The Crestford goalkeeper, rushed off his six-yard box in a desperate attempt to narrow the angle.
Instead of opting for a simple chip over the onrushing keeper, Keene decided to go for glory, rounding the goalkeeper with a flashy step-over that drew a collective gasp from the crowd.
For a fleeting second, it looked like a mont of magic—until Harris, the defender, recovered with a perfectly tid bodycheck, slamming into Keene with just enough force to send him sprawling to the ground before he could tap the ball into the empty net.
"What the fuck!!!" Maddox hollered from the touchline, his voice raw with fustration as he threw his hands into the air. "We’re fucking 5-0 down, mate! Who the hell cares for a beautiful goal?!" His face flushed red, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disbelief.
Keene’s teammates on the pitch shared his sentint—Riley Croft threw his hands up in exasperation, while Toby Winchell shook his head, his expression a mixture of shock and disappointnt.
Even the Silvergate fans in the stands groaned in unison, their brief surge of hope dashed by the wasted opportunity to pull one back.
Unbeknownst to Maddox, his assistant, Nigel Crowther, watched the scene unfold with a flicker of sothing unreadable in his eyes.
For a brief mont, a relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth—a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a carefully crafted mask of disappointnt.
Crowther, a 44-year-old man with a gaunt face and a perpetual air of cynicism, had been a thorn in Maddox’s side before his transmigration to the body.
The mories of his predecessor—a younger Eric Maddox who had clashed repeatedly with Crowther over tactics and team selection, painted a picture of a man who couldn’t be trusted.
Crowther’s smug deanor, his passive-aggressive remarks, and his habit of questioning decisions midga and during etings had already set Maddox on edge.
Fweeeeee!
The referee’s whistle cut through the chaos, its sharp trill drawing everyone’s attention to the 18-yard box.
The official pointed decisively to the penalty spot, his other hand reaching for his pocket to produce a yellow card for Harris, the Crestford defender who had bodychecked Keene.
[> "Ohh... He’s pointed to the spot!" "The referee has awarded a penalty and a yellow card for the challenge on Keene! A lifeline for Silvergate—can they make it count?" "Quite a comical scene in the 18-yard box here, Paul," "Nathan Keene is refusing to let the captain, Toby Winchell, take the spot kick! What do you think?" "I understand Winchell’s reason for wanting to take the penalty, you know," "Keene has got a rather awful record on taking penalties, and after wasting that chance earlier, even I wouldn’t let him near the ball. The lad’s ego is writing checks his skills can’t cash!" "Hahaha, well said, Paul!"
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