They say you get hit even when you see it coming.
Hmm, do they?
No, it’s not that there’s a saying like that. It’s more accurate to say there are situations like that. Yes, that would be more fitting.
It truly is a foolish thing.
Getting hit even though you see it coming.
If you know it’s coming, you shouldn’t get hit. Why would anyone say you get hit even when you see it?
It really is a foolish thing.
But sometimes, there is an unavoidable reason. No, most of the time, there is.
Most of the time, it’s when there is something greater you cannot give up, even though you know you will suffer for it.
That’s when situations where you get hit despite knowing it coming often occur.
“···”
Foden raises his left hand and prepares to take a corner kick.
At the same time, chaos erupts in front of the goalmouth as players jostle fiercely for position, while those a step away from that battlefield prepare for the second ball.
Honestly, defending against counterattacks is simple.
Just don’t let them create a counterattacking situation.
Either don’t lose the ball during an attack, or drop the defensive line completely to give no space behind.
Of those, the easier and surer method is obviously the latter.
Because keeping possession isn’t something we can control at will.
It’s practically impossible from the start.
But adjusting the defensive line to prepare for counterattacks is something we can do as we intend.
We can do it as much as we want if we only adjust our tactics.
People everywhere keep blabbering that our weakness is counterattacks, that it’s the space behind our backline.
As if we couldn’t play a low defensive line.
We just don’t do it, despite knowing we can.
Because to do that, we have to give up something greater.
And what that greater thing is—perhaps it’s our pride.
We are the champions.
We are the team every opponent must overcome, and at the same time, the team others should emulate, yet cannot emulate no matter how much they want to.
We know our weakness, but we cannot abandon our football because of it.
Pwoooooong—!
Foden’s corner kick sails toward the goalmouth.
A fierce battle breaks out simultaneously, and thrusting out from amidst it is Rúben Dias’s head.
Pha-aang—!
Dias’s header crashes down onto the ball.
But it’s straight at him.
The header nestles into the opposing goalkeeper’s arms.
In that instant.
Tatatat—!
All players except a few turn and begin to run.
The goalkeeper, cradling the ball, quickly carries it out and looks upfield.
What our opponents have been aiming for today, and what we must be wary of—is right this moment.
Pwooooooong—!
Struck like a volley, a diagonally sliced ball soars forward on a low trajectory.
The direction is slightly left of center.
No matter how fast a person is, they can’t outrun the ball.
Everyone grits their teeth and runs toward our half, but the ball passes over everyone’s heads and flies toward the empty space.
And among the players running toward that ball, at the very front are the opponent’s number 7 and Kyle Walker.
Tatatat—!
So much so that the footsteps chasing behind slightly falter.
A terrifying speed competition unfolds.
Like the pitch has transformed into a track, two wild horses gallop.
Kyle Walker was the fastest player I had ever seen in person since I was born.
Watching him run with determination gives you the feeling that you’re watching a real horse gallop.
Walker possessed an unbelievable speed for someone past thirty.
Tatatat—!
…Yet he isn’t pulling ahead.
There’s a player running shoulder to shoulder with such a Walker.
That alone is enough to instill fear, and on top of that, the home fans filling the stands rise from their seats as if they’ve come to a racetrack and start screaming.
Seeing is believing—I instantly understand why we had to be especially wary of counterattacks.
And then, suddenly.
I also understand why the reporters had been going on about the Golden Generation these past few days.
It’s because there’s a player like that, isn’t it?
Pha-aang—!
The opponent reaches the ball first.
But Walker wasn’t slow either.
They arrived almost simultaneously.
Walker immediately confronts the opponent who received the ball near the half-space skewed to the left—
Tatatat—!
While Walker buys time like that, defenders arrive at their positions one after another.
Perhaps because those two were so fast, the opposing attackers couldn’t even get many players forward.
Because of that,
Pha-aang—!
The opponent facing Walker seems to look for an angle for a moment, then soon lays the ball back.
