December 26th. Boxing Day. 2:00 PM.
The Championship "Festive Schedule" is no celebration. It is grueling. Four games in ten days. Rotation is essential. Recovery is a fantasy.
Ethan sat on the bench at Carrow Road, Norwich. The wind off the flat Norfolk fields was sharp, cutting through his three layers of thermals.
Norwich City 1 - 1 West Brom.
The game was a deadlock. It was the 78th minute. Mitch Evans, the starting midfielder, signaled to the bench. His hamstring was tight.
"Matthews!" Julian Vance shouted without looking. "You're on."
Ethan stripped off his warm-ups. The adrenaline spike was familiar now, but the excitement had faded. It wasn't a debut anymore. It was just another shift.
He ran onto the pitch.
The pace was frantic. Norwich were pushing for a winner. The ball spent most of its time in the air.
Ethan tried to get involved. He moved into the spaces he usually found. But the Norwich midfielders—veterans fighting for a playoff spot—didn't give him any room. They pushed him, blocked him, and ignored him.
In the 85th minute, he got the ball. He looked ahead and saw Remi Cole making a run.
Ethan prepared to pass.
Crunch.
A Norwich midfielder slid in from the blind side. He took the ball cleanly and sent Ethan tumbling. The home crowd erupted.
West Brom spent the last five minutes defending a corner. Ethan cleared one with his head, but otherwise, he was just along for the ride.
Full Time: 1-1.
In the dressing room, there were no high-fives. Just silence and the sound of tape being ripped off hairy legs.
"Solid point," Vance said, his face drained from fatigue. "Recovery starts now. Ice baths. Sleep. We've got Leeds in 72 hours."
He didn't look at Ethan. Ethan had filled a gap, but he hadn't changed the game.
December 29th. The Hawthorns.
West Brom vs. Leeds United.
A crucial game. 3rd vs. 2nd. The stadium was packed, the atmosphere electric under the floodlights.
West Brom were down 0-1. They were chasing the game.
70th Minute.
"Matthews! Hayes! Get ready!"
Vance was going all out. He took off a defender and put on Danny Hayes (the playmaker) and Ethan.
"Go and win it," Vance said, pushing Ethan toward the touchline. "Take a risk."
Ethan stepped on. The crowd roared, hoping for another Ipswich moment.
But Leeds were not Ipswich. Leeds were a machine. They pressed Ethan the moment he touched the ball.
In the 80th minute, the ball came to Ethan on the edge of the box. The crowd surged. Shoot!
Ethan hesitated. He looked for the perfect pass. The chance closed. He got tackled.
A collective groan echoed around The Hawthorns. It was worse than a boo. It was disappointment.
"Shoot the ball!" a fan yelled from the front row.
Ethan's confidence shook. For the rest of the game, he played it safe, making simple, sideways passes. He kept possession, but he didn't threaten the opposition.
Full Time: West Brom 0 - 1 Leeds.
Ethan walked down the tunnel, head low.
Danny Hayes walked beside him. "Don't dwell on it, kid," Hayes said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Leeds are the best defensive unit in the league. You can't pick a lock that's welded shut."
"I froze," Ethan whispered.
"You're seventeen," Hayes shrugged. "You're playing against guys who have been in the Champions League. It happens. Get over it. We go again on New Year's Day."
New Year's Eve. 10:00 PM.
There were no parties for the Matthews household. Or for the Turners. Or the Reids.
Ethan was in his room in Eastfield (allowed home for one night before heading to Swansea). He lay on his bed, legs up the wall to drain the lactic acid.
He FaceTimed the boys.
Mason picked up. He looked exhausted. He had a bag of frozen peas on his shoulder. Callum was there too, sitting on Mason's floor, looking unusually down.
"Happy New Year," Ethan said quietly.
"Bah humbug," Callum muttered. "We lost again today. 2-0 to Aldershot. We're 18th, Eth. Two points above the drop."
"How's the body?" Ethan asked Mason.
"Shattered," Mason admitted. "Sully is still out. I've played every minute since August. My knees click when I walk."
"How's the 'Super Sub' life?" Callum asked, trying to lighten the mood. "I saw you came on against Leeds. Tough game."
"I was invisible," Ethan sighed. "I ran around for twenty minutes and did nothing. The crowd groaned at me, Cal. First time."
"They're fickle," Mason grunted. "One week you're Messi, next week you're messy. Ignore them."
"It's just..." Ethan stared at the ceiling. "The debut was easy. I just reacted. Now? Now I'm thinking too much. Every time I get the ball, I think 'don't lose it.' Because I'm thinking that, I don't try the killer pass."
"The Rookie Wall," Mason said wisely. "Sully talks about it. You reach a point where the adrenaline fades and you realize how hard it really is."
"What do I do?"
"You keep running," Mason said. "You grind. Same as us. We're fighting relegation in the mud. You're fighting for a spot in the Championship. It's just hard work, Eth. Boring, painful work."
"Speaking of work," Callum checked his phone. "I have to be at the warehouse at 6 AM tomorrow for stock take. Happy New Year to me."
"I'm on the bus to Swansea at 8 AM," Ethan said.
"Swansea away," Mason whistled. "That's a long one."
"Yeah," Ethan said. "Another bench. Another 15 minutes of trying not to mess up."
"Better than stock take," Callum pointed out.
"True."
They sat in silence for a moment, connected by glowing screens, united in fatigue.
"Right," Mason said. "I'm heading to sleep before the fireworks start. Happy New Year, lads. Here's to hoping 2026 brings fewer bruises."
"And more goals," Callum added.
"And a start," Ethan whispered to himself.
January 1st. Swansea. 3:00 PM.
Swansea City 0 - 0 West Brom.
It was raining in Wales. A miserable, gray day.
Ethan came on in the 65th minute. Volkan Demir had taken a hit.
"Control it," Vance said. "Don't let them play through us."
Ethan stepped onto the wet pitch.
For 25 minutes, he did exactly what he was told. He shielded the back four. He made simple passes to the wingers. He won two tackles.
He didn't try a through ball. He didn't shoot.
The game ended 0-0. It was a boring, disciplined point away from home.
As the team applauded the traveling fans—soaked to the bone in the away end—Volkan Demir walked over to Ethan.
"Solid," the Turkish midfielder said. "Boring. But solid."
"I felt safe," Ethan admitted.
"Safe keeps you in the team," Demir said. "The magic comes back when you stop overthinking. For now? Just be a brick in the wall."
Ethan nodded. He walked off the pitch. He hadn't set the world on fire. He hadn't made the highlight reel. But he hadn't frozen, and he hadn't caused them to lose.
He was learning that in professional football, sometimes being a 6/10 for five games in a row mattered more than being a 9/10 just once.
He got on the bus. He checked the Crestwood score.
Crestwood 0 - 0 Solihull Moors.
A brick in the wall.
It seemed Mason had the same thought.
Ethan closed his eyes. The festive schedule was over. He had survived it. Now, the real season began.