White lines, green field [short story]

This is the second of a series of short stories I've done.

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Chapter 1 - A star is born

Francis ‘Frankie’ Rizzi was born in Queens, New York, and was born to score goals and terrorise defences, a freight train with Adidas Predators on both feet. Standing a solid 6 foot 2 and weighing 14 and a bit stone, most of that pure muscle and adrenaline, he was the wrecking ball every center half feared and had sleepless nights over. Off the pitch he was the king of the San Jose locker room, the life and soul of the party, a gladiator in every sense. But behind the post game stats, accolades and regular praise he was getting, his life was unravelling.

It started off small, as most things do. A tweaked ankle here, a bruised knee there. Pain management they called it. Doctor Peter Sampson, the teams main physician, after the game at home to Portland Timbers, had handed Frankie a small bottle of pills with the casual indifference of a bartender handing over a free shot ‘take 1 every 4 hours, you’ll be fine’ he said with a wink and a smile. Nothing to it.

And he was fine, for a while. The pills got rid of the pain and took the edge off, kept him alert and sharp and able to train. He could still run the pitch during the sessions, still bury the ball in the net from any distance and hit it like a sledgehammer. But then the 4 hours became 3 then 2, and 1 pill became 2 then 3. By the midway point of the season he was eating the pills like M and M’s.

San Jose Earthquakes were playing well, with a record of 29 played, 11 wins, 8 draws and 10 losses riding high on Frankie’s return of 22 goals and 10 assists in those games. The media hailed him as the second coming of Pele, albeit with a bit of hyperbole chucked in there. Frank Rizzi - The man of Steel’ one headline screamed after Frankie’s second hat trick of the season against Real Salt Lake. Frankie ate it up, posing for pictures with reporters from ESPN on the regular and even going old school by appearing on late night talk shows on the radio, THE RADIO! And the spotlight he was getting was addictive, almost as much as the painkillers.

The team's PR director, Vince Marciano, no relation to Rocky, knew more than most how to handle a star player. ‘Smile for the camera kid’ he’d say, followed up with ‘let em’ know who’s boss’ and the occasional ‘if you’ve got it, kid, flaunt it’. His favourite in front of the cameras for the teams shining star was ‘let em’ see the hero not the human’. But Frankie’s smile was starting to crack, not enough for anyone to notice, but it was there. The nights got longer, the mornings came round far too quick and the pain never left. When he broke his ankle in training Doc Sampson or anyone else on the team didn’t even know about it. Frankie had got himself a new supplier for the pain pills, and they weren’t enough anymore.

That’s when Randy came into the picture, well back into the picture is more appropriate. A friend of a friend at high school from their time at Queens Met, their friendship went from mere acquaintances to nightlife comrades, Randy was the kind of guy that ’knew everyone’ and could ‘get hold of anything’. Frankie had agreed to meet Randy at a night club called The Whisky A-Go-Go up in LA, ordering a double whisky on the rocks and working over a crowd of fans who recognised him as soon as he walked in, smiling and taking pictures.

‘Francis my guy’ Randy said, clapping him on the back and hugging him a bit too enthusiastically ‘how you been? I saw you score yet again earlier, what’s that, 19 for the season?’

‘22 actually’ Frankie replied but quickly got down to business ‘I don’t need to reminisce about school and all that. I know you know people, I’ve got these pills from the club but they aren’t cutting it anymore, and some others from 1 of the other players but I need something stronger’

‘Say no more my old friend. I’ve got just the thing’ Randy said and pulled out a little bag ‘Peruvian marching powder, as close to pure as you can get without being down there in Lima cooking the stuff yourself’ and he handed the bag over to Frankie across the bar

Frankie quickly pulled the bag off the bar and said ‘are you f*cking nuts, I can’t be seen holding drugs especially…’ Randy cut him off with a laugh

‘Behave yourself Champ. You’re a celeb round here, plus I’m a made man round here too don’t worry about it. I know people so nothing will happen to you or your image in here’

Frankie hesitated, took a sip of this drink and nodded. Randy then said ‘Look Champ. I’ve got a band coming in here tonight, I’m the guy through the week, everything’s Kosher trust me’

Frankie sipped the rest of his drink, the chill stinging on it’s way down. He didn’t know what to say about the bag, but the pain in his left leg shot right up into his hip made the decision for him. ‘How much do I take?’

Randy, quick as a beat said ‘as much as you need really Champ, but go careful with this stuff, it’ll make you feel like God but it’s got claws, don’t say I didn’t warn ya’ and he ordered more drinks for them both.

Heading to the toilets Frankie dipped a key into the bag and snorted the powder in 1 quick move. The hit was like a lightning bolt. His nose dripped slightly, eyes watered with the intensity of it but he felt invincible. The pain in his foot and leg had gone and his senses sharpened into high definition. He felt unstoppable, like he could power through every defender in the league at once, like his shots would get past 4 goalkeepers in the nets and that’s almost what happened.

In the next game he was on fire. If 22 goals in the preceding 29 games was good, his 5 and 2 assists against Western Conference leaders Houston Dynamo in the next was unprecedented. The following 4 games to close out the season heading into the play offs yielded 10 goals and 4 assists. The crowd roared his name, his shirt sales went through the roof, peaking right before the play offs, and the league voted unanimously for him to receive the player of the year award. 

As Randy had warned, and from his experience with the legal painkillers, this stuff had claws and they were digging into him. A small line before a game became a bigger line, then two and then three. Even though he’d bossed the last 5 games he’d trained once with the team, citing personal problems and was late to the meetings before all 5 of those final games.