It seems trying to break through immediately after an all-out sprint was too much.
Pha-aang—!
Pha-aang—!
The ball that had surged toward the front in one go returns all the way to the backline after a few passes.
The opponents prepare to circulate the ball, stretching the width between their players.
They didn’t seem to want to rush things either.
Well, of course.
Regardless of the head-to-head record here, it’s because we are the ones standing in objective superiority.
If we go toe-to-toe properly, we would definitely be the ones standing last.
So they wouldn’t want to recklessly set the match ablaze.
Then what would it mean to think of it the other way around?
“Up!”
The moment my thoughts reach there, Rodri’s shout comes from behind me.
It’s a shout telling us to push the line up and press.
At this, everyone surges forward, and I too become one spoke of the pressing wheel and surge ahead.
Come to think of it, it really is a relief.
De Bruyne was unfortunately ruled out, but Rodri has silently held his ground.
How should I put it.
Rodri is a player who gives a ‘heavy’ feeling.
Not that his body is heavy, but that he’s a player who anchors the team’s center.
Rodri is a player who fulfills his defensive role perfectly while also seeing the big picture on the pitch and reading the flow of the game.
Thanks to that, playing with him is incredibly comfortable.
Because if you just follow his judgment, you’re never wrong.
If Walker is the fastest runner on our team, I think Rodri might be the player with the fastest judgment alongside De Bruyne.
Tatatat—!
The fact that such a player is on the pitch is reassuring, yet at the same time, a sudden greed sparks within me—a desire to become faster than him someday.
To the extent that in a situation like just now, instead of moving forward after hearing Rodri’s shout, I could stand in front and shout for my teammates to follow.
Only then—like how I was constantly on edge during that corner kick earlier.
Like the opponent’s ace who instilled fear with just an attempt at a counterattack.
Couldn’t I exert that level of presence?
Of course, I don’t know when that will be, and I might realize there are things that can’t be done no matter how hard I try, but still.
*
60 seconds make a minute, 10 minutes make 10 minutes, and 60 minutes make an hour.
Time is clearly defined.
But you can’t blindly believe in it because sometimes time flows however it pleases.
“Hoo, hoo—”
Sometimes it flows slowly, sometimes quickly.
During class, one minute flows like ten minutes, while in a match like today, ten minutes flow like one minute.
That’s why it’s hard to firmly believe that time flows honestly.
41:13
TOT 0 : 0 MCI
I glance at the scoreboard and am surprised.
I thought about twenty minutes had passed, but it’s already past the 40-minute mark.
When did time pass by so quickly?
It was probably because of the match’s breakneck tempo, leaving no room to breathe.
We push our opponents, and they attempt counterattacks the moment they see an opening.
When we stop those counterattacks, we push them again, and if they try to catch their breath, we press them as if they’ve got no chance.
In between all that, constantly looking around, making decisions, and trying to sync my feet with my teammates.
It didn’t feel like I was riding the tempo; it felt like I was chasing it.
It’s almost a wonder that I was able to catch up at all, but the problem is that no goal has been scored yet.
Pha-aang—!
I receive the ball near the halfway line and turn.
The opponent’s defensive line remains solid.
They haven’t lost focus.
Moreover, they aren’t holding back physically, making it daunting to break through easily.
At times like this, what would De Bruyne have done? Even when I rack my brains as if possessed, no clear answer comes out.
It seems I’m still lacking to emulate him yet.
Well, it’s not like my confidence drops because of that.
What can you do? It’s De Bruyne we’re talking about.
I just have to keep trying.
Tat—
I dribble up slowly, and when one opponent is drawn out—
Pha-aang—!
I lay it off short to Bernardo Silva, my central partner, and dash into the space ahead.
Tatatat—!
I can boldly push forward like this thanks to Silva.
Because I have faith that he won’t lose the ball.
In fact, Silva is devilishly hard to dispossess.
