Chapter 117
Chapter 117
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: FA Cup Quarterfinals (7)
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Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 117: FA Cup Quarterfinals (7)
The 31st minute of the second half.
Matching Adebayor's substitution, Ole Gunnar Solskjær finally made his decision.
[Jadon Sancho In, Jesse Lingard Out]
[Bruno Fernandes In, Donny van de Beek Out]
The commentary team was stunned by Solskjær subbing out two players at once.
[Manchester United brings on Bruno Fernandes and Sancho!]
In a league match, it wouldn't have been a big deal.
They would have even been excited.
Finally, the key players to break the deadlock were coming on.
But the current situation was the exact opposite.
[In the league, they're number one! But against Bolton, Manchester United hasn't scored a single goal even up to the 31st minute of the second half!]
[You have to say the damage is already done!]
Just as the commentators said, Solskjær's face, who had made the double substitution, was twisted in frustration.
"Damn it...!"
Originally, he had planned to wrap up the game by halftime.
He had thought placing Ronaldo up top would surely make it happen.
But coldly speaking, it was a failure.
'Tied up tight... way too tight...!'
From the start, the opponents had focused solely on defense with a double pivot.
On top of that, they had assigned the tireless Frank Gerrard to man-mark Ronaldo.
Grumbles erupted from the away stands too.
"Fucking...!#@[email protected]!"
"What the hell are you doing? Huh?"
"Just smash it! Blow them away!"
The Red Devils, who had stripped off their shirts near the fence, kept shouting.
Some fans even called to take out Ronaldo, who had been silent throughout both halves against expectations.
"Put in Edinson Cavani instead!"
Even to the fans' eyes, Ronaldo was struggling to shake off a kid a head shorter than him.
Gerrard was still glued to Ronaldo, hounding him.
Thud, thwack-!
Ronaldo, getting the ball for the first time in a while, tapped it around from the left half and then unleashed his signature backheel shot.
Thwack!
But the one with veins bulging on his forehead was Ronaldo.
'This bastard...!'
He thought he'd gotten past, but in that instant, Gerrard had pulled back and planted himself firmly.
Swipe, swipe-!
Even with a feint step, Gerrard just crouched low and shuffled his feet.
Thud-!
Then Ronaldo darted into the space to Gerrard's left.
Even without space, he kicked the ball ahead and shoved his shoulder in to force his way through.
"Huh!"
Gerrard stuck close in panic, but one shoulder barge sent him staggering away badly.
Still, he desperately reached out and grabbed Ronaldo's jersey collar, slowing him down just a bit.
Thump-!
That's when David Dignity suddenly appeared and hurriedly cleared the ball rolling into the area.
"Fuck, seriously!"
Ronaldo ramped up his speed only to slam to a halt and curse at the sky.
It had been like this for a while now.
Even when he barely shook off that sticky Frank Gerrard, the next problem arose.
Dignity or whoever was nearby would close the gap, always ready to cut it out.
'Still..., we can win this.'
Watching Ronaldo's frustration, Solskjær soon cracked a somewhat satisfied smile.
At first, Adebayor's entry had irked him.
He was still loitering along Manchester United's defensive line.
Clearly waiting to pierce it anytime for a one-shot chance.
The 33rd minute of the second half.
Thud-!
Ronaldo took possession again, only to lose it to Frank Gerrard's sliding tackle.
Twaang-!
The right back, Delicate, grabbed the ball heading out of touch and lofted it up with a lob pass.
Whoooosh-!
[Oh! Delicate's lob pass-!]
Ooooh-!
The Wanderers in the stands bounced in their seats.
[The soaring ball crosses the halfway line in a flash and drops right at Adebayor's feet under the arc!]
Thud-!
Adebayor trapped it cleanly with an outside-of-the-front-foot touch.
Just as Solskjær predicted, unlike before, a direct counter connected to Adebayor.
But that was it.
Wham-!
[Harry Maguire's shoulder barge sends Adebayor stumbling sideways, losing the ball!]
Before he could even roll it into the box, Maguire pounced from close range and intercepted successfully.
"That's right...!"
Solskjær pumped his fist.
Maguire, having intercepted, safely advanced the ball back to the halfway line.
'I knew it...!'
It was a predictable script.
The moment Manchester United players tired, throw in Adebayor for a counter punch.
But this wasn't a blunder.
'With one less man on their defensive line..., we have more space to exploit...!'
It played out just as he thought.
The 34th minute of the second half.
Thud, thud-!
[Ah! Jadon Sancho!]
Sancho, subbed in as right winger, showed quick progression mixing instep and outside touches as soon as he got the ball.
"Morten!"
Dignity, who had dropped back, yelled immediately.
Fullback Morten Pedersen rushed to close down Sancho.
Thud, thwack-!
As he narrowed to arm's length, Sancho faked an outside-of-the-front-foot touch and instantly switched to inside, changing direction.
"Damn it...!"
Pedersen, whose weight was already shifted for the outside, yielded the space behind him.
Thud-!
Sancho shook off even the late chasers with pure sprint speed, peeling them away like onion skins.
Twaang-!
Deep into the right area, he whipped in a cutback cross with his right foot.
Swipe-!
Ronaldo timed a surprise run from outside the area.
Twaang-!
[Ah! Ronaldo's diving header!]
Ting-!
[The ball hits the crossbar and flies up!]
[Skrtich barely claims it!]
"Fuck!"
Ronaldo cursed again after another goal-line failure.
Solskjær sighed in regret but quickly clapped to rally the players.
"You're doing great! Keep it up just like that!"
Just pulling one man from their defensive line had Manchester United mounting a fiercer attack.
The subbed-in Bruno Fernandes threatened with a powerful right-footed strike.
Whoooosh-!
