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Chapter 251: The Story of Jamie Vardy
🕑 Added 2025-08-09 00:14:04 +0000 UTCJanuary 13 | 2016
Leicester, Private Restaurant
The place was theirs. Every chair, every plate, every inch of wall space was Leicester City for the night.
No journalists, no cameras, no fans leaning in with phones. Just the squad, their families, and the smell of chargrilled steak drifting from the kitchen in warm, savoury waves. The lights were warm. On the far wall, framed photos of the King Power hung between scarves and matchday posters. Someone had strung fairy lights around a hastily printed banner in bold blue letters:
CONGRATS JAMIE — 11 IN A ROW!
Jamie Vardy sat near the middle, Rebekah beside him, his plate barely touched. All night it had been the same — three separate toasts, one surprise cake, and applause every time someone so much as said “eleven.” And on his head? A ridiculous plastic crown from a party shop, courtesy of Drinkwater, who was sitting three seats away looking far too pleased with himself.
“King Jamie,” someone yelled from the far end.
Vardy raised his pint like a sceptre. “Long may I reign.”
Across the table, Tristan leaned back in his chair, Barbara pressed into his side, Anita on the other. Anita had been quiet for most of the evening still adjusting to the blur of English accents, football slang, and in-jokes that bounced around the table like a ball. But when Vardy finally wandered over with Rebekah in tow, her eyes lit up.
Barbara stood, gesturing. “Jamie, this is my sister, Anita.”
Vardy grinned, leaning down just enough to be friendly without towering over her. “Ah, the famous Anita. I’ve heard the stories.”
Anita tilted her head, glancing to Barbara for help.
Barbara laughed and switched to Hungarian. “Azt mondja, híres vagy. Hallott rólad.” (He says you’re famous. He’s heard about you.)
Anita’s mouth curled into a shy smile. “Köszönöm.”
“She says thank you,” Barbara translated.
Vardy nodded toward Tristan, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder. “Tell her she’s sat next to the man who made the pass.”
Anita caught the gesture, glanced at Tristan, and said something softly to her sister. Barbara chuckled. “She says she knows.”
Further down the table, Mahrez and Albrighton were locked in an absurd debate over who would score a hat trick first this season. Every so often, Kante would politely correct them with actual statistics, which they both ignore
Then Ranieri stood. His glass was raised, his voice carrying over the hum.
“To Jamie — for the goals, yes. But also to all of you — for this incredible we have here.”
The cheer that followed was loud enough to rattle the cutlery. Glasses clinked. Someone banged the table like a drum. Fuchs yelled:
“And maybe in three days, we’ll be doing this again when Tristan wins the Ballon d’Or!”
That got whistles, groans, and shouts of “Speech!”
Barbara nudged Tristan under the table. “No pressure.”
Tristan smirked over the rim of his glass. “Good thing they delayed the ceremony — gives me more time to come up with something pretentious.”
Vardy, still close enough to overhear, snorted. “Mate, just say thanks, hold up the gold ball, and let us get on with the drinking.”
The night rolled on with plates of food arriving in waves, the hum of conversations overlapping English, French, a bit of Hungarian and happiness that came from knowing there were no matches for over a week.
Even the higher-ups from the club were there, using the break before Stoke on the 23rd to bask in the glow. No one rushed the night.
But outside this little bubble of warm lighting and wine glasses, the internet had been in freefall since the final whistle at White Hart Lane.
.
First came the disbelief.
Clips of Vardy’s goals were everywhere shaky, grainy mobile footage from the away end, stitched-together into Youtube AMVs.
Every post had the same caption and commentary stamped across it in bold white letters:
“IT IS ELEVEN! IT IS HEAVEN FOR JAMIE VARDY!”
It wasn’t just a stat. It was a declaration.
Then came the confessionals — fans, pundits, even ex-pros holding their hands up and admitting they never thought they’d see this version of Jamie Vardy.
Last season, plenty had written him off. Too streaky. Too raw. Too wasteful. And when you played next to Tristan Hale who could thread a ball through a pinhole missing chances wasn’t just frustrating, it was criminal.
Some of the harsher takes from 2014–15 were suddenly back in circulation, dug up and quote-tweeted into oblivion:
@UnitedTillIDie (Oct 2014): “Vardy’s pace is elite, but if he could finish, Tristan would have 40 assists already.”
@I_Hate_Work (Jan 2015): “Love the guy’s work rate, but his decision-making kills attacks.”
Now those same voices were eating their words in public:
@UnitedTillIDie: “Alright, I was wrong. Vardy’s a monster now. You can all get off my dick now. Fuck Leciester City!”
@I_Hate_Work: “Eleven in a row. From non-league to this. Unbelievable. Tristan + Vardy is football porn.”
By midnight, #ElevenInHeaven had exploded into the UK trending list, riding a tidal wave of highlight reels showing every goal in the streak. Almost every single one had Tristan somewhere in the frame — threading the pass, creating the space, or sprinting into the celebration like he’d scored it himself.
Other hashtags joined the frenzy: #FromFleetwoodToFame, #VardyParty, #StockbridgeToSuperstar.
And then came the official tweets.
