Zero Top with La Volpiana?! First vs Second Team Friendly (2)
Football starts with each side selecting eleven players.
Twenty-two men in all take the pitch, contesting ninety minutes—forty-five each half—kicking a ball across the grass to decide who is superior.
Aside from the white lines painted on a rectangular field, the only things the game truly needs are a ball and a pair of goals. No bats, no gloves, none of the specialized gear baseball demands. That simplicity is why it reigns as the most played sport on Earth.
The rules of victory are just as straightforward. True to the name football, you may use any part of the body except the arms and hands to put the ball into the opposing goal—more precisely, across the goal line. One point. That is all. No two-point long-range bonuses like basketball; even the most acrobatic, spectacular finish still counts as a single goal. Hold a one-goal lead for ninety minutes and you win. Fail to score, or finish level, and it is a draw. Trail, and you lose.
The pitch itself divides neatly into three zones around the great concentric circle at the center—the center circle—and the halfway line that bisects the field:
Opponent’s goal
Attack
----- Midfield -----
Defense
Our goal, the goalkeeper
Closest to our own goal stand the defenders (DF), whose job is to prevent the other side from scoring. Near the opposition goal prowl the forwards (FW), hungry for the single point that decides victory. Between them run the midfielders (MF), linking play. Together these three groups form the field players.
A formation is simply how those ten field players are arranged. The goalkeeper is the exception: confined to the penalty area, he alone may use his hands. That privilege makes him the most alien position on the pitch.
Suppose we line up in a 1-4-3-3. That means one goalkeeper, four defenders, three midfielders, and three forwards. Because a goalkeeper is mandatory, we drop the leading 1 for convenience and simply call it a 4-3-3. The remaining ten field players can, in theory, be all defenders or all attackers; the rules do not care.
Fashionable formations have shifted with every era. In the beginning England favored the 2-3-5 pyramid:
● ● ● ● ●
● ● ●
● ●
●
That primitive arrangement proved revolutionary; it is the reason we still divide roles by position today. The two men in front of the goalkeeper became full-backs (FB), the last line of defense. The three in the middle were half-backs, winning and protecting the ball. Of the five attackers, the wide men on the flanks were wingers (W); the central spearhead was the centre-forward (CF). The two who operated in the channels between winger and centre-forward were inside-forwards (IF).
Squad numbers themselves grew out of this shape. Counting outward from one’s own goal: goalkeeper 1, full-backs 2 and 3, half-backs 4–6. From the right winger came 7 and 8, the centre-forward took 9, then 10 and 11 completed the line.
England’s five-man attack, all long balls and chaotic charge, met one decisive change: the introduction of the offside rule. Offside occurs when a teammate receives the ball while ahead of the opposition’s last defender. Simple in theory, fiendishly hard in practice—the most common infringement in the game and, for decades, the source of endless tears and controversy. Only the arrival of VAR has begun to tame the chaos.
To counter offside, two of the half-backs dropped into central defense and became today’s centre-backs. The full-backs were pushed wide. The remaining half-back kept the number 6; an inside-forward dropped into midfield and claimed the 8. Even now the more defensive midfielder or centre-back wears 6, while the box-to-box or creative midfielder takes 8—think Gerrard, Iniesta, Toni Kroos. The 7 became “lucky seven,” a star’s number, worn by the likes of Ronaldo. Pure centre-forwards—R9 Ronaldo, Zlatan Ibrahimović—took 9; pacey wingers claimed 11.
And then there was the 10. A forward who could score yet also drop into midfield to link play. It demanded football intelligence of the highest order. Thus the culture was born: the most gifted, most complete player on the team wears the number 10. Its original icon was Brazil’s emperor, Pelé. Then Argentina’s legend Maradona. And now the GOAT, Lionel Messi.
“This is our zero-top formation.”
Han Shin projected eleven go stones onto the screen with the club’s software. Green for defenders, blue for midfielders, red for attackers. Every eye locked on.
“Four at the back, six in midfield?”
Håkon – Chris – Nazari
Pierre – Adil
Abdullah
Romaine – Jenson – Jacob – Timothy
Bishop
Nektarios, the Australian, scanned the list, confirmed his own name was missing, and understood at once. His head dropped in quiet despair.
Damn… I made the call myself, but looking at it still hurts.
Yet a professional is a professional. He forced the tears back, vowed to seize any chance that came, and fixed his gaze on the screen.
The shape was 4-6-0—no striker, hence zero top. Sunderland AFC had tried a zero-top system mid-season before, but only because Bellingham’s football IQ could carry the number-10 role. Results had been poor; the experiment was scrapped almost immediately.
Chris, the highly rated prospect still barely free of the youth label, felt cold sweat prickle his skin.
That worked because Bellingham is that good… Can I really do it?
At a glance it looked like a 4-3-3. The players thought so too.
“Isn’t that just a 4-3-3?”
“No. Look carefully.”
