The Golden Goalkeeper’s Party
Guerrero's face grew redder with every scream pouring out of the phone speaker — his own screams, captured in merciless high definition.
"Tae-woo!! I will not forgive you!"
The phone left his trembling hands and clattered onto the table. On the screen, a video thumbnail stared back at him.
It was a perfect freeze-frame of Guerrero himself, collapsing with theatrical agony after taking one of my shots square on.
"Well, who told you to talk trash?"
I shrugged.
"Even so, that was way too much!"
"Tsk tsk. Foolish Guerrero. Always picking the fight, always eating the shot… you'd think you'd have learned by now."
Sanchez clicked his tongue from the next chair over.
"Sanchez, you're not exactly in a position to talk."
There was the video of Guerrero getting pelted by my shots, yes — but Sanchez's was even worse. Anyone could see how hard he worked, even people who didn't know the first thing about football. The clips of him conceding because of his physical limitations started off looking pitiful, and then, the longer you watched, they somehow became hilarious. That was probably why his video was sitting right up there with Guerrero's in the view counts.
"Hey, at least I didn't look like a comedian the way you did!"
"Are you looking down on comedians right now?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it!"
I stared at the two of them as they abruptly started going at each other, at a complete loss.
What is happening. Why are they fighting each other all of a sudden…
"And throwing your phone? Really?"
I picked Guerrero's phone up off the table to check whether the screen had cracked — and found the video still rolling, not even close to finished.
Okay, I did hit him a lot…
How many times had I found the target for a video of kicking balls at a goalkeeper to run a full six minutes? I'd stopped counting after the tenth hit. Maybe I should have taken it a little easier…
Those second thoughts lasted about a second. Then I saw the view count, and I felt considerably better about my life choices.
A million two, in a single day. One million two hundred thousand people had sat down and watched Guerrero get hit by a football.
Should I film another one later?
I was turning over the idea of The Top Scorer Who Can Even Play Goalkeeper 2 when Guerrero, as if he'd just caught a whiff of murderous intent, abruptly broke off his fight with Sanchez, whipped around toward me, and shouted.
"Tae-woo! Don't you dare think anything weird!"
"What are you talking about."
I flinched for half a second, then deployed my considerable acting talent and played it perfectly straight.
"Hmm… suspicious. I definitely felt something weird just now."
The kid had been hit so many times he'd apparently developed a sixth sense.
"Oh, right — Tae-woo, when are you heading back to Korea this time?"
I ran through the schedule in my head at Sanchez's question.
If I go to the party Manchester City is throwing…
"Sometime next week, I think?"
"Ah, so you're going to the party?"
"You're not, Sanchez? I heard the owner's coming too."
Manchester City's owner attending in person was enough to get me genuinely curious.
He'll at least have golden goalkeeper gloves made, right?
Back in my Kim Chan-ki days, I had received more golden boots than I could count. I wondered what this club's owner would come up with.
"Yeah, my schedule's a bit tight, so I probably won't make it. I promised my grandma I'd go on a trip with her."
"Did you? That's a shame, but it can't be helped. A trip with your grandma comes first."
Guerrero leaned in.
"I'm going. Wanna go together?"
"That's weird. Why would we go together. We'll go separately."
"What? Why? I just bought a new car…"
"You enjoy that new car all by yourself."
"Tae-woo, where are you going?"
"Where do you think. Home. See you at the party."
Watching me walk out after saying exactly what I wanted to say and not a word more, Guerrero's lower lip pushed out in a full pout.
"Who said I wanted to go together because I wanted to? Huh! I only offered to be nice in case you didn't have any friends!"
Sanchez took one look at him and slowly shook his head.
They're both good at football, but man…
They were the kind of friends you'd be embarrassed to take anywhere.
Three days later, Manchester City held its party.
The venue was the Kimpton Clocktower Hotel Manchester, a short distance from Etihad Stadium — a five-star hotel of magnificent Victorian architecture, and a regular stage for the club's most special occasions.
I looked around. The other players had arrived with their families or their girlfriends. I stood there by myself, conspicuously alone.
"Tae-woo, give us a pose!"
"V."
Is this how Da-min does it?
It was the Gyaru V that had been making the rounds online lately. I knew about it because Da-min had posted it on Instagram, but I could not, for the life of me, understand why this was a trend.
Is it because pretty people do it?
That seemed about right. No matter how trendy a gesture was, it was never going to take off without the looks to back it up.
