This time, the celebration was frantic. The manager was on the pitch, waving his arms. The fans were hugging strangers. But Leo pulled away from the huddle. He looked at the clock. 94:00.
As he slid on the wet grass, he poked the ball with the toe of his boot. A delicate, impudent chip. The ball floated over the sprawling keeper, bounced once, and rolled lazily over the white line. hat trick ff
Thwack.
Goal. Your striker. Goal. Him again. Goal. This time, the celebration was frantic