled out of the tunnel, blood pouring from his face. When the people in front of me saw that, they panicked. Turning, they pushed away from the field, halting my advance and forcing me back.
As I struggled to break free, two figures
Although they were a goal down, Tommy’s team looked more confident when they came out after the break. They attacked from the start of the half, knocking their opponents off the ball, pushing them back, driving hard for a goal. The game grew heated and three players got yellow cards within the first quarter of an hour. But their newfound hunger was rewarded in the sixty-fourth minute when they scored a scrappy goal from a corner to tie the score.
The stadium erupted when our team scored. I was one of the thousands who leapt from their seats and punched the air with joy. I even joined in with the song to the silenced fans of the other country’s team, “You’re not singing, you’re not singing, you’re not singing anymore!”
Five minutes later, I was chanting even louder when, from another corner, we scored again to go two-one up. I found myself hugging the guy next to me — a total stranger! — and jumping up and down with glee. I could hardly believe I was behaving this way. What would the Vampire Generals say if they saw a Prince acting so ridiculously!
The rest of the game was a tense affair. Now that they were a goal down, the other team had to attack in search of an equalizer. Tommy’s teammates were forced farther back inside their own half. There were dozens of desperate defensive tackles, lots of free kicks, more yellow cards. But they were holding out. Tommy had to make a few fairly easy saves, but apart from that his goal wasn’t troubled. With six minutes to go, the win looked safe.
Then, in virtually an action replay of the first goal, a player slipped free of his defender and found himself in front of the goal, with only Tommy to beat. Once again the ball was struck firmly and accurately. It streaked towards the lower left corner of the net. The striker turned away to celebrate.
But he’d reacted too soon. Because this time, somehow, Tommy got down and across, and managed to get a few fingers to the ball. He only barely connected, but it was enough to tip the ball out around the goalpost.
The crowd went wild! They were chanting Tommy’s name and singing, “It’s not unusual, he’s the greatest number one!” Tommy ignored the songs and stayed focused on the corner, directing his defenders. But the save had sapped the other team of their spirit, and though they kept coming forward for the final few minutes, they didn’t threaten to score again.
When the whistle blew, Tommy’s team wearily embraced each other, then shook their opponents’ hands and swapped jerseys. After that they saluted their fans, acknowledging their support. We were all on our feet, applauding, singing victory songs, a lot of them about the incredible Tom Jones.
Tommy was one of the last players to leave the field. He’d swapped his jersey with his opposite number, and the pair were walking off together, discussing the game. I roared Tommy’s name as he came level with the dug-outs, but of course he couldn’t hear me over the noise of the crowd.
Just as Tommy was about to vanish down the tunnel to the locker rooms, a commotion broke out. I heard angry yells, then several sharp bangs. Most of the people around me didn’t know what was happening. But I’d heard these sounds before — gunfire!
I couldn’t see down the tunnel from where I was, but I saw Tommy and the other goalkeeper stop, confused, then back away from the tunnel entrance. I immediately sensed danger. “Tommy!” I screamed, then knocked aside the people nearest me and forced my way down towards the pitch. Before I got there, a steward reeled out of the tunnel, blood pouring from his face. When the people in front of me saw that, they panicked. Turning, they pushed away from the field, halting my advance and forcing me back.
As I struggled to break free, two figures
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