As the ball came, Maguire rose confidently, timing his jump perfectly. Then the shout from Onana came to leave the ball to the goalkeeper. Loud. Clear. Maguire ducked instinctively, trusting his goalkeeper.
Onana stepped forward, arms wrapping inward, chest puffed out, hands forming that familiar cradle goalkeepers use when they expect the ball to nestle safely against them. Except he mistimed it completely. The cross dipped faster than he read it. The ball smacked straight into his face, ricocheted off his forearm, and dropped straight into the six-yard box.
Ekitike did not hesitate.
One step. One touch. An empty net.
Frankfurt had scored.
"Oh my days. Oh my actual days," Goldbridge groaned. "What is he doing? What is he DOING? That is Sunday League stuff. That's not even Sunday League, that's a charity match! You've let it hit you in the FACE, mate!"
He went off. Completely.
