Jack Harvey: Breakthrough, page 1
Jack Harvey
Breakthrough
James Hewlett
Burton Mayers Books
Copyright © 2023 James Hewlett
Content compiled for publication by Richard Mayers of Burton Mayers Books. First published by Burton Mayers Books 2022. Copyright © 2023 James Hewlett All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. A print version of this book is available to buy - ISBN: 978-1-7396309-9-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Harvey and Robyn Dream big. Always believe in yourself. Love Dad
Jack Harvey
~
JAMES HEWLETT
www.BurtonMayersBooks.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One day I woke up, and just started writing. Writing I have discovered is a solitary world. Finding the inspiration to start, and then getting it out to you all is very much a team game!
This book was a dream of mine, but without the help of a whole host of people it would have remained just that, a dream.
I can’t name everyone who helped, guided and inspired me along the way as it would just not be possible to fit all on these pages, but to all those who played a part, however small, I am truly grateful to you all you have done for me.
To Elizabeth, my better half – a talented writer in your own right. I knew if I could get you interested in a story about a footballer, I was onto something good! Your help, support and unwavering belief in me when things were getting tricky was invaluable.
Family is all important. We are there for each other no matter what, Mum, Andrew, Ruth and Peter, you’ve always had my back. This book is as much for you as it is for me.
To Lisa and students of Mont Nicolle School. You got the sneak preview of the very first draft. Thank you for your feedback that gave me the confidence to keep going.
To Richard and Burton Mayers Books, my publishers, you took a chance on my dream and helped me turn it into a reality. I hope that this is indeed the first of many Jack Harvey books and we will work together for many years to come.
Harvey and Robyn, this book is for you. This is to show you that anything truly is possible in this life if you really want it enough and are ready and prepared to just go for it.
Finally, the reader of this book. I hope to have inspired you, even a tiny bit to go out and live your dreams. Make them a reality. Be proud, don’t give up. Dream big.
“It’s hard to beat someone who never quits.” (Jack)
THWACK…!
The ball had skidded across the wet grass and smacked into the left-hand post.
40,000 groans from the crowd – so close.
It was 1-1 in the last game of the season. Accies (Academicals) had to win their final match to stay in the Premier division. The noise from the South End stand where the most passionate fans sat were chanting ‘A-KEYS, A-KEYS, A-KEYS’ in an attempt to lift their team.
The team that had won the League Championship only a few seasons ago, and were once regular challengers in the Champions League, had fallen on some tough times. The team had grown old, and the manager hadn't replaced his star players who struggled against the younger, fitter, and quicker sides.
I'm Jack Harvey, striker! I play for the best team in the world – or at least we used to be one of them. When I first signed as a youth player, we fought for the biggest and best prizes in Europe. Now it was a darker time for the club: we were at the wrong end of the division and heading in only one direction. But we still had a chance to save ourselves.
I sat in the stands with my mate, Lucas. We had been best mates for as long as we could both remember. We lived on the same street, in a lovely (usually) quiet area of the town, about a mile from the ground. My house was small, but enough room for me, my mum and dad, and my football-mad sister Isabelle (or Izzy). We always had a lot of fun together. The chat between dad and I was almost always about the footie, mostly the Accies. I knew everything there was to know about the club. It was my passion. On match days when we were too young to go, we could hear the roar and the song from the stadium. It was electrifying and inspiring. We would kick a football in the yard for hours pretending we were the players driving the Accies to glory. I'd be the striker, Lucas would be in goal. We would go up to the local playing fields, both diving around until our knees had been stained green by the grass. Fast-forward 10 years: we were members of the academy, and under-18 youth team players for the Academicals, even though we were both just 16 years old.
'I can't believe this,' I exclaimed as I turned to face Lucas. 'There's five minutes to go, we HAVE to win.'
The yellow and blue wall of colour and noise behind us suddenly erupted, as, in a last throw of the dice, 36-year-old Dexter Brooks (or Dex as he was known), was coming on. The former England international had scored a record 268 goals for the club, plus 34 for England, including winning the Golden Boot in the 2006 World Cup. The crowd loved him, he always gave his best, but only five goals this season told its own story. He and the team were too old, too slow and needed a huge change. But for now, they just needed one goal, one more chance for the ball to land at his lethal boots to save their, and our, season. The crowd noise was deafening, and Lucas and I sang our hearts out. The rest of the youth team sat around us with other club officials and the players who weren't in the team, hands in the air, waving scarves, pennants, anything yellow or blue. It was an amazing sight and one that gave Accies the reputation of having the best fans in the League, if not the whole of Europe.
Only two minutes to go. It was all one-way now. Accies were pushing harder and pressing higher than ever. It was probably our best performance of the season. Superstar Portuguese forward Thiago Felipe whipped in a cross. It was headed clear, but only to Dex who hit it first time with venom in his boots. The crowd held its breath – then we let out another collective groan, heads falling into hands, as the ball clipped the crossbar and finished in the stands.
