Stoppage Time

Down 1-0 in the eighty-ninth minute. I planted both blunt paws over the analog stick and pushed a hard through-ball right past their center-back. My winger broke free. Beside me, the dog let out a sudden, muffled whimper, his tail giving two sharp thumps against the sofa cushion as if reading the run. I hammered the shoot button with my stubby chin. The net rippled; stadium speakers rattled the side table. 1-1 at the final whistle. A hard-fought point on the board. I gave the dog's warm flank a solid, approving pat. Good spotter.