The referee's whistle cut through the winter air, sharp and final. The ball rolled from Nathan Keene's first touch, and the FA Youth Cup third-round tie was underway.
Salford U18 in red and white. Walsall U18 in navy and black.
The pitch looked perfect, but the air was biting cold, every breath leaving a cloud. Parents, scouts, and a few hundred fans leaned against the barriers, their cheers blending into a restless hum.
Danny Mills barked the first order, pushing the back line up. "Hold! Hold the line!" His voice carried above the noise.
Walsall pressed early, closing in on Kai Moreno as he tried to take his first touch in midfield. The ball bobbled, but Jayden Rowe slid across, winning it clean.
"Sharp, Jayden!" Noah Perring shouted, already looking for the ball.
Jayden passed square, Kai steadied himself, then slipped it forward. Harry Whittaker made his first run down the left. He caught the ball in stride, tested the right-back with a step-over, and drove inside.
The crowd reacted with a cheer, only for Walsall's center-back to shut him down and poke the ball clear.
Not a chance, but a warning.
Walsall weren't sitting back. They moved quickly, their forwards big and physical. The ball came wide down Salford's right, forcing Reece Holloway into a one-on-one. He stayed low, his arms tight, and timed his tackle well. The ball skidded out for a throw.
Frank stood on the touchline, arms folded, watching every detail. He didn't shout yet. He was measuring.
The first five minutes were scrappy—tackles flying in, loose touches punished instantly. Every time Noah tried to get on the ball, Walsall's midfield pressed two at him. Salford needed space, but it wasn't coming easily.
Then, in the tenth minute, Riley Croft broke free on the right. Kai switched the play with a raking diagonal. Riley killed it with one touch, cut inside, and fired a shot from the edge. It stung the keeper's gloves, spilling loose. Nathan charged in, but the keeper smothered at the second attempt.
Groans rippled from the Salford supporters, but it was the first real opening.
"Keep pressing!" Danny yelled from the back. "They don't like it!"
Walsall's reply was brutal. A long ball launched over the top, their tall striker muscling past Dean Halberg.
For a moment it looked dangerous, but Tommy Henderson was off his line like a sprinter, sliding through the ball and clearing into touch. The home fans clapped loudly—relieved applause.
"Stay switched on!" Danny barked, glaring at Dean, who nodded sheepishly.
Harry kept moving, shoulders pumping, scanning the fullback each time. Frank's words echoed in his head: Get at him early and often.
In the fourteenth minute, Noah finally found him. A quick swivel in midfield, a perfectly weighted pass down the line. Harry burst onto it, legs stretching, the fullback chasing in vain.
One-on-one with the covering center-back, he chopped inside onto his right foot and curled low toward the near post.
The keeper got down sharply, saving with one hand, pushing the ball out for a corner.
The crowd was up now, clapping and shouting encouragement. Harry jogged back, chest rising fast, his face tight with frustration but alive with energy.
Noah swung in the corner. Danny climbed the highest, thundering a header just over the bar. The captain held his head, cursing under his breath.
"Better, boys!" Frank finally shouted from the sideline. "That's the tempo!"
The game settled into a rhythm—Salford pushing the ball wide, Walsall breaking through their physical number nine. Tackles crunched in midfield, every second ball a scrap.
Kai Moreno played with calm, sliding into gaps, knitting moves together with short passes.
By the eighteenth-minute mark, the match was finely balanced.
Harry got another chance when Riley cut in and clipped a crossfield ball over the top. Harry chased, cushioning it with his chest, but the angle was tight.
He drove a low cross across the goal, but nobody was there to finish. Nathan had held his run too long, straying into an offside position.
"Cross earlier!" Nathan shouted, frustration flaring.
Harry didn't answer back. He just turned back, shaking his head lightly.
Minutes later, Walsall nearly stole the lead. A free kick whipped in, bodies jostling everywhere in the box. Their striker rose above Dean, powering a header toward the top corner.
Tommy stretched and tipped it over with his fingertips. The save drew the loudest roar yet from the Salford crowd.
"Tommy, lad!" Danny clapped his keeper on the back as they reset.
The twenty-five-minute mark ticked closer, both sides looking for that breakthrough. The tackles grew heavier, the runs sharper. The cold didn't matter now; adrenaline had taken over.
Harry's legs burned but he kept pushing. He knew Coach Frank was watching, knew scouts were watching too. Every sprint and every duel mattered.