The FA Youth Cup is the ultimate prize in academy football. It's the competition that turned the Class of '92, Wayne Rooney, and Jack Wilshere into legends. For a U18 player, it's more than just a tournament, it's the closest experience to professional football before signing a contract.
On Monday afternoon, the West Brom canteen was packed but quiet. Every scholar, from first-years to third-years fighting for their careers, stared at the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
On screen, two men in suits swirled velvet bags filled with numbered balls.
"The Third Round Draw," the presenter announced. "This is when the Premier League and Championship clubs join in. Numbers will be assigned alphabetically."
Ethan sat between Harvey and Tyrell. Tyrell bounced his leg nervously under the table. "Come on," Tyrell muttered. "Give us a lower league team. I want Exeter or Rochdale. I want an easy match."
"I want a big one," Harvey whispered. "I want Chelsea or United again."
The draw began. "Ball number 4... Blackburn Rovers... will play... Ball number 26... Manchester City." "Ouch for Blackburn," someone said. "City away. That's tough."
The balls kept coming. The numbers ticked up as they moved through the alphabet. Newcastle. Norwich. Southampton.
"Ball number 42... West Bromwich Albion."
The room held its breath. It was a home draw. That was the first win.
"Will play..."
The man reached into the bowl and pulled out a ball. He twisted it open.
"Ball number 1... Arsenal."
The room erupted in a mix of groans and excited shouts. Arsenal. One of the best academies in the world. Hale End. The place that is known for developing technical talent.
Gareth, standing at the back with his arms crossed, walked to the front. He waited for the noise to fade.
"Arsenal," he said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "Top of the South Group. Unbeaten. They have three players who have already debuted for their first team in Europe."
He scanned the room, making eye contact with every player. "It's a tough draw. But it comes with a reward. Because of the opponent's profile, the club has made a decision."
He paused for effect.
"This match will not be played at the training ground. It will be played at The Hawthorns."
The silence shattered. Cheers erupted. The Hawthorns. The 26,000 seat stadium. The sacred field where the first team plays on Saturdays. For most players in the room, it would be their first time on a professional pitch.
Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine, completely unrelated to the air conditioning. He visualized the stadium. The tall stands, the floodlights, and the tunnel. He had been there once as a fan. Now, he was going to walk onto the pitch.
"7:00 PM kickoff. Under the lights," Gareth said, a small smile appearing on his lips. "Tickets go on sale to the public tomorrow. Make sure your families know. We want a crowd."
That evening, Ethan didn't just text the group chat. He called instead.
"The Hawthorns?" Callum shouted on the phone before Ethan could finish. "The real, actual Hawthorns? With the stands and the dugouts and the proper grass?"
"Yes," Ethan grinned, pacing his small bedroom. "Against Arsenal. It's in two weeks."
"I'm coming," Callum declared immediately. "I don't care. I'll walk if I have to. Mason! We're going!"
"Of course we are," Mason's voice chimed in from the background, they were at Callum's house. "We've got the railcard. £15 return. Done."
"Arsenal, though," Mason added, taking the phone. "That's tough, Ethan. They're skilled. Like Spain, but faster."
"I know," Ethan replied. "But we're at home. And we have Tyrell. He'll love taking on their number 10."
"Can we get in the tunnel?" Callum asked. "Can you get us VIP passes?"
"I can get you tickets," Ethan laughed. "You'll sit in the stands with my mum."
"Good enough," Callum said. "I'll wear my Crestwood tracksuit. Represent the roots."
"How's the league?" Ethan asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from himself.
"Grind," Mason replied. "We play Marston Vale on Saturday. They're fighting relegation, so they'll play rough. The pitch is getting worse every week. It's basically a swamp now." "Perfect for 'Heavy Metal' football," Ethan joked. "Exactly," Mason agreed. "We'll win 1-0. Goal from a corner. That's how we roll."
They chatted for a few more minutes, but the energy shifted. The FA Youth Cup draw had put a significant, exciting mark on the calendar.
Ethan ended the call and walked to his window. He looked out at the streetlights of Great Barr. He thought of the rusty goalposts in Eastfield Park, where he had pretended to score cup winning goals in front of imaginary crowds.
In two weeks, the crowd wouldn't be imaginary. The goalposts wouldn't be rusty.
He turned back to his room. He dropped to the floor for push-ups. He needed to be ready. Arsenal is coming, and he will be playing at The Hawthorns.