The second half began, not with a roar, but with a nervous, suffocating hush. The crowd of 1,000 was too afraid to cheer. They feared jinxing it, worried the dream was fading before their eyes.
Harrington, confident with their 1-0 lead, retreated into a defensive shell. They placed all eleven players behind the ball, forming two lines of red shirts at the edge of their penalty area. They kicked the ball into the stands whenever they could. They took thirty seconds for every throw-in. They played the spoiler's role perfectly.
For the first ten minutes of the half, Crestwood looked just like they had at the start, panicked. Their passes were rushed. Callum was caught offside twice, his eagerness to impress Mia making him impatient.
Ethan felt the clock ticking in his chest. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each second brought him closer to failure.
In the 58th minute, he decided he had seen enough.
Mason won a header in midfield and knocked it down. Ethan didn't look for a pass or a decoy run. He picked up the ball forty yards out and just ran.
It was a run fueled by pure anger. He drove straight at the Harrington defense. He slipped past one midfielder with a drop of his shoulder. He bulldozed by a second, staying on his feet despite a cynical tackle that would have stopped a lesser player. He reached the edge of the box with three defenders closing in.
He didn't pass. He pulled his leg back and fired a shot with all the frustration he had bottled up for an hour.
The ball flew like a cannonball, low and curving. It clipped the inside of the post and smashed into the net.
1-1.
Ethan didn't smile. He didn't celebrate. He ran to the goal, grabbed the ball, and sprinted back to the center circle, placing it on the spot. He turned to his teammates and waved his arms. "Let's go! We need one more!"
The crowd sprang to life. The roar returned, louder and more desperate. Hope flickered back to life.
But Harrington held strong. They clung to the draw. A draw would give Riverton the title, and Harrington knew it. They defended fiercely, blocking shots and clearing the ball off the line.
70 minutes. 80 minutes.
News trickled in: Riverton had won. Their game was over. They were right there on their field, waiting on the result from Crestwood. If the whistle blew now, Riverton would be champions.
85 minutes.
Callum narrowly missed a header. Mason had a shot blocked. The Crestwood players gasped for breath, their legs heavy from a season's worth of exertion.
88 minutes.
Harrington had a throw in deep in Crestwood's half. They took their time. The referee checked his watch. The crowd screamed, pleading.
The throw came in. A Harrington player tried to shield it in the corner to waste time.
Mason, suddenly energized, refused to let that happen. He launched himself into a tackle, wrapping his leg around the ball and winning it cleanly. He scrambled to his feet, the ball at his feet.
"Ethan!" he shouted.
He launched a long, diagonal ball forward.
Ethan trapped it at the halfway line. He turned. The Harrington defense was a bit out of sync, caught off guard from their time-wasting.
Ethan drove forward. Two defenders rushed at him, fearing another long-range shot. The weight of the West Brom signing pulled them in like a magnet.
Ethan spotted the gap. And he saw the run.
Callum, exhausted and sweat dripping from his nose, made one last desperate sprint between the center-backs.
Ethan waited until the defenders committed, until the very last moment. Then, he played the pass.
It was the pass of the season. A perfectly weighted, slide-rule ball that sliced through the heart of the defense.
Callum was clear. He faced the keeper one on one. The weight of the season, the title, and his promise to Mia all depended on his next touch.
He didn't do anything fancy. He didn't try to chip him. He opened his body and, simply and calmly, passed the ball into the bottom right corner.
The net rippled.
2-1.
For a brief moment, there was silence, as if the crowd couldn't believe it. Then, absolute chaos.
Callum tore off his shirt, screaming, and sprinted toward the corner flag. Ethan and Mason were the first to reach him, tackling him to the ground. Then the rest of the team joined in. Even Coach Shaw ran down the touchline, pumping his fist in the air.
The noise was deafening, a wave of sound that shook the ground.
They had done it. In the 89th minute, the boys from Crestwood had won the league.