The Rangers FC striker kicked off the contest after the referee blew the whistle. Jogging to the front line alongside Rick, I kept peeking back, hoping that James' pep talk was enough to settle our teammates' nerves.

Five minutes flew by without even a glimpse of the action as the game was being played predominantly in our half, our defense struggling to operate in a formation they were unaccustomed to, inducing a few mistakes. 

Luckily, Harry had early success in his battle against their number 9, skillfully erasing his presence from the pitch, prompting their midfielders to capitalize on the early errors and leaving much to be desired with their poor finishing.

As the defense slowly but surely got into its groove, the glaring flaws slowly disappeared as it achieved more success in thwarting the opposition's "invulnerable" attacking route. Although the issue went unnoticed by nearly everyone, I could clearly detect signs of frustration from their defensive midfielder since the long passes were largely his responsibility.

I witnessed his frustration devolving into mild panic as every one of his passes would effortlessly drop to their tall Dutchman, but would rarely get converted into an effective shot on goal, causing Ivan to yawn at the lack of action.

Our first real opportunity to attack arrived when Rick played me through, accompanied by a defender in close pursuit. Dribbling towards the goal, I cut in, now sprinting virtually parallel to the goal line.

A brief scan around updated my teammates' new locations, with Rick approaching an almost ideal position to receive my cutback. Abruptly applying the brakes to momentarily free myself from the defender, I provided him with an impeccable cutback, which he proceeded to sky spectacularly. 

Shooting a thumbs-up to gesture a 'no problem' when he turned to me with his hands perched on his head, I shuffled my feet to demonstrate a stable first touch prior to attempting a shot, earning an enlightened nod from him.

Ostensibly in a bad string of luck, it was Alex this time who met my perfectly positioned cross, only to impact the woodwork. While the audience, consisting largely of parents with a few bored football-crazy spectators sprinkled in, generously applauded, I couldn't take pleasure in it.

My heart was in turmoil after watching repeated missed opportunities to score that even amateurs could put away since they were straightforward unmarked chances with a clear view of the goal. Scouting my teammates' attitudes, their nonchalant demeanor suggested that such mistakes were commonplace, if not prevalent.

Even James sported a bright grin, undoubtedly pleased with the success of our defense, further sparking uncertainty.

'Maybe my standards are too high', I pondered with a bitter smile, recalling how my past teammates at professional clubs would punish themselves over minor mishaps.

A silver lining in my proverbial plight was the dismayed expressions of our opponents, most realizing their trek towards a loss. A sense of contentment spread through my being, and I unashamedly reveled in it, 'Call me a sadist, cause I love seeing that expression on their faces'

My frustrations piling at the repeated blunders of my offensive partners, I finally did away with them when I seized the opportunity to score near the 10-minute mark - midway through the first half.

Rick performed the job of a target man magnificently, holding off two defenders and causing a gap in their fence. Spotting Gary's unchecked run out wide, he played him through, alarming them.

Detecting the momentary holes created in the opposing defense, I dashed onwards, navigating towards the goal, and demanded a cutback.

Securing the ball, I encountered the lone defender guarding their keeper rushing to me. Following a flash of indecision, I assumed a shooting posture, winding my weak foot back to shoot. Successfully baiting him into attempting a tackle, I folded my shot, swiftly performing a La Croqueta and zooming past him.

I found myself in an optimal position to score since the goalkeeper seemed to have trusted the defender, staying put near the goal line. Witnessing his face gradually morph into that of terror, I pulled back my right foot and attempted a powerful low-driven shot towards the far post.

I knew it was a goal right when I felt the sweet sensation of impact and watched as the keeper could only stare as the ball sped past him and buried itself into the side-netting, opening my tally of goals.

The onlookers were up on their feet, heartily cheering for the goal while I darted to my parents, halting a few meters prior and shaping my forefingers and thumb to form a heart. Donning an enormous smile, I looked on as my dad jumped around while pumping his fists, oozing joy from every orifice.

Mom hopped beside him, cheering for me and occasionally shouting, "That's my son!" to anybody paying attention to her. Her gleeful demeanor overlapped with her hollow expression in the past, pulling at my heartstrings.

Teary-eyed, I felt a strong shock on my rear, stumbling face-first onto the ground as my teammates mounted atop my back to celebrate, lauding my finish. The celebrations continued for too long, only the referee's enforced time constraints finally putting a stop to the festivities, most patting my back or head as they begrudgingly jogged back.

The match now resumed, transformed, as the now panicking Rangers FC elected to aggressively charge forwards, lobbing the ball every single time and dialing down their build-up to a minimum, resulting in our defense to effortlessly hinder their straightforward offense and even push back vigorously.

Our dominant midfield and flawless defense paved the way for an opportunity to extend our lead as the disheartened team often committed blunders. Biding my time with my attacking instincts tingling, the chance presented itself when Oscar brilliantly cut off the beanstalk's attempt to pass and delivered the ball impeccably to Alex.

Executing a one-two with Max to smoothly deceive his distracted marker, he sped down the flanks and threw an early cross to Rick lingering at the edge of the box. Noticing my piercing sprint that split the opposing defensive line, he redirected the ball along my path, bringing me through on goal.

Speeding towards a rushing goalkeeper, I detected an opening, appearing akin to a well-lit highway in my mind, because of his slightly misaligned positioning, perhaps not expecting a shot towards the far post utilizing my weak foot. 

Stepping away from the ball, I turned my hips slightly, adopting an open stance towards the goal. Looking at the confused keeper, it occurred to me that Thiery Henry had yet to accomplish his legendary stature and, therefore had not yet popularized his signature scoring technique.

A soft finesse shot curled the ball past the stunned keeper, beautifully threading the needle and gracefully rolling into the net, marking my second.

////Author's Notes:

I feel like I tried too hard with this chapter :\

Finesse - a shot that has less power on it but more curve applied. Messi uses this kind of shot a lot.

Note - Thiery Henry is arguably one of the best players in the generation before Messi and C. Ronaldo. He popularized a particular kind of finesse shot that let him score much more consistently from his weak side. If you're interested, please check out YouTube as explaining it through words is quite difficult :(

I hope the effort was worth it and you enjoyed reading it :)