Drums beating, hearts racing, sweat dripping. Eleven men with their countries hopes on their shoulders, one coach egging them on, one manager with a nervous tick and four subs desperate to get a game, all anticipating the next ninety minutes.

        Tips and tactics came from the coach, demanding they win the game.

“This is the biggest game of your lives!”

And many would agree being the World Cup Final and all, but for one player, number 5, Jamie Lloyd, there was something else worth concentrating on.

        He sat with his head in his hands, crucial advice washing over him, he could hear voices but he wasn’t listening to a word. His head was spinning, different things whizzed around his mind, and nothing made sense to him. He was going to let everyone down, his wife, his baby, his manager, his team, his country. If only he hadn’t been in the club that night. If only he hadn’t gone back to the hotel. If only he’d of said no. One night of so-called passion wasn’t worth feeling like this and wasn’t worth losing everything.

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How would the crowd react to him? What would his wife say? It was all too much; he jumped up in the middle of the commotion that was the changing room, so frustrated, so sorry, and so guilty. He couldn’t take the noise, the bustle. He ran out of the room but he wouldn’t go far, this game was too big and being the captain he couldn’t do anything to risk the future for his team and his country.

Everyone knew what was wrong with him, they’d all seen the papers, but it wasn’t their problem, was it? They were ...

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