Episode 199: Bathroom Maxim -2
June 3, 2023.
Stadio Artemio Franchi.
Today is the day of the league's 38th round match.
“···”
While preparing for the match that would soon begin.
For some reason, the locker room is packed with people today.
Because it's the final match of the season, even injured teammates who couldn't play had come to fill the locker room.
Milenković and Nastasić, the center-back duo, were present as well.
Amrabat and the captain had also come in casual clothes, holding their respective places.
“···.”
“···.”
However, despite that, the air in the locker room is remarkably calm.
Normally, this should be a locker room filled with noise—whether from Saponara’s silly jokes or Romero’s whining, or voices shouting with fighting spirit.
But today, everyone is just quietly preparing for the match without a word.
How should I put it.
That fighting spirit I’d always felt, the kind so intense it felt like it could make a beard grow wild, can’t be felt today.
Perhaps a feeling of lacking motivation.
I suppose that’s because, regardless of today’s result, the outcome is already decided.
“···.”
Last round.
We had secured a victory away against Empoli FC.
But we couldn’t leave the stadium feeling good.
Because at the same time, we had heard the news that Napoli had also won, taking the championship.
Everyone couldn’t hide their disappointment.
It was as if they had faces that didn’t look like they had won, even though they had won.
Naturally, since we had run for an entire year with only the championship as our goal, only to let it slip right before our eyes.
They couldn’t help but be disappointed.
But for some reason... I wasn’t that disappointed or sad.
If I said this, someone might ask if I hadn’t tried my best, but it was quite the opposite.
Because I had tried my best, it wasn’t that sad.
It was just quite a shame.
In my opinion, we had done more than what we could, and had tried our best.
Thanks to that, I had no regrets.
Perhaps that was why.
Instead, I felt like I could accept it calmly.
Rather than thinking we had failed to win the championship, I was proud that we had secured second place.
“···”
So, to be honest... I don’t quite like the atmosphere in the locker room right now.
This air that had sunk down, as if we had failed at something.
Had we failed?
I don’t think so.
Even if we had, I don’t want to think that way.
For the past year, repeating wins and losses.
Feeling joy and sorrow, goodness and hardship—hadn’t we learned so much?
Besides, we were one.
Under the name Fiorentina, wearing the same uniform, chasing one goal, we had run like a single body.
Wasn’t that alone enough to make our year a valuable one?
Looking back, yes.
If I had gone through this a year ago, I might have dug deep inside and eaten away at my own flesh.
No, I probably definitely would have.
I would have been so focused on not winning that I would have treated myself like an idiot.
But the current me doesn’t want to do that.
I want to be proud of myself for having come this far.
That was how much it hadn’t been easy.
Because it hadn’t been easy, I can hold my head high.
I can’t always be a perfect and great being, nor do I need to be.
I learned that from Matteo.
Our team that didn’t win the championship isn’t a failure or a fool.
We did something sufficiently great.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Let’s go—”
With match time approaching, they rose from their seats one by one.
I too retied my shoelaces, pulled my stockings up above my knees, and stood up.
The manager left the locker room first, and the players huddled together to form a circle.
And everyone quietly looked toward the captain’s mouth.
Then the captain scratched his head and opened his mouth.
“I don’t really have anything to say. What does a captain who can’t even play have to say? Hey, the one wearing the armband today, say something.”
At those words, everyone’s gaze turned to Bonaventura.
But Bonaventura shook his head too.
“I’m only wearing the armband because there’s no one else to wear it. Rather than me, um... Saponara. You say something.”
“Me? No way. I don’t want to. Terracciano, you do it.”
“No. You do it.”
...A sudden game of hot potato.
As if they all felt burdened, they were busy passing it off to each other.
It seemed nobody really had much they wanted to say.
It was a bit disappointing.
But I have plenty.
“...Then, maknae. You say something cool. We don’t have time. We need to go quickly.”
Thanks to that, the captain’s nod toward me was secretly welcome.
See.
I’ve changed a lot too.
In the old days, I wouldn’t have been able to speak and would have just turned red, but not now.
As if this past year had been meaningless.
I nodded and opened my mouth.
“It’s the last match at home.”
Everyone’s gaze focused on me.
...Um.
Just moments ago I had been pretending I’d grown so much, but with all these eyes focused on me like this, it is burdensome.
It was a bit awkward.
Still, I spat out what I wanted to say.
“Um, I don’t know if they have them here too. But in Korean bathrooms, there are these kinds of sayings written.”
“...?”
“‘Beautiful people leave every place they stay beautiful.’”
A phrase you can commonly see in any Korean restroom.
The reason that saying suddenly came to mind now is because today’s match is the last one at home.
“I think the last impression is just as important as the first impression. When you part ways, you have to part smiling, so that you can meet again smiling, right?”
“···.”
“So I think today’s match is very important. Because depending on how we do today, this season might be remembered differently.”
Well, maybe not.
It’s just my thought.
But I just believe that our fans would do that.
If we finish beautifully, won’t the fans also remember this season beautifully?
“So I hope we go out there fighting.”
I extended my hand out between my teammates standing gathered in a circle.
Then one by one, my teammates’ hands began stacking on top of mine.
“Forza—”
“Viola—!”
As if nothing had happened.
