The Last Chance

Just as Brooks prepared to chip, Mason chased back from the diagonal. He was not a defender, but he moved as if he had known exactly where Brooks would run. He slid. At the final instant, the tip of his boot poked the ball behind for a corner. Grass flew. Brooks fell in the box, then shot to his feet. "Are you crazy? This is training!" Mason sat on the grass, his left knee brace smeared with mud. His voice was calm. "So is the World Cup." The entire training ground fell silent. Hayes blew the whistle. "Done." Brooks stared at Mason, chest rising and falling. In that moment, the contempt in his eyes did not vanish completely, but something else appeared beside it. Maybe anger. Maybe recognition.