The manager, Scotsman Jim Duffy, pulled him aside after his second mised training session of the last 4 weeks

‘You good Frankie?' His voice low but firm

‘Yeah coach corse I am. Just a bit tired, you know how it is, long season and I’ve played well every game’

Duffy shook his head and replied ‘don’t bullshit me son, I’ve been around footballers long enough to know when they’re lying. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is you need to fix it and fix it sharpish. We’ve got the playoffs coming up, and we need you’

Frankie just nodded and left the room. The words barely registered in his head. The only thing that mattered was the next game, and the next hit. Whether that was the ball on it’s way to the net or the next hit from 1 of Randy’s bags.

San Jose were drawn against Sporting Kansas City in the wild card round of the Western Conference play offs, after finishing 8th. The city buzzed with anticipation, this team had never had as good a chance of progressing through the play offs since the MLS cup wins of 2001 and 2003, as they do now, with Frankie leading the line. It’s the kind of energy that turns football into folklore. Frankie told himself he’d clean up after the game, or was it after the playoffs? Whichever it was he just needed to get through this week and into the game against Kansas City.

But deep down he knew he was lying. The pills were still coming, and he kept taking them more out of habit than actually to cure the pain. The powder and the noise from the fans were all a part of the same high, and he was chasing it into the dark.

Chapter 2 - Cracks in the Armour

The Earthquakes locker room was a symphony of chaos, camaraderie and testosterone. Jokes flew as fast towels, champagne popped open and the smell of sweat mixed with the tang of victory loomed in the air. Frankie had sat in the corner while the rest of the team left the pitch. He was subbed off with 5 minutes to go, his 2 goals enough for a 2-0 victory and passage into the next round of the playoffs. But as the rest came in his head was down covered in a towel, eyes clamped to the floor. His team mates noticed even if they didn’t say anything out loud.

‘Frankie get over here’ Johnson Buchanan, affectionately known as the Bull, called out to him. The Bull was Frankies on field equal, providing the balls from the wing for Frankie to run onto, usually resulting in a goal, or a shot on target at worst.

‘Yeah bare with me’ was Frankies reply, as he put his head down and under the towel, mimicking wiping his face, when in reality he was sniffing directly out of the bag

The Bull nodded but the others could see his concern. He’d seen Frankies hands shaking during the warm up and pre game talk earlier in the day. He’d seen him struggle in the warm up and warm down yesterday at the clubs training ground in northern California. He’d seen Frankie's eyes were glassy and unfocussed but he still put a shift in and did enough in training to not warrant any unwanted attention from the coaching staff, or Doc Sampson.

Johnson didn’t want to believe the whispers around the league and various clubs the athletes frequent in LA. But whispers have weight and they are starting to pile up. The next day in training Jim Duffy, San Jose’s first team manager noticed something too. During a movement drill, in which the Bull was to receive the ball on the inside right channel, wait for Frankie to make the move inside to hopefully open up the rest of the channel for The Bull to drive into, he noticed Frankie’s movement was off, his reaction was slower than usual

Blowing the whistle Jim said ‘Frankie, come here. You an’ all Buchanan’ and the 2 players jogged over. ‘What am I gonna say to you both?’

‘It’s me, I didn’t get the ball high enough, I should've…’ the Bull started but was cut off by Duffy

‘Shut it Buchanan, we both know you’re covering for him’ he pointed at Frankie ‘you, what’s the problem? Yesterday the Kansas defence doubled up on you doing this same routine and you found space every time. But today, it’s like you’re not even here. What’s eating you up son?’

‘Fatigue boss, I’m shattered. I ran my ass off yesterday’ was Frankies response. It did enough to appease Jim Duffy, afterall Frankie did score twice and had 5 other shots on target, so had done what was needed in the game.

Easily the teams best player and one of if not the absolute best player in North America he was the talk of the town all over, the golden boy of California and the MLS. While on the pitch during games his feet were golden, his nights off it were turning jet black. The pressure to stay on top wasn’t even in his mind, he knew he had the Midas touch, but he was answering the call to greatness with a devil may care swagger

Every night was a new club, a new place to stand out, a new wave of hangers on feeding his ego and his habit. The DJ’s all knew his name, bartenders had gotten the word Frankie was coming in so dropped everything when he did show up, they knew his drink, double whisky on the rocks and a shot of vodka, and Randy had gotten attached to his hip, bringing along his dealer friends knowing Frankie was throwing money around like it was going out of fashion. Lines of white powder and flutes of Dom Periogn became his warm up routines in the smaller clubs for the nights that never ended.

The off season was a few weeks away, it would be sooner if San Jose lost any game during the playoffs. A routine 2-0 win over Kansas in the wild card, in which Frankie scored both, sees them up against Saint Louis in Round one in a best of 3 series. But for Frankie his nights were as competitive as his matches for San Jose. Girls were hanging off him like trophies, the kind of women that didn’t care where the night ended up or who with as long as it burned bright and was filled with liquor and gear on the way there. Vince Marciano, the clubs PR man tried to keep up appearances for the clubs sponsors and various media, but Frankie was slipping. Getting a prima donna like reputation for lateness and no shows didn’t stop his late night attitude.

The first of the 3 games against Saint Louis did nothing to stop his off field lifestyle, as he scored 2 in the first half, both long range efforts that will easily end up on the goal of the season contenders list, and a tap in early in the second half to secure a 3-1 victory before he came off in the 78th minute, straight down the tunnel and railed a full gram in the empty changing room. By the time his team mates came back he was bouncing off the walls celebrating like San Jose had just won the World Cup, not a first round play off game. The Bull was worried, but the others weren’t. This was Frankie of 6 months ago, the all round nice guy, the main man on a team of journeymen and cast offs, the reason San Jose are going all the way this year!

