First A-Match (7)
The broadcast camera swept over the sea of red blanketing Sangam World Cup Stadium.
"So many of our soccer fans have come out today to watch this match."
"It's such a crucial game. We're just one point ahead of third-place Qatar, so we desperately need a win today. And with this kind of fan support... it'll give the players a huge boost."
The lively atmosphere settled briefly. Then, as both teams' players marched onto the pitch, a thunderous roar erupted from the stands. At the same time, the broadcast screen displayed the starting lineups for both sides.
GK: Choi Jin-yong
Back Four: Jeon Se-hyeon, Park Ju-won, Oh Seong-jin, Lee Han-min
Midfield: Kim Min-woo, Im Tae-han, Ha Sang-yoon
Wings: Lee Hyun-jun, Moon Tae-seong
Striker:Cha Tae-oh
"With Jeong Hoon-won out injured, Busan's Hong In-soo was called up as a replacement, but Incheon's Ha Sang-yoon gets the start in midfield."
"Changes up top too, right?"
"Yes. Cha Tae-oh, who's been called up to the national team for the first time, starts today. Ryu Sang-heon started last A-match, but coach Joao Martins has sprung this surprise."
"What do you make of starting Cha Tae-oh?"
"I'm really looking forward to it. Beyond his incredible scoring instinct at Alcorcon, his physicality and shooting are top-notch. He's a complete forward. This season, he's broken through packed defenses and exploited high lines alike."
The broadcast screen then revealed Iran's starting lineup. Once the caster finished, the commentator highlighted key players.
"Iran can secure World Cup qualification with just a point today. Expect them to park the bus and lock down the box, but don't sleep on their attack."
"They're the top scorers in the group right now, aren't they?"
"Yes. Several of their overseas stars are attackers, like this guy on screen: Hamed Mousavi."
"We struggled against him last time."
"Spot on. His individual skill and dribbling gave Jeon Se-hyeon fits. Won't be easy today, but we need him contained."
Hamed Mousavi was the obvious counterattack spark for Iran—they'd collapse deep, but he'd carry the ball forward with his speed and dribbling.
"Watch their two strikers too."
Wolverhampton striker Ramin Hadadi from the Premier League.
SL Benfica's starting striker from Portugal's top flight, Esan Alinezad.
"Especially Esan Alinezad. He was last season's Eredivisie top scorer in the Netherlands. Now at Benfica, he's leading the scoring charts again."
"Strong in the air, shoots with both feet, great physique."
"Dangerous. Only weakness is his pace. If we lead, Iran will push for an equalizer—that's when he'll shine."
"Our defense can't lose focus. Ramin Hadadi's quick too, right?"
"Faster than physical. Plays as a striker but loves cutting in from wide. Expect him and Mousavi to lead counters."
With the attack covered, the commentator turned to Iran's defense.
"We need a win—no draws. That means beating these two: Saeid Hosseini and Mohammad Salehi."
Fulham defensive midfielder from the Premier League, Saeid Hosseini.
Fenerbahçe center-back from Turkey's Süper Lig giants, Mohammad Salehi.
"Fans know these guys well."
"Their presence was massive last time. Hosseini plays CB for Iran despite being a DM—elite defending. Salehi too. Our attackers were bullied; still stings."
"Now it's on Cha Tae-oh to break their physicality."
"Exactly. Joao Martins starts him to win those duels up top. Better physique than Ryu Sang-heon or Jo Jun-seop."
The explanations wrapped up, national anthems played. Then players sprinted to position. The ref blew the whistle.
Piiiip!
"Kickoff!"
Waaaaaah!
Thunderous cheers filled the stadium once more.
"You'll start against Iran."
When I first heard that, I wasn't surprised. Felt inevitable. Jo Jun-seop's a super-sub striker, leaving Ryu Sang-heon as my only rival—and I'd outshone him in training. Coach Joao Martins could've stuck with familiarity, but he didn't. Calling up young prospect Hong In-soo over veterans said it all.
"I reviewed all your Alcorcon games this season. You drop deep to the second or third line a lot."
Coach Joao Martins was firm.
"Don't do that here. Stay in the box, battle their defense. Iran will park the bus. If you drop, no one's fighting in there but you."
At AD Alcorcon, I dropped for two reasons: no one to break lines, and to boost team cohesion. National team? Different beast. Only 5-6 camps a year—no time for rhythm like weekly club games. That's why lineups stay stable; changes kill organization. Plus, it's all elites—peak players per position.
"We'll cross aggressively. You head as many shots as possible. Not just headers—any ball in the box, shoot."
Coach Joao Martins added,
"You don't shoot enough at Alcorcon. No need here. Fire 20 shots, score zero? Fine. But you'll score off 20. That's how I rate you."
"Got it."
"If we're ahead, stay high. Iran pushes for a tie—you drop for counters. Focus on attack only."
Those were coach Joao Martins' orders. And following them...
"Re-puhb-lic of Ko-re-a!"
Clap-clap! Clap-clap-clap!
"Re-puhb-lic of Ko-re-a!"
Clap-clap! Clap-clap-clap!
...in my first A-match, against Iran. Unlike at AD Alcorcon, I fixated solely on scoring.
"Don't hesitate—switch play wide!"
"Keep talking! Call positions!"
Early game. Iran did exactly as expected: Ramin Hadadi and Hamed Mousavi slightly advanced, the other eight (keeper excluded) in a double-bank bus.
We focused on wide play—crosses for headers or wing breakthroughs. Iran ignored our flanks. Committing out wide thinned their box. Better to let us build there, block entries.
"That 18's nothing special."
"Don't chase wide. Let him cross. We'll clear."
"Hold position! They can't do shit."
My translation skill shines here. Their chatter hit my ears in perfect Korean. Number 18? Me. Saeid Hosseini, one of their CBs—5cm taller, DM by trade with good feet, per Carlos Orta's scouting. 'Bed football' pioneer: shameless fouls, three late-game flops last match to kill tempo. Adds stoppage time, but disrupts flow.
Today, no lying down like it's home turf. For that, I need one thing.
Goals.
Thwack!
First 10 minutes: two crosses from the right. I leaped, but quality lacking. La Liga 2 defenders? Iran a cut above. Mohammad Salehi, near-190cm, dominated physically too.
"...Just one good kicker..."
That frustration lingered to the 18th minute.
Beep!
Moon Tae-seong's right-wing run earned a corner. Taker: Kim Min-woo, our set-piece ace (coaches ignored my kicks). I dropped to the penalty arc edge per training. An Iranian clung tight, handsy—I shoved him off hard.
"Agh!"
Not that hard, but he flopped. Ref carded me. Cross-eyed? Shook it off, ignored him. Stick to the plan.
Kim Min-woo raised his hand. I feinted into the crowd...
Thwack!
Ball arced to the box—I cut front. Captain Im Tae-han screened my marker perfectly. Free as a bird. Just connect.
Thud!
I exploded upward, neck tensed, forehead meeting ball clean. Their clear attempt whiffed. Sphere smacked my brow; brain rattled. Shot bound for near post top corner.
Keeper stretched desperately. In that split second, fists clenched, I glanced at Kim Min-woo.
I knew without looking. This header...
Sploosh!
"...!"
...was perfect. Even a reincarnated Lev Yashin couldn't stop it.