Preseason (4): Never Let Your Guard Down
Complacency is poison. Especially when you don't even know your opponents well enough to underestimate them? That's basically admitting you have no intention of winning.
At the 10-minute mark of the first half, as I charged into the defensive wall set up by Rayo Vallecano's players, trying to break through solo, I could feel their carelessness. At the same time, their panic transmitted through their play.
They'd gotten complacent. They never imagined—hell, never even dreamed—I'd attempt a reckless solo dribble in this situation.
Slashing through their defense from the center, bulldozing past the midfield line and all the way to the backline... Honestly, it was a pretty reckless move. They'd probably never conceded a goal from something like this in ages. Maybe not since turning pro.
In Spain's top flight, La Liga, no one's tried a solo run like that since FC Barcelona's legend Lionel Messi. And even regular pros avoid forcing it. The odds of pulling it off against fellow professionals are slim, and failure means a tongue-lashing from the coach.
So why did I attempt that crazy breakthrough? Purely to gauge the soccer skills I'd gained from the goblin's bump. I hadn't fully grasped my own abilities yet.
That goal was the result, amplified by their complacency. Anyway, one thing I learned: "...It actually works?"
The awe-inspiring play I'd seen from the goblin in my dream. To think it could really manifest in my body against pro players. It was astonishing.
Did I not expect this level? Nah, I figured I could do it. I just didn't think it'd land on the first try.
Peep!
The game restarted. When their long-ball transition failed and we began building from the back again, I subtly shifted toward the space in front of their center-back.
After the ball went out, I overheard their center-back and the midfielder marking me chatting.
"That guy's probably gonna come barreling in like an idiot again."
"Cut him off with a foul before he gets in the box."
"Got it. If that fails, I'll cover. Stick right on him."
Hmm. My hearing sharpened up quick. Or maybe they were blabbing in Portuguese, figuring I wouldn't understand.
...But how do I even know that's Portuguese? It sounds kinda like Spanish now that I think about it. Nah, just my imagination.
Thwack!
Maurinho, receiving a throw-in, barely shook off heavy defensive pressure and fired a strong pass my way. As a Brazilian midfielder, he was showing the best ball retention under pressure so far—next to me.
I took the hard pass on my inside foot and pivoted to turn. My marker clung tight, shoving me rightward to block my path.
It was too close for a breakthrough, but I revved up anyway. Sure enough—
Thud!Peep!
They fouled immediately to stop me entering the penalty box. I could've powered through in fourth-tier ball, but at pro level? Not easy.
The physical battle was tough, but their fouling technique was elite. Cards avoided, right on the warning line. Perfect control.
Another lesson: If they commit to fouling, breakthrough odds drop. No biggie. Inducing fouls gives us set pieces—prime chances.
Nico Salaberria stepped up as kicker. I slipped into the box; their defense shoved aggressively, baiting me into a scrap inside too.
I ignored the jostling, eyes locked on Nico's kick arcing in.
Thump!
"...!"
One more thing to test.
Soccer's a sport played by eleven. Unlike basketball with five, where one dominant talent can transform a team, soccer's vast pitch makes it tough.
Of course, it's not impossible. But players who single-handedly shift momentum? They're all world-class already.
And yet... 'What the hell is that guy?'
Such a player had popped up unexpectedly on the opposing side—from La Liga 2 club AD Alcorcón.
Rayo Vallecano's manager couldn't hide his surprise staring at their number 9, Cha Tae-oh, who'd turned two shots into goals.
'Why's a player like that on that team...?'
Anyone could see it. His stage wasn't second-tier La Liga 2—it was the top flight, La Liga.
Ten minutes after his second goal, despite seeing just 25 minutes of play, the manager rated Cha Tae-oh sky-high.
He had reason. With over 30 years coaching and 15 as head manager, he'd seen elite forwards—and Cha had all their virtues.
'Beast-like yet foxy, with a predator's edge too.'
Unyielding dribbles through rough challenges. Smart play-reading for the best option for self and team. Veteran poise, never missing chances, lethal finishing.
Everything a top striker needs, Cha possessed.
Just shines attacking? Nope. Tireless pressing in defense, dropping deep to help, then surging forward with the ball.
No poacher hyena lurking at the goalmouth.
This broad influence stabilized shaky early Alcorcón. One player's play flipped the team's vibe.
25 minutes was plenty to plumb Cha Tae-oh's depths.
'No wonder he bagged 75 in 14 games in Segunda Federacion...'.
Monstrous stats in fourth tier. But when the friendly was set, the manager wasn't impressed. Two reasons: Fourth-tier scorers flop in second (under 10 goals common), and true 30+ goal pros don't slum it in semis.
He'd predicted Cha's limits would show pro-level. That prediction? Shattered spectacularly.
'Not just me.'
Top clubs scout too. 'Yet he's still at Alcorcón...'
Scouts' rigid biases probably had jaws dropping now.
'Maybe mistook him for greedy.'
The manager had too, at the 9-minute solo run. Makes sense for that dribbler to force shots.
But when Rayo's defense refocused, Cha flipped the pressure cleverly. Hence the 'fox' label.
'At this rate, we won't show what we prepped...'
Around the 28th minute. Alcorcón's build-up still raw, but confidence soared—high line, solid passing vs. early struggles.
Rayo pushed back. But...
Tok!
Overconfidence poisons. Alcorcón's high backline erred on a pass; Rayo's attack pounced for a counter.
Alcorcón's slow center-backs couldn't match Rayo's speed...
Chill!
Equalizer. Alcorcón's hot streak cooled.
Rayo regained control by the 40th. Then—
Tok!
Alcorcón's quiet right winger, Miguel Amaro, broke through for a rare threat.
But he couldn't shred defenses like Cha. Nor did he want to.
Pang!
From the penalty arc, he ditched his marker, feeding Cha perfectly positioned. Rayo's midfielder lunged...
Tok!
As if reading it, Cha's first touch spun reverse, escaping behind for a clean breakout!
Marker gone. Their center-back held position, bracing—not blocking shots—scarred by the 10-minute goal.
And that was...
Wham!
"...!"
Their misjudgment. Spotting the slight retreat near the box, Cha unleashed a mid-ranger. Left foot, no less.
Blazing shot; keeper dove, but it rocketed to the top corner—keeper's nightmare, the Yashin Zone.
Ching!
Net rippled again.
"Waaaaaa—!"
Cha slid to ecstatic Alcorcón fans on one knee. Rayo's manager watched, chuckling dryly.
"...Heh."
Almost a scoff.
AD Alcorcón's technical director, Iñigo Chapé, gnawed his nails, face darkening despite the 3-2 lead vs. a La Liga mid-table side.
He kept checking the clock, desperate for the end.
'End soon... please...'
Friendly or not, he prayed for halftime subbing Cha off.
Inevitable. Cha's display would drool over La Liga—and beyond—clubs.
'Damn... transfer window's open... no way someone triggers the buyout on this showing...?'
All plans hinged on Cha. Losing him? Catastrophic. Brain, heart, lungs, bones—gone, leaving a log.
Buyout peanuts at €1.5M. He hadn't foreseen a first-half hat-trick vs. top flight.
Anxiety lingered. Only faith in Cha's promise:
'I'll play here next season too...'
Verbal promises mean squat in business. But it was all Iñigo had.