Vieira Stands in Na Yeong-ung's Way!
"George. We're here to play football against Arsenal, not to fight the fans. Don't react."
Tomas was scolding George in English laced with his Czech accent, but one huligan with a face already flushed red taunted them.
"Hey~! Old gypsy bastard~ You speak English too? Where'd you leave your rickety wagon and violin?"
In England, they mocked Eastern Europeans as poor gypsies. Tomas glanced at the guy and flashed a sly grin. It was the seasoned poise of a player with over ten years in the English leagues.
After showing George how it was done, Tomas pulled him away. The two had grown close while manning the left flank together.
Thanks to Tomas's handling, a clash was avoided, but with the uncertainty of what the next 90 minutes might bring, the first half kicked off.
Beep—!!
West Ham supporters poured out massive jeers.
"Boooo! Die, you African gorilla bastard!"
"Ptoo! Ptoo!"
It was a protest over Vieira snapping Zola's ankle in the previous match, which had halted West Ham's early-season surge. Vieira claimed in his interview it was no intentional foul—only God and he knew the truth.
Thwump—!!
Arsenal's signature short-pass game began. Tailored to Highbury's tight pitch, their high-speed passing unfolded spectacularly across the smooth turf. At their peak form, the passes flew so fast the broadcast cameras struggled to keep up.
Whack—!!
"Whoaaaa!!"
Something astonishing happened. While Anton and Spencer blocked Pires upfront, Pennant charged from behind and nicked the ball. Pires stared at him in disbelief.
Thud—!Thwack!
Pennant passed to Carrick in the center and surged wide on the flank. Textbook tactics.
Early in the season, we'd beaten them, but Arsenal dominated while we scrambled. Today was different.
Our rock-solid organization preempted Arsenal's attacks, repeatedly countering via the flanks.
George and Tomas held the left against Ljungberg and Bergkamp.
Krraaang—!! Beep—!
The 173cm shortstack George body-slammed Bergkamp, who towered a head above him. Something cracked on impact.
"Booo! That damn potato bastard! Red card him now!"
Knowing he couldn't match Bergkamp technically, George rammed him before the Dutchman could weave his magic.
17th minute of the first half. Bergkamp stretchered off with cracked ribs—a shocker. Devastating for Arsenal at this crucial juncture.
Highbury erupted in fury.
Short and stocky with a low center of gravity, George thrived in collisions.
Van Persie subbed in for Bergkamp.
Thwump—!
A pass flew to the flustered early sub, landing awkwardly between George and Van Persie.
Flash—! Boom!!
In Korean soccer, they call this a jjongnatda—the ball dropping between two players in a duel. Head-on body clashes for possession. Riskiest moments, alongside aerial duels.
Courage wins a jjongnatda. Hesitate out of injury fear, and you lose the ball.
Papapap—!
George tore down the flank like a runaway locomotive. Arsenal's defense shifted left in panic.
Paaaang—!
Carrick took the ball and turned; Vieira and Cygan pivoted hastily. Mark Noble cut the opposite way, sowing chaos.
"Hey~~"
Papapap—!
I joined the attack for the first time today. Vieira and Cygan glared with bloodshot eyes, hungry for Bergkamp's revenge.
Thwoooong—!
Stick—
The ball clung perfectly to my right big toe on Highbury's slick grass. I kept full throttle, dribbling at max speed.
Vieira cut my path; Cygan covered passes from behind. Perfect midfield harmony.
But.
Cygan flinched at Pennant's threatening run from the right.
"Gotcha!"
Thwoong—Thud!
Stick—Paat—!
I shoved the lunging Vieira with an outstretched arm and powered forward. Cygan, delayed by Pennant, trailed.
Flinch—
I flicked my eyes right to Pennant. Cygan hesitated.
Paaat—!! Thwump—!!!
Thuuuud—!
"Uwaaaaa!!"
As we roared in joy, Arsenal fans fell silent, too stunned for boos.
"Luck's on our side today."
Impact added extra spin—grazed the post and sucked in. Peak condition.
"..."
Highbury's vibe shifted. Arsenal fans, mid-insults, shut up and stared blankly at the green pitch like zombies. They felt it too.
"We're witnessing top-tier football right now."
Arsenal hit back hard, baiting a brawl like last time. But.
Fear of rear ambushes stiffened Henry's legs. Anton and Spencer, now in sync, pressed him jointly.
Thwoong—!
Paaat—!
I snatched Henry's pass. Furious Pires lunged; I spun and shielded with my back.
Arsenal players, wary of my long balls, rushed back to position.
"Forgot something, didn't ya?"
Thwump—!!
Our left forward was all-purpose attacker Gudjohnsen.
"Whoa! No, not there!?"
Thwump—!!
No one could stay quiet. Even I, who'd launched the 70m beauty, was shocked.
Gudjohnsen, tired of spotlight hogging by right-flank Pennant, flipped and volleyed home.
"Eidur! If you're pissed, say it—why so scary? Too cool, you startled me!"
"Just thanking Arsenal for leaving me unmarked."
Gudjohnsen stayed cool despite a goal-of-the-year contender.
"George! Left! Herd 'em wide! Good job!"
Thwong—!
George hounded like a hunting dog per veteran Tomas's cues. George pressured with work rate; Tomas pounced like a hunter.
Different from the dogged Anton-Spencer right duo. I orchestrated centrally—covering defense or overlapping for counters.
Would we land the big fish Arsenal? Five minutes left.