U18

The man-down Seafreight United Youth Team had completely lost the ability to fight back. The rain was coming down thicker now. A sheet of water lay across the turf, the wet ball was heavier, and it was far easier to scuff a shot. Take two touches running with it and you were likely to lose it. Even stopping dead and turning, you had to hold something back for fear of your feet slipping away. So both sides gave up on passing and possession altogether and simply hoofed it forward, competing for the first contact and the second reaction. But long passing was exactly Du An's strength. He stood just behind the top of the centre circle. His shorts had long since been soaked through and plastered to his thighs, and it didn't affect his distribution in the slightest. He took a ball down with his left foot, half-turned and read the pitch for half a second, and then a diagonal ball was curling into the space down the right. Sometimes he wouldn't even take a touch—just a first-time pass in the flow of his stride, a low ball driven straight through the middle of midfield. He was like a dealing machine, alternating his distribution from left to right, the ball again and again sailing over opponents' heads into the box, forcing Seafreight United's defenders to chase back, clear, and chase back again. They didn't even have time to catch their breath. In rain like this, stamina drains quickly. Seafreight United tried to counter twice, winning the ball in midfield and going long for their forwards at once, but the success rate was far too low. Whenever Liverpool had the ball, Seafreight United were even more on the back foot. Thirtieth minute. Du An dropped into the middle to offer an outlet. Two of their midfielders closed in, one from either side. With his right foot he pushed the ball away first time in the direction he was already moving, and it rolled along the turf. The rain cost the pass half a beat of pace, but it arrived exactly a step in front of Ben Parsonage. Ben didn't need to adjust his stride. He met the ball and swung his right foot through it. Bang! The ball carved an arc, trailing droplets of water. The rain had smeared the goalkeeper's vision, and his dive was half a beat late. The ball thudded into the net, shaking a spray of water from the mesh. 2-0. With two in hand, Liverpool played with even more freedom, wave after wave of crosses from the wings. Thirty-fourth minute: Du An sent a long ball from the left to the far post, and Ben rose high to head for goal, but the ball flew over the byline. Two minutes later Connor got to the byline on the right and crossed; the water lying on the turf suddenly took the pace off it, Lewis couldn't get there at the near post, and the ball slid through to the far post, where one of their defenders hoofed it clear. The box was in chaos the entire time. Thirty-seventh minute: Lewis crossed again from the left. Neither of the two players challenging at the near post got a touch to it. In the middle, a Seafreight United centre-back hurriedly stuck out a foot to clear, his standing foot slipped in the scramble, he scuffed the ball, and instead of clearing it he diverted it—straight into his own net. An own goal! 3-0. The goalkeeper had no chance to react and could only watch it go into his own goal. He was left rather helpless. He had to defend against the opponents, and against his own teammates too. As the first half drew to a close, Liverpool won a corner on the left. Du An stood over the corner flag, wiped the rain off his face, and after his run-up floated the ball toward the near post of the box. Ben jumped and flicked it on toward the far post. A defender's clearance didn't travel far, and the ball dropped right in front of Flanagan, who had come up in support. As Flanagan struck it, his standing foot slipped in the standing water. He forced his balance to hold, and met the dropping ball with a swing of his foot. The ball bounced once on the turf and skidded along the ground, and once again the goalkeeper couldn't get there in time. 4-0! The half wasn't even over, and it was already a thoroughly satisfying thrashing. Seafreight United's substitute goalkeeper was on the verge of tears. He had finally got a chance to play, and he had conceded four. His teammates all ran over to comfort him. On the other side, the instant the ball went in, Flanagan was just raising a fist to celebrate when Connor came flying in and shoved him down into the mud and water. Then Ben, Lewis and the rest swarmed over and piled on top, one on another. Covered head to toe in mud and rain, every one of them grinned wider than the last. "4-0! We're tearing them apart!" "God, that felt great! This is what football's supposed to be!" The shouting mixed with the sound of the rain. Nobody cared whether their clothes were filthy or whether they were cold; the high of winning drowned out every wet chill. When they'd had enough and got up, each of them was a mud monkey, faces speckled with dirt. They looked at one another and collapsed into foolish grins. On the sideline, Dalglish couldn't help punching the air, his face flushed with excitement. It was only a U16 youth match, and yet it had set this former King of Anfield's heart surging. A casual observer saw only goals and a lively game; only someone who understood football realized that the core of the first half's dominance was Du An. He didn't stand out. No flashy dribbling, no moment of glory beating three or four men. But the rhythm of the switch from defence to attack was entirely under his feet. The higher you climb, the more a player like that is worth! The half-time whistle blew. The players clattered back to the changing-room showers, and the moment they were through the door they were all talking over one another. "I'm telling you, Du An, you were unreal today!" Connor was rubbing his hair dry, deadly earnest. "I was running down the wing just now and it felt like Alonso was passing to me—I'd look up and the ball was right there at my feet. Perfect." A few of the others laughed along. Ben nodded. "If we keep playing like this, us lads might all go up to the U18s together next season! And with this squad, we could even make a run at the FA Youth Cup!" "Yeah! Win the title!" The group chimed in, full of youthful high spirits. One big win, and they felt there was no opponent in the world they couldn't beat. Du An smiled along with them and said nothing. He'd been about to say he was going up to the U18s after the New Year, but looking at all the lively faces around him, he swallowed the words. Never mind—he'd let the coach announce it. After the break. Aslett made five substitutions in one go. Ben, Connor, Du An and the other regulars were all taken off to rest. Youth friendlies had almost no restrictions on substitutions anyway; the whole point was to use matches as training. But barely a dozen minutes into the second half, the sky turned completely dark. The rain fell harder, and a wind got up, bending the corner flags at the side of the pitch. The players couldn't keep their eyes open, the ball drifted off its path in the wind, and even the touchlines were nearly impossible to see. Aslett and the opposing coach conferred for a couple of sentences at the side of the pitch and both agreed that playing on in such weather would only needlessly increase the risk of injury. The match was stopped soon after. Once everyone had showered and changed into clean clothes, the whole squad gathered in the small meeting room at the base. Aslett leaned back against a table, looking at the still-chattering teenagers in front of him, and clapped his hands. "Quiet down. With today's match out of the way, we're officially off on holiday. Report back for training on January 3rd. While you're away, don't stuff yourselves—first day back you're on the scales, and anyone over the limit runs ten laps first, then extra training. Hear me?" A chorus of groans came from the floor. "One more thing." Aslett smiled. "Tonight's on me. We're going out for fish and chips, as much as you can eat. Call it celebrating the holidays early. When you get home, don't go eating junk either—no point getting sick and missing training." No sooner had he finished than the meeting room erupted in cheers. "You're the best, boss!" "Brilliant, boss!" Aslett pressed his hands down, and only when they'd quietened did he continue. "This meal isn't free, though. Two things to tell you all. First, Du An's birthday is in two days, so let's celebrate it a little early." The players were taken aback. Then they all turned to look at Du An, offering congratulations over one another. Connor clapped Du An on the shoulder, envy all over his face. "Whoa—your birthday's on Christmas? That's so cool!" "Happy birthday, Du An!" "A Christmas birthday—that's class!" Du An smiled and nodded his thanks to them all. "Second thing," Aslett went on. "Once we're back from the break, Du An won't be training and playing with us U16s anymore." The words landed, and the room went dead silent in an instant. Everyone was stunned.