Episode 183: Repaying Grace with Enmity -2
When was it, again.
Was it when I had just been promoted to the first team, not even a month in.
Saponara, who wasn’t as close to me then as he is now, had once said something like this to me.
That looking at me, he felt there really were a lot of unique people in the world.
That people are truly diverse, and that’s why the world seems interesting.
Looking back now, I wonder who was calling whom unique, but anyway.
Just taking those words at face value, I don’t think they were wrong.
It’s not like I’ve lived all that long.
And I can’t say I have that much life experience, either.
Still, traveling around from Korea to Italy and elsewhere, what I felt was that there truly are all kinds of people in the world.
It’s truly fascinating.
That in a world with so many people, no two are the same—everyone is different.
Different faces, different ways of speaking, different personalities.
They’re all just different people.
So sometimes, I can’t understand others.
Of course, there are times others can’t understand me, too.
But even though everyone is different, it’s not as if we have nothing in common.
Though everyone is different, if they’re people bound together under the grand framework of being soccer players, there is one thing everyone shares.
There isn’t a single person who likes losing.
Well, this probably isn’t because they’re soccer players; it might just be natural for any human being.
But what I can say for sure is that these people called soccer players almost pathologically hate losing.
It can’t be helped.
Every week, no, every day.
Losing and winning.
Because being a soccer player is a profession where you must live alongside competition.
Even I have changed like this, so I wonder if it’s a kind of occupational disease.
Of course, it might be laughable for someone with so little experience to say such things.
Anyway, that’s how it is.
For us, who must win every single day, defeat is inevitably an object of fear and simultaneously an object of hatred.
But the reality is that we can’t win every day.
Anyone is bound to lose.
No matter how much you hate losing, it’s impossible to never experience defeat.
Whether that opponent is the rival team, a teammate, or yourself.
You have to experience losing hundreds, thousands of times.
Isn’t it ironic.
That to win, you sometimes have to lose first.
To win, you must first challenge, and a challenge is something that cannot succeed from the start.
If you want to win, you must first experience losing.
So, even if losing feels worse than death.
You cannot simply bury defeat and turn a blind eye.
Rather than victory, you must look back at defeat once more, examine it more closely.
Even if becoming close to it is too much, you need the courage to face it.
Experience of victory is important, of course, but there is also much to learn from defeat.
To avoid repeating the same defeat, you must clearly figure out why you lost, what caused it, and to do that, you must face defeat.
In that sense, isn’t defeat like a scary teacher.
“Forza—!”
“Viola—!!”
After shouting our prayers for victory, we scatter to our positions.
And I walk toward the center circle.
But today, for some reason, walking to the center circle feels frightening.
It’s because of those scary guys beyond the halfway line.
“···”
As if trying to create some sense of intimidation.
Every Napoli player is lined up pressed tightly against the halfway line.
Their menacing appearance—it’s a sight that would seem fitting only if each of them were holding a wooden club or something.
That’s Napoli’s unique kickoff routine.
Only the two center backs remain behind, while the rest stand on the halfway line, waiting only for the whistle.
And when that whistle blows, they’ll surge toward our half like a tidal wave.
According to the scouting report, Napoli currently boasts both the most goals scored and the fewest goals conceded in the league.
A team that excels at even one of those is a good team, yet they’re first in both.
So rather than seeming arrogant, that aggressive posture must feel downright frightening.
“···”
I feel my shoulders hunching unconsciously.
Especially since I’m standing at the very front.
The faces so much closer than usual are unbearably imposing.
Moreover, the memory of a defeat already experienced makes the opposing players feel even larger.
We had lost to Napoli.
The memory of that day is as vivid as if it were yesterday.
That day, I had been in better condition than ever, brimming with more motivation than ever.
I had been filled with a confidence I’d never felt before.
So I got cocky, acting like I was the best, and ended up tripping over my own feet.
Because of that, I had to watch the team’s defeat.
I held it in, but honestly, I felt like crying.
“···hoo—”
I take a deep breath and deliberately straighten my shoulders as much as I can.
Recalling the poses the seniors struck after finishing workouts in the clubhouse gym, I spread my lats, struggling to look even slightly bigger.
The fact that I’m going out of my way to do something I don’t normally do is proof that I’m very nervous.
