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James Maddison is having a good game. No, it’s not the best - he’s only been playing for twenty minutes, if that, and he’s come nowhere close to scoring any goals. He’s had his fair share of good touches though - along with the bad - but he feels confident: Leicester are four-nil up and the roar of the crowd is overwhelmingly positive.
But that doesn’t seem to block out the thump in his heart like it usually does. His heart usually thumps and pounds with adrenaline, but this, he feels, is something completely different.
It’s about seventy-eight minutes in, more or less on the verge of seventy-nine when Maddison feels all his senses begin to merge into one. The crowd suddenly becomes muffled as James tries to continue his run, but his legs start to feel too weak to hold up the heavy weight of his own torso and head and the Leicester player can feel the world start to fade into black around him.
He’s about half way into the Rander’s half, watching the ball being knocked around by some of the fullbacks when he feels his legs start to give in, and his body start to crumble. He tries to steady his fall to the ground, placing his hands down on the grass and the world spins in circles.
His heart is fluttering uncontrollably in his chest, and suddenly he realises that so is his breathing. It’s jagged and uneven, his lungs only seeming to allow in small gasps of air as he lies back on the ground and closes his eyes.
His chest is heaving, but Maddison can’t seem to understand why no air is entering. A pulse of fear runs through his body when the reality sets in; why can’t he fucking breathe?
Amongst all the confusion he feels (and none of the players have noticed he’s down yet, either. It’s just him here, by himself, struggling to breathe as the world spins around him): There’s a few blissful moments when James is completely unaware of his surroundings, in a completely different dimension almost, as the crowd and players finally take notice, the noise fades into the background and the focus of the game is abandoned quickly.
He hears the ref’s whistle being blown in the background, a few shouts, and the thud of people running towards him.
He tries to open his eyes once more, but is immediately hit by the swimming face of Lookman, and another opposing team member he vaguely recognises through his increasingly blurred vision:
“-ad..er..s? -re y..u ..ka..y-?” Lookman tries to say something, but nothing that Maddison can comprehend. Instead he ends up stretching his arm out to meet the other, as a way of letting him know he’s still here, and grounding himself back down to reality.
He desperately tries to control his breathing, and lets his arms flop back down either side of him when he loses all energy in his body. He diverts his attention back to the situation at hold. Get. Air. Into. Lungs.
But that doesn’t work, and the physios are already here: so the Leicester midfielder relaxes as much as he can. He feels dazed, almost like he’s been concussed, and his bones feel heavy with fatigue. The stadium is still moving around him, destroying his coordination at all costs. He’s surprised he didn’t collapse there and then and that, instead, he was able to lower himself safely down to the ground.
A few more faces gather around the Leicester player, some recognisable, some not. Ademola’s moved away from him to make space for the medics, and James can see Kasper Schmeichel coming into the huddle, bless him, running the full length of the pitch just to see if the Leicester player was alright.
He doesn’t blame him though; the events of Denmark vs Finland in the Euros still loom over them all.
They talk to him for a while, but all their questions and queries fly over his head. He doesn’t feel like he has the mental capacity to answer them so instead he lets them run through their routine checks.
They check his pulse and breathing, and put one of those clippy-things onto his finger to measure his oxygen levels; Maddison knows that it’s all part of the compulsory checks and such, but he can’t help but feel slightly frightened by it all. He’s never felt like this before - nor come this close to fainting, let alone on the pitch - so it’s a new experience, and one that he’s certainly not enjoying.
A few moments pass and the medical staff conclude that it’s best to take him off, much to the Number ten’s relief. He lets them drag him up to a sitting position, and his vision surges, forcing James to blink harshly.
He grounds himself, and nods slowly to let the medics know that he’s fine to carry on. They haul him up to his feet, giving him a few moments to clear the black dots dancing in his vision before escorting him off of the pitch.
They have to hold him quite firmly, a medic either side of him, gripping his arms so he doesn’t collapse again. His head is throbbing and he’s struggling to comprehend what’s happening around him as his legs just move subconsciously.
There are shouts and an applaud from the crowd when he reaches the entrance of the Leicester tunnel, all echoing around him in a constant buzz.
He’s now walking down the tunnel, turning into the medical room, and wondering what the hell just happened.