The world really is all about looks, isn't it…
Of course, I was in no position to complain — I was one of the people reaping the benefits of that exact system.
Ah, I just miss Da-min.
Watching the couples around me nuzzle up to each other was getting difficult to bear. I was confident I could out-lovey-dovey every last one of them…
And then even Guerrero — Guerrero, who I had trusted — was off in the distance being disgustingly sweet with his girlfriend. He'd asked me to ride over together, so I'd assumed he was single. He was not. And she was quite pretty.
Not as pretty as Da-min… but honestly too good for Guerrero.
When I'd run into them earlier, I'd offered to help, wondering if she was being threatened into this. Judging by the way she couldn't hold back the laugh that burst out of her, it probably wasn't a hostage situation.
She must have the temperament of a saint.
Well. There were plenty of women in this world with unique tastes.
The captain must have spotted me drinking alone, because he came over. Hailey, his wife, was with him.
"Tae-woo, where did Guerrero, Sanchez, and Castillo go? Why are you by yourself?"
I didn't answer. I just pointed in two directions.
On one side, Guerrero was kissing his girlfriend. On the other, Castillo was spoon-feeding his.
"Ahem… and Sanchez?"
"He said he was going on a trip with his grandma."
Mathias exchanged a glance with Hailey and smiled, just a little.
"Want us to keep you company?"
"I'm fine. You two stay together. I'll head in soon anyway."
"It's not even eleven yet."
"I'm tired."
I wasn't tired. I just couldn't stand the syrupy atmosphere settling over the room. If Da-min had been here, I would have been like that too… no. I would have been even sweeter than that.
Then, without warning, every light in the hall went out, and the club owner stepped forward holding a pair of golden boots, a pair of golden goalkeeper gloves, and a golden captain's armband.
"Oooooooh!"
Every player's gaze drifted, as if pulled by gravity, toward the golden three-piece set in the owner's hands. He lifted the microphone.
"We've prepared these for three players who gave everything for Manchester City this season."
A round of applause filled the hall.
The club owner was, in practical terms, the man who paid everyone's salaries. Fortunately, aside from Guerrero, there wasn't a single player tactless enough not to clap with gusto while the man with the checkbook was talking.
"Now — the first item, this golden captain's armband, is my way of thanking the player who led Manchester City this season with tremendous leadership and tremendous football."
He didn't say the name. He didn't have to. Everyone in the room already knew who it was for.
"What are you waiting for? Get up there, Captain!"
"Ahaha, you're not going to send him a heart too, are you?"
"Hahaha!"
Our captain, who was always kind and shy once he stepped off the pitch, went up to the stage with his face burning red.
It was, in essence, the highest praise a club owner could give a player. Mathias's eyes welled up all over again.
"Kh—… thank you."
"Hahaha. I'll be counting on you next year too."
"Yes."
Once the captain had come back down, the owner picked up the golden boots and called Guerrero's name.
Guerrero did not appear. He was still occupied with his girlfriend. In the end, the staff had to drag him out.
"That's Guerrero for you — quite the fiery personality. Please keep scoring with that same fire next year."
"Of course! As long as I'm here, City will never lose."
"Yes. That would be wonderful."
"And last — Manchester City's golden goalkeeper gloves… I think everyone already knows. Jung Tae-woo, please come up."
Every player in the room clapped like they meant it. I answered them with a nod.
I looked down at the golden goalkeeper gloves — so different from a pair of golden boots — and the whole season flashed past me like a lantern turning in the dark.
The fight over the starting spot from the first day of preseason. The run of consecutive clean sheets. The unbeaten title. So much had happened.
It didn't feel like everything had been resolved. For reasons I couldn't name, the God of Soccer hadn't appeared in a long time, and the World Cup was drawing close. If I failed this time, I would only have one chance left.
But for now, I should enjoy this.
I lifted the golden goalkeeper glove trophy high above my head.
"Tae-woo's so handsome!"
"Hahaha, looking at him like this, Tae-woo's still just a kid, hahahaha!"
Mathias, Guerrero, and I — the three of us who'd received the golden trophies — stood with the owner and took a photograph.
If I found myself remembering this moment later, I wanted it to remain a truly good memory.
"If this is the trophy you get for a season like that, I suppose I'll be collecting one every year."
"That's our Tae-woo!"
"That razor-thin line between being a brat and being unapologetically confident — that's Tae-woo right there."
I hoped my life as a goalkeeper could shine the way this gleaming golden glove trophy shone in the light.
It was a night that made me unexpectedly sentimental.