Now we were into injury time. We couldn't go down, it couldn't happen. It didn't seem possible as just a few weeks ago we seemed to be clear of relegation, but a dramatic change of form and ridiculous run of injuries to key players had resulted in ten defeats in a row. And with Broughton Albion picking up 16 points from their last six matches to sneak to within a single point, it was all down to these last few seconds. It was a huge turnaround, and now the Accies' future was hanging by a thread. One goal, one win would be enough, Broughton were winning their last game comfortably, but we knew it was still in our hands.
Whilst it had been a shocking season for the first team, for me it was the first season that I actually believed I might have a chance as a professional footballer. Lucas and I had been Accies Juniors, (the famous AXE academy) since we were both 11. We had played every under-18 game so far this season, and I thought we had done well. It helped that Lucas, as a goalkeeper, had been brilliant. We knew if we could get one goal, we wouldn't lose often. I had scored 27 goals in just 20 games, including three hat-tricks, my best academy season so far. However, we all felt that we were still a long way from the first team and playing in the Premier League. And unless a miracle happened in the next 120 seconds, that dream would be even further away than ever.
Deep into injury time, the Accies had thrown everyone forward except the keeper, but even he was on the halfway line. The ball was launched into the box, headed clear, Dexter leapt the highest of two defenders and headed it back where it fell awkwardly to J-D (Axel Juan-David) whose shot bobbled off the wet grass and into the grateful gloves of the goalkeeper.
And that was it. The referee gave a long blast on the whistle, which signaled the end, not only of the match but also of Accies’ 54-year stay in the top division. The players slumped on the pitch, some in tears. The fans, distraught, did their best to try and sing, but the words would not come. I couldn't believe it. Right until the end, I believed we were going to get the goal we needed to stay up. I had not imagined the Accies being relegated, down into the Championship, the Second Division? That was crazy. We had won the top division 23 times and been successful in Europe, winning the old European Cup three times. But now we were down. It would be a long summer.
'Jack,' said Lucas sadly, 'what do you think will happen to us? Do you think we have a future here? Do you think they will keep us?'
'I don't know.' I admitted, 'Maybe not.'
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was old Billy. No one really knew what Billy did at the club. With his wrinkled face and bright white hair (what was left of it) he looked about 100 years old and probably was, but he could still strike a football better than most of our current professionals. We all thought he must be a scout, or maybe even some kind of caretaker. He had played for the club decades ago and stayed on ever since. Everyone respected him, not just because he held the record for most first team appearances, (nearly 700!). He had a reputation of being a bit scary, especially when he found a pair of stray or misplaced boots in his pristine corridors. He had seen it all, done it all, and won nearly every club trophy there was to win.
'Jack me-lad,' he said, 'you and big Lucas just keep working hard, keep your heads down over the summer. You are the future of this club. You will bring it back to greatness, but you must believe in yourself.' He gave me a big broad smile, showing all the gaps left from teeth knocked out decades ago when he played the game.
'Remember,' he added, 'it's not about how you got knocked down, it's about how quickly you get back up again. I'll see you for pre-season, don't let me down.' Then he headed for the exit.
I turned to Lucas, gobsmacked. 'Did you hear that? Billy spoke to us! He knew our names! He knows who we are!'
'I know.' said Lucas with a huge grin,
In the gloom of relegation suddenly there was a ray of hope.
'Lucas, I'm only 16, do you really think we have a chance?'
‘We will be nearly 17 by the time the season kicks off, well 16 and a half anyway,’ Lucas replied hopefully, 'who knows.'
We walked out of the stadium side by side and began to jog, faster and faster until I gave it all I had and sprinted the last 500 metres leaving a puffing Lucas behind.
'With … that … pace,' he gasped, taking in a huge breath, 'you will … always have … a chance!'
“The only real mistake, is the mistake from which we learn nothing.” (Billy)
The season would begin for Lucas and me in early July, although we hadn’t stopped training since the final day of the previous season. Billy’s words were still stuck in our heads as we ran further, faster, and harder than we had ever run before. As a result, when the first proper pre-season training session came around, we were the fittest players in the academy by a mile.
One of the biggest changes the Accies’ manager, Walter Rolland, had made in his time at the club, was to bring the academy and the first team all into one place to train. We ate in the same canteen, used the same pitches, and saw the best players close up every day. It was Walter’s belief that when a good youngster was ready, it would be easier for him to join in training with the first team having already had some interaction socially. On the odd occasion, the academy players were tasked to be the opposition and mimic the team that the first team were due to play. I used to watch in awe of all the talent that Accies had on view, but now I was desperate to be a part of it. Up until very recently, we had such a good team. It was hard for the young players to break into the side. Most went out on loan and rarely came back. Only midfielder Jamie Curry had managed to keep a regular place in the first team squad in the last few years.
