Eighty-five minutes gone.
The second corner kick hung in the air like a vulture, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to drop. Harry positioned himself near the edge of the box, legs screaming with fatigue but mind still sharp.
Riley's delivery was perfect again, curling away from the keeper. Bodies crashed together in the six-yard box. Danny Mills leaped highest, but their center-half got just enough on it to send the ball spinning away.
It dropped to the edge of the box. Harry was there first.
He took one touch to control. The keeper was scrambling back to his line. Defenders were throwing themselves forward to block.
Harry swung his right foot.
The shot was clean, powerful, heading for the bottom corner.
Their midfielder threw his body in the way. The ball smacked off his thigh and bounced clear.
"Argh!" Harry grabbed his head in frustration.
The Salford fans were on their feet, hands pressed to their faces. So close. Again!
Play moved to the other end. Blackpool tried one last counter, but Tommy Henderson gathered it easily.
Eighty-seven minutes.
Then eighty-eight...
Harry chased a loose ball down the left flank, legs moving on pure determination now. The Blackpool right-back came across aggressively to close him down near the byline.
Harry could see a tackle coming. He could have chosen to avoid it, pull back, and play it safe.
Instead, he pushed the ball past the defender and tried to go around him.
The right-back stuck out his leg. Harry went down hard, rolling on the wet grass.
Fweeee!
The referee's whistle cut through the noise for a free kick.
"About time!" Frank screamed from the touchline in angst.
The Blackpool players surrounded the referee, arguing. Their captain was waving his arms, claiming Harry had dived.
But the referee wasn't having none of that. He pointed to the spot where the foul happened, a few yards from the 18-yard box.
Harry picked himself up, swiping grass stains on his shorts, and jogged toward the 18-yard box. Noah Perring was already placing the ball on the spot, eyes focused.
"Everyone in the box!" Danny shouted, sprinting forward from defense.
The Blackpool wall lined up ten yards away. Their keeper organized his defense, screaming instructions.
Harry found himself at the back post, marked by their center-half. The same defender who'd blocked two of his shots already.
Noah stepped back, taking his run-up.
The crowd went quiet. Even the Blackpool fans stopped their chanting.
Noah struck it cleanly.
The ball curled over the wall, dipping toward the far post. The keeper ran out with a full stretch, fingertips reaching for the ball.
But Dean Halberg was already there.
The center-back had timed his run perfectly, rising above everyone else like a salmon swimming upstream. His header was perfect—downward, into the bottom corner.
The net bulged.
3-3.
The Salford section exploded. Harry sprinted toward Dean, arms outstretched. The rest of the team piled on, even Tommy Henderson racing from his goal.
"Bloody Hell!" Jamie grabbed Dean's shirt, shaking him. "We're level! We're fucking level!"
Frank was dancing on the touchline, punching the air. The fourth official had to step back to avoid getting caught up in the celebration.
---
The restart was chaos.
Both teams knew extra time was coming if things stayed level, but neither wanted to settle for penalties. The intensity went through the roof.
Blackpool threw everything forward. Their defenders joined the attack, leaving gaps at the back that Salford tried to exploit.
In the ninetieth minute, their striker had a golden chance. A cross from the right found him unmarked in the box. His header was goal-bound until Tommy Henderson pulled off a worldie, tipping it over the bar one-handed.
"Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!" the Salford fans chanted.
Thirty seconds later, Salford almost won it. Riley Croft broke down the right, his cross finding Nathan Keene in space. The striker's volley was sweet as a nut, but it cannoned off the crossbar and bounced clear.
The fourth official raised his board. Three minutes added time.
Harry's vision was getting blurry from exhaustion. His legs felt like jelly. But something was building. He could feel it in the air, in the way the match was flowing.
One more chance. That's all they needed.
It came just as they entered the second minute of stoppage time.
A Blackpool midfielder, tired from chasing the game, played a loose pass across his own half. The ball rolled straight to Zak Donnelly in the center circle.
Zak looked up once and spotted Harry making a run down the left. The pass was perfect, weighted just right.
Harry was past his marker before the defender knew what happened. His pace stat might only be 55/100, but when you're running on adrenaline and desperation, numbers don't matter.
The left-back tried to recover, but Harry was already in the box, the center back charging from the side. The keeper was coming out, trying to narrow the angle.
Harry could have shot. His finishing was 50/100, decent enough from that range.
But he saw something better.
Nathan Keene was coming in unmarked at the other end of the post. The striker who'd been quiet for most of the game, frustrated by the service, suddenly had a clear sight of goal.
'Please pass the ball. Don't be selfish...' he chanted in his mind like a desperate mantra.
Harry cut the ball back with his weaker left foot. The cross was low, hard, skimming across the grass.
Nathan Keene didn't need a second invitation.
He side-footed it into the bottom corner from three yards out.
4-3.
The ground erupted. Even some neutrals were on their feet, applauding what they'd just witnessed.
Nathan wheeled away toward the corner flag, shirt over his head. Harry chased after him, legs somehow finding the energy to run again.
[DING!]
[+2 XP - Assist]
[Current Experience: 126/200]
The Blackpool players looked stunned. Their keeper sat on the grass, head in his hands. Three minutes earlier they'd been seconds away from extra time. Now they were facing elimination.
Frank was going mental on the touchline, hugging everyone in sight. The substitute players had spilled onto the pitch, celebrating with the team.
But the referee was pointing at his watch, urging a quick celebration. There was still time left.
"Get back! Get back!" Danny screamed at his teammates. "It's not over yet!"
Harry jogged back to his position, chest heaving. His stamina was completely gone now, running on pure adrenaline.
Blackpool kicked off with desperation in their eyes. Long balls, hopeful crosses, anything to find an equalizer.
In the dying seconds, they almost got it.
A corner kick caused chaos in the Salford box. The ball bounced around like a pinball, players sliding in from all angles.
Their center-half got a toe to it, six yards from goal.
Tommy Henderson was beaten.
But Dean Halberg was on the line, clearing it with a bicycle kick that would have made the Premier League highlights reel.
The referee looked at his watch one more time.
Then he raised the whistle to his lips.
Fweeee! Fweeee! Fweeeeee!~
Three sharp blasts echoed around the ground.
Full time.
Salford U18 4 - 3 Blackpool U18.
Harry collapsed to his knees on the wet grass, not from exhaustion this time, but from pure joy.
They'd done it.
Against all odds, against a better team with better facilities and better players, they'd done it.
The FA Youth Cup dream was still alive.