If you’re enjoying the story, consider voting to show your support. Feel free to join me on Discord to chat and share your thoughts: https://discord.gg/hTQJtj2K9U.

#More than 10 Chapters ahead on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/TrikoRex. If you have a moment, leaving a review would mean a lot to me and help me see who’s interested in the story’s future.

~~~

[2021-05-09 | London Stadium, London, England | 18:00 BST]

[Premier League MW 35: West Ham United 0-1 Everton]

[76’]

Rice won the ball in midfield with a crunching tackle on Allan, immediately driving forward. He spotted Lingard moving into space and threaded a pass into his feet. The midfielder turned sharply, drawing Doucouré toward him, then played it wide to Bowen on the right.

Bowen took one touch, then whipped in a low cross toward the near post. Bodies converged in the six-yard box—Keane tried to clear it, but his boot only scuffed the bottom of the ball. It popped up awkwardly, spinning in the air between the two defenders. and Tom.

But the striker reacted on pure instinct, sparking to life as he threw his body forward, supporting his fall with a hand on the ground. He left foot stretched out into the air, hooking the floating ball, redirecting it past Pickford’s outstretched hand. The ball hit the inside of the far post and bounced into the net as he rolled forward into the mass of defenders.

"GOOOOOAL!" Tyler bellowed. "TOM WALKER! HIS FIRST GOAL IN PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL!"

Tom didn’t know what to do for a split second, but that only lasted for a moment as he popped up to the roar of almost 10,000 fans and the shouts of his teammates. He sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees through the wet turf, arms spread wide, head tilted back, rain streaming down his face as he commed it back with his fingers. Lingard reached him first, grabbing his head. "THERE WE GO! WELCOME TO THE PREM!"

"What a moment!" Smith exclaimed. "Eighteen years old, making his debut, and he’s just equalised! Scraped it in, but they all count!"

"Pure instinct," Tyler added. "That’s a striker’s goal. Right place, right time, and he forced it home!"

[West Ham United 1-1 Everton — Tom Walker 76’]

[80’]

Everton were rattled by the sudden goal and tried to slow the game down, keeping possession deep in their own half. But West Ham pressed high, hunting like wolves, and Fornals won the ball back near the halfway line, immediately playing it forward to Tom, who had dropped deeper to receive. Keane was on him instantly, grabbing his shirt, trying to wrestle him down.

Tom felt the grip on his shoulder, the pull on his kit. Instead of complaining, he used his 6’4" frame, leaning back into Keane, then spinning sharply to the right. He supported his whole weight on the defender, causing him to stumble and lose his grip. He pushed him away and drove forward five yards, then spotted Lingard making a diagonal run into the box.

He threaded a pass between Godfrey and Mina, weighted perfectly into the winger’s run, who shaped to shoot first time. Godfrey slid in, tearing up the wet ground, arriving there in a split second to block it desperately. The ball deflected to the edge of the box, where Bowen arrived, striking it on the volley. Pickford saved it, but the rebound fell loose in the six-yard area, bouncing awkwardly.

Tom attacked it like a man possessed, lunging forward, stretched out his right foot, fighting past the shover of his marker as he stabbed his foot at it. Pickford dove, getting a hand to it, but Tom had already followed through, using his momentum to force the ball over the line with his knee.

"GOOOOOAL!" Tyler screamed. "TOM WALKER AGAIN! HE’S GOT HIS BRACE!"

Tom scrambled to his feet, once again roaring, pounding his chest with his right fists. His shirt was soaked, mud streaked across his face, but he didn’t care. The crowd was on their feet, cheering like an army as he came to a stop at the corner flag, jumping to a stop with his arms crossed, looking at the fans in the stands.

[85’]

Everton were desperate to score, couldn’t afford to sit back anymore and began throwing bodies forward. They won a corner in the 84th minute, and every player except Pickford pushed into the West Ham box. Sigurdsson delivered it with pace toward the near post, where Calvert-Lewin attacked it, but Fabianski punched it clear.

The ball fell to Rice at the edge of the box, and the midfielder controlled it calmly, then looked up. West Ham only had Top upfront guarded by two markers, but he just thought about clearing the ball to maintain the lead. The ball flew to the left flank, bound to exit the field, but Tom at the centre circle exploded, giving chase to the ball’s landing spot. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Despite his tall frame, he was surprisingly quick, his muscles churning with energy, catapulting him forward like a well-oiled engine. He glanced up as the ball got closer, coming to a sliding stop with his left leg as his right moved to trap the ball, flicking it downfield. He side-stepped, barely dodging the charging Coleman, who slid past him on the wet turf, trying to hold onto him, but he slapped his hands away and gave chase to the ball.

His long strides ate up the ground, the rain hammered down now, turning the pitch slick and treacherous, but he didn’t slow down. Godfrey was backpedalling desperately, the last defender between Tom and Pickford. The Everton centre-back positioned himself carefully, trying to shepherd Tom wide, forcing him to the left touchline.

But Tom’s blue eyes read the desperation in Godfrey’s eyes and movements perfectly, and he turned directly to him. The slight hesitation in his footwork as he closed in became clear, and he feinted left, selling the move with his shoulder. Godfrey bought it, shifting his weight, his right foot digging in, ready to lunge with his left.

In that split second, Tom chopped the ball back onto his right foot and, with the outside of his boot, cut inside sharply. Godfrey lunged, the wrong way, as he desperately pulled at the striker, gliding past him, catching Tom’s shin. The tackle was late, and the striker stumbled but didn’t go down. He gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to keep pumping, dragging the ball forward with sheer willpower.

"He’s staying on his feet!" Tyler roared. "Tom Walker is through!"

Pickford rushed out, making himself big, arms spread wide as Tom arrived at the edge of the box. He shifted the ball to his right with the outside opening up the angle and fired without hesitation. The ball was struck violently, slipping past the diving Pickford, who tried to smother it, smashing against the inside of the left post before rattling the inside of the net.

"GOOOOOOOOOAL!" Tyler screamed, his voice breaking. "THOMAS ANTHONY WALKER! That’s three, and what a monstrous debut from the eighteen-year-old! UNBELIEVABLE hats off, young man!"

Without stopping his run, Tom sprinted to the corner flag, performing a four-meter knee slide, his hair fluttering in the rain. He popped up when the grass was about to end, jumped over the barricades, and hopped onto the metal railing. Standing proudly with his arms embracing the cheering crowd, he looked into the sky and let out a jubilant roar. "WALKER CHA CHA CHA! WALKER CHA CHA CHA! WALKER CHA CHA CHA!"

He stood there for a moment and took in the moment as the rain stopped pouring down and the sun peeked through, shining on him. His arms were still spread as his chest continued to rise and fall, taking in the emotional wave he saw from the fans, which washed over him. Teenagers, their kits completely soaked, jumped up and down, singing in joy; men and women, red-faced from screaming all game, lit up with joy; and kids on top of their fathers’ heads waved their scarves proudly.