Walter Rolland was ‘Mr Academicals’. He lived and breathed the club having been a player first, then a coach and finally a manager. He had overseen the first team for 15 seasons and had won every club trophy there was to win. The town and the club were at the very top of English football.
It would not last. The club had been sold five years ago to a ruthless businessman who refused to invest in the team. Walter had worked miracles to keep the club competitive and hang onto some great players despite the lack of funds. It was believed that on occasion he had paid hotel bills and sometimes covered the rent for some of the younger players out of his own money, just to keep them at the club. Everyone loved him. He was a living, breathing, legend. But even he was now feeling the strain, and the results suffered.
Lucas and I stood on the side of our pitch watching the first team squad. It looked smaller, much smaller than ever before. We had noticed gaps in the players’ car park when we arrived, and there were rumours everywhere of players leaving. The sports news channels were calling it a ‘fire-sale.’ Our best players were getting picked off by other Premiership and big European clubs, who had the promise of European football that they now would not get here. The club, having lost huge amounts of money because of relegation to the Championship, had no choice but to sell, and some refused to play in a division below where they thought they belonged. First out the door was German international, Stefan Adler, and then the Welsh brothers, Owen and Brent Davies, returned to their previous club.
In a huge shock, arch-rivals and one of the biggest sides on the planet, Liverton, pinched arguably our best player and captain, Matteo Samuel. Born in England to Italian parents, and son of the great Lorenzo Samuel who scored the winning goal in the 1982 World Cup, Samuel had played more games than any other current player for the Accies, over 400 in a ten year spell. The rumours were that he had a heated argument with Walter after our final game, and had refused to come to a pre-season training camp. Walter, who was known for being loyal, but ruthless, transfer listed him. But it was a massive blow when he actually went, even more so moving to our bitter rivals.
Pre-season was usually an exciting time of year, new players arriving always excited me, but this time it was not about who we would be signing, but who would be leaving. It was tough to take. The heart was being ripped out of the side. I sat with Lucas and the academy coach, Deiter Dedrich, after training.
‘Lads,’ Deiter declared, ‘get your chins off the floor. This is a bad time for the club but for you it’s an opportunity, you are head and shoulders above the other boys here. You are fitter and faster than most of the first team, be ready, Walt will come calling and you need to be ready, just in case.’
At 16 years, 198 days old, I knew I was still very young. I was younger than any other player to have played first team football in the history of the club, but after the sale of Samuel, another striker, it left the club with only two forwards – Dexter Brooks (now 37), and Portuguese star Thiago Felipe, last season’s top scorer, who with 22 goals, 16 in the Premier League, was about the only bright spot of the previous season. The club had somehow tied him into a long-term contract as they knew that without him we stood no chance of promotion.
At that moment I caught the eye of Josh Davies, the first team coach. He was waving me over, so I jogged round the side of the pitch to his dugout.
‘Jack, we’ve been watching you in pre-season, we’ve been impressed. Walter wants to take you to York Town for the first game of the season as a substitute, you ok with that?’
I opened my mouth but no words came out, I just nodded.
‘Good,’ he said, ‘go get your stuff and join in with the first team, tell Lucas too, Jurgen needs a break in goal and they want to do some corner routines and shooting practice.’
Jurgen Heinrich was a big lump of a goalkeeper, shorter than most and a bit tubby around the middle. But his agility was incredible. He had been a regular in the German national squad since he was 18 years old, winning nearly 50 caps. However, in the last couple of seasons his form, like the rest of the squad’s, had dipped.
I couldn’t believe it, training with the first team, I wanted to tell my mum and dad but there was no time,
‘Lucas! LUCAS! Grab your gloves, Walter Rolland needs us, come on!’
We both sprinted over nearly clattering into six foot four inches of a human Scottish wall. Harry MacRendal was the most fearsome looking player I had ever seen – up close he was terrifying. Short hair and a grizzly reddish beard, with forearms that should be attached to a rugby player or a wrestler, not a footballer. Harry, or ‘Mac’ as he was known, had played over 100 times for Scotland, captaining them since he was 22.
‘WOAH there lads, where’s the emergency?’ he said in his thick Scottish accent.
‘Mr, Mr, er, um, Mr Rolland said he wanted us,’ I blabbered.
‘Well, go grab a ball and get in the line. Show us why he wants you. The big fella better be ready,’ he said nodding at Lucas, who was already in goal bouncing around, hopping from one foot to another.
I knew Lucas was nervous, I was terrified. I closed my eyes and opened them to applause, Lucas had just turned a Thiago pile driver over the crossbar
‘What a save lad, what’s his name?’ asked Mac.
‘It’s Lucas.’ I replied, ‘Lucas Cain.’
‘Well, Jurgen Heinrich is in trouble if your mate Lucas Cain keeps playing like that.’
I smiled inside. I knew Lucas’ nerves would be gone now.
