Debut (1)
Peeep!
The whistle blew, and Tierney took a quick throw-in to Touré. Before the opposition's press could reach him, Touré passed it back to Leno, who then sent it wide to Campbell.
The Wolverhampton players scrambled to win the ball back. However, even while trailing by two goals, they were still sticking to a back-three system that resembled a defensive 5-2-3. Pressing us deep in our own half was never going to be easy for them.
Campbell looked up, scanning the pitch ahead.
One of Wolverhampton's central midfielders was marking Vieira, while the other stuck to Bergkamp. Coady, their central center-back, was tight on me, which left their other two center-backs essentially wasted.
The easy pass here was Wilshere. But with our comfortable lead, there was a good chance we'd launch it straight forward. I braced myself, ready to tear through their defensive line.
Campbell chose Ljungberg, our right wing-forward, who was positioned near the halfway line.
Perhaps expecting the pass to go to Wilshere, Moreno had drifted slightly away from Ljungberg. With virtually no pressure on him, Ljungberg began to carry the ball up along the halfway line.
Coady, who had been marking me, shifted to his right to stop Ljungberg's advance. At that exact moment, Duarte dropped back to cover the space Coady had just vacated.
It was in that split second that my eyes locked with Ljungberg's as he cut inside along the halfway line.
Now!
As if he had read my mind, Ljungberg gave a subtle nod. I spun around from facing our own half and sprinted toward the opponent's goal.
"Damn it!"
I heard Duarte gasp in panic. There were still a few meters between us, but my sudden burst of speed had clearly caught him off guard. Still, as a starting center-back for Wolves—a team aiming for the Europa League—he quickly recovered and tried to chase me down.
But then, a sound echoed that shouldn't have happened.
Thud!
I glanced back. The ball, likely deflected off Coady's foot, had veered off to the right instead of coming straight to me.
At that angle...!
When I first heard the impact, I thought the pass had been intercepted. Instead, the deflection had actually carried the ball further away from Duarte on my left. Maintaining my momentum, I cut sharply to the right.
"How is he that fast...!"
Did you guys not even bother to analyze my play?!
I cursed Duarte silently as he let out a bewildered shout behind me. I charged toward the penalty box to claim the ball.
Coady, who had deflected the pass, was also racing toward the ball. But having to turn his body in a hurry, there was no way he could match my pace.
The problem was that I was running to the right, which meant I was moving away from the goal. Wolves' goalkeeper, Patrício, was already rushing out to close me down, and with two defenders hot on my heels, I instinctively knew I didn't have the time to carve out a proper shooting angle.
...Should I lay it back?
With the ball right in front of me, the thought of trapping it and passing it backward crossed my mind. But this was my first touch. As someone who had spent his entire life playing as an attacker, I couldn't bring myself to play it safe here.
So, I only had one option.
Planting my left foot, I whipped my body around and unleashed a blind turning shot toward the goal.
Thump!
However, the man guarding the net was Rui Patrício, the starting goalkeeper for the Portuguese national team. Patrício extended his arm and comfortably parried my shot away.
Ah... Should I have passed it back? Damn it. If Ljungberg's pass had been just a bit more precise, I could have taken it first-time.
Watching Coady clear the rebounded ball, a wave of regret washed over me. If I had stopped the ball and passed it back, we could have sustained a much better attacking opportunity. At the same time, I felt frustrated that a cleaner pass from Ljungberg would have given me a clear-cut chance.
But it was already in the past. I pushed those thoughts aside and gave Ljungberg a thumbs-up.
"Good pass! Good pass!"
In response to my thumbs-up, Ljungberg tapped his chest, signaling that it was his mistake. We weren't close, and he was a bit of a lone wolf, so we had never really talked off the pitch. But seeing him acknowledge his error made me realize he wasn't a bad guy.
The attack continued from the throw-in, but it ended with Wilshere skying a long-range shot horribly wide. I didn't even get a chance to touch the ball.
Come on, I know we're leading, but that shot was terrible... Well, I guess you feel the pressure to show something too. Man, this is exactly why I hate playing as a center-forward.
Having to constantly jostle with sweaty center-backs with barely any service made me miss the wing-forward position. It was so much better than being stuck in the middle.
Peeep!
The whistle blew, and play resumed with a goal kick for Wolverhampton. Patrício launched the ball deep, and Touré headed it away, sending it back toward the center circle. Waiting there was Bergkamp.
Bergkamp, who was in sublime form today, completely bypassed Moutinho—the central midfielder marking him—with a single touch before immediately sliding a pass to me.
Bergkamp!
Three opposing center-backs loomed ahead, but I could almost hear Bergkamp's voice saying, 'Show me what you've got.' True to his legendary reputation, his pass was threaded into an awkward space right between Coady, the central center-back, and Dunk, the left center-back.
Naturally, a loose ball in such a tight space was mine to win with my pace.
I gathered the ball and burst down the left flank without losing a shred of speed.
Left, left, and further left.
Unable to keep up with my pace, Dunk drifted back toward the center, while Conti, their right wing-back, quickly closed in from behind. But if their right wing-back was marking me, it meant Walcott, our left wing-forward, was completely unmarked!
I desperately wanted to cut inside and drive into the penalty box myself. However, I had no desire to repeat Van Persie's mistake of looking too rushed and desperate after starting. I immediately sent a low, driven pass to Walcott.
