Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Estadio de la Romareda (1)
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The grass was still damp from the morning rain.
With the 14th-round match against Zaragoza looming in early November, Coach Pepe dove into set-piece drills with the defenders.
I was at the opposite goal, paired with Pedri for shooting practice.
“I don’t know if I’ll get to play in the next one.”
“Why not?”
“My condition’s just not there.”
Pedri’s face darkened slightly as he spoke. It must’ve been because Viera had been starting more lately, pushing him out of the lineup.
“Everyone has off days.”
“Viera’s been too good. You know he’s the second-highest scorer on the team after you?”
“How many?”
“Five.”
It was a bit surprising, but not enough to get down about.
Viera was older and at the peak of his powers as an attacking midfielder. From my perspective, it was only natural.
“You’re with Las Palmas. You’ll be back on the pitch in no time.”
“If I don’t play for Las Palmas, being on the Barcelona roster doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Kim! Pedri! Focus!”
Lost in conversation for a moment, we drew a sharp rebuke from goalkeeping coach José Yepes.
At the coach’s urging, we resumed shooting drills. My instep curl bent left, slamming into the post with a clang before ricocheting away.
My shooting touch was sharp. I was in good form.
Pedri’s turn next. His powerful shot smacked into Domínguez Alejandro’s gloves and bounced harmlessly away.
“Pedri.”
“Yeah.”
“Your body’s a mess.”
Pedri let out a small sigh and jogged over to José Yepes near the penalty box. His shooting motion had been unstable. While Pedri got feedback from the coach, Castro sidled up beside me.
“What’s his deal again?”
“Says his soccer’s off.”
“Hmm. That’s always a tough one.”
“Yeah. Castro?”
“Yeah?”
“Heard Viera scored five while I was out?”
“Yeah, he’s been in great shape.”
“What about you, Castro?”
Something must’ve been off in my Spanish, because an enraged Castro grabbed me by the throat—not too hard. I didn’t think I’d said anything rude. Guess I’ll ask Uncle Bari later.
The scrimmage continued. Coach Pepe and assistant coach Lijo wore grave expressions. Even to me, both defenses looked a total shambles.
It wasn’t big individual errors leading to goals; the lines were disjointed, failing to cover spaces properly and giving up chance after chance.
“Aitami! Focus!”
“Ramos! Pick a lane—hold the line or man-mark, just one!”
“It’s open again!”
The assistant coach’s groans played like background music.
I slipped between the broken defensive line and just had to tap the ball in. Martínez charged out, but it would’ve been harder to miss.
No cheers with the defense in ruins. Everyone in the scrimmage was worried about the 14th round against Real Zaragoza, right around the corner.
* * *
November 4, 2019. Real Zaragoza’s home ground, Estadio de la Romareda.
The open stadium, painted in blue and sky tones on all sides, was packed with fans. Not bad condition after a three-hour flight.
I took my place behind the Las Palmas squad, lined up in formation. My first league start in the Segunda División. The forwards ahead entered the pitch one by one, escorted by kids, fading from view.
A Real Zaragoza player next to me said something, but it got lost in the roaring crowd noise.
Cool weather.
After handshakes, we headed to our positions for kickoff. Near the halfway line, Viera settled in and muttered briefly.
“Let’s win.”
“Sí.”
Today’s Las Palmas tactic was a 4-4-1-1: four defenders, four midfielders, with Viera and me up top. My preferred central striker spot.
Coach Pepe had told us to swap positions freely and tear into their backline.
No high line planned, so he seemed to expect an attack build-up similar to the Huesca match.
The referee’s whistle blew, and the LaLiga 2 14th round was underway.
Number 26, the opposing striker, passed backward. Suárez. The Zaragoza forward on loan from Watford had notched 7 goals and 8 assists last year on loan at Gimnàstic in LaLiga 2.
The analyst’s desperate warning—not to underestimate the 21-year-old—rang fresh. Hope central defenders Aitami and Ramos could handle him.
“Íñigo!”
Left-central midfielder Fabio González stole the ball with help defense. I dropped near the halfway line for the receive, and right on cue, González swung his foot.
The rough pass grazed past my leg. I’d felt it on my toe—such a shame.
Per Pepe’s orders, no high press. The key was to hit them hard once they crossed halfway.
“Guti!”
“González!”
Early in the first half, calls crisscrossed the pitch.
A fierce battle for midfield control. As the ball came into our half, I stuck to Zaragoza’s overlapping wing-back, Nieto.
Las Palmas wing-back Alex Suárez would take over the man-marking, but I had to engage until then.
A thud—shoulder blades collided, pain shooting up. Starters definitely had better physical maturity than me. My shoulder got shoved back first.
Lucky the ball-possessing midfielder didn’t pass right away.
“Alex! Watch your mark!”
I yelled at Alex Suárez and signaled with my hand before our eyes finally met.
Was he not focused? He brushed it off half-heartedly and chased the ball flying opposite, shifting to a new defensive spot.
With intense central midfield tussles, right winger Srnić joined in, leaving Zaragoza’s left-back unmarked. Couldn’t just drop back with a counter looming.
What to choose.
Kirian Rodríguez cut out a ball flying into our left zone. De la Bella’s long ground pass went through Viera’s touch to me.
Before Zaragoza’s Guti and Egura could close the spaces on either side, I slipped it through to Viera again.
Small mercy: the attack line looked sharp.
Past the opposing midfielder, nearing the penalty box edge, defenders suddenly swarmed Viera. Kirian Rodríguez, pushing up, came alongside and took the ball.
Then De la Bella’s cross into the box off Kirian’s back-pass.
Smooth build-up like flowing water, but my lack of aerial presence doomed it.
Sure enough, the cross sailed past me, trapped between center-backs, and Zaragoza’s fullback cleared long into our half.
Ah.
The ball, off Íñigo’s head, bounced far behind the last defensive line.
Zaragoza striker Suárez raced for it as Aitami raised his hand, but no flag. Onside.
Tricky spot—goalkeeper Martínez rushed out empty-handed. He misjudged the angle, leaving the left post wide open.
Fans at Zaragoza’s Estadio de la Romareda leaped up. Felt like a blue wave crashing.
“It’s okay! Take it slow!”
Aitami rallied the defensive line. First-half 11th minute, and they’d taken the lead.
While Suárez celebrated with teammates, we each steadied ourselves.
16th minute, first half. Penalty box front: Viera’s shot grazed over the bar. Game stayed tight post-concession.
Las Palmas attacks stayed dangerous—no second goal was the only break. Problem was Zaragoza matched it.
A few away fans clapped wildly for Martínez’s save.
His reflexes never ceased to amaze. He fingertipped away Egura’s midfield cannon of a long-range shot.
“Wake up! Mark’s open!”
“Number 27! Who’s on 27!”
Before defensive chaos settled, a corner kick followed. Ramos headed it clear, but Zaragoza’s midfielder regained it. A bit farther from the box.
Íñigo and González filled gaps, pressing. The ball off González’s shin deflected toward the box mouth.
Among players bursting out, number 17—Zaragoza left wing-back Nieto—latched onto it amid the unmarked defenders.
Ramos and Aitami scrambled back, but Nieto, calm beyond belief for a defender, took two touches, entered the box, and unleashed.
“Eyeee—!”
“Great job!”
Nieto sprinted to the corner flag, arms wide. Players’ faces darkened.
19th minute, first half. 2-0.
Too sharp an attack from Zaragoza to call it luck, and our defense was a disaster.