If I weren’t scared, I wouldn’t need to try so hard to hide my nerves.
But the tension I feel right now doesn’t come across as negative.
Because constantly reminding myself that this is an opponent I’ve once lost to isn’t something born from a sense of defeat.
I’m simply trying not to forget.
Why I lost, and what I learned from it.
What I need to do to avoid losing twice.
I’m just chewing over defeat in order to win.
I learned a lot from being scolded by this scary teacher called Napoli.
And now, it’s time to show what I’ve learned.
Beeeeeeeep—!
The whistle blows, and the match begins with the opponent’s kickoff.
At the same time···
Tatatat—!
As if the gate of an iron cage holding ferocious beasts had opened.
The opposing players cross the halfway line and begin surging toward our half.
Tatatat—!
Passing by them, I sprint toward the opponent’s half.
It was time to repay the grace of that scary teacher’s lessons with a grudge.
*
Napoli is an extremely aggressive team.
As can be seen from the fact that Napoli is the league’s highest-scoring team, they are a very offensive side.
And if I had to name one characteristic of an aggressive team, first and foremost, their tempo is fast.
Swish—!
Swish—!
The opponent’s short passes circulate quickly in our midfield.
One-touch, one-touch, one-touch.
The ball moves so fast that before pressure can even reach an individual, it has already moved to the next player.
Honestly, judging by tempo alone, it feels even faster than Man City.
As every team does, these are just passes meant to draw out the defense.
Yet it almost feels like a whirlpool churning.
“Line! Watch the side! Don’t jump out!”
To avoid getting swept into that whirlpool, I hear the captain’s voice pulling the players back.
In the last match, I had gotten caught up in that tempo, frantically rowing along until I drowned myself.
If so, what I need to do today is extremely simple.
If you know where and why you went wrong, writing out the error log is easy.
The first priority is to make the match go at our tempo.
Tatatat—!
The instant the ball touches one player’s feet, the tempo on the pitch quickens even more.
Number 77, Khvicha Kvaratskhelia.
Right?
I’m not sure if that’s the correct pronunciation.
To be honest, just memorizing the name is overwhelming enough.
Anyway, the moment the ball reaches his feet.
The ball, which had been moving horizontally across the pitch, begins to take on forward momentum.
Tatatat—!
His dribbling is superb.
To the point where I think Napoli’s ability to play such aggressive football owes much to that player’s presence.
The fact that he can carry the ball forward single-handedly like that feels threatening.
“Pick up a man!”
“Stick with him! Hold your position!”
What’s more, near the box, a black panther is eyeing the nape of our necks, ready to pounce.
Because of the instinctive threat emanating from that presence, multiple defenders can’t even commit to pressuring Khvicha as he drives upfield alone.
I don’t know Napoli’s coach at all, but it suddenly makes sense why Napoli plays such aggressive football.
If I were a coach and had attackers like that, I’d play aggressive football, too.
Not attacking with players like that would be a waste.
You’d naturally think, since you’ll be the ones to collapse first anyway, let’s just fight it out with everything we’ve got.
Tatatat—!
Khvicha is still on the ball, approaching the box.
His direction changes are as supple as a snake’s, and combined with his speed, it’s not easy to stop his advance.
Because of Victor Osimhen’s presence, it’s also difficult to step forward and intercept.
Thanks to that, Khvicha easily reaches the front of the arc, and his right foot unleashes a bolt of lightning.
Boooooom—!
A shot driven at knee height.
Not much spin, but it traces a trajectory that naturally curves to the left.
Judging where that trajectory ends, it’s the corner of the goal.
It doesn’t look easy to stop, but fortunately, the goalkeeper Terracciano seemed to have anticipated it.
Pow—!
The ball stops in mid-air between the two hands of Terracciano, who launched his body like an animal.
He didn’t parry it; he caught it.
A scene where his concentration was visibly alive.
At the same time, I exhale and check the scoreboard.
“···”
And then I let out a small hollow laugh.
02:45
FIO 0 : 0 NAP
The fact that not even three minutes had passed was absurd.
I wondered if there was any other team that played at this tempo.
*
“Hey, runt. What are you doing? Tell him to kick it already.”