In attack
Håkon – Chris – Adil – Nazari – Timothy
Pierre – Abdullah
Romaine – Jenson – Jacob
“Oh my gosh… a 3-2-5 with a back three?!”
Radical. Han Shin explained with calm precision.
“In possession the front five form a W. If the shape feels awkward at first, a flat line is fine.” He traced lazy circles with a green laser pointer. “Nazari, Chris, and Håkon take turns making the runs. Pierre and Abdullah act as the half-backs.”
Instructions continued.
“Pembélé overlaps like a right winger and focuses entirely on attack. When the chance comes, aim the crosses at the two tall lads. Simple, right?”
“Simple enough. Understood.”
“When we attack, the back three is Romaine, Jenson, and Brown.”
Brown felt a flicker of worry.
We’ve never even played a back three together… will this work?
As if reading the thought, the manager addressed it head-on.
“Records show you three have never started as a centre-back unit in the league. Correct?”
“Correct.”
When the hell did he dig through all our stats?
“Centre-back partnerships are almost never rotated, so you wouldn’t have practiced it either.”
“That’s right.”
Except when the captain was injured, the pairing had always been Ballard-plus-someone.
“You’ve never built chemistry anyway, so back three or back four—nothing to worry about, is there?”
A back four is actually harder to keep in line…
Brown had never heard such a cheerfully blunt assessment. The subtext was clear: he expected the same level of competence either way.
“What? Hahaha, gaffer, you’re something else! Just because we haven’t played league games together doesn’t mean we haven’t trained. We’ve put in the hours!”
Jenson backed him up at once.
“Exactly! We’re professionals. A back three is well within us. We can do this—leave it to us!”
“That so? Then I’ll trust you.”
“Yes! We won’t let you down!”
Watching the centre-backs fire themselves up, Han Shin hid a quiet smile behind his tablet.
“Oh—and leave Patrick alone.”
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“When Patrick has the ball, ignore him. That’s an order.”
The defenders exchanged looks that clearly said Is this guy serious? Jenson raised a hand.
“Apologies, but could you expand on that instruction?”
“Was my English that hard to follow?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I’ll spell it out. Even if Patrick Roberts is on the ball, you only cut the passing lanes to Bellingham and Clarke. Do not rush out in a pack to block a long-range shot.”
“Understood. But… is that really all right?”
“Focus solely on stopping Bellingham and Clarke’s runs. If it’s still unclear, come here and I’ll draw it for you.”
“No need! Fully understood!”
Han Shin had his reasons. Since 2024 Patrick had scored exactly two open-play goals. Video and data alone could not explain every detail, but the numbers were damning.
High wages, long service—loyalty points, maybe? Holding a starting place with that pathetic return is absurd. First name on the transfer list.
Defensive instructions finished. Next, the midfielders.
“First—Håkon!”
The tall Norwegian stared as if determined not to miss a single syllable.
“You’re the left wing-forward. I want three movements from you. Just three.”
“Yes! Three is easy to remember.”
“Stay wide on the touchline. Don’t cut inside unless I say so.”
“Until when?”
“I’ll cover that when I explain Adil’s role. Use your height—win the headers, knock them down, and first priority is finding Chris. Okay?”
“Okay!”
“Chris—today you play the number-10 role.”
The ten?! Me?!
The number 10: the badge of the team’s best footballer, its true ace. Chris understood the weight of it; his chest swelled.
“Oooooh, Chris~~ what’s this~”
“Han Shin’s crown prince, is he~”
The squad ruffled the youngest’s hair with affectionate roughness.
“Nazari, you’re the right attacking midfielder. Use that line-breaking run of yours, but if the angle isn’t there, recycle to Adil or Timothy, kill time, then work the one-two. Clear?”
“Yes, crystal clear!”
“Adil!”
“Yes!”
“Your job is crucial. Sit a half-step deeper than the front four and shuttle left to right across the pitch.”
“Meaning…?”
“Drift side to side and drag defenders with you. Especially Ballard—harass him relentlessly until he loses track of Nazari or Chris.”
“So I’m the decoy.”
“Exactly.”
This level of detail is insane. Is this really a rookie manager? He already knows us inside out…
“If Ballard steps out to win the ball, you immediately switch play to the far side. Got it?”
“Got it!”
“Your movement will rattle them. Dan Neil might even drop in to help. When the centre clogs up, go wide.” He laser-pointed both flanks. “They’re in a back four; we will always have the numerical edge. One-v-ones will come thick and fast. When they do, Nazari and Håkon use their physicality and finish.”
By now every player was absorbed in the tactical lecture. Fifteen minutes remained until ten o’clock.
“When the ball is on the right, every midfielder except Håkon packs tight, keeps short distances, and recycles possession until a gap appears. Think of it as the five-versus-two rondo the academy kids play in the morning—keep the ball until the space opens.”
In other words, raise possession time in settled attack…
“Gaffer, that’s too hard!”
