The rain was relentless, thudding against the roof of the stadium like war drums.

But Wayne Hennessey didn’t blink.

He stood tall between the posts, scanning the field through the sheets of water, gloves flexing at his sides like a coiled spring. The crowd’s roar faded behind the pulse in his ears. He knew what was coming. A set piece. One last chance.

As the ball curled into the box, chaos erupted—bodies collided, boots swung, and yet, Hennessey saw the flight path perfectly.

One stride. Two.

Then, with a leap that defied logic and gravity, he stretched out and met the ball midair, fingertips brushing leather, enough to tip it over the bar.

Relief poured over the crowd. But Wayne was already back on his feet, barking orders, resetting the line. The job wasn’t done.

Not until the final whistle.