“···”
During matches, I tend not to exchange words with opposing players if I can help it.
But today, my native language piercing my ears is grating on my nerves.
“You not answering?”
···If this were a national team match, I might have answered while trembling.
But since this isn’t a senior-junior relationship, I decide to ignore him.
I’ll deal with the consequences somehow.
Anyway, the match is about to resume with our goal kick.
As expected, the opponent has their line pushed up high, and even though the ball isn’t in play, they’re already making us feel the pressure of their forward press.
Because of that, our goalkeeper Terracciano is hesitating, unable to deal with the goal kick easily.
He doesn’t want to go long, but the opponent’s attackers are stuck to our nearby defenders, so he can’t pass it short easily.
In a way, you could say it’s a somewhat pride-damaging situation.
The opponent’s line was pushed up too high to hesitate over a long kick.
Thanks to that, the space behind is wide open; if we win the second ball from a long kick, we can easily get a chance.
Yet the reason we rule out the long kick is that no matter how wide open that space is.
That monster who speaks Korean is guarding it.
Napoli is the highest-scoring team, but also the team with the fewest goals conceded.
According to the coach, the reason Napoli can play such aggressive football is all because a monster is standing firm in the defensive line.
I did feel a quiet sense of pride when I heard that during the scouting session, but now isn’t the time for that.
I decide to initiate an operation to shatter Napoli’s confidence.
Since I’m Korean too.
It won’t hurt the nation’s pride.
Tatatat—!
I quickly drop deep.
We already knew the opponent would come out like this, so we have plenty prepared.
We just need to break through as we trained.
In that regard, the match against Man City was a huge help.
Once you’ve experienced Man City’s press, any other pressure feels quite manageable.
This is how much you can learn from defeat.
Swish—!
As I drop down, the ball starts moving again.
The captain dropped deep near the goal line, and with Terracciano handing him the ball, play begins.
Tatatat—!
Then, as the opponent pushes up high and presses tight,
Swish—!
the captain links up with Torreira.
Choosing to build through the center from a dangerous area isn’t an easy decision, which is exactly why the opponent is sometimes less prepared for it.
Boldness is needed to break through the press.
Swish—!
Without trapping the ball, Torreira returns the pass with a one-touch.
Rather than stopping the ball and turning around, feeding it to a teammate whose body is already facing forward is the faster and safer choice.
Bonaventura receives Torreira’s pass, and Bonaventura, who had his eyes on my side, also deals with it in one touch.
Swish—!
I’m no different.
I play the ball coming from the front long to the left, then turn my body and sprint forward again.
Though it might seem strange that I’m quickly moving the ball forward when I said I wouldn’t get swept up in the opponent’s tempo.
Escaping from the danger zone is a different story entirely.
We can control the tempo in the opponent’s half just fine.
Swish—!
Following the right half-space toward the right side, as I make a diagonal movement, the pass comes again.
While that pass is coming, I glance back to check my surroundings, and a wide open space catches my eye.
A sight that makes you want to immediately drive the ball quickly toward the box.
But it’s a kind of trap.
It looks wide open now, but if you approach, it’ll clearly suffocate you with how narrow it becomes.
It’s a trap dug by the monster.
Since I’ve fallen into that trap once, I have no intention of falling twice.
Tat—!
After receiving the ball on the right flank, I slow my pace and control my breathing.
And I deliberately wait for the opposing players to drop back overall.
Their movement is quite slow, and they seem dissatisfied that they have to do this.
But they can’t exactly refuse just because they’re dissatisfied.
Because I’m making them do it.
If they want to attack again, they have to take this ball from me first, don’t they?
Tat—!
A defender closes in.
As if doing 1v1 training with that defender, I protect the ball by dribbling toward the side.
As if playing with a puppy out on a walk, I play tag like that for a moment.
After doing so for a while.
Tat—!
I sense the defender who had been sticking to me relentlessly take a step back.
At this, I too stop the ball dead, and turning with my back to the touchline, the entire pitch comes into view.
Then it suddenly strikes me—this is really quite fun.
Every player on the field had been walking with their feet on the ground.
The moment I stopped, every player stopped.
A feeling as if I was controlling everyone.
With that feeling, it was impossible not to find it fun.