From a striker's perspective, what type of defender is the most troublesome?
Just as ten forwards have ten different styles, and ten midfielders have ten different styles,
defenders, too, are all different—to the point that ten defenders would have ten different styles.
The style of physically overpowering the striker using superior physique.
The style of enjoying rough play and killing the striker's momentum.
The style of challenging head-on with technical tackles.
The style of reading the game well and cutting off passes before they happen.
And so on.
There are truly diverse styles, and it's impossible to say which style is the standard or the best.
Because there are players who have reached the pinnacle with their own styles.
But by my own standards, there is definitely a type that feels most troublesome.
And that is…
Tatatat—!
Along the right half-space, I drive the ball diagonally toward the center of the box.
Before me, the hulking Van Dijk positions his body toward the goal, only turning his head to check on me as he runs parallel.
The most troublesome type of defender for me is none other than the patient defender.
One who does not rashly charge in, but tenaciously holds his position, watching how I move until the very end.
If I had to compare, it's similar to a fight between an angler throwing bait and a fish.
From the angler's perspective, the hardest fish to catch is undoubtedly one that remains suspicious until the end and never bites the bait.
Of course, a fish so strong it snaps the line entirely would be annoying, and a fish that slyly steals the bait and flees would also be frustrating.
But those kinds of fish have a high chance of being caught someday.
However, a fish that never bites the bait until the end is simply exasperating for the angler.
Rough defenders are burdensome to face, but sometimes they can be easier if you turn that against them.
Defenders who aggressively try to win the ball back with tackles give strong pressure, but if you evade it even once, you can create a big chance.
Yet defenders who only watch until the end and hold their position instead make the striker hasty.
Tak, tak—!
A situation where I've neared the box.
Slowing my speed, I assess the situation ahead and around me.
The opponent's last line of defenders have all dropped back to guard near the box, but the other midfielders haven't made it back yet.
On the other hand, we have many attackers.
Almost equal to their defensive numbers.
If I use this well, it's a situation where the fight is unconditionally favorable.
But precisely because of that, it's a situation requiring caution.
The opponent is a team with an incredibly fast counterattacking speed, as they say.
If I lose the ball here and give them a counterattacking opportunity, we could be in danger.
Because their counterattack is fast, and we have many players committed to the attack.
"···"
That's why it's so vexing.
That defender who has seized his position with overwhelming presence and watches the ball.
What should I do at a time like this?
While worries flash through my mind, it doesn't take long to find the answer.
Today, I stand here with the mission of filling De Bruyne's void.
Which means, if I think about what De Bruyne would have done in this moment, the answer comes easily.
What would De Bruyne do here?
Pa-ang—!
I thread a through pass to the right side of the box.
A pass aimed at Foden, who was cutting in from the right flank.
Tatatat—!
At this, Van Dijk and the opponent's left fullback turn to chase the ball, but their reactions are a beat slow.
It seems my eye fake worked to some extent.
Because even until I played the pass, I was looking at Haaland on the left while making the pass.
Pa-ang—!
Foden, who had penetrated the right side of the box, pushes a one-touch low cross.
In front of the goal, Haaland has already smelled the chance, shaken off his defender, and is rushing toward the cross.
If the connection works, slotting it into the goal would be child's play.
However…
Swish—
Pa-ang—!
Foden's low cross is intercepted right in front of Haaland's nose.
The ball, cut by a sliding tackle by a hair's breadth, goes out over the goal line.
It was Van Dijk.
"──!!"
Van Dijk, having cleared the ball with the tackle, springs up and shouts something at his teammates.
He seems to be demanding they get their heads in the game.
Seeing that, I can't help but think today won't be easy.
The triangular pass from me to Foden, and from Foden back to Haaland, was fast.
It was a passing sequence that made defenders' heads spin, and since it happened inside the box,
it must have been difficult for the defense to deal with, yet the opponent made the best possible decision in that chaotic moment.
"Hoo."
Foden goes to prepare the corner kick, and I step back behind the box to prepare in case the ball comes out.
Well, maybe this is actually better.
Since I'd come into this with my resolve fully steeled, if it had been easier than expected, it would have taken the wind out of my sails.
Besides, the opponent needs to be at this level for the fans to acknowledge it.
That it was a close call without De Bruyne, and that it's a good thing I was at least there.
*
"Hoo, hoo—"
While the ball hits the opponent's foot and briefly goes out over the touchline,
I sneak a glance at the scoreboard and am startled.
32:43
LIV 0 : 0 MCI
I had no idea it was already past 30 minutes and heading toward 35.
It had felt like about 15 minutes.
When did time pass so quickly?
Before I can even be surprised, play resumes with our throw-in.
Pa-ang—!
The reason time has passed so quickly is probably because the tempo of the match is that fast.
Without a single moment to rest, back and forth like table tennis.
Without wasting a moment, both we and the opponent only think of putting the ball into the other's goal when we have it.
Come to think of it, has there ever been a team that went toe-to-toe with us like this?
Other teams, even a team like Man Utd, retreated when facing us and simply focused on defending first.
We had never faced a team that presses from the front and pushes up the line to pressure us.
If there had been such a team, we would have hit them back long ago.
And once they took that blow, they would immediately come to their senses and step back to defend.
Because giving space to our players is like poison.
But today is different.
I'm feeling in my bones why Liverpool at Anfield is so notorious.
If I had to be precise, it might actually be us who are being pushed back.
Even now, the fact that a mistake like that came out is itself proof of that.
Pa-ang—!
Walker's pass is cut off by the opponent's pressure.
