If You Can't Win, Aim for the Ankle: Zenit (8)
Away team locker room.
The atmosphere was pure chaos after that unexpected blow, one of the chairs already smashed to pieces.
Vice-captain Andrei was venting his rage.
"Fuck! That monkey bastard—what the hell was that?!"
Wendel, who had come in late, shared what Timoschuk had figured out.
"Ho… what?"
"Tiger! When they shout that, that beanpole Håkon drops deep."
Number 9 Artur scribbled on his palm with a marker.
"And if they yell Kung Fu Panda, that number 7 kid pushes up, right? Okay."
Even that irritated Andrei.
"Kung Fu Panda? Who are we mocking here? Forget it. What's the point of any of this."
"Quiet!!!!! Everyone sit down!"
Manager Igor stormed in, face flushed scarlet.
"You bunch of yeblyan!"
His whole face was red, but the vivid handprint on his cheek stood out most of all.
Wendel, completely missing the mood, approached.
"Boss, Head Coach Timoschuk told us—"
"Zamolchi! (Shut up!), Wendel! And Gabriel!"
Gabriel, who had been subbed off injured, lifted his head.
"Yes, Boss."
"You reactionary little shit… got a problem with my decisions?"
"No, sir."
"Then why the hell did you make us look like clowns? Get over here."
Gabriel stepped in front of Manager Igor.
"Clench your teeth."
No time to dodge.
Smack——!
Gabriel's head snapped sideways from the slap.
"What the hell is this?!"
In his entire professional career Gabriel had never been treated like this. He grabbed Igor's collar.
"You crazy bastard! I don't have to take this—I'm transferring right now!!!"
The Brazilian players grabbed Gabriel; the Russian players held Igor back.
"Boss, why are you doing this?"
None of them had ever seen Manager Igor this furious.
"If we lose today, you lot can swim all the way back to Russia!"
A freezing wind howled through the away locker room.
"Or break those bastards' legs! You hear me?! Sell your soul to the devil if you have to!!!"
There was no room left for professional dignity. Manager Igor had been told by Vice-Chairman Dmitry that a loss today meant the sack.
And that was on top of the brutal threats…
Igor's cheek and Vladimir's fist were both swelling uglier by the minute.
Home team locker room.
Han Shin didn't care that the expensive suit he'd paid a fortune for was getting soaked with the players' sweat. He hugged them one by one.
"Well done. Brilliant. Today goes straight into the top five happiest moments of my entire life."
After he'd made the full round, Bellingham decided to tease him a little.
"Boss, when we scored earlier you almost collapsed on the spot. Didn't you believe in us?!"
"Hahahaha!"
Han Shin cleared his throat.
I overdid it a bit. Embarrassing.
"Ahem… that was just excitement. You held it together as captain. Perfect. But it's only half-time. Nothing's finished yet."
Clarke looked relaxed.
"Your plan landed exactly as drawn up, Boss. Sitting deep preserved our legs too."
Dan Neil, who had been closest to Wendel, voiced a suspicion.
"But they seemed to clock something, didn't they? From about the thirtieth minute it stopped working."
Han Shin rapped the tactics board.
"Focus! They're not idiots—they figured it out. So second half we do this."
He laid out a cheeky little proposal.
The usually silent Håkon spoke up.
"Will that work?"
"It will. Because there's one decisive difference between them and us."
Han Shin was already making full-back changes.
"And Romaine, Hume—you're coming on."
"Yo~ Yo~"
"Hume takes the right side of the build-up three. Abdullah and Dan Neil help with the progression. Clear?"
"Yes!"
"Timothy and Denis worked their socks off both ways. Great shift, lads."
Half-time, and Han Shin has used two substitution cards—both full-backs.
45' Denis Cirkin → Romaine Mings
Timothy Pembélé → Trai Hume
The diamond formation demands huge full-back mileage. Still pre-season, so this looks like a fitness management call.
Timothy thrives on overlapping and joining attacks—what about Hume, pundits?
More of a defensive brief, I'd say. They're looking to use Romaine's forward thrust to attack down the left.
45' Artur → Damon Diablo
Zenit have made a change too—what's this? Taking off Brazilian Artur and throwing in a youth player?
I can't read Igor's mind at all.
The camera caught Manager Han Shin on the touchline.
Emily, mid-vanilla ice cream, had been so openly delighted she dropped a whole scoop on the floor.
"Boss!!! What are you doing with that woman?"
Speakman warned her.
"Uh… Miss Emily, careful—you spilled some."
"Oh my! At least it didn't get on my clothes. Hahaha."
Wait… isn't that the woman I saw at the training ground?
Hold on—Han Shin is handing a note to some Korean female fan. A love letter, perhaps?
Han Shin's intentions are just as unreadable.
The referee's whistle blew. Second half underway.
Zenit's players pricked up their ears, waiting for Han Shin to open his mouth.
