The bus rumbled steadily along the motorway, carrying the team toward London. A quiet hum of anticipation filled the air as the players settled in for the journey. So dozed off, headphones on, while others watched highlight reels on their phones or joked quietly with one another.
David sat by the window, earbuds in but the music playing softly, just loud enough to keep his thoughts from spiraling. Outside, the scenery raced by—vast open fields giving way to clusters of buildings as they edged closer to the capital. He glanced down at his phone, his finger hovering over the lock screen. A notification popped up: ssages from his mom. He smiled, locking it again before turning back to the window.
As the bus rolled into London, the atmosphere shifted. The sprawling city stretched in every direction—massive skyscrapers, crowded streets, and landmarks David had only seen on TV. But it wasn't the iconic bridges or famous towers that grabbed his attention—it was the football.
Through the window, he caught glimpses of greatness: massive stadiums towering above the neighborhoods like monunts. First, Stamford Bridge ca into view, the ho of Chelsea FC. Even from a distance, it looked impressive.
"Wow," David muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Jason, sitting in the row behind him, leaned forward, grinning. "London's no joke, kid. Wait till you see the Emirates."
And he did. Minutes later, Arsenal's massive Emirates Stadium appeared like a fortress on the skyline. Its smooth curves and sheer size took David's breath away. He pressed closer to the window, marveling at its grandeur.
"Can't believe we're here," he whispered, excitent bubbling up alongside the nerves.
"Dream big," Curtis said, catching his reaction. "One day, you'll score in places like this too."
David turned back, his grin widening. "Not just score—I'll own it."
Curtis chuckled, shaking his head. "Love the confidence, mate. Just don't let the nerves get to you today."
David nodded, but as the bus weaved its way through London's crowded streets, the butterflies in his stomach beca harder to ignore. They were headed to Crystal Palace's stadium, Selhurst Park—not as big as the Emirates, sure, but still daunting. He'd watched Premier League gas there. He knew how loud their fans could get.
Arrival at Selhurst Park
The bus finally pulled into Selhurst Park, and David felt his chest tighten. The Crystal Palace fans were already out in full force, waving red and blue scarves, chanting songs, and banging drums. The noise was palpable, even from inside the bus.
When David stepped off, the stadium lood large ahead of him, its history and atmosphere undeniable. The sound grew louder as they walked through the entrance tunnel, and David caught a glimpse of the pitch through an opening.
"This is it, kid," Jason said, clapping him on the back as they headed toward the dressing room. "Welco to proper football."
The dressing room buzzed with energy as players laced up their boots, taped their wrists, and began warming up. Wayne Rooney, the player-coach, stood at the front, mapping out the ga plan on the tactics board.
"Right," Wayne said, his voice sharp and steady, "we all know what to expect. This is the FA Cup. Selhurst is loud, their fans will be on us from minute one, but that's what we're here for. We play our ga. We stick to the plan. Most of all, we fight for each other. Every ball. Every mont."
Wayne's eyes scanned the room, settling on David. "Jones."
David froze, his heart beating a little faster.
"You're starting today," Wayne said with a nod. "You've earned it. Go out there and play your ga. Show them why you're here."
David exhaled slowly, nodding. "Yes, boss."
"Good lad," Wayne replied, moving on to finish his pre-match instructions.
The Tunnel Before Kickoff
The tunnel leading onto the pitch felt like a furnace, the energy thick in the air. David stood in line with his teammates, his shirt already clinging to his back. On the other side, the Crystal Palace players looked bigger, stronger—seasoned for monts like this.
David stared ahead, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. Around him, the noise of the crowd swelled like a wave. The stadium outside was alive, a sea of red and blue.
Jason leaned over. "How you feeling?"
David's voice was steady. "I'm ready."
The announcer's voice thundered through the stadium speakers:
"Starting for the away side... Number 30... DAVID JONES!"
The sound of his na rang out, and for a split second, everything else disappeared. This was the mont he'd been waiting for.
David swallowed hard, clenching his fists as the butterflies turned to adrenaline.
Before stepping onto the pitch, Wayne Rooney appeared at his side.
"Hey," Wayne said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Happy birthday, kid."
David blinked, caught off guard. In all the excitent, he'd almost forgotten.
"Let's make it one to rember, yeah?" Wayne added with a small grin.
David's lips curled into a smile as he jogged onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd hitting him like a wall. His boots touched the grass, and the stadium lights glared overhead.
This was it.
"Happy birthday to ," David murmured under his breath, his heart pounding with excitent.
He glanced at the crowd, the opposing team, and then back to his teammates.
He was ready.
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