The opponent who intercepted it immediately launches a counterattack, sending the ball forward.
The scary thing about forward pressure is that you can start the counterattack from close to the opponent's goal.
There is little time to respond.
Moreover, in our case, our positioning when attacking and defending is different.
That means if we lose the ball, we have to reorganize our ranks, and the opponent will naturally try not to give us that time.
Just like now.
Pa-ang—!
The ball stabbed forward in one go reaches the opponent striker's feet.
It's incredibly fast.
If Van Dijk is in defense, then that player is in attack.
Mohamed Salah.
Tatatat—!
It's hard to believe even seeing it with my own eyes.
Even with Walker chasing him, the distance isn't easily closed.
Anyone who has run alongside Walker even once would know.
How impossible that is.
Bbaaaaaang—!
Salah, with his back to Walker, unleashes a concise burst of fire from his left foot.
Even watching from behind, I couldn't have anticipated it—there was almost no preparatory motion for the shot.
Thanks to that, the defense, even the goalkeeper Ederson, could only stand in place and watch the shot…
Taaaaaang—!
The sound of the ball bursting rings out.
The shot struck the left goalpost.
And the ball that spilled out fortunately rolls to our feet.
Pa-ang—!
It's not an easy situation to stay calm.
We almost conceded just now, and since all the opponent's players are pushing up, we could lose the ball again if we're not careful.
But, though it feels strange to say this about my teammates, those guys aren't human.
Sometimes I feel like they're machines that play soccer, and now is one of those times.
Seeing how calmly they play short passes and carve out a path even in this situation.
Pa-ang!
Pa-ang!
Pa-ang!
Short, short, short.
One-touch passes connect in an instant, and before I know it, the ball escapes the first pressing line and reaches Rodri.
Rodri receiving the ball is a signal.
A signal to stop worrying about what's behind and move toward the attack.
Tatatat—!
I immediately turn and sprint toward the open space.
Ahead, Doku on the left, Foden on the right, and Haaland in the center are charging toward the goal at terrifying speed.
To keep up with that speed, I pump my legs to their limit as if my groin would tear.
Bbaaaaaang—!
Then, the moment I hear the sound of the ball being kicked, I only turn my head back to check the direction of the pass.
Rodri chose my side.
The pass is coming to me.
Tatatat—
Pa-ang—!
I receive the lobbed pass coming from behind with the instep, knocking it forward.
And immediately I push the ball ahead and run on without killing my speed.
A situation similar to the chance I faced in the early first half unfolds.
Four defenders visible ahead.
Three attackers penetrating into open space.
And the ball is with me.
Driving the ball forward, I organize the various options given to me.
Just the ones that spring to mind instantly amount to five or six.
Because the attackers' movements are so good, there are many things I can choose from.
As before, the easiest way to choose an answer is to channel De Bruyne.
De Bruyne is a player who always chooses the right answer.
So if I think about what he would have done here and simply follow that,
this becomes essentially no different from an open-book test.
But in that moment.
A sudden urge springs up—I want to solve this problem with nothing but my own strength.
Is it the deficiency that has long taken root in my heart rearing its head?
De Bruyne is an irreplaceable player.
But I want to become like that too.
At least to the people who cheer for our team, I have the desire for them to think of me as an irreplaceable player.
I have no choice but to admit it honestly.
I have an affection deficiency.
That's why I have an extreme fear of being hated, and though I pretend to dislike attention, I actually like it.
In the first place, becoming De Bruyne's replacement is nearly impossible.
But that's probably not what I want.
What I want is to become a protagonist who cannot be replaced by anyone, through my own strength.
Tatatat—!
With my eyes fixed beyond the defense, I continue to drive the ball forward.
The opponent's defense still waits with patience, forcing me to make the first move.
Tatatat—!
I charge straight at Van Dijk.
If he won't come to me first, I'll go to him first.
This isn't the last chance anyway.
To see how far his patience extends, I have to do it now.
If it's a contest of patience, I'm confident too.
Tatatat—!
Growing closer.
And the moment my foot crosses the line, reaching inside the penalty box—
"···!"
I see Van Dijk, who had been dropping back, slow his speed.
He seems to have judged that now is the time to engage.
I make my decision at the same time.
Tat—!
I poke a pass to the right.
A through pass aimed at Foden's path as he runs behind the defense… is what I tell Van Dijk with my body.
Not that I actually played it.
I mean I only feinted a pass by kicking the ground with my foot.
At this, Van Dijk stretches his right foot out to block the pass.
In that gap, I fold in toward the left.
Tatatat—!
The remaining defender has been drawn away by Haaland, so even though we're in the box, quite a lot of space opens up.
The size of that space must be the measure of trust in Van Dijk.
They must not have thought Van Dijk would be beaten, which is why this much space opened up the moment he was beaten.
That fact fills me with confidence.
Tat—!
I prepare to strike, following the flow.
Planting my right foot deep as the supporting leg, opening my body to the left, taking a posture as if to curl and strike to the left.
But what I'm aiming for is the right.
Bbaaaaaang—!
Twisting my body so much that my left thigh strikes my right thigh, I shoot.
The opponent's goalkeeper… has already dived to my left.
Meaning I completely fooled him.
The goalkeeper, his head only turning to the right, slumps down in place.
Shoooooom—
Thwack—!
Liverpool's net ripples.
We were a team that could open Liverpool's goal even without De Bruyne.
Waaaaaaaah—!!
From behind the goal, the fans sitting in the away section, numbering only a few thousand, cheer wildly.
They are precious beings who fill my deficiency.
"YEAH-!"
I ran toward them, craving affection to my heart's content.