Some Face Frustration, But They Also Grow #2
Once you stepped up into the U-13 league, the matches became the full 11-a-side games that came to mind whenever anyone thought of football.
Smaller-sided games still happened from time to time, of course, but in the league itself everything was played on a full-size pitch. From U-13 onward, each region ran official point-based leagues and single-elimination cup competitions, and the teams that finished at the top of their tables advanced to the national tournament.
With real competition beginning in earnest, players took a major step onto the staircase leading toward professional football. Even the standout talents who had soared through the younger youth teams often floundered here. This was a league packed with the very best players of their age.
There were late bloomers, of course—players who had been merely average in their early youth years only to improve dramatically as they grew older. But those cases were rare. From U-13 onward, talent alone was no longer enough. Without grueling hard work to back it up, frustration became a frequent companion. There was a reason people said this was the age when you had to start choosing and focusing.
The true first wall on the road to the pros. That was the weight U-13 carried.
And that was not the end of it. Between the Esordienti U-13 side and the Primavera—the level just below the first team—stood two more age-group teams: Giovanissimi and Allievi. Only by breaking through those gates, stacked like a food chain, could a player finally reach the Primavera. And even there, simply being good was not enough; you had to put on an absolute masterclass to earn a first-team debut.
Exceptionally gifted players sometimes skipped both of those stages entirely and entered the Primavera at fourteen. It was an extremely rare occurrence, but two such geniuses currently existed nationwide—promising talents from Lazio and Milan. Both had just turned thirteen this year, and if they continued performing at their current level, their clubs had already promised them a direct promotion to the Primavera.
Yohan, of course, had no interest in any of that. He simply wanted to focus quietly on his own work. Still, Bianchi often passed along the latest news, so Yohan had at least a rough sense of how things were going at the other clubs.
"What about Davi and Ponti, and Pietro? We left them behind again."
Bianchi's words dripped with the self-satisfaction of someone who had once again skipped a grade alongside Yohan. Yohan just shrugged.
"They're good too. They'll catch up."
"Hope so. But does that mean we get to see them now?"
"See who?"
"Those guys. The ones from Lazio and Milan."
"Ah, those monsters?"
"Yeah. They're going straight to the Primavera next year."
"For real...? Now I'm curious how good they actually are. I want to play against them once."
"Let's crush them."
"Obviously."
The two twelve-year-olds, now fully aligned in purpose, received their new kits just as they had before and joined the U-13 training sessions. Bianchi had shot up in height and bulk so much that he blended right in with the existing players, looking like he had always belonged. Yohan was a different story.
Everyone's so big...
He had become one of the scrawniest players on the team. He had grown in his own way, but it still was not enough. Seeing his teammates up close—players he had only watched from a distance before—Yohan steeled his resolve.
Time to manage my diet...
But that resolve lasted less than two days. Sister Caterina had laid out a feast of all Yohan's favorite foods, the table practically groaning under the weight of it. Spicy stir-fried pork, pork cutlets, pasta, hamburgers... Western, Korean, and Japanese dishes all mixed together—the kind of sweet and salty comfort food elementary school kids loved. Faced with that spread, Yohan's self-control evaporated in an instant.
"Thanks for the meal. But what's the occasion today?"
Yohan asked as he forked a piece of the spicy pork into his mouth first. Sister Caterina smiled brightly.
"Some of the folks from Koreatown gave us a little cabbage, so we made kimchi with it and shared it with them. And they gave us all sorts of side dishes and food in return."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. They said the kimchi we made was delicious."
"That part's true. The sisters could sell the stuff you make."
"Well, thank you for the compliment."
"I'm just stating the facts."
"Still, gratitude is gratitude. Don't eat too fast, all right?"
"Yes, Sister."
Ever since joining the club, Yohan had reflected on when he felt happiest. Two situations stood out: when he was playing football, and when he was eating. There was a running joke among footballers that the most important thing for a player was a good meal—and Yohan was living that joke to the letter.
"I thought I was good at football. Turns out maybe I wasn't."
Lately, one person had been going through a rough patch after team training and matches.
"You're good."
"Don't make me laugh. Me, who can't do anything right even in team training? Don't feed me empty words."
That person was Bianchi. He insisted he was stuck in a slump. Just as he claimed, the same Bianchi who had racked up attacking contributions every single match in the U-11 and younger teams had failed to record a single goal or assist in recent games. If it had only been the lack of attacking points, he might have gritted his teeth and pushed through. But his overall performance had also been poor, and Bianchi was feeling his own shortcomings down to the bone.
Yohan, on the other hand, was different. At first he had struggled to adapt to full-size matches and had a few rough games, but after that he put on excellent displays that proved exactly why the club regarded him as a promising talent. He played as a striker less often and more frequently as an attacking midfielder. In that role, Yohan had briefly considered funneling every ball to Bianchi. But the other players were simply better than Bianchi—positioning, ball control, everything. If Bianchi had at least gotten his positioning right, Yohan would have passed to him. But he so often found himself in situations where a pass would almost certainly be lost that Yohan had no choice but to make the decisions that served the win.
The coaching staff knew about Bianchi's situation and gave him special attention, but things did not improve.
"Maybe I should just quit..."
Bianchi was so broken that he was saying things like that. It was proof of just how tough the U-13 league was—tough enough to crush a player who had always brimmed with confidence.
And the day came when Yohan, too, could understand a little of what Bianchi was feeling.
Thwack!
Holy crap... what the hell is that...?
It was the day of the derby match against Lazio. Yohan was watching, right before his eyes, the true skill of Lazio's massive prospect—someone he had only ever heard about in rumors. With physicality and technique far superior to anyone else his age, the boy was hammering away at the goal. Just watching him was enough to make your jaw drop. Roma's defense could not keep up at all.