Instead he left the touchline where he'd stood the entire first half and sat down on the bench.
Wendel felt snubbed and angry.
Then the fans waving Taegukgi flags roared as one.
"Rabbit!"
Sunderland moved.
At the heart of it was Lee Chae-yeon, the same woman who had gotten an autograph at Sunday's open training.
"What the hell?"
Zenit simply thought it was some quirky Asian chant.
They never imagined it was Han Shin's proxy instruction.
"Damn it!"
Only Timoschuk caught on. He stood up from his seat without permission and headed for the Zenit bench.
"Manager Igor!"
"Shut your mouth and watch!"
"What on earth is going on? The Korean fans are—"
"I said get lost!"
Igor's completely lost it. Did Gazprom put some insane pressure on him?
A day-hired security guard rushed over to Timoschuk.
"You can't do that, sir. Please take your seat."
"Understood."
Just as Timoschuk was about to return quietly, Sunderland erupted again.
"Wooooooooah!"
"Yes! The rabbit worked!"
What Han Shin had passed to Chae-yeon was a tactical cue.
He had taught the Sunderland players a handful of Korean animal words; when the fans shouted a specific animal, the team would switch shape on the fly.
The sucker-punch worked perfectly.
Bellingham scores again!!
It started with Romaine's overlapping run.
Five attackers flooded forward as one.
A cross aimed at Håkon's head was nodded down into Chris's path.
This was it—the extension of the false-nine system they'd shown in the reserve practice match.
Chris slipped a one-two into the path of the onrushing Bellingham.
Bellingham's cannonball of a no-spin shot rattled the net once more.
Score: 3–0.
"Yesss!!!"
Ah~~ this is as dazzling as Wengerball from the old Arsenal days!
Bellingham is one goal away from a hat-trick that would crown Han Shin's managerial debut in style!
Zenit's players reeled in shock.
A few of them, already tasting the humiliation of a limp defeat, made a decision.
They would serve Han Shin—who had toyed with them—a proper helping of hell.
Become the devil.
Seventieth minute of the second half.
The incident finally exploded.
Igor—or more precisely, the youth player acting on Vice-Chairman Dmitry's orders—Damon Diablo went in with studs raised, a deliberate back-tackle aimed straight at Bellingham's ankle.
Bellingham couldn't avoid it. He crumpled and rolled across the turf.
Pain tore out of him.
"Aaaargh!"
The referee didn't even need a second look. Red card out.
"Damon Diablo—sent off!! Off the pitch now!"
Damon walked off at a deliberate crawl while the medical team rushed on.
This is exactly the kind of malicious tackle that has to be stamped out of the professional game.
The studs went straight for the ankle. Red card is automatic, and this will almost certainly go to the FA.
Why on earth would you do this in a friendly?
Han Shin was livid to the roots of his hair.
This is a complete betrayal of the spirit of the game!
"No!! How is that allowed?! Fuck, Manager Igor—what the hell are you playing at!"
Everyone felt the same.
Both benches emptied. A full-scale clearing.
Security guards thrown in at the last second had a nightmare trying to hold the players back.
Abdullah was screaming at Andrei.
"You sons of bitches! We came to play football, not to hospitalise someone!"
Vice-captain Andrei just smirked nastily.
"Look at that yellow monkey losing his mind—beautiful!"
Han Shin exploded.
"Hey, what did you just say? Let me go!!! Hey!"
Three guards were needed just to hold him.
How is he this strong?!
"Calm down, Boss!!"
"Do I look calm to you!! Let go of me!"
Igor sat on the bench with his face buried in his hands, having already praised Damon, then simply stayed put.
Sunderland fans started hurling rubbish at him.
The guards were stretched to breaking point just keeping order.
The match is going to be delayed…
"Please calm down."
"Hah… is this even football anymore."
Han Shin finally managed to throttle his rage back under control.
Supported by the team doctor, Bellingham—face twisted with pain—limped off the pitch.
He's walking off under his own power, so thankfully it doesn't look like a serious injury.
"Bellingham, how's the ankle? You okay? I'll sub you straight away."
Bellingham grabbed Han Shin's arm. Tears were welling.
"Boss. Let me play a little longer. Please? If I break another promise I'll feel like a liar."
"I get what you're saying. But a hat-trick isn't more important than your body."
"Just ten minutes! Sub me after ten minutes."
Han Shin turned to the head of medical while the match restarted around them.
"Matthew Pearce—what's the verdict?"
Head of Medical Matthew Pearce gave his opinion.
"Nothing major. We'll need a full scan, but another ten minutes shouldn't do any real damage."
"You heard him, Boss—please…"
"Phew…"
Han Shin let out a long breath and made the call.
"No choice. We're subbing you."
Bellingham fought to hide the pain and pleaded.
"No, Boss!!! I can still play!"