Saturday, May 1st. 5:00 PM. The Hawthorns Tunnel.
Game 45 of 46.
West Bromwich Albion 1 - 1 Norwich City.
The final whistle had blown ten minutes ago, but noise still came from the away dressing room. Norwich was celebrating a secured playoff spot. In the home dressing room, silence filled the air.
Ethan sat with his head in his hands. He had covered 13 km. He had tackled everyone in sight. But it wasn't enough. A late equalizer from Norwich had cost them the win.
Julian Vance walked in and turned on the TV screen on the wall.
SUNDERLAND 2 - 0 WATFORD.
The table appeared on screen.
6. West Bromwich Albion - 72 pts (GD +8)
7. Sunderland - 72 pts (GD +6)
8. Blackburn Rovers - 70 pts
"We are still sixth," Vance said, breaking the gloom. "By two goals. Two goals decide the difference between our Premier League dream and nothing."
He scanned the room.
"Next Sunday. Swansea at home. Sunderland plays away at Preston. If we match their result, we are in. If we slip, we are done."
Ethan studied the table.
It was going to be a close finish.
Monday, May 3rd. 7:45 PM. Meadow Lane.
Game 45 of 46.
Notts County vs. Crestwood United.
While West Brom licked their wounds, Crestwood faced a tough match. Notts County was 2nd, battling Wrexham for the title.
Mason Turner led the team out. His nose was taped. His knee was strapped. He looked like a warrior who had been in the arena too long.
The game was a constant attack. Notts County charged for 85 minutes.
Mason cleared the ball off the line twice.
Callum pushed himself to the limit, chasing lost causes.
88th Minute.
0-0.
A point would be huge. It would keep them in 7th place. But then came heartbreak.
A cruel deflection off Mason's thigh sent the ball past the keeper.
GOAL.
Notts County 1 - 0 Crestwood.
The whistle blew moments later.
Mason stood in the penalty box, staring at the sky. He had defended with everything, only to score an own goal.
The Gaffer ran onto the pitch with a phone in hand.
"Results!" he shouted. "Bromley lost! Bromley lost at home!"
Mason looked down.
"We're still in?"
"We're still 7th," the Gaffer gasped. "By one point. It all comes down to Saturday."
Friday, May 7th. 8:00 PM. The Eve of the Final Day.
The city of Birmingham was on edge.
To the west, West Brom fans nervously drank in pubs, discussing goal differences and tie-breakers.
To the east, the small suburb of Crestwood was adorned with bunting. BELIEVE signs were taped to shop windows.
Ethan drove to a quiet spot overlooking the city—Frankley Beeches. It was a hill where they used to sit as kids, eating chips while gazing at the lights.
He pulled up.
Two other cars were already there. A worn Vauxhall Corsa (Callum) and a Ford Fiesta (Mason).
Ethan got out, limping slightly. His calf was tight from the Norwich match.
Mason leaned against his car. The tape on his nose was fresh.
Callum sat on the roof of his car, staring at the horizon.
"We look like a hospital waiting room," Ethan said, smiling as he joined them.
"I feel like I'm 90 years old," Callum groaned. "My hamstrings are singing a tune."
"One more game," Mason said. His voice was steady, but his hands shook slightly. "46 games played. And it all comes down to 90 minutes."
"Who are you facing?" Ethan asked, though he already knew.
"Wrexham," Mason said. "At home. They need to win to take the league. Ryan Reynolds will probably be there. The cameras. The circus."
"And you?" Callum asked.
"Swansea," Ethan answered. "They play possession. They'll try to bore us into submission. If we don't score early, the crowd will turn. Sunderland is at Preston. Preston is out of the race."
They fell into silence for a moment, wind blowing across the hill.
"Remember the pact?" Mason asked.
"Wembley," Ethan nodded.
"If we win tomorrow," Mason said, looking at the city lights, "we are three games away from being professional footballers in the Football League. No more warehouse shifts. No more part-time work."
"And if I win," Ethan added, "I'm three games away from the Premier League."
Callum jumped off the car roof, picked up a stone, and tossed it into the dark.
"We won't lose tomorrow. I'm not going back to my old job at the cinema."
Ethan extended his hand.
"The String Don't Break."
Mason placed his hand on top. His knuckles were bruised.
"The String Don't Break."
Callum added his hand on top.
"The String Don't Break."
They broke the huddle.
There were no jokes tonight. No banter.
Just the weight of what tomorrow held.
Saturday, May 8th. 06:00 AM.
Ethan woke up before his alarm.
He stared at the ceiling.
Today was the day.
He picked up his phone.
There was a notification from the West Brom group chat.
Julian Vance: Wear the suit. Be early. Today we define ourselves.
He scrolled down.
There was a notification from the Crestwood group chat.
Mason: Whatever happens, leave everything on the pitch. I love you boys.
Ethan got out of bed and walked to the window. The sun rose over the West Midlands.
Somewhere in that sunrise, destiny waited.
He picked up his custom shin pads.
He kissed the West Brom crest.
He kissed the Crestwood crest.
"Let's go."