There was absolutely no suspense.
The ball traced a beautiful, cruel arc through the air and dropped softly into the back of the net.
1-0.
Less than two minutes into the match, Liverpool had drawn first blood entirely through Allen’s individual brilliance.
Joss froze.
Kirkland froze.
Even Welsh, who had provided the long pass, stood rooted to the center circle, staring at Allen in utter disbelief.
Allen was the only one moving, raising his right arm high like a triumphant flag.
The momentary shock broke, and the squad swarmed him.
Welsh was the first to arrive.
He threw his arms around the striker, screaming in elation.
“A goal!
You scored!
And it was my assist!
I finally have an actual assist!
I never have to worry about my passes going to waste again!”
Assist?
Allen thought, raising an eyebrow.
If I hadn’t executed a blind backheel knock-and-run, your ‘assist’ would have been cleared by the center-back.
Of course, Allen kept his cynical JSOC mentality to himself.
He let the eight-year-old midfielder celebrate.
Welsh had every right to be thrilled.
As the primary playmaker, he possessed incredible vision for his age, but he had spent the last two years watching his brilliant through-balls wasted by incompetent strikers.
In fact, the lack of firepower had often forced Welsh to push high up the pitch and shoot the ball himself, turning him into a decent long-range threat.
But at his core, Welsh was an orchestrator.
With Allen up front, he was finally free to sit deep, pull the strings, and rack up the assists.
Warnock and Otsemobor joined the huddle, practically crushing Allen in a group hug.
For the fullbacks, having a lethal striker meant they no longer had to constantly cover for missed attacking opportunities.
They were no longer fighting a losing battle of attrition.
Back in his own penalty area, Kirkland did not run up to join the pile.
Years ago, the Liverpool junior squad had been untouchable.
They had Kirkland in goal, Steven Gerrard in midfield, and Michael Owen up front.
They had slaughtered everyone in their path.
But when Gerrard and Owen were promoted to the upper academy, the goals had completely dried up.
Now, watching Allen carve up the defense, Kirkland knew the dark days were over.
With Welsh orchestrating the midfield and Allen executing the final strikes, Kirkland was absolutely certain he would lift the National Junior Cup before his promotion next year.
On the touchline, Joss pulled Scott into a massive bear hug.
Joss was not celebrating just because they were up 1-0 against a local school team.
He was celebrating because that single goal confirmed everything he had seen in the trial.
The explosive pace, the flawless touch, the ruthless composure.
Joss knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had a generational predator on his hands.
The parents on the sidelines erupted into applause.
To the Liverpool faithful, any goal scored against any opposition was cause for celebration.
But the hardcore supporters watching closely knew they were witnessing something truly special.
Between Michael Owen in the upper academy and this terrifying new seven-year-old in the juniors, Liverpool’s attacking future was secured for the next two decades.
Meanwhile, the Tigers looked devastated.
Their players trudged back to the center circle, thoroughly demoralized that they had conceded a wonder goal in less than two minutes.
But they had no idea that the nightmare was just beginning.
Over the next forty minutes, they were going to wish they had never stepped onto the pitch.
When the match resumed, Allen unleashed his full arsenal.
He operated like a merciless machine.
He demonstrated every single skill required of an elite center-forward.
He bypassed defenders with sheer explosive pace.
He out-muscled much larger boys using his JSOC-conditioned core strength.
He scored with power, he scored with finesse, he scored with his left foot, his right foot, and his head.
He was absolutely unstoppable.
He finished the match with nine goals and five assists.
He completely dismantled the Tigers’ defensive structure, drawing so much pressure that he was able to feed the ball to his teammates.
Thanks to Allen’s vision, even Welsh managed to score a hat-trick from the midfield.
With Liverpool leading by double digits, Joss finally decided to show some mercy. This story is hosted at g.com.
He signaled Scott to substitute Allen out.
The Tigers’ morale was utterly broken, and there was no tactical need to keep his star player on the pitch.
As Allen jogged toward the touchline, he received a reception usually reserved for senior professionals.
Every single parent and spectator around the pitch stood up and delivered a roaring standing ovation.
They had come expecting to watch a sloppy, chaotic children’s game.
Instead, they had witnessed an absolute masterclass.
Every person clapping knew they were looking at a future Premier League icon.
With Allen resting on the bench, the two substitute forwards who replaced him played out of their minds, eager to prove they belonged on the same squad as the new prodigy.
They ruthlessly poured salt in the Tigers’ wounds.
When the final whistle blew, the scoreline read 18-0.
Joss was ecstatic.
But it did not stop there.
Over the next ten matches of the district qualifiers, Allen’s numbers completely broke the limits of youth football logic.
He averaged 11 goals and 3 assists per game while playing only half the minutes.
In the one match Joss let him play the full forty minutes, Allen recorded a terrifying 17 goals and 4 assists.
Joss finally had to admit to himself that Michael Owen was no longer the ceiling.
Allen George was operating on an entirely different evolutionary tier.
With over 100 goals and 30 assists in just ten cup matches, the whispers around the junior pitch quickly evolved into a roaring hype train.
Word of the “Seven-Year-Old Predator” reached the highest executive offices of Liverpool Football Club.
For a club that lived and breathed talent acquisition, Allen’s statistics were impossible to ignore.
The Liverpool Echo even ran a small feature piece in their local sports section, highlighting the unprecedented dominance of the junior academy’s new striker.
Almost overnight, the entire Liverpool fanbase knew they had a lethal super-weapon growing in their ranks.
The hype grew so loud that the upper academy coach, Mr.
Harrison, personally informed Joss that he would be attending the next junior match to evaluate the prodigy himself.
Harrison had chosen the perfect match to attend.
The district qualifiers were over.
Liverpool had advanced.
Their next fixture was a high-stakes knockout match, and they were not playing a local school team.
They were playing the Everton youth academy.
The Merseyside Derby was about to begin.