Back to reality and the morning sessions at the club were replaced by excuses, runny noses and headaches. His once razor sharp focus on the game and improving himself and his team mates started to blur. He wasn’t out of it completely, engaging just enough not to cause too much suspicion, but under the neon haze of downtown Los Angeles and the pounding bass lines, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was paranoid, or running. Running from what, he didn’t know, probably the pressure, but the pressure never bothered him, this season he’s been good for averaging more than a goal a game. Maybe it was the whispers that he’s a one season wonder, that he’ll fade away by next season and won’t be on top. Every award, every goal, even the cheers from the San Jose fans felt more hollow than the last.

But Franics Rizzi of Queens, New York wasn’t raised as a quitter, but he wasn’t ready to face the harsh realities of the whispers he kept hearing. So he danced harder, drank deeper, partied more and prayed the nightlife would drown out the doubts.

Chapter 3 - The loss

Post-Match Report: Saint Louis FC 2-1 San Jose Earthquakes FC

Saint Louis snatched victory from the jaws of defeat Saturday afternoon as they clinched a dramatic 2-1 victory over San Jose in the first round of the Western Conference playoffs, tying the best of 3 series to 1-1. The match was marred with tension, missed opportunities and will be remembered not for the scoreline but for the controversy surrounding San Jose’s, and the leagues star player Frankie Rizzi

The game started with promise for San Jose as has been the case all season. They pressed high with the energetic Rizzi never stopping, even dropping deep to help out on defence, and the team carved out a number of chances for the in form and consistent Rizzi, the MLS player of the season.

Despite the strong start it was a day to forget for all those connected to San Jose Earthquakes as Rizzi, normally worth a bet to score any time missed not one, not even two but three gilt edged chances to put his team ahead, the most glaring being a wild shot on his left foot from just inside the area, when he had Johnson Buchanan wide open on his right and Salvador Gomez unmarked, onside and in acres of space in the box to pass to which would have resulted in an easy tap in. The away fans groaned as their talisman missed the chance, the home fans jeering.

Saint Louis capitalised on Rizzi’s wastefulness with an exceptional counter attack in first half stoppage time. Rizzi was as usual terrorising the defence but when he did finally look for Gomez, McNair in the center half position for Saint Louis telegraphed the ball inside, and in a stroke of good fortune the clearance found Thomas Nelson on the right hand side, he drove forward and brought an extra defender out of position, he hooked the ball inside to Dominic Johansen, his first start of the season, who in turn found Darrly Hughes making the inside run, and slotted past the onrushing San Jose keeper to make it 1-0. As soon as the game restarted the ref blew for half time.

From the kick off San Jose did respond well and as has been the case all season Rizzi broke the opposition line and fired a shot just inside the area past Saint Louis keeper Delgado to equalise. His celebrations, by taking off his shirt and running and jumping into the home fans, sparked chaos on the touchline from both benches and security had to get involved. It took 6 minutes from Rizzi’s jump in the crowd to the game restarting. He was carded for actions which set the stage for a feisty second half.

Rizzi’s frustration at himself and his team mates was evident as the game wore on. Every time San Jose tried to attack Rizzi wasn’t quick enough to the through ball, he was reluctant to use others in the team as he drove forward aimlessly over and over again to no avail. The game was stopped a second time as Rizzi and head coach Jim Duffy were caught in a heated exchange around the 70th minute mark, with Duffy clearly gesturing for more from Rizzi with Rizzi replying with words the commentators had to apologise for being picked up by the cameras.

The tension culminated in the 85th minute. By then 4 Saint Louis players were on yellows, their keeper Delgado being cautioned for dissent prior to the corner in the 85th, and 5 San Jose players, Rizzi being one of them also on a yellow. The corner was taken by Buchanan to the far post and as both Rizzi and Delgado jumped for it the referee blew for a foul on the keeper, showing Rizzi a second yellow. In his post game report he said Rizzi led with an elbow and on viewing the incident again it could be argued both Delgado and Rizzi had their arms too high, although in the moment Rizzi saw red, literally and figuratively, as he kicked the corner flag and a water carrier on his way down the tunnel.

With San Jose down to 10 men for the last 5 plus injury time, and the leagues best player nowhere to be seen, Saint Louis seized the initiative. Their advantage paid off in the 90th minute, just as the board for 7 extra minutes went up, as they scored what would be the winner. Declan Mitchell, the young full back came on as a sub and ran the length of the pitch on an attack that started from the keeper, he received the ball on the left touch line, clipped it to the far post where Kain Harris, another sub, tapped the ball in on his right foot to send the home fans into raptures. San Jose were deflated and defeated, and the final 7 minutes played out with nothing else happening for either side.

Post match Jim Duffy refused to comment on the altercation with Rizzi but admitted that the red card was the turning point and cost them the game. Saint Louis head coach Martin Rowe praised the teams resilience, calling the win a testament to ‘our character and behaviour’. This despite his team racking up another 2 yellows after the red to Rizzi.

For Frankie Rizzi the game capped a troubling week of rumors pertaining to his personal life off the pitch. The star forward faces a 1 game ban, the third game in the series of three in the playoffs, further scrutiny for his actions when scoring the equaliser and mounting pressure to continue carrying this San Jose team.

** Update ** Jim Duffy did comment later on in the day to ESPN confirming San Jose have appealed both yellow cards given to Rizzi. If successful and 1 if not both are overturned, the 1 game ban won’t apply and Rizzi will be available for the third game, which is at home, to Saint Louis in 5 days time.

Chapter 4 - You’re a brand, and brands don’t crack

Off the field the signs were getting harder to hide.The wild celebration at Saint Louis had drawn comparisons to Maradonna in ‘94 and the rumors of Frankie taking drugs prior to games was intensifying.