From the voices of my teammates shouting Viola, I could feel the same strength as always.
And everyone clapped together, left the locker room, and headed for the pitch.
Today’s match might not be one where winning or losing is important.
Because the standings won’t change whether we win or lose.
But the strange thing is, despite that, I want to win more than ever.
There had never been a match where I wanted to play as well as today.
*
It couldn’t be helped.
The drop in attention for matches once the standings have already been decided, that is.
Especially if the possibility of winning the championship had completely disappeared in the previous match, the fans’ disappointment would inevitably be great, and their motivation to come to the stadium would inevitably drop.
Even if they came to the stadium, it was said that you couldn’t expect the same passionate cheering as before.
Ahi ahi ahi-!
Magica Viola-!!
È triste il mio cuore lontano Da te-!
Magica Viola alè-!!
But today’s atmosphere at the Artemio Franchi is quite different.
Clearly, nothing will change even if we win today’s match.
Nevertheless, the stands are packed so tight there is barely room to stand, and the roar pouring out from the purple wave is larger and more thunderous than ever.
There are even spectators pulling up the fans sitting in the seats next to them.
“Voices! Louder!”
“Shout so they can hear it all the way to the center!”
With middle-aged men with their tops off and purple paint on their faces, looking like medieval warriors, shouting at the top of their lungs.
Even fans who had been quiet rise up in a daze and begin singing the chants.
Thanks to that, the stadium begins growing even louder, as if it will take off.
Even though the fate of the Scudetto has already been decided.
The reason the Viola fans are sending such passionate cheers is that cheering isn’t something you only do when hoping they will do better.
You could say it is closer to encouragement.
Or perhaps a show of gratitude.
It is an expression of the heart toward the players who had worked hard for a season, who had made a goal that seemed impossible look possible.
“That’s right! Let’s go!”
“Good! Forward!”
Of course, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t disappointed.
To have missed the championship for the first time in decades, and right before our eyes at that.
Because we had played so well that one wondered if such an opportunity would come again, that disappointment was inevitably doubled.
However, if you asked whether the disappointment was so great that I wanted to curse, it wasn’t.
Rather, I was simply grateful to the players who had allowed me to dream an exciting dream for a year.
Like when buying a lottery ticket, or making plans before a trip.
The very act of challenging for the championship, and the very journey toward the championship, had been a thrill and a joy for the fans.
It was a thrill they had never experienced before, and a precious experience.
So the fans simply wanted to show their gratitude to the players who had given them such an experience and dream.
“Waah—!”
Especially whenever the player who was excitement and the dream itself for Fiorentina fans touched the ball, the cheers grew even louder.
Fiorentina’s number 10, and Serie A’s best number 10.
A boy who made you want to brag that that player was on our team.
Tap-tap-!
The center of the pitch, near the center circle.
The boy begins to dance amidst the opponent’s pressure.
Surrounded by three or four players, he doesn’t panic, keeps his head up, finds a path, and begins slipping through narrow gaps.
Swoosh-!
Exclamations burst out at the pass that subsequently sprays out.
How he saw the empty space amidst that chaos, the ball flies precisely to the player driving into the right side.
At that clean play, the fans shout in admiration while simultaneously feeling a hint of regret.
That regret is like when eating something delicious.
It is the same regret felt watching that food diminish bite by bite.
The boy’s play was exactly like that.
So delicious it felt like a waste to eat it.
To the point of fearing the bottom would soon show.
“···”
“···”
The strange thing is, today more than ever, that regret with each bite feels deeper.
That regret is so deep it feels like the bitter taste of espresso.
The boy always showed unbelievable displays.
He somehow looked frail, yet was a reliable existence; one that made you expect things, yet always showed beyond those expectations.
Watching from the stands like this, occasionally.
I sometimes couldn’t believe such a player was wearing Fiorentina’s uniform.
The reason the regret felt especially deep today might have been because of that.
Anyone could see that boy was a player qualified to play for the world’s best team, receiving the world’s best treatment.
But Fiorentina is a team without the ability to provide such treatment.
The fans know that best.
Because the fans all know how the aces who had represented the team had left.
There are probably no people in the world who love that boy more than the Fiorentina fans.
There are no people who love the boy as much as the Fiorentina fans.
That is why many fans are preparing their hearts.
Because they love the boy, they simply wish for the boy to be happier.
Even if that isn’t necessarily by their side.
“Lee! Lee! Lee! Lee! Lee!”
Since all they can give is their cheers, the fans’ voices toward the boy seem to pierce the sky.
Since it is the season’s final match, there is no need to reserve cheers for the next game.
They simply cheer as if today is the last day, until their throats tear.
And then, when the 89th minute came.
-Sostituzione del giocatore per Fiorentina······
The stadium announcer’s voice flows out, announcing a substitution.
And the numbers of the incoming player and the substituted player appear on the electronic display.
“···”
“···”
At this, the spectators begin to rise from their seats one by one.
The Artemio Franchi’s total capacity is approximately 43,000.
Of them, if counting only Fiorentina fans, there are well over 30,000 at the very least.
But it took less than 10 seconds for those more than 30,000 people to all rise from their seats.
OUT – No. 10 Jian Lee
To the boy walking off the pitch, applause mixed with a myriad of emotions begins to rain down.