Harry sat on the bench, leg bouncing with nervous energy. The metal seat was cold against his back, and his hands gripped the edge until his knuckles went white.
The match kicked off with Blackpool keeping the ball. They moved it around like they had all day, their midfield dropping deep to collect passes before switching play with surgical precision.
On the pitch, Salford's starting eleven looked average compared to Blackpool's perfectly drilled team. Their passing was crisp, their movement sharp. Everything Harry had expected from a full-time academy squad.
"Easy lads, settle in!" Frank called from the touchline, but Harry could hear the worry in his voice.
Salford chased shadows for the first ten minutes.
"Come on!" Danny shouted, trying to organize the defense. But Harry could see his teammates were already getting pulled out of position.
In the fifteenth minute, disaster struck from a simple corner kick.
The corner kick was nothing fancy. But their center-half rose above everyone else like he was on springs, powering a header past Tommy Henderson, Salford's goalkeeper.
1-0 to Blackpool U18.
The away end went quiet. Harry's stomach dropped as he watched his teammates' shoulders sag.
"It's just one goal!" Frank yelled. "Keep your heads up!"
But Harry could see the doubt creeping in. The way their passes became rushed, without an end product. The way they stopped making runs forward.
Twenty minutes in, it got worse after a damning counter-attacking play.
Salford lost the ball deep in the midfield, and Blackpool moved it quickly down their right flank. A cross came in low and hard. Their striker was there to tap it home.
2-0.
Some of the Salford fans started leaving the stands. Harry felt sick seeing that.
"This is painful to watch," muttered Jamie Walsh from beside him on the bench.
Harry said nothing. Just watched as his mates trudged back to the halfway line, heads down.
By half-time, it was 3-0. Another goal from a set piece, their defense caught ball-watching again.
In the changing room, Frank didn't shout or hurl out insults to those that performed badly. That was somehow worse than if he had.
"Right," he said quietly. "That's not good enough. But it's not over."
The starting eleven sat in silence, staring at their boots.
"Second half, we're making changes," Frank continued. He looked directly at Harry. "You're going on, son. Left wing. Show me what you've been doing in training."
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn't how he'd imagined his first proper tournament appearance.
"What about me, gaffer?" asked Marcus Thompson, the lad Harry was replacing.
"You've done your best, Marcus. But we need something different."
Frank turned to address the whole team.
"Listen. They're better than us. We all know it. But football matches are ninety minutes long. And right now, they're thinking this is done. They're relaxed. Getting comfortable."
He paused, meeting each player's eyes.
"That's when teams make mistakes. That's when gaps start to appear. Harry, I want you running at their right-back every time you get the ball. Don't think. Just take him on and give out high crosses. Or better yet, shoot at every clear opportunity."
Harry nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
"The rest of you, start believing again. Because if you don't believe, nobody else will."
The second half started with Harry on the left wing, heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
The Blackpool right-back was exactly as Danny had described—quick but small statured.
Harry got his first touch in the forty-eighth minute. A simple pass from midfield, nothing special. He charged towards the 18-yard box.
The right-back closed him down fast, confident. But Harry didn't let up.
He dropped his shoulder, sold the dummy with his left foot, and cut inside on his right foot. The defender bought it completely, stumbling as Harry accelerated past him.
Suddenly, Harry had space. A vast sea of space with two center-backs charging from the offshore.
He drove forward, ball glued to his feet. The first center-half came across to cover, but Harry was already thinking two moves ahead.
He made a quick pass to Jamie in the middle, who laid it back first time for a quick one-two.
Harry didn't even think or look at the goal. He just swung his right foot through the ball.
It flew like a rocket, dipping at the last second. But the Blackpool keeper got his fingertip to it, the touch took it into the top corner.