[Oh! Bruno Fernandes-!]
[A cannon shot just grazing the crossbar!]
And he saw it.
Bolton's defense starting to waver from long-range shots alone.
'It's not too late yet, just keep going like this...!'
Honestly, his pride was already shattered.
'I've taken all the abuse already...!'
Even winning by a single goal would bring media and public backlash.
But Solskjær hadn't given up hope.
There were still over 10 minutes of regular time left.
More importantly, since placing Adebayor up top, United's shots had increased.
So Solskjær ground his teeth watching Adebayor leisurely prance around, ears perked.
'Counter using a target man? Hmph! I'll shut that down!'
* * *
The 42nd minute of the second half flew by.
Jeong-woo had been silently scanning the pitch intently for a while.
Certainly, with Sancho and Fernandes on, United's attacks had sharpened.
The dangerous chances piling up, unlike the first half and early second, said it all.
Pfft.
But soon his lips curled slyly upward.
Twaang-!
Bruno Fernandes threatened with another long-range shot, but it didn't find the net.
This time, Dignity blocked it with his body.
Just dozens of seconds later, Jadon Sancho broke down the flank and lofted a cross deep near the corner flag.
But this cross sailed over the far penalty area.
Twitch.
Now Jeong-woo's lips twitched as if holding back bursting laughter.
His eyes rolled toward the United half.
And he saw.
'Four.'
United's back four were positioned in a zigzag below the halfway line.
Adebayor was casually strolling on the offside trap.
At Bolton's half-line edge, star Pak and Sensuous Ruff were applying first pressure.
"Kuh-huh."
"Why are you laughing?"
Hee-won, face more crumpled at the burst of laughter beside him, asked.
Jeong-woo leaned back comfortably on the folding chair.
"Can't you see, Hee-won? It's exactly that."
"What?"
"There's a scary, creepy bug right in front of you—you gotta catch it, but you're too scared, so you just back away. All you're thinking is how to bolt if you can't grab it."
The 43rd minute of the second half.
"..."
Solskjær's face was cloudier than before.
Whoooosh-!
[Delicate's lob pass-!]
[Ah! Pak sprints full tilt from the left flank!]
[Diogo Dalot shoulder barges...!]
[Ah! Wham! He blasts past with pure speed! Completely overtakes him!]
[What explosive pace!]
His cheeks twitched.
Thud-!
When Pak advanced deep on the side and took the ball, Solskjær's fingertips trembled with rage.
Twaang-!
Pak controlled with his right inside and immediately side-passed toward goal.
Twaang-!
Adebayor, racing with Victor Lindelöf, struck it first-time with his right inside-foot.
Shoving Lindelöf off with a shoulder barge from behind.
Thump-!
[Ah! The ball just misses the post!]
[United! A spine-chilling moment!]
In the 44th minute of the second half, Sensuous Ruff and Pak shattered the offside trap from both flanks in a flash.
Thud-!
Pak chest-trapped the ball again.
Adebayor tangled with Maguire and stepped into the box.
Whoooosh-!
[Wham-!]
Pak unleashed a surprise shot from outside.
It sailed wide, but the Wanderers applauded.
Even at the 45th minute of the second half, with 5 minutes of stoppage added, it continued.
With three minutes left, Pak, Sensuous, and Adebayor pierced United like spears.
Whoooosh-!
[Now Sensuous Ruff from the right edge with a right outside-of-the-front-foot shot...!]
Screech-!
[Ah! Dean Henderson! Lounging by the post, he flicks away the dipping shot with his toe!]
[If that went in, it would've been Bolton's winner!]
"..."
Now Solskjær's face burned hotter than ever.
Stress spiking by the second, head scorching.
'No way...!'
Shock made his eyes quiver uncontrollably.
Swipe.
Jeong-woo crossed his legs and spoke.
"To put it bluntly, Solskjær's a guy who barely clung to his managerial life on team luck. Insanely fortunate case."
The sly smile lingering on his lips wouldn't fade.
"Still..., he has some tenure at United, grew as a manager like riding a bus with world-class players..., so by now he must realize. Or maybe his assistant, someone like Phelan, spelled it out."
"Our physical expenditure is far greater."
Phelan added from the side, face grim.
"Cristiano is effectively out of gas."
He continued.
"Sensuous Ruff and Pak conserved energy all game by minimizing sprints in the first half and early second."
The flurry of sprints right at the end proved it.
Those sprint runs alone forced United's line to drop unwanted.
So Phelan had suggested multiple times during the match.
Pull Ronaldo and bring on Edinson Cavani to focus on breaking the line.
'Ronaldo was shut down from the start...!'
He acknowledged Bolton's manager Ma on that front.
They knew United would build around Ronaldo and countered with a tailored tactic.
'We knew and let it slide.'
Not only that, Phelan knew the card section was a feint and urged more attackers forward to press.
'The best attack is sometimes the best defense...!'
Despite repeated explanations, Solskjær plugged his ears.
Instead responding point-by-point, even burning his own team's stamina.
The side effects were only now emerging.
"But whatever, too late now."
Swipe!
With that, Jeong-woo slowly rose from his seat.
His hawk-like eyes spotted it.
"Huff! Huff!"
"Heave! Heave!"
United players heaving uneven breaths.
The United defenders chasing Adebayor, Pak, and Sensuous moving sluggishly.
Meanwhile, stoppage time fully elapsed.
Tweet, tweet, tweeeet-!
[Ah! Extra time! Bolton drags Manchester United into the quagmire of extra time-!]
After a 3-minute breather at the ref's discretion, Jeong-woo played his remaining cards.
[Owen Pressais In, Joel Bix Out]
[Quick Floyd In, David Dignity Out]
He simultaneously scrapped the two-back defense.