2026-09-22, 02:06 PM - Word count:
The ball rolls towards Nick Kasak from an uncharacteristically unselfish Dante von Wolfe, and he finds himself in absolutely acres of space, and somehow the Montreal defence was completely wide open.
The opposing players seem to move achingly slowly, panic in their eyes, wrong footed by the unexpected pass that has put them all on the back foot.. Nick sees them and how far they need to move to even try and stop him.
No chance.
The play had started with a ball from Nick, playing out to the right wing and moving into the channels behind the retreating defenders. He timed his run with eery accuracy and was just on the edge of the box, crashing in late and having lost his marker – who probably hadn’t considered he was going to come this far forward, let alone that Dante was choose to cross.
Nick has all of the time in the world and the ball at his feet. These moments that exist in the before were always electric with potential, fizzing with possibility – it’s funny but you don’t consider the chance that it will miss, sometimes. The synapses don’t fire quickly enough to consider failure. There is only success. Instantaneously, it is inconceivable that this moment, like so many others, will be lost to time itself; another empty chance amongst 90 odd minutes and 22 players.
This moment could matter.
Only this moment matters.
This moment could be the difference.
BANG
Nick’s boot makes clean contact with the ball, changing it’s course but maintaining it’s destiny. It sails magnetically beyond the slow reacting keeper – drawn to the back of the goal like a lightning bolt to a pylon. Straight into the net. Straight into glory.
Goal for Kaapstad.
Nick remembered this feeling, when everything goes just right. Everything falls into the place. When you feel like all you touch turns into gold. This feeling was always fleeting, like hot beach sand slipping through your fingers at the end of a long hot summer you thought would never end.
The cheer of the stadium was petrol on the fire in his heart, and before he knew it he was roaring into the crowd and they were roaring straight back at him.
KING KAS-AK!! KING KAS-AK!!
This is why he loves football.
THERE’S ONLY ONE NICK KASAK!!!
This is why they love football.
In the crowd now was the odd banner with his name on – this had been surprising at first, but now established as a player he was getting more used to it. Some showed pictures of him wearing a simple crown – others just said “King Kasak” – and amongst the crowd were a few more crowns being worn by supporters.
He could get used to this feeling.
He wasn’t quite there yet, no. But one day, perhaps he could let himself believe, with a trophy in his hand and his name on the scoreboard; he really could be the King of Kaapstad.
The opposing players seem to move achingly slowly, panic in their eyes, wrong footed by the unexpected pass that has put them all on the back foot.. Nick sees them and how far they need to move to even try and stop him.
No chance.
The play had started with a ball from Nick, playing out to the right wing and moving into the channels behind the retreating defenders. He timed his run with eery accuracy and was just on the edge of the box, crashing in late and having lost his marker – who probably hadn’t considered he was going to come this far forward, let alone that Dante was choose to cross.
Nick has all of the time in the world and the ball at his feet. These moments that exist in the before were always electric with potential, fizzing with possibility – it’s funny but you don’t consider the chance that it will miss, sometimes. The synapses don’t fire quickly enough to consider failure. There is only success. Instantaneously, it is inconceivable that this moment, like so many others, will be lost to time itself; another empty chance amongst 90 odd minutes and 22 players.
This moment could matter.
Only this moment matters.
This moment could be the difference.
BANG
Nick’s boot makes clean contact with the ball, changing it’s course but maintaining it’s destiny. It sails magnetically beyond the slow reacting keeper – drawn to the back of the goal like a lightning bolt to a pylon. Straight into the net. Straight into glory.
Goal for Kaapstad.
Nick remembered this feeling, when everything goes just right. Everything falls into the place. When you feel like all you touch turns into gold. This feeling was always fleeting, like hot beach sand slipping through your fingers at the end of a long hot summer you thought would never end.
The cheer of the stadium was petrol on the fire in his heart, and before he knew it he was roaring into the crowd and they were roaring straight back at him.
KING KAS-AK!! KING KAS-AK!!
This is why he loves football.
THERE’S ONLY ONE NICK KASAK!!!
This is why they love football.
In the crowd now was the odd banner with his name on – this had been surprising at first, but now established as a player he was getting more used to it. Some showed pictures of him wearing a simple crown – others just said “King Kasak” – and amongst the crowd were a few more crowns being worn by supporters.
He could get used to this feeling.
He wasn’t quite there yet, no. But one day, perhaps he could let himself believe, with a trophy in his hand and his name on the scoreboard; he really could be the King of Kaapstad.
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