The England national team account posted a clean, sharp graphic of Vardy celebrating, mouth wide, arms out, with the caption:
“From non league to the record books. Congratulations, @vardy7 — 11 consecutive Premier League matches with a goal. #ThreeLions”
The Leicester City account went even bigger — a slick edit showing all 11 goals, stitched together to the sound of Leicester fans chanting "Vardy’s on fire". Their caption was simple:
“HISTORY MAKER 🔥 Congratulations Jamie! #LCFC #VardyParty”
Other players started chiming in:
Wayne Rooney: “Incredible achievement. Respect, mate. Hard work pays off. 👏⚽”
Eden Hazard: “🔥🔥🔥 11 in a row… wow. Big congrats Jamie!”
Harry Kane: “Congrats mate. Records are there to be broken, you’ve earned it.”
Gary Lineker: “Jamie Vardy has done it. Magnificent.”
Rio Ferdinand: “That’s one of the great Premier League stories. Massive congrats @vardy7.”
Kane’s tweet was instantly flooded with replies because, of course, the internet couldn’t resist turning it into an argument.
@Dont_Be_A_Accountant: “Kane’s better overall. More complete striker. This streak doesn’t change that. He should start for England, he’s also young by the way.
↪@Tristan_99890: “Better? Kane’s never done 11 in a row. Form like this > being ‘complete’.”
@Mihawk_Paints_HIs_Sword: “Different players. Kane’s class, but Vardy’s story is unmatched. From factory shifts to history books.”
@RogerIsAGooner: “Kane scores against top teams. Vardy’s just feasting on mid-table fodder.”
@WhitebeardistheGOAT: “Mate, he scored against United, Chelsea, Arsenal, Spurs AND City in this run. Sit down.”
Reddit’s /r/soccer was drowning in Vardy threads some celebrating, some debating, some just posting memes of him sprinting away from defenders with captions like “Tax Fraud in Motion.” The top-voted post of the night read:
“From working at a factory to making Premier League defenders clock out early. Jamie Vardy is living the dream.”
Even the official Premier League account joined in, posting a simple clip of his goal against Spurs with the caption:
"11 in a row. History made. #VardyParty"
And then, in the middle of all the noise, Alan Shearer dropped his own message:
“Brilliant achievement @vardy7. Keep going, lad — my record’s still waiting for you.”
That one sent Leicester fans into overdrive. "WE’RE COMING FOR YOU AL" trended locally in Leicester within an hour.
By the time most of the Leicester squad had gone to bed, Vardy’s name was plastered across every sports page on Instagram, the front page of the BBC Sport site, and more than a few back pages of the morning papers already rolling off the press.
One fan summed it up perfectly in a tweet that had 80k likes by dawn:
“Last season, Vardy was the sprinter who couldn’t finish the race. This season? He’s Usain Bolt with a machine gun.”
By sunrise, the quote had made its way onto Reddit banners, Facebook memes, and even the intro screen of a fast-rising football YouTube channel.
The thumbnail was a black background, bold white text:
[ VIDEO TITLE: “Jamie Vardy | From Non-League to Premier League History ]
Uploaded: January 14, 2016
The opening shot was cinematic — Vardy tearing past the Spurs back line, arms wide, the ball rocketing into the top corner.
White Hart Lane blurred behind him as Clive Tyldesley’s voice thundered over the footage:
“It’s eleven! It is heaven… for Jamie Vardy!”
The frame froze mid-slide, the grain of the image swirling before dissolving into a dimly lit studio.
The host — mid-20s, Caucasian, brown hair and a trimmed beard wearing glasses and a black hoodie.
“Alright guys — welcome back to the channel. If you’re new here, I’m Adrian,” he began, gesturing toward the still image of Vardy beside him.
“And that man right there? Jamie Vardy. Premier League record-breaker. The name plastered across every back page this week. And today, we’re going to break down how a guy who was playing non-league football at 25… just became one of the most feared strikers in world football.”
[ON-SCREEN GRAPHIC: “Current 2015–16 Season Stats (All Competitions)”]
Adrian’s voice rolled over a montage of stat cards, goal clips, and slow-motion celebrations:
Premier League: 20 games | 25 goals, 1 assist
Europa League: 3 games | 2 goals
FA Cup: 1 game | 2 goals
League Cup: 2 games | 1 goal
England: 6 games | 4 goals, 1 assist
“That’s 34 goals and 2 assists in 32 matches and that’s including his time with England,” Adrian said. “If you’re not a stats person, let me translate: that’s a goal every 84 minutes. For a guy most people wrote off as only being a starter for the middle table clubs.That’s insane. I can legit remember a few months where people were questioning this man next to Tristan. His current form is insane when you think about that.”
Clips played from Jamie’s early years — muddy pitches, barebones terraces, fans huddled in heavy coats.
“Jamie Vardy was born in Sheffield in 1987. Released by Sheffield Wednesday at 16 — they said he was too small — he was out of the academy system before he could even vote. While other future pros were in youth setups, Vardy was working 12-hour shifts in a carbon fibre factory, making £30 a match for Stocksbridge Park Steels on the weekends.”
