Seesaw Game Beyond Goals
The seesaw game wasn't just about trading goals.
"Everyone, push up!"
Our midfield spread out to the flanks and penetrated. Wenger and Pires couldn't break into the center.
Thwung—thud—!
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Arsenal's giant was on the march again. Vieira handed Zola's mark off to Gilberto and charged at me. The intimidation radiating from Vieira overwhelmed even Makelele or Roy Keane. It was the kind of presence that could haunt your dreams.
Whoosh—thwuuung—!
I deliberately played the ball to Vieira's weaker left side and engaged him. Shoving with my shoulder to get under his skin, then bursting past his net with a sudden acceleration... or so I thought.
A spider-like arm shot out long and snatched me back.
Paaat—! Kuuuung—!
Tweeeet—!
"Nice."
I got up, brushed the dirt and grass off my kit, and didn't forget to flash Vieira a smile.
"..."
He realized he'd been had and twisted his face into a scowl. I'd slowed my dribble on purpose to lure him in, then circled to his weak left foot and accelerated. I'd baited him into using his hands in panic.
"He won't risk aggressive defending anymore."
Vieira picking up a card early in the first half was huge. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was half of Arsenal's defensive strength.
"Block that damn kid!"
Smack—smack—whoosh—Arsenal players shoved me with their hands and barged me with their shoulders.
"Hey now! You lot want to get sent off in the first half? Calm down~ I won't bite."
"That little brat..."
I was the player Arsenal's defense feared most. Campbell, Toure, and Vieira surrounded me from three angles.
Feels like I'm trapped in the Wailing Wall.
I shoved through the three of them and retreated outside the box. That's when Zola whipped in the free kick.
Whiiiirrr—!
Pabababat—!!
As I leaped forward, Arsenal's defenders desperately jumped with me for the aerial duel. But.
Zola's free kick sailed over my head.
Shwaaaaaak—!
For this Arsenal match, we'd focused hardest on the five-back system in defense, and set pieces for attack. Against Arsenal's powerhouse physical defenders, Anton and I would draw the aggro while Jermain slipped in the back door to cut their throats—that pattern we'd drilled relentlessly.
"United! United!"
Jermain's beauty of a goal set the stadium ablaze. The Boiled Ground erupted more wildly than a rock concert.
"..."
After conceding first, Arsenal's eyes changed. They hadn't lost a single game from last season until now. Defeat was alien to them; the DNA of winners was etched into their bones.
The price of flipping their victory DNA switch was brutal. Arsenal players' eyes blazed as they stormed our half. Henry took the ball and started dribbling—like he was out for a leisurely stroll.
"Compact defending—hold the line!"
Our five-back fired up the practiced system. Henry always got double-marked minimum. But.
Thwung—thud—thwuuung—!
Henry slinked toward our goal. His dribble wasn't even that fast, but Anton, Spencer—no one could stick to him.
"Damn it!"
I left Bergkamp to rush Henry. Smooth as silk, he nudged the ball forward and slipped to my right. No fancy skill—just like the pitch had frozen and only Henry could move, pure magic.
Whiiiirrrr—!
Shwaaaak—!
"Yeong-ung! If even you lose Henry, we're done! Anyone else maybe, but you had to mark him!"
"..."
I had no comeback for keeper Alex's criticism. The other West Ham players couldn't hide their stunned looks either. We'd grinded a set-piece goal through practice, and Arsenal just... poached one with Henry's individual brilliance.
I'll pay back this humiliation for sure.
We needed an Arsenal-like switch too. A steely mentality to hit right back when struck, rooted deep in the team. To become a powerhouse for the ages.
Thwuuuung—!
As expected, Gilberto came instead of Vieira. Overshadowed by Vieira, but this guy was a monster defensive midfielder too.
Thwung—whoosh—!
I switched directions toward Wenger on the flank. Gilberto was smart—knowing I used both feet, he cut off my right passing lane and pressed. The moment Wenger closed in from the front for support.
Thwuuuung—!
Carrick trapped the ball rolling along the line and spun.
"Woooaaahhh!"
I ghosted empty through Wenger and Gilberto's net. Carrick's pass rolled from the flank right into my path.
Whiiiiiirrrrr—!
To put topspin perpendicular on a rolling ball, you have to read the spin perfectly. I swung my right foot hard into the top third of the ball. The clean rotation sent it screaming in a parabola like a cannonball, dropping into the box. It bounced forward with ferocious speed.
Shwaaaak—!
After the goal, I sprinted to the stands and leaped high. Teammates swarmed in ecstasy, sharing the joy.
"Focus! Stay sharp! They'll hit back right away! Don't give up the momentum—hold 'em off this time!"
I calmed the hyped-up squad.
Tweeeet—!
The game restarted, and my fear became reality in just five minutes.
I battled Bergkamp in the air. Per practice, Anton, Tomas, and Spencer should have had Henry and Pires covered. But.
Whiiiiiirrr—!
Shwaaaak—!
"Why the hell are you up here!?"
The game spiraled into chaos. After conceding to tie it again, West Ham rushed forward.
Dribbling, I eyed Zola next to Vieira. He caught my glance signal and dropped back.
Vieira and Gilberto stood side-by-side guarding Arsenal's midfield. Their coverage and work rate outdid most teams' three mids. That's why Wenger could hold midfield with two, freeing Henry and Bergkamp with the extra man.
"We're exploiting the two-mids' weakness."
In modern soccer, the base for pressing is three. Attack or defense, the triangle formation is most effective. No matter how elite Vieira and Gilberto were, without cloning jutsu, two mids inevitably leave gaps. The biggest gap comes when they're stacked vertically.
After my long-range sizzler, Arsenal tensed as I invaded their half. Gilberto pushed up to block me—just as planned, making the Vieira-Gilberto line vertical.
Whiiiiiirrr—!
"Leave Na Yeong-ung to me!" Vieira bellowed.
As scripted, Zola, Mark, and Carrick pinged 2v1 passes, crumbling the vertical midfield line. The ironclad Arsenal engine room shattered—fans exploded.
Carrick took Mark's pass and fed advancing Zola, who one-touched it back to Mark.
Smack—I dove into the box, but Vieira stretched an arm to block. Paat—! I shrugged it off and burrowed in. Vieira chased after.
"Gotcha!"
Zola exploited the gap Vieira left.
Whiiiiiirrrr—!!
Shwaaaak—!
Zola's left-footed curler drew a gorgeous arc straight into the Arsenal net. Time froze as it flew.
Zola's strike sent the crowd into anarchy. They hugged and cheered like we'd already won.
"..."
Arsenal's passion meter spiked higher. The seesaw wasn't just goals anymore. Grit and fire intensified, teetering on the edge where anything could explode.
Tweeeet—!