Tat—!
How does he shield the ball so well with that not-so-big frame?
Even when opponents stick to him strongly, he twists and turns every which way to keep the ball.
However—
Tat—!
At the moment I think “now,” the pass doesn’t come, and I slightly lose my timing.
Was it just my timing?
It seems it wasn’t the right timing from Silva’s perspective.
So I run forward, stop once, find space again, and drop back slightly.
And I look around again, busily searching for the answer of where and how to move.
The answer must lie in my teammates’ eyes, so I try to see through my teammates’ perspective.
But at that moment,
“Too late!”
Rodri’s angry voice rings out.
I turn my head at that; his gaze is directed at Silva.
At the same time, his hand is pointed toward me.
Pha-aang—!
As if to shut him up?
Silva plays a back pass to him.
Rodri, cut off mid-rage, takes the ball and passes it off to the right.
And then unleashes the anger he was holding back.
“Why didn’t you pass!”
For a moment I wonder if I should apologize, but Silva raises his hand and shows his palm.
It seems to be a gesture saying it’s his mistake.
And soon he raises his palm to me too.
…This situation feels quite bizarre.
Why is Rodri angry at Silva, yet Silva apologizing to me?
It feels like the world order is twisting, as if the ocean were flowing into a river.
But strangely, a subtle sense of relief and confidence begins to surge up.
Relief that I wasn’t wrong.
Confidence that I was right.
Those two combine, and my feet begin to lead me.
Tatatat—!
Right half-space—I approach the ball closely.
Pha-aang—!
Walker, who had the ball, delivers a pass to me.
I receive that ball and turn again.
And just like before, I slowly dribble up and attempt another pass play with Silva.
Pha-aang—!
A give-and-go.
The space between the opponent’s midfielder and defender.
It’s not very wide, but there’s certainly enough space for a person to enter.
If you can’t perceive even this much space as wide, you can’t survive on this team.
Pha-aang—!
At the moment I think “now,” this time the pass comes.
It threads exquisitely through the opposing midfielders and sticks to my foot.
My body is already facing forward, so there’s no need for a turning motion.
From here on, if there’s even one unnecessary movement, breaking through the defense is absolutely impossible.
Even a single touch requires thinking about whether it’s needed or not.
But even that thought must be done quickly.
Leave the ball to your body.
With eyes, mind, and all five senses, detect the surroundings while executing decisions.
Tatatat—!
Up front, Haaland, who had been sticking to the left center-back, suddenly darts diagonally to the right.
Tat—
A defender is drawn with him, and in that moment I knock the ball to the left and run.
I can’t waste the space Haaland created.
Tat—
Of course, the opponents aren’t fools—I can see the drawn defender hitting the brakes again.
And he tries to return to his original position, but I’d already thought that far ahead.
That’s why I took the previous touch slightly longer.
I’m going to strike it right here.
I’m still about a step away from the box, but it’s a distance where a shot is perfectly possible.
Tatatat—!
I run toward the ball, matching my stride.
In the midst of it, a slight doubt crosses my mind.
Is my judgment to shoot here correct?
If it rebounds poorly, it might provide the springboard for a counterattack.
But Rodri’s outburst and Silva’s apology from just now push me forward exactly as I am.
They say you shouldn’t change your answer on a question you don’t know.
First answer—I’ll go with my judgment.
Tat—
Pwooooooong—!
I stretch my instep taut, shift all my weight onto my left foot, and smash the ball.
Because I committed my full weight, my body lifts off the ground.
Shwaaaaaaa—
The shot skims low over the grass and cuts diagonally across the box.
Since I aimed for the right corner of the goal, reading the keeper’s position.
The intentionally driven shot spins forward, creating the illusion that it’s getting faster and faster.
The keeper hurls himself with all his might and stretches out his hand, but the moment the shot was halfway there, the answer was already decided.
Thwack—!!
The damn goal that wouldn’t open has finally opened.