If they had met back in U-11, it might have been hopeless. The thought crossed Yohan's mind for a moment—that was how overwhelming the kid's play was. Less than twenty minutes into the first half, and he already had three goals. You could see the will draining from the defense under the sheer weight of that individual brilliance. Roma had not scored a single goal yet, and if things continued this way, a thrashing was all but certain.
Was this the level you needed to skip stages and go straight to the Primavera? He seemed to exist in a completely different world from the players currently on the pitch.
Yohan slapped his own cheek to snap himself out of it. He really did not like the way that kid looked at his teammates—as if they were beneath him. Of course, the boy had the skill to match that arrogance. He had probably worked incredibly hard, too. And that only made Yohan want to break him even more. The fact that he belonged to their rivals, Lazio, made the feeling stronger still.
The match experience he had accumulated and the sense of belonging he felt toward his club had stoked Yohan's competitive fire to a blaze. This was a matter of pride. If he left that player alone, it would not stop at three goals—it could become four, then five. And if they lost the match in that state, the anger would linger for a long time. So Yohan set his eyes ablaze and resolved to pour every ounce of concentration into the restarted game.
"Lee, can you drop into the third line and orchestrate?"
Just then, the coach was preparing a substitution and looking to bring Yohan on. It meant adding another attacker and shifting the entire tactical approach to an offensive one.
"Yes."
"Good. From now on we'll play with two up top, and the second and third lines in a diamond. You go into the right-center of the third line. Link up with the attack and make aggressive runs. Minimize your defensive duties as much as possible."
"Understood."
The aspect of Yohan the coach valued most highly was his vision and ability to orchestrate play. That was something the coaches of the lower teams and the current coach all agreed on. But since moving up to U-13, Yohan had developed one more shining strength: his tactical understanding. Already renowned for his football intelligence, Yohan's gift had only grown sharper through full-size 11-a-side matches. He properly understood the demands of each position and the roles assigned to him. He read the entire pitch widely, mixed in his own excellent judgment, and knew how to draw out both his teammates' and his own natural abilities.
Yohan was already considered at his absolute best when operating from the third line during attacking phases, and there was no better card to play when throwing down a gambit to go on the offensive.
Boom! Thwack!
Just as expected, not long after the formation change with Yohan, the team's performance came roaring to life.
"Nice!"
A brilliant run leading into a combination play—and a goal to start the comeback. From that moment, Yohan's genius was on full display. In the fierce midfield battles as the lines pushed higher, he used precise positioning to cut off Lazio's flow of the ball. From countless passing options, he rapidly judged and selected the surest choice. Through quick communication with his teammates, he dismantled the defensive line and opened up space in behind to create big chances. It would not have been an exaggeration to say he made the other players look like supporting cast as he relentlessly chased down Lazio's momentum.
Of course, Lazio was a prestigious club too—they were not about to hand over the atmosphere without a fight.
Thwack!
"Yes!"
Just when Roma had closed the gap to a single goal, Lazio produced an intelligent combination to score and cool the heat, and they did not hesitate to play rough in an attempt to break Roma's momentum. In particular, Lazio's massive prospect seemed to have had his competitive fire lit by Yohan's standout performance. Near the end of the first half, he slotted in another goal to stretch the score to 5–2.
After a brief rest, the second half began, and he quickly spotted that Roma's midfield was still unsettled and added yet another goal.
Damn it...
Furious, Yohan and his teammates properly returned fire, and the second half descended into an all-out slugfest. Both teams poured out extreme concentration as they played, and from that point Roma's finishing came alive in a big way. They converted chance after chance into goals, closing the score at a terrifying pace. Three goals, four goals...
While Lazio wasted chances thanks to a sudden awakening from the Roma goalkeeper and his miraculous string of saves, Roma calmly and swiftly narrowed the gap.
Thwaaack!
"Wooooah!!"
Even Bianchi, who had been stuck in a slump, seemed to fully absorb the heat of the match that day. Coming on as a substitute, he scored a goal, reclaiming his natural confidence and lifting the entire team's spirits.
And then, in the dying moments of the second half—
Booooom—!
Go in...!
Thwack!
"Yesss!! It's in!"
Yohan spotted the space opening between the defense and midfield, and from mid-range he unleashed a shot of pure conviction that rattled the net. The score was 6–6. Yohan roared with joy. But he had absolutely no intention of ending the match like this.
"We have to win no matter what!"
In a match like this, losing simply was not an option. That was how he saw it. But that thought was not unique to Yohan and Roma. For Lazio, too, this match was a matter of pride. Allowing a reverse would be pure humiliation.
So both teams poured out every last drop of strength they had until the very final moment, but...
The god of competition did not want this match to end with either side victorious.
Boom! Ting—!
"You have got to be kidding me...!"
Tweet! Tweeeet—!
A Lazio attacker, teeth gritted, unleashed a shot that skimmed past the Roma goalkeeper's fingertips, struck the post, and rolled out of play—and the referee blew the final whistle.
"Haa... haa..."
Realizing the match was over, the players from both sides collapsed onto the field where they stood. Anyone satisfied? Not a single one. Everyone felt the frustration. Roma because they had not completed the comeback; Lazio because a match they thought they would win easily had ended in a draw.
But both coaches were beaming. For a youth match, the level had been extraordinarily high. The Lazio coach, who had allowed that massive second-half comeback, was relatively less delighted than the Roma coach—but if not for the Roma goalkeeper's godlike saves, they would have won by about two goals. He decided to treat it as a natural disaster that had simply paid a visit.
"I wish every match could be like this."
"I agree."
The two coaches shook hands and began gathering up their exhausted players.