~~~

[Post-Match Interview | Pitch-Side | 18:30 BST]

Tom stood in front of the Sky Sports camera, still in his soaked kit, a towel draped around his neck. The reporter, Kelly Cates, held a microphone between them, smiling. "Thomas Walker, congratulations on a sensational debut. A hat-trick on your debut. How are you feeling right now?"

Tom wiped his face with the towel, trying to find the words. "You can call me Tom, and honestly? It’s surreal, I’m not entirely sure if I am dreaming right now," he said, laughing. "But yeah, it’s unreal. I’ve been dreaming about this moment since I was a kid. To actually do it... It’s a greater feeling than I had ever imagined."

"You had a tough start—got roughed up a bit by the Everton defenders, missed a couple of chances, hit the bar." She said professionally, moving on to the next question. "How did you go from that to suddenly scoring 3? Is there a secret? Or did the stars align?"

"Honestly, I wanted it so much that I was just getting in my own way." Tom shook his head sheepishly, grimacing at the memories. "Once I realised that the nerves vanished and the pitch was still the same with two goals and 22 men. My job is to score goals, and I’m pretty good at it."

"That you are Tom, in fact, you are the second player to score a hat-trick on your debut since Fabrizio Ravanelli in 1996," She said with a smile, pulling a football fact out of thin air. "But you are, for sure, the youngest. Is that something you take pride in?"

"Breaking records is always fun, but I’m just happy to step on this stage finally." He said with a bright smile.

.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...