The sixtieth minute arrived with both teams locked in battle. Neither side could find the breakthrough they desperately needed.
Then it happened.
Morrison received the ball on the right wing again. This ti, he didn’t hesitate. He drove straight at the Longford left-back, who had been caught out of position.
The defender panicked. Instead of backing off, he lunged in with both feet. Morrison saw it coming and jumped, but the defender’s studs caught his ankle.
Morrison went down like he’d been shot.
Fweeee!
The referee didn’t hesitate. His whistle shrieked across the stadium. His hand pointed straight to the penalty spot.
"PENALTY!" scread twenty thousand Cromley fans as one voice.
The Longford players surrounded the referee, arms waving, faces twisted with fury. Their captain got right in the official’s face, jabbing his finger at the spot where Morrison had fallen.
"Never a penalty!" he shouted. "He dived!"
But the referee wasn’t having it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow card. The Longford captain backed off, still shaking his head.
Morrison limped around the penalty area, testing his ankle. The crowd watched every step. He seed okay on the surface. The tackle had looked worse than it was.
"Penalty to Cromley!" the stadium announcer’s voice bood over the noise. "Sixty-first minute!"
Jenna grabbed Sarah’s arm. "This is it! This is our chance!"
Sarah didn’t understand why she cared so much, but her heart was hamring against her ribs. "Can Morrison take it with that ankle?"
"He’s their penalty taker," the elderly man said. "Been scoring them all season."
Morrison placed the ball on the spot with steady hands. He stepped back five paces and took three deep breaths. The stadium fell silent. Twenty-eight thousand people held their breath.
The Longford keeper bounced on his line, trying to put Morrison off. He pointed to his left, then his right, playing mind gas.
Morrison began his run-up.
He struck the ball cleanly. It flew toward the bottom right corner with perfect pace. The keeper guessed correctly and dove to his right.
But the ball was too close to him.
His hands pushed it onto the post. The ball rebounded straight back to Morrison, who was following up his penalty.
With the goal gaping, Morrison had a simple tap-in from three yards.
He side-footed it straight at the keeper, who was still on the ground. The ball hit the keeper’s legs and bounced away to safety.
The stadium erupted in disbelief. Cromley fans put their heads in their hands. Longford supporters celebrated like they’d scored themselves.
"NO!" Jenna scread. "How do you miss that?"
Morrison stood frozen in the penalty area, staring at his hands like they’d betrayed him. His teammates patted his back, trying to lift his spirits, but the damage was done.
"That’ll haunt him," the elderly man said sadly. "Missing the rebound is worse than missing the penalty."
The crowd’s energy shifted again. What should have been celebration beca frustrated groans. The montum had swung completely.
Longford sensed the change imdiately. They pushed forward with renewed confidence. Cromley looked shaken, their heads down.
In the sixty-fourth minute, Longford won a corner. Their tall center-backs jogged up from the back, clearly planning to attack the cross.
"Danger here," Claire muttered. "Longford are all over the place."
The corner kick ca in fast and low. It skipped through a forest of legs in the six-yard box. Bodies threw themselves at it, but nobody could get a clean connection.
The ball bounced off shin, then knee, then shoulder. It pinballed around the penalty area like a marble in a jar.
Then it fell perfectly for one of Longford’s center-backs.
He was unmarked, six yards from goal, with ti to pick his spot. He didn’t need to think twice.
The ball flew into the top corner with the power of a rocket. The net bulged. The Cromley keeper didn’t even move.
"GOAL!" scread the Longford fans in the away end.
Their section of the stadium exploded. Scarves whirled above heads. Strangers hugged strangers. Grown n cried with joy.
The Cromley fans sat in stunned silence. Five minutes ago, they should have been ahead. Now they were behind.
"Sixty-fifth minute," the announcer confird. "Longford United take the lead, two goals to one."
Sarah felt sick. She barely knew these players, but sohow their pain was her pain. "How did that happen so fast?"
"Football," the elderly man said simply. "Beautiful ga, cruel ga. Sotis both at once."
Cromley tried to respond, but they looked broken. Passes went astray. Players argued with each other. Their manager paced the touchline, shouting instructions nobody could hear.
Morrison, still haunted by his penalty miss, barely touched the ball. Every ti it ca to him, Longford players closed him down quickly. His confidence had gone.
Longford slled blood. They pressed higher, tackled harder, ran faster. They could sense Cromley cracking.
In the seventieth minute, it happened again.
Cromley were pushing desperately for an equalizer. Their full-backs had advanced almost to the halfway line. Only two defenders remained in their own half.
A Cromley cross was cleared by a Longford head. The ball flew straight to their midfielder, who was lurking thirty yards from goal.
He didn’t take a touch. One quick look up told him everything he needed to know. Cromley were exposed at the back. Their keeper was off his line.
The pass was perfect. Forty yards, threaded between the two Cromley center-backs like a needle through cloth. Their striker ran onto it at full pace.
The Cromley keeper tried to rush out and narrow the angle, but he was too late. The striker rounded him easily and rolled the ball into the empty net.
"GOAL!" The away end erupted again.
This ti, even so Cromley fans applauded. It was a beautiful goal, even if it broke their hearts.
"Seventy-first minute," ca the announcent. "Longford United extend their lead. Three goals to one."
The stadium fell quiet except for the celebrating away fans. Cromley supporters began heading for the exits. Others just sat staring at the pitch in disbelief.
"Ga over," the elderly man said. "Can’t co back from three-one with twenty minutes left. Not the way we’re playing."
Jenna slumped in her seat. "I can’t believe this. Twenty minutes ago, we should have been winning."
Maddox watched it all unfold with professional interest. This was football in its purest form. The highest highs and lowest lows, sotis within minutes of each other.
He’d seen it countless tis as a coach in his past life, but watching from the stands in this new world gave him a different perspective. The fans invested so much emotion in sothing they couldn’t control.
On the pitch, Cromley’s players looked shell-shocked. Their manager was making frantic substitutions, trying anything to change the montum.
But Longford were in cruise control now. They passed the ball around with confidence, keeping possession, running down the clock.
"That’s the difference," Claire observed. "Good teams know how to kill a ga when they’re ahead."
The elderly man nodded approvingly. "You really do know your football, love. Most people don’t see the ga managent side."
As the clock ticked toward the seventy-third minute, reality set in for everyone in red and blue. Their playoff hopes had taken a massive blow. Other results would matter now, but this felt like the end of sothing.
Maddox found himself feeling sorry for the fans around him. Their disappointnt was real and raw. Football did this to people. It lifted them to the clouds, then dropped them without warning.
The ga continued, but the result was no longer in doubt, though technically, anything could happen. Longford had done their job brilliantly. Clinical finishing, solid defending, smart ga managent.
For Cromley, it was a lesson in how quickly football could change. One missed penalty, one defensive mistake, one perfect counter-attack.
That was all it took to turn dreams into nightmares.
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