Thwack!
Walcott struck it without hesitation. But Patrício launched himself through the air, determined not to concede another goal, and tipped it away for a corner.
Damn, what a save.
Honestly, despite conceding three goals today, Patrício had every right to feel hard done by. The goals he let in were a free kick, a corner, and an own goal. True to his status as Portugal's number one, he was saving every shot from open play, venting his frustration through his performance.
But why does he have to take it out on me?
If it weren't for him, I'd already have a goal and an assist...
"Luka! Good pass!"
Meanwhile, Walcott gave me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture as we set up for the corner. Bergkamp signaled to play it short and build up slowly from the outside. Following his own cue, he passed to Wilshere, who was nearby, and our attack restarted from Wilshere's feet.
Well, it ended with a wildly off-target shot from Vieira, though.
"Haha, my bad, my bad."
Here I was, running my lungs out on my debut to somehow get a goal, while our captain—even if we were winning—blasted a long-range shot that missed the goal by ten meters and just laughed it off. It made my blood boil.
"Hey! Give me the pass!"
"Ah, kid. You were there? Make sure you stand somewhere I can see you next time."
In this moment, I could fully understand why Fabregas always talked back to Vieira.
Sigh, I just have to hold it in.
Following Vieira's missed shot, Wolverhampton began to mount a fierce onslaught. They made substitutions and shifted to an aggressive 3-4-3 formation, forcing us to focus on defending.
Please, just one chance to attack!
I prayed for just one opportunity as I worked to disrupt the opponent's build-up. After a few minutes of desperate hoping...
"Campbell!"
Campbell made a brilliant sliding tackle, sending the ball toward Wilshere. Receiving the ball about ten meters behind the halfway line, Wilshere immediately swung his foot to launch it forward.
A perfect counterattacking opportunity!
And our team had two of the fastest players in the Premier League, a league renowned for its physicality. The only slight disappointment was that Wilshere, out of habit, sent the ball toward Walcott, who had always spearheaded our counters in these situations.
But even that was more than enough. Walcott and I successfully tore through the opponent's defensive line. Walcott controlled the ball beautifully, creating a one-on-one situation with the goalkeeper. Of course, I was running right alongside him, keeping in line.
"Walcott!"
Patrício rushed off his line to close Walcott down. It was a golden opportunity—all Walcott had to do was roll the ball to his side, and I would have an open net!
Thump!
"...Huh?"
...But Walcott chose to shoot.
Naturally, the shot was blocked by Patrício, who had narrowed the angle perfectly.
"Sigh..."
"Sorry, sorry! Jake! Great pass!"
"Walcott, why didn't you pass?"
"Sorry, I didn't see you there."
I grumbled at him, but looking at his face, it didn't seem like he had ignored me on purpose. Well, that's just how forwards are. I probably would have made the same choice in his shoes. Of course, the difference between Walcott and me was that I actually scored in those situations.
In the end, no matter how much of a team sport it was, the only person I could truly rely on was myself.
The clock kept ticking. Before I knew it, we were in the 81st minute. As Wolverhampton's attacks intensified, Bergkamp—who had put on a masterclass by contributing to all three of our goals—was subbed off for Torreira to shore up our defense. Naturally, the service to the front line dwindled.
Please, just once. Just give me one chance!
It would be too disappointing to end my debut like this.
I didn't know why, but while time had dragged on agonizingly slow on the bench, it was flying by now. Was this what they called the theory of relativity? The clock ticked past the 90-minute mark.
Three minutes of added time.
Wolverhampton refused to let up, desperately trying to narrow the goal difference. I waited anxiously in the center circle for their attack to end. Then, Traoré began to drive forward.
Please!
Perhaps my desperate prayer was answered. Tierney executed a clean tackle, poking the ball away from Traoré's feet. The ball rolled to Torreira, who quickly passed it to Walcott.
Walcott looked up and locked eyes with me in the center circle.
"Pass it!"
The moment our eyes met, I screamed and bolted forward. Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of the ball being launched.
Coady chased after me, but the sound of his heavy panting grew more and more distant. There was no way a defender who had played the full ninety minutes could catch up to me, especially when I possessed some of the highest speed in the league.
The ball bounced closer, and Patrício rushed out.
But the ball was closer to me. Realizing my speed was far greater than he had anticipated, Patrício's face contorted in sheer panic.
"No!"
"Yes!"
With the keeper rushing out, the far post was wide open. I swung my left foot.
Crack!
A clean, crisp sensation vibrated through my laces. The ball flew straight toward the far post.
—Ooooh, WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!
The tense murmur of the stadium erupted into a deafening roar. The ball rippled the back of the net and bounced out.
Fuck, yes. This is it.
Spreading my arms wide, I turned around to welcome my teammates.
Of course, most of them were still deep in our own half, so it looked like it would take them a while to get here.
"Hey, kid! Do you really expect us seniors who played the full ninety to run all the way over there?!"
Vieira's voice cut through the roaring crowd, but I pretended not to hear him. I kept my arms wide, waiting for them to catch up.
—Luka! Luka! Luka! Luka! Luka!
Standing there, listening to the home fans passionately chanting my name while waiting for my teammates to slowly walk over...
...was absolutely the best feeling in the world.