Vince Marciano had spent years polishing footballers, and some musicians, images for the media and cameras. He’d dealt with the likes of Poison, Motley Crue and Guns and Rose at their peak. He’d looked after the likes of David Beckham at LA Galaxy, Thierry Henry in New York, Pirlo at expansion team New York City as well as most of the top 5 draft picks every season. But for Frankie Rizzi, the edges were starting to fray. Frankie had skipped a charity event for the San Jose chairmans foundation one evening, blaming a family emergency despite being seen at an exclusive club on Wilshire Boulevard with some of the other San Jose players. Vince covered for him on the night but he couldn’t ignore the headlines - ‘Rizzi MIA at big charity gala’ and ‘Superman? Super let down man more like’ with more than a few comments online adamant Frankie was hell bent on destroying himself.

‘You're slipping kid’ Vince said in the gym the day before the third game of three against Saint Louis ‘and don’t give me cr*p about it being muscle, I know when someones put fat on’

‘Nothing Vin, just tired. It’s hard work carrying a team on your back all fucking season I’m sure you’ll agree’

Vince held up his hands in a mock surrender, he’d seen this type of player time and time again over the years ‘Fine, but get your head on straight. You’re not just a player, you’re a brand. You’re this teams heart and soul, the whole of San Jose looks up to you right now. And trust me when I say brands don’t crack’

The night before the third and final game in the first round of the play offs against Saint Louis, Frankie and Randy were at Slim's bar, an off the grid place for people to go and get up to no good without anyone finding out. It’s the kind of place that pulsed with relentless basslines and bad decisions. Slim greeted them both like long lost brothers, but Frankie wasn’t there for small talk

‘I need more, Slim, a lot more’

‘You sure kid? You’be got a big game tomorrow’

Frankie just looked at Slim, then to Randy he said ‘did I fucking stutter? Did he not hear me?

‘Alright champ calm down. I’m just looking out for you ya’ know’

‘Just gimme it’ was Frankies reply. Slim leaned down and pulled a tin box out, opened that up and handed Frankie an envelope. Frankies fingers trembled as he stuffed the envelope into his pocket. The shame was there but it was buried under months of denial and desperation. He told himself it was just to get through the play offs, to alleviate the pressure of a city and to carry on being the hero the city expected.

The next morning Frnakie turned up to the stadium just as the first security guard was there opening up, in his warm up tracksuit, jaw clenched and eyes bloodshot. He was the first one there warming up, taking shots at goals on the pitch and was still working out in the gym as the rest of the team arrived for the game.

As the morning went on the stadium filled as the rest of the team made it to the pitch for the warm up. The crowd were roaring and chanting Frankies name. San Jose had managed to get the second yellow card from the previous game rescinded on the grounds that the Saint Louis goalkeeper had also used his elbow but the referee took no action on that. The league agreed, and number 23 was ready to go in the third and final game of the first round.

Vince was in the tunnel as the players made their way out for the game, pulled Frankie aside and said ‘whatever you’re hiding big lad, it’s gonna catch up to you soon’

Frankie just nodded and was the last player out of the tunnel. The home crowd roared their appreciation at the sight of the best player in North America making his way to the pitch. Frankie tied his headband tighter, blocked out the noise, the expectation, the doubt and the guilt. All he could do was play his part, the game was all that mattered. He noticed a little red mark on his arm that trickled ever so slightly with blood, but he wiped it away.

As for the game itself, it wasn’t even close. Frankie got 4 goals for the second time this season as San Jose battered Saint Louis 6-0 to advance to the semi finals of the Western Conference playoffs. Frankie did receive another yellow card for taking his shirt off as he scored his fourth goal, but it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered now was getting out of the stadium and back out celebrating yet another win.

Chapter 5 - The Breaking Point

San Jose were in an unlikely semi final of the playoffs, going up against Seattle Sounders, who were heavy favourites to win despite San Jose having the leagues leading scorer in their team

San Jose were 90 minutes away from the western conference final and Seattle rolled into town with the leagues best defence. It didn’t help that Seattle were the one team Frankie Rizzi hadn’t scored against this season. The crowd in the stadium roared with play off fever, a sea of hands swaying to the beat of adrenaline. But the focus wasn’t on the fans, it was on Frankie Rizzi, a man unravelling before everyone's eyes.

Frankie lined up at the start of the game, his head pounding like a war drum. The roar of noise blended in with the static buzz in his skull and the stinging of his bloodshot eyes. His hands trembled, his vision swam but he forced himself into position on the pitch for kick off. The whistle blew, the fans screamed and the chaos started.

Seattle's defence were solid and rigid all season, and moved with clinical precision in this match exploiting every trick Frankie tried on them. It helped Seattle that Frankie was a step behind everyone in a San Jose shirt, through balls going straight to the center halves, crosses being cut out with ease, tackles being made on him with less effort than it takes to put on a sock, nothing was going right. By half time it was still 0-0, although San Jose had their goalkeeper to thank for keeping them in the game. By contrast the Seattle goalkeeper had made 1 save, a tame effort from a Jones header from a right wing cross , San Jose’s only shot on goal. The pressure, the hangover, the come down all weighed Franke down like lead.

The commentators ripped apart his performance mercilessly. ‘Frankie Rizzi looks like his season ended last night in Hollywood. His skin is jaundiced, his eyes are in a different zip code and San Jose looks lost. Something’s not right with him’

In the dressing room at the half Jim Duffy had seen enough. He pulled Frankie aside in the locker room and said ‘you’ve got 15 minutes, no more, to turn it around’

Frankie just nodded and said ‘I can fix this. Get me the ball I’ll do the rest’

‘Unlikely lad, you’ve been missing all game so far. Whatever it is I suggest you sort it out now and get your a*s back out there and keep us alive in this match’

As the players came out for the second half neither team made any changes. The crowd were still cheering and the pitch was a mire of rain, sweat, mud and broken promises. 