Photos flashed — a teenage Vardy in an oversized kit, a carbon fibre mould on a workbench, fans pressed against wire fencing.
“In 2010, Halifax Town took a punt. Twenty-six goals later, Fleetwood Town came calling. He scored 31 in one season. Leicester saw something. They paid £1 million — then a record fee for a non-league player — and suddenly, the climb began.”
Early Leicester footage showed a younger Vardy burning down the wing, but also skying chances from six yards.
“Let’s be honest — his first Premier League season was raw even with Tristan providing some of the best assists out there in the world. The pace was there, the pressing was relentless, but the finishing? Wasteful. You ask Tristan Hale — Leicester’s teenage superstar — he’ll tell you he could’ve doubled his assists if Vardy had been sharper and better. The first season when you think of Leicester you only think of Tristan for very good reasons.”
Then the edit flipped — this season’s goals, one after another. First-time strikes. Delicate chips. Near-post rockets.
“This season? Different animal. He’s not just a runner anymore — he’s a reader of the game. His runs are surgical, his timing flawless, his finishing ruthless. And that’s why we’re here.”
The footage split: Vardy sprinting away from John Terry on the left, Thierry Henry gliding past a defence on the right.
“In terms of current form not including of course, Messi, Ronaldo and Tristan. As of January 2016, only Lewandowski, Aubameyang, and Luis Suárez are matching his numbers across Europe. And those guys are playing in superteams — Bayern, Dortmund, Barcelona — surrounded by midfields worth hundreds of millions.”
A quick flash of Michael Owen’s 1998 pace, Ruud van Nistelrooy’s penalty-box poaching, Henry’s 2003–04 dominance.
“Here’s the thing — 25 goals in 20 Premier League games puts him ahead of Henry’s pace in Arsenal’s Invincibles season. And yes, he’s already broken Van Nistelrooy’s record of 10 consecutive scoring games. That record stood for over a decade, set in a Manchester United side stacked with Scholes, Giggs, Beckham, and Ronaldo. Vardy’s broken it in a Leicester side tipped for relegation 18 months ago.”
The screen cut to a table graphic: Most Consecutive Premier League Matches with a Goal.
1. Jamie Vardy – 11 (2015–16)
2. Ruud van Nistelrooy – 10 (2003)
3. Daniel Sturridge – 8 (2013–14)
3. Thierry Henry – 8 (2001–02)
(Not including Tristan hale)
“Think about that. He’s in a list with Henry, Sturridge at his absolute peak, and Van Nistelrooy — and he’s top. That’s not luck. It's hard work at its absolute best.”
Adrian leaned back, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“This isn’t a fluke. This isn’t just a purple patch. This is a decade of graft — from non-league mud, to Fleetwood, to history books. And he’s doing it at 29, when we’re told pace strikers start to fade. If this is fading, defenders better pray he never hits his prime.”
The clip ended on Vardy at White Hart Lane — arms raised, away end bouncing, chants of “Vardy’s on fire” echoing.
“From factory floors to folklore. Jamie Vardy is living one of the greatest football stories the Premier League has ever seen. It’s another miracle from Leicester City.”
Morning — Vardy Residence, Leicester
The sun was barely up, but the house was already alive. One of the kids had decided breakfast should be eaten on the living room carpet, cartoons blaring. The smell of toast and tea drifted from the kitchen.
Jamie sat at the dining table, hair a mess, mug in hand, scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. Every swipe was another notification — old mates from Stocksbridge, a message from Fleetwood’s kitman, even a voice note from one of his old bosses at the carbon factory.
Rebekah leaned against the counter, phone in her own hand. “You’ve seen the YouTube thing? The one with the dramatic music?”
Jamie smirked. “Aye. Adrian or whatever his name is. Makes me sound like bloody Batman. Never thought I would get one. It’s always Tristan getting those type of videos.”
She grinned. “Well, Gotham loves you right now.”
His phone buzzed again — Tristan in the Leicester group chat: “Mate, you’re the internet’s main character this week. Don’t mess it up.”
Followed immediately by Mahrez posting a screenshot of Vardy’s FIFA card with all the stats set to 99.
Jamie shook his head, chuckling, but his thumb slowed on the screen when he hit one particular post — a photo from years back, him in a faded Halifax kit, standing on a muddy pitch, barely a dozen fans in the background. Underneath it, someone had written: “From here… to record breaker.”
He stared at it for a moment. The kid in it had been dreaming of nights like this, of hearing his name chanted in packed stadiums, of waking up to headlines instead of an alarm clock for work.
Rebekah came over, sitting beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Jamie exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Feels… like everything I wanted. And now I’ve got it.”
From the living room, his youngest yelled, “Daddy! You’re on TV again!”
Jamie glanced over — Sky Sports was replaying the Spurs goal, the crowd roaring, the commentator shouting “It’s eleven! It is heaven for Jamie Vardy!”
He didn’t say anything, just leaned back in his chair, let it sink in, and allowed himself the rarest thing in football — a moment to actually feel proud.
.
I didn’t post a Webnovel chapter so Patreon is still ahead by the same number but I try to get another chapter out tonight.
