They were dominating Colombia.

I still had no clue as to what was happening on the field, but the score told me enough. I cheered with Tim at our team winning.

Despite feeling quite pathetic about it, I still couldn't stop watching Theo solely. He was amazing, in a torturously core-clenching manner. The way he played made it look so easy, but I knew from past experience that it wasn't. I could barely kick the ball during sports lessons at school.

At first, Theo had seemed as cool, collected and professional as always, but not long into the game, he seemed to begin to grow frustrated; angry, almost.

"He should have got a yellow card for that..." Tim was shaking his head, commenting on a clash between Theo and a player from the Colombian team. It looked painful for both, but there was no reaction from Theo even when he had been the one to cause it.

He hadn't been like this in any of the previous games in the World Cup where England had played, and I felt like I had a pretty good idea as to what this was about.

Whatever we had was bad for him too, if it was making him act like this.

"Black is being taken off the field. Kelley will be substituting," the commentator was observing, "this is unheard of. He is not happy about this..."

It was obvious to everyone that Theo was growing a tad too aggressive. It wasn't good for the game or himself, so I suppose the coach had decided to take him off the field.

I was dying. If he felt like this because of me, I felt horrible. It became even worse when the camera focused on him walking off the field, anything but happy about it. This was the assistant captain of the English national team, being taken out of the game because he wasn't playing a fair game.

He completely ignored their coach as he tried to talk to him at the edge of the field, and instead made his way to the second row of their two-row-bleacher type shelter, where substitutes were sitting at.

A water bottle was handed to him, but all he did was slam it onto the floor by his feet. He leaned back in the plastic seat and ran his hands over his face and then through his hair.

The camera focused back on the game. There was no way I could concentrate anymore, this was all so crazy.

I debated on if I should text him. Ask him if he's okay and let him know that I'm supporting him. Or maybe I shouldn't do anything. It was his decision to lie to me about being exhausted and then instead go hook up with a supermodel...

Tim and I chatted briefly. He really was a huge fan of Justin, gushing about how amazing his kicks were and so on. In my opinion, Theo was just as good, or even better. Maybe that was just me, though. Yet he was good, there was no question about that; easily one of the top five players in the world.

__

Ten minutes before halftime, the coach had most likely deemed Theo calm enough to be put back on the field.

The timer in my phone went off, but I was quick to shut it as Theo had captured the ball and had begun running with it towards Colombia's goal.

I was at the edge of my seat, really admiring how he looked. He dodged a few players, passed the ball to Justin who then passed it back as they neared the goal.

The camera focused closer, capturing the full momentum and movements of his tight muscles when he kicked. Even with the goalie jumping and diving, the ball hit the net, and the whole crowd, as well as the commentators, began cheering.

Tim and I cheered as well, jumping up from the couch in excitement.

"Incredible shot by Black!" The commentator sounded so enthusiastic, "absolutely incredible!"

__

"I wonder how England will play now that we're not there cheering for them," Tim gave me a smile. He was just now driving to the underground parking lot of the hospital.

"Yes, because us two yelling in my living room was definitely helping the men score," I teased, and he chuckled.

"I think so too," he replied with sarcasm, "listen, Scarlett, today has been very nice."

"It has," I agreed, "we should watch football more often. I think I'm finally catching on to what the one man running with the teams, wearing some kind of microphone and pissing off the players is there to do."

"That's the referee, darling," he grinned, shaking his head at me, "you still have a long way to go."

I gently rolled my eyes. Tim parked the car at the parking space dedicated to him, and we got out.

We casually talked as we made our way to the elevators, and then to the changing rooms. We said bye to each other before I entered the women's side. I changed into my scrubs, not hurrying because we were here a little early.

I had been spending a lot of my free time at the hospital with Daniel, the young and aspiring football player who was now in a wheelchair due to a car crash. I was thinking of going to say a quick hello to him before I went on to find Dr Stanley. Daniel was surely watching the game at this very moment, getting himself all excited. He wouldn't be too bothered with me, but I just wanted to say hey.

Right as I'd stepped out of the changing rooms, I crashed into Linda.

"Hey, are you—" I was about to check if she was alright, definitely amused by us bumping into each other like this.

"Lettie. I've got a pissed off football player with a lateral ankle sprain," she cut me off, not smiling.

"Oh?"

"You better come with me..."