Frankie was the kingpin of San Jose but had moved like a man with ghosts in his boots. The commentators called him a shell of his former self of only 6 short weeks ago when he was awarded the player of the season trophy. His passes, all 7 in the first half fell short, his 2 shots on goal lacked the venom that kept keepers up at night.

Everyone now knew the whispers of his off pitch life, the late nights, the clubs, the drugs. The kind of lifestyle rockstars have succumbed to, the kind of life that eats you alive while you’re still breathing. Frankie was living fast and playing slow, until he got his second wind. Sniffing the full bag in the locker room at half time had done the trick, he was back.

Seattle smelled blood early on in the second half. They kept Frankie quiet by pressing high and making sure the ball never left the San Jose half. Frankie was meant to be the spark, the release valve, the saviour but it just wasn’t happening, yet. Jim Duffy didn’t realise it yet as he was pacing the touchline, screaming in his broad Scottish accent things his own players couldn’t even understand. He looked all of his 62 years and was ready to combust.

Seattle were knocking but no one answered. Seattle's left winger missed an open goal on 62 minutes, the rain played a part as he slipped when he shot, but that was the catalyst for the spark San Jose needed. 

As the Seattle defence fell to complacency, Frankie sprung into action, finally. Gasping for air, soaked in rain and sweat he suddenly came alive. The goal kick went short, the defence played it out wide to The Bull on the left. He drove forward and for the first time in the second half the ball was in Seattles half. Frankie pointed out wide where he wanted the ball and the Bull obliged. Frankie went left and the Bull went inside. Frankie took the 2 center halves with him and the Bull was wide open. Frankie didn’t hesitate, a quick shimmny to steady himself onto his right foot he drove inside as the first defender back pedalled to where the Bull was, giving Frankie the space he needed. He put his right foot through the ball trying to hit it with all the venom of frustration and anger that had built up so far in the game, but it skidded off the outside of his boot but as it did so did the Seattle keeper. The flight of the ball wrong footed him, he slipped to his left as the ball just glided into the far corner of the goal. The keeper tried to recover by diving back to his right both arms out wide but the slip had caused the damage. 1-0 to San Jose.

The stadium went quiet for a brief moment as the fans of Seattle, the home team due to a better record, didn’t know what hit them. Of course it had to be Frankie Rizzi, the first player to score over 40 in a season in MLS history. The same player that had done nothing up to that point, the same player whose personal life seems to be in disarray. The handful of San Jose fans made themselves known as Frankie and the Bull ran arms aloft over to them. ‘Cometh the man, cometh the hour as number 23 does it again for San Jose’ the ESPN commentator yelled out.

That goal, bang on 15 minutes into the second, had taken the life out of not only the Seattle fans but the team as well. Frankie looked over to Jim Duffy, tapped his wrist at an invisible watch and mouthed ‘told ya’ to which Jim just gave him the thumbs up. The game was dead from the restart. Frankie was running at the defence but they doubled and tripled up on him and none of the other San Jose players could capitalise on the space. Seattle made a couple of strong runs out wide but didn’t do anything to trouble the San Jose keeper for the rest of the game.

As the whistle blew and San Jose celebrated a stolen victory, Frankies eyes betrayed him. He was smiling, waving to the fans, celebrating with his teammate but behind them there was no joy, no relief, just a flicker of something darker. The fans and media saw a hero, his teammates saw a saviour. But Franics Rizzi? He just saw the abyss.

Back in the locker room as more champagne flowed, cameras flashed and Jim Duffy congratulated his players on reaching an unlikely Western Conference final, Frankie sat alone, looking like he was taking it all in, but in reality he had already text Slim and Randy about getting picked up in less than an hours time form the stadium in Seattle. He’d already replied to another message, another late night offer from some shady people in Seattle, another step closer to the edge. On the pitch he was a god, off it he was falling faster.

Chapter 6 - Off the Rails

The Earthquakes game against LA Galaxy was supposed to be a bloodbath, a battle for the ages. The Western Conference final was a mere 3 days after the semi final, with the overall final taking place 3 days after the conference finals. 

Frankie Rizzi is San Jose's golden boy gone grey around the edges. The striker with the killer instinct, averaging better than a goal a game, and a habit that was killing him slowly. The team now knew about it, how could they not? The bloodshot eyes at training, when he turned up, the jittery hands during video review sessions, the sudden disappearances after the clubs most important games. He didn’t even bother trying to hide it anymore. The late night blowouts with his friends, you know the type, wannabe rock stars, washed never-has-been actors that have flocked to California to chase the Hollywood dream, the parade of hangers on and a different woman every night, were as much a fixture in the tabloids as his goals.

The worst thing about this though was the fact that his on field effort never diminished. Heading into the Western Conference finals, Frankie had scored a whopping 41 in 38 games in form never seen before. With all his off field issues there was now talk of him using performance enhancing drugs, much like Barry Bonds and the Major League Baseball scandal.

The final was days away, and the whole of San Jose was buzzing with anticipation for the clash against local rivals LA Galaxy. The battle for supremacy of the West. The team needed Frankie, he knew this, the team knew this, the fans, media and LA Galaxy all know this. The headline in the San Jose Reporter ran a front page story with ‘No Frankie, no hope!’ printed. His team mates whilst they knew they needed him had grown tired of his no shows and covering for his late night antics. His argument was he’d carried them on the pitch all year, the least they could do was help him off of it.

