The player buffered for a tense ten seconds. A pixelated spinning wheel teased him as the muffled roar of the Stretford End began to bleed through his speakers. Suddenly, the image snapped into focus. There was Antony, spinning on the wing in a blur of red, and there was the Sheriff defense, organized and stubborn like a desert fortress.
Liam sat in his darkened flat, the blue light of his laptop reflecting in his glasses. He wasn’t at the "Theatre of Dreams," but he was trying to get there. He navigated to the infamous digital alleyways of the internet, past the blinking neon "Win a New Car!" ads and the frantic pop-ups claiming his laptop had forty-seven viruses. Finally, he found it: . The player buffered for a tense ten seconds
On screen, Cristiano Ronaldo was hunting for a goal, his eyes narrowed with that familiar, predatory focus. Every time the stream stuttered, Liam held his breath, hovering his mouse over the refresh button like a detonator. But Stream 4 held steady. There was Antony, spinning on the wing in