“Simple version: when Timothy has the ball, make Håkon the outcast on the far side. Then he will always have a one-v-one he can win.”
They brought three short full-backs. Easy.
Abdullah grinned.
“Isolating people? I’m an expert!”
Laughter rolled through the room.
“You lot bet on the five-versus-two too?”
“Of course.”
“And the loser does ten push-ups?”
“Same—ten.”
“Figures. Abdullah.” Han Shin pointed at Jobe Bellingham. “You man-mark Bellingham. Stick to him like a hunting dog.”
“Easy. Heheh. Just chase him around, right?”
“Right. But in the build-up you drop deep to receive and distribute.”
Abdullah’s heart leapt.
I’m doing the La Volpiana!!!
Two years earlier, during the Hong Myung-bo controversy, the term had been everywhere. La Volpiana: a defensive midfielder dropping between the centre-backs to aid the build-up. Even then every serious coach knew the concept. Without elite press resistance and pinpoint passing it simply created space for the opponent—an extremely demanding role. That was why Abdullah was delighted.
Han Shin’s voice dropped, cold and absolute.
“One more thing, Abdullah. Listen carefully.”
“What is it~~ gaffer~~ anything you say!”
“This is an absolute rule for the friendly. Break it and you’re released on the spot.”
Abdullah’s smile froze.
Then came the bombshell.
“You will never shoot.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“One-on-one, open goal, gift from heaven—doesn’t matter. You pass. That is the absolute rule I am giving you.”
Abdullah could not answer at once. His head hung. Teammates rose in protest.
“Gaffer! That’s too harsh! You don’t need to go that far with Abdullah.”
“He’s right! Please reconsider!”
“….”
Amid the mild mutiny Abdullah asked quietly,
“Manager Han Shin… may I ask the reason?”
“If we score even one goal in the first half, I’ll tell you at half-time.”
“Promise me you’ll keep that word.”
“If I break it, I’ll double your wages on a new contract. Fair?”
“That’s enough for me.”
Han Shin checked the clock.
“Time’s up. The finer movements we’ll drill on the pitch. Everyone clear?!”
“Yes, coach!”
“Gaffer!”
Chris raised a hand.
“What is it, Chris? Question?”
“I’m honestly moved by how detailed your instructions are. But… can we really win with just this?”
“It won’t be easy.”
“Yeah… figured.”
“But I have no intention of losing. What about you?”
“We don’t want to lose either!”
“Is that all?”
“No! We want to win!!”
“Not ‘want to win’—‘we will win’!”
“We will win!”
“Louder!”
“Wooooaaaahhh! We will win!!!!”
“Good. I don’t know what mindset you’ve carried into matches until now. That’s exactly why, throughout pre-season, every player gets a fair shot.”
“Yes!!!”
Nektarios, left out of the squad, roared the loudest of all.
“And after today’s match we’ll hold a blind vote for two MVPs. Those two start the first league game, no questions asked. Any complaints?”
“None at allllll!!!”
“Tactical briefing over. I’ll step out for a minute.”
Need the bathroom.
While Han Shin was gone, Håkon clapped Abdullah on the shoulder.
“Abdullah! Trust us! We’ll score the goals for you. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Adil joined in, thumping his back.
“Yeah—just don’t shoot, right? A manager this meticulous has to have a deeper reason.”
“I’m totally fine~~ thanks, everyone. And he did give me the La Volpiana role!”
“That’s the spirit, mate.”
“We’ve got you.”
Adil and Chris shared a quick private take.
“His instructions were insanely detailed, right? And he’s never even watched us live.”
“Like he’d already mapped every one of our playing styles.”
“Clarke’s impression earlier feels embarrassing now.”
“No complete forward in the building, huh?”
Chris stretched.
“Ahhh… this is exactly what we hoped for while watching the Manager War.”
“The winner really is different.”
Håkon added a self-deprecating joke.
“And he even looked after a cast-off like me on day one. The man’s special.”
He just finished a press conference and a media storm—steel mentality?
Romaine cut in.
“You might be a cast-off, but I’m not~~. The loan was a carefully considered decision by the higher-ups to aid this body’s development!”
Brown snorted.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. So you and Patrick go head-to-head—what’s the plan?”
Romaine laced his fingers behind his head.
“Dunno~~. Gaffer said leave him, so I leave him. It’ll work out somehow! Maybe I’ll just stick to Clarke instead.”
“Don’t tangle us up. Hold your position.”
“Brown, worry about yourself~. This body is perfection!”
“‘This body, this body’—if you were perfect you wouldn’t have been loaned out. Heh.”
“A hero~ is never wounded by petty words~~ wheee~”
Romaine whistled and hummed his own improvised lyrics.
Moments later Han Shin returned from the bathroom.
“Everyone ready? Let’s go!”
“Haaaaaway! the lads!!!!”
The players spun their shirts overhead as they filed out. Abdullah walked toward the pitch still turning the same question over and over: why the absolute ban on shooting?