In the locker room the tension was thick. Frankie, as usual now, sat alone in the corner, airpods on and staring into space. His team mates stared and whispered, their voice low and sharp. They knew he wasn’t himself, wasn’t the bright, bubbly first team striker of even 6 short months ago. He’d been sluggish for weeks, despite being a 1 man play off winning machine, a shadow of his former self off the pitch. No one dared confront him outright, he was too important, untouchable really, that any hint of dissension from them would just about ruin any slim chance of winning the Western Conference.

Coach Jim Duffy was pacing the room like a caged animal. He knew what was at stake, and his years of coaching teams in North America and his native Scotland had taught him not to rely on 1 player. But Francis Rizzi was different. This kid was special, this kid has got it all, give this kid half a chance and you’ve got a goal. It’s just his demeanour, his personality, his off the pitch tendencies that were going to bring him and his team down.

LA Galaxy had a team this season that was incredible. The midfield 3 of Dos Santos, Jones and Howe had been slicing through defences like a surgeons scalpel to their own star forward, El Salvador’s Jaime Hernandes, who whilst not anywhere close to the form shown by Frankie, had been scoring important goals all season long. The 2 meetings between these teams already this season had ended in 2-1 victories for LA Galaxy, Frankie scoring for San Jose and Hernandes scoring both for Galaxy. Without Frankie even being on the pitch San Jose didn’t stand a chance.

But Frankie wasn’t thinking about the game, tactics or rivalries at all. As Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue played in his ears he was thinking about the night ahead, of where he would be starting the night off, the promise of sniffing himself into oblivion and the pull of the next hit. His phone vibrated in his hand and he smiled, just a little, as he read the message ‘Yo Champ, where we meeting?’ came from Randy. Frankies reply was short and sweet ‘Slims, 18:00’

The next days training session, the one before the big conference final, was a disaster to put it mildly. Frankie jogged through the warm up and barely moved through the first of the 3 rondo’s they do every session. His touch was poor and he got closed down every time. Jim Duffy screamed at him more than once and said after the fourth mis placed touch ‘Frankie for f*ck sake, I’ve had it up to here with you. You might be good but stop it with the prima donna bullsh*t. Get it together’ but Frankie hadn’t even registered his boss was losing his voice. His team mates all stood awkwardly as the session continued on without Frankie, who headed to the bench and grabbed a Red Bull on the way.

‘He’s gonna fuck it for all of us’ club captain Irishman Brain McClean said ‘if that waste of space doesn’t show up tomorrow I’ll personally smash his fucking head in’.

No one dared argue with the captain, the boss’s voice on the pitch, and they headed off home. Frankie meanwhile headed not for home, but to Randy’s house to meet the people he usually does, and spend more of his money on the drugs he and his friends were taking by the bucket load.

The day of the game arrived, San Jose was abuzz with anticipation. Could they do it, could little ol’ San Jose Earthquakes win the game and go all the way to the MLS final? The game was being played at LA Galaxy's stadium as they were the higher seed, but plenty of San Jose fans made the trip north to Los Angeles.

Frankie managed to get to the team bus on time, but on arrival at the stadium in the away teams dressing room he was silent, head down barely acknowledging Jim Duffy’s words.

‘Frankie you fucking look and listen to me right now!’ Frankie snapped to attention at this

‘Yes what?’

‘Are you fit to play?’

‘Yeah otherwise….’ Jim cut him off

‘Good, I’m doing something I’ve never done in my years of being a manager today’ he yelled and scanned the room. There was a discomfort in the air, the feeling was that he was going to do the unthinkable, he was dropping Frankie from the starting line up. 

McClean stood up to protest but Jim cut him off ‘don’t worry, Frankie’s starting. I’m just letting him warm up in here, and I won’t be giving in my official team sheet until right before we head out. I’m going to tell the officials Frankie is touch and go, I want Galaxy to think he won’t start or even play, I want the word out there Frankies injured, we’ve got a few hours to go anyway so you (he looked over to the clubs press man) tell the media out there Frankies done his ankle in, he’s unlikely to play. The rest of you get yourselves ready for the pre game brief, we warm up in exactly 90 minutes, that gives us 2 hours to get them complacent for kick off’

The rumours spread like wildfire. The press were hanging outside the away dressing room hoping for a word from Jim or even Frankie himself. The LA Galaxy players heard this too and Draft Kings, the online sportsbook had stopped taking bets on a Galaxy win once news of Frankie’s not playing made its way online and to social media.

Back in the locker room Frankie had all but checked out of the game. Usually the weight of expectation didn’t bother him, but the feeling of deceit was creeping in. He is injured afterall, his left ankle is fractured but no one knows, his hamstring aches every time he moves, it’s just the pills and gear that gets him through the day. He should declare he’s not fit to play, that way he can get back to taking copious amounts of drugs away from the lights and the scrutiny.

But as he stood up, the smell of sweat and adrenaline kicked in, then he remembered the whole of San Jose was relying on him to show up. As he stretched his back out something clicked at the bottom of his spine. He winced but turned round and took out one of his little black pouches with smaller bags inside. He realised once he sniffed the powder that he wouldn't be doing this for himself, he wasn’t doing it for fame or fortune, he wasn’t doing it for the fans or Jim Duffy. He was doing it because he had no other choice.

Chapter 7 - The big day

The biggest game so far for San Jose was here, the Western Conference final against LA Galaxy. For the Galaxy this was just another match, another routine win on the way to the MLS final. The kind of match for San Jose that turned men into legends. The news had filtered around the stadium and social media for the last 2 hours, Frankie Rizzi is unlikely to play in the game.

His goals had dragged San Jose here to this final and it was a foregone conclusion he’d at least score today, but with the rumours swirling the LA Galaxy boss said in his pre game interview with ESPN that he wasn’t concerned even if Frankie did play, he knew his team would be winning regardless. The arrogance was there, would he have said those words if Frankie was confirmed as playing? He knew as well as everyone else that Frankie Rizzi is the type of player who could turn a game on it’s head with a flick of his boot.

The rumours only came out within the last couple of hours. Frankie apparently hadn’t trained with the team since the last game, a win over Seattle. He’d been spotted in clubs and VIP sections all around LA each of the last three nights, the kind of places where last calls don’t exist and mornings are a distant memory. The rumor was about his condition to play, not of any actual injury. Too high, too low or too far gone, it’s hard to know.

Jim Duffy, San Jose’s experienced no nonsense Scottish boss had been playing it coy. The pre game presser he had just attended was a masterclass in deflection. ‘We’ll have to see how he feels, he’s been under the weather’ said with the most unreadable face ever seen on a football manager. But in the locker room to his left, it was chaos. Frankie had medics around him checking him over like a car mechanic inspecting a completely wrecked van and the referee and his assistants looking in. Frankie was playing his part to perfection, complaining of a bad head, upset stomach and vertigo. All these were true, but he’d played the last 5 games under worse conditions, and he knew fine well once he’d sniffed the powder in his bag he’d be raring to go.

Team mates questioned his commitment and focus out loud and within earshot of the referee, medics and the handful of media allowed in the dressing room. This was to keep up the charade, everyone knew Frankie was San Jose’s only chance of getting to the MLS cup final.

LA Galaxy were also playing their part and weren’t waiting around. They’d named their starting 11 and were all confident. Jaime Hernandes had even done his own pre game interview pitch side during the warm up saying he smelled blood and if Frankie didn't start the game wouldn’t even be close.

15 minutes to kick off and the referee asked for the fourth time for Duffy’s starting lineup. The stadium announcer had said they’re still waiting for confirmation but read out the Galaxy starters. The cameras caught the teams lining up in the tunnel with 10 minutes to go to kick off. No Frankie. Tension on the San Jose side of the stadium, noise from the LA side.

The TV crew was told to get a mic and take a cameraman and go into the tunnel and find Jim Duffy, which they did. 5 minutes to kick off and the teams were told to walk out, the referee demanding Jim confirmed the lineup there and then or forfeit the game, the cameraman caught this and it was broadcast to the stadium and the rest of the world watching live. Jim smiled and said ‘I was looking all over for you, here it is’ and he handed the sheet over to the ref, who handed it to a stadium official. As the players were walking out still no Frankie Rizzi, and the stadium erupted as the players made their way to the pitch. The stadium announcer read out the San Jose 11 as soon as he got word - ‘Jones in Goal, McClean, Brown, Smith and Hughes make up the back 4. Buchanan, Crayze, Murphy and Barton are the midfield 4 with Gomez and, hang on there’s a mistake here’ he said into his microphone before adding ‘I’m sorry folks the team sheet is a name short’ but his voice was drowned out the wave of noise coming from the San Jose fans.

The big screen caught it first and it didn’t take long for everyone to realise what was happening. Jim Duffy strolled out and following right behind him, in full playing kit, hair band tied tight and looking like he was ready for war was Frankie Rizzi. As he stepped on to the pitch the stadium came to life, screams, cheers and elation all mixed in with boos and jeers. The commentator quipped ‘I’ve never seen such a mix of anger and elation at the same time’

Jim took his seat in the dugout after shaking hands with the Galaxy manager. He muttered to his assistant ‘I hope this gamble pays off’  to which Raymond Love, his long time assistant replied ‘he’s a live wire Jim, all we have to do is defend for our lives and get him the ball’

The neutrals knew this meant it wouldn’t be a clean LA Galaxy win, they’ll at least have to work for the win. They were still the favourites that wasn’t in doubt, but with Rizzi on the pitch, a bit of good luck defensively, anything could happen for San Jose.

Chapter 8 - Kick off

The game kicked off 2 minutes late due to the delayed arrival and confirmation that Frankie Rizzi was fit and ready to play. The stadium was a fever pitch of anticipation. This wasn’t just the next big thing coming up, this kid was special and everyone knew it.

Both teams were filled with big players with big egos and both had a point to prove. LA Galaxy, the favourites for the Western Conference with players that would walk into any team in the league, whilst also boasting international players. Lead by their star player Jaime Hernandes, a striker that could score blindfolded. For San Jose, a team made up of free transfers and loanees, plus the addition of Frankie Rizzi, who’d been making headlines for the right reasons with his golden scoring touch had also seen his name in the media for all the wrong reasons, a talent that couldn’t be dropped, no matter the cost. The team just wanted to prove they could hang and had deserved to be in the Western Conference final.

The roar of the sell out crowd kept going on as the game commenced, every touch by any player cheered. It was a chaotic game right from the off. LA Galaxy as expected on the front foot, pressing with an intensity San Jose only wished they could match saw their main man score his 23rd of the season. Hernandes went on a mazy run from the AMC position, brought central defenders with him, laid it off to his strike partner in a neat 1-2 and slotted it under the keeper. 1-0 LA Galaxy, 12 minutes played. San Jose’s heads dropped as Hernandes celebrated

As the ball was in the center circle for kick off, the cameras caught Frankie and Johnson Buchanan talking, and then Frankie started waving his arms to the crowd to get them encouraged, and they obliged. Instantly the noise from the Galaxy fans was drowned out by the San Jose fans.

Despite the encouragement San Jose looked rattled. Rizzi was dropping deep to get on the ball as the midfield were struggling to string passes together, the pressure from LA was too strong. Frankie was electric, never stopping running, albeit out of position but the ball never made it to the final third. The coke coursing through his veins making him move like a man possessed, his eyes wild and bulging out of his head, his pace relentless, he alone covered more ground than his full team combined. And in the 29th minute his hard work paid off.

McClean in the center half position finally settled into the game, received the ball from the keeper, motioned to Gomez to make a run through the middle, which he did. As the ball came over Gomez stopped his run, the defender still going, he received the ball about 35 yards from goal, turned onto his left and didn’t look up, he knew exactly where Frankie would be running and played the ball into the pocket of space where Gomez’s marker would’ve been. Frankie outran the Galaxy defenders, took a touch to steady himself and thundered the ball into the net.

1-1, 29 minutes played. Pandemonium in the stands.

From the equaliser the game turned more into a boxing match than a football match, it was a slugfest of the highest order. Tackles flew in, players were aiming for the man and not the ball, tempers flared and the referee struggled to keep control. After stopping the game to address the struggle between Hernandes and McCLean with them both being given a final warning the game quickly resumed with McClean not getting back in time and Hernandes being wide open, picked up the loose ball in the middle and slotted the ball into the San Jose net. 2-1 LA Galaxy, 44 minutes played San Jose players all arguing among themselves.

Half time came and with it a bit of respite for San Jose. Jim Duffy didn’t go in with the tough guy approach, instead he said ‘we’re still in this game, one chance is all we need and we’ll rattle them. Let’s change it up slightly, you 4 at the back stay back, I don’t want to get caught on the break, we’re going with 5 across the middle, I want you rigid as fuck, attack together defend together, support Frankie and dart forward with him. Frankie lad, you know what to do out there, terrorise that defence’

Frankie was sweating buckets, everyone could see that. It was clearly the coke giving him the sweats, but he had done the most running, the most tracking back, the one trying to make things happen for his team.

He came out in the second half carrying on where he left off in the first. His heart pounding like a drum and his mind a blur of a mix of adrenaline and chemicals. He’d done another packet in during half time and it was kicking in now. 52 minutes on the clock he received the ball in an unfamiliar position on the right wing. Not to be deterred he told Buchanan to make the overlap, and he did, just as Crayze made an underlap confusing the Galaxy defence. All eyes should’ve been on Frankie but as the 2 players were going around him it opened up the space on the inside left channel and Frankie didn’t hesitate. He drove forward using his right to cut back outside towards the byline. Just on the edge of the box he stopped, let the defender commit then drove back on his left foot. As he steadied himself for a left foot shot the keeper sensed what was coming so took a step to his own left to cover the gap, big mistake. Frankie saw the gap now on his right hand side and hit the ball with the outside of his right foot. For any other player attempting this shot the ball would either fly over the bar, got out for a throw or roll harmlessly to the keeper. From Francis Rizzi with the Midas touch, it rifled into the goal at the near post. The net bulged ever so slightly as it went over the line. The crowd screamed, Jim Duffy jumped off the bench and Frankie stood there, arms out wide soaking in sweat and taking it all in.

2-2, 52 minutes played. Game on!

The second goal didn’t slow the game, quite the opposite, it opened it up. Hernandes kept probing, Frankie kept driving forward. The second goal was exactly what this game needed as now it was pedal to the floor stuff, and every player woke up. McCLean hit the bar with a header from a corner, Hernandes nearly completed his hat trick as he brought a double save out of Jones in the San Jose goal. Frankie also had a chance to get his hat trick as he forced the LA Galaxy keeper into tipping a long range shot on to the bar, but there was no follow up from Gomez or Brown. Buchanan, Crayze, Doyle, Gomez, Smith and Barton all had chances, real good chances to score for their team but as time ticked on it remained 2-2.

Then it happened, the knockout blow, the game ending goal, and there was only 1 man in the world that was going to score. From a corner, San Jose’s third of the game, Buchanan went short to Gomez who in turn played it towards the center midfield area where the sub Donovan was waiting. The Galaxy players all pushed out and as they did Donovan went back to Gomez who hit a first time cross right along the box. The Galaxy back line didn’t react in time and as the ball rose there was Frankie Rizzi, with the best diving header ever seen in the MLS at the far post. As he headed it he followed the ball into the net the crowd roared the loudest they had all day, the stadium was shaking. He was caught in the net and couldn’t get out before all the outfield players for San Jose jumped onto him.

The offside protests from the Galaxy players were waved away and as the San Jose players went out of the goal, Frankie was still cheering and screaming his head off, eyes still bulging, the passion and adrenaline all coming out of him. That goal killed off any chance of a Galaxy win. They’d used their subs and were spent. Frankie for the last 8 minutes was still running, still causing problems and the Galaxy players just couldn’t keep up. They kept hoofing it out, kept clearing it out for a throw in, too afraid to concede again. Hernandes didn’t get a sniff of the ball since the third goal went in.

The final whistle blew, and San Jose had done it. They were Western Conference winners, and booked their place in the MLS Cup, all thanks to Frankie.

The gamble paid off, Frankie scored yet again and the player who was both the teams saviour and their biggest risk sealed the win. In the locker room Frankie was the most lively player, spraying champagne and bouncing about like nothing anyone had seen before. Clearly under the influence of something, no one dared question it, the euphoria of the moment too good to disrupt. Everyone toasted Frankies brilliance, his persistence and the team's resilience to come back twice to win the game.

Next up would be Toronto FC in the MLS cup. They’d just beaten New York Red Bulls 4-0 in the Eastern Conference final. But San Jose didn’t care, they had Frankie Rizzi, the best player on planet Earth in their minds, Toronto didn’t stand a chance.