The Boy Who Turned Boos into Cheers
The Premier League, one of the most popular leagues on the planet, always draws massive attention. The opening matches that kick off a new season draw even more. Naturally, the 2013/14 season openers had soccer fans around the world glued to their screens.
Among them, the fixtures involving powerhouses like Liverpool and Arsenal commanded the lion’s share of the spotlight.
And yet.
The moment those opening matches ended, every scrap of that attention swung toward one boy.
A young kid who had started and debuted in Southampton FC’s match against West Bromwich Albion.
That a mere sixteen-year-old prospect had reproduced the monstrous form he showed at the U-20 World Cup on the greatest stage of all—the Premier League—became an absolute firestorm among soccer fans.
On top of that, Jung Hyuk’s celebration, which had delivered a clear warning message to his own club’s supporters, became a massive talking point in its own right.
And so.
After successfully wrapping up his debut, Jung Hyuk returned to the digs, spent time stretching and massaging his legs, then settled in front of the TV to rest. He trained harder than anyone and poured sweat like a madman when he worked, but when it was time to rest he rested properly—that was Jung Hyuk’s philosophy.
That was when Oh Jung-hoon started circling around like he had something to say. He kept pacing without managing to open his mouth.
Eventually Jung Hyuk, still watching TV, smiled and asked.
“Something up? Why are you so restless?”
“Huh? Ah, no.”
“What? You’ve got something to say, don’t you? It’s fine, spit it out.”
When Jung Hyuk pressed again, Oh Jung-hoon unleashed everything he’d been holding back.
“Hyuk, what the hell was that performance today? Those dribbles where you toyed with their defense, and especially that speed—what was that? You weren’t that fast before! Seriously, what happened? Whoa! I thought I was watching Michael Owen out there!”
Under the machine-gun barrage of questions Jung Hyuk scratched his forehead. There wasn’t much he could say in a situation like this. He couldn’t exactly admit he’d dumped all his saved points into it.
So he just deflected.
“Owen? Come on. I just ran like my life depended on it and somehow ended up faster. And you know how much speed work I do normally.”
“Whoa…… I want to call that complete nonsense, but looking at you I have no choice but to believe it. You really do hammer the speed training…… Anyway, I knew you were good, but the more I watch the more I’m blown away! West Brom’s players couldn’t do a single thing in front of you.”
“……I just worked hard and the results came out nice.”
“Holy crap! And humble on top of it? Hey! Don’t do that. Zero human warmth.”
“Stop pumping me up. People around me are already hyping me so much it’s getting stressful.”
“Pumping you up?! Dude! You scored three and assisted three! On your debut! Whoa……! How can someone who just put on a performance that insane stay this calm? If I’d done what you did I wouldn’t sleep for a whole day!”
“……Let’s just eat.”
Jung Hyuk headed for the table, determined to end the embarrassing conversation right there.
Except.
“Hyuk, that dribble you used to beat McAuley earlier……”
Park Young-nam, apron still on, brought the match talk right back up.
“……Food first.”
The day after the opener, Southampton FC’s players trained as usual. With the new season underway, not a single day of training could be wasted.
Mauricio Pochettino had, however, dialed the intensity down considerably from preseason levels. He had no choice. The Premier League was infamous for its brutal schedule, and this season was packed with fixtures as well. Even clubs with deep squads for rotation found themselves running on fumes by the final stretch. For a relatively small club like Southampton FC, managing fitness had to be an even higher priority.
Of course it was never as easy as it sounded. Soccer always carried the variable of injury, and individual players could run into personal issues at any time.
Even in that difficult situation, Pochettino’s expression stayed bright.
Because he could see hope.
An absolute treasure just walked through the door.
His gaze settled on Jung Hyuk, who was taking part in training with a completely calm face.
He put on a performance that massive on debut and he isn’t rattled in the slightest.
Young players who get slammed by the media usually get overexcited. Some even turn arrogant. So what was this?
A sixteen-year-old kid was acting like nothing special had happened—despite the unbelievable display he’d just put on. He never bragged about his own performance. He stayed humble at all times.
Yet he wasn’t timid either. The Jung Hyuk Pochettino saw was always composed and confident. His English was excellent, so communication with the squad was never an issue. With the language barrier gone, giving tactical instructions became far easier.
Naturally, a player like Jung Hyuk was the kind any manager would love to have.
And more than that.
The pressure must have been crushing, yet he still delivered.
Some players look great in training but freeze in real matches. Others look ordinary in training yet transform the moment they step onto the pitch. Jung Hyuk was excellent in both.
Watching him, Pochettino settled on a single word.
Genius. That kid is a genuine genius.
Genius. Nothing else explained it. He had adapted to the team within days of arriving. After the long gap of the U-20 World Cup he had returned and slotted straight back in. No—Jung Hyuk had come back even better.
And on top of that.
A genius who works hard.
Pochettino looked at Jung Hyuk with a faintly helpless expression. Jung Hyuk was a hardworking genius. First to arrive at the training ground, last to leave. A player with transcendent talent who still trained harder than anyone else on the squad.
And so Pochettino thought:
With Jung Hyuk here, we might achieve something even bigger.
In this season where he was building the team in his own style, they might accomplish far more than the goals he had originally set. They might even push Southampton FC into the top five.
The contented smile on Pochettino’s face grew brighter still. His gaze shifted to another new arrival.
Oh Jung-hoon. That kid is growing at an insane rate too.
Oh Jung-hoon was also an extraordinary player. For a sixteen-year-old his physique was almost incomprehensible, and his athletic ability sat at an elite level. He was exactly the kind of player with clear, decisive strengths that Pochettino preferred.
Jung-hoon is still in Hyuk’s shadow for now, but it won’t be long before he starts shining on his own.
His talent was already outstanding, and he trained nearly as hard as Jung Hyuk. Pochettino knew players like that eventually made it big. As long as he avoided serious injury, he would become an elite player without much trouble.
I should start giving Oh Jung-hoon chances soon as well.
The Premier League is full of teams. Some finished last season strongly and are aiming for the upper half in 2013/14. Others simply want to avoid relegation.
Sunderland belonged to the latter group. In 2012/13 their only goal had been survival, and they had scraped it by the thinnest of margins.
Naturally, manager Paolo Di Canio no longer enjoyed the fans’ support. At the same time the club was applying heavy pressure.
As a player Di Canio had been known as the madman of Italy. His temper was legendary. Kicking opponents was routine; he had even shoved a referee who tried to send him off. Becoming a manager had not softened him. He still got into physical scrapes with opposing players and regularly made headlines with his foul-mouthed rants.
That same Di Canio was now red-faced and screaming at his squad.
“Goddamn it! What the hell are you lot doing?!”
He was furious. His position was already shaky after last season’s results. His pride had taken a hit. He had promised a different showing this year, only to deliver a pathetic performance and a loss in the opener against Fulham FC.
“This can’t continue. We win the next match no matter what!”
Di Canio’s face twisted with manic intensity. He gathered the players and roared.
“If you lose the next game, don’t even think about coming back to the team. I never want to see that disgusting performance from the opener again!”
The players’ faces hardened under the verbal assault. Di Canio didn’t care.
“From now on anyone who doesn’t run like a dog won’t start. You understand me? The next match is the limit of my patience. Show me! Show me why you’re getting paid to play football!”
Finished with the tirade, Di Canio stormed off the training pitch. He walked into his office, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and called for a coach.
Creak.
“Boss.”
“Alan. Next opponents are Southampton, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mauricio Pochettino’s team…… Losing to that wet-behind-the-ears manager is something that simply cannot happen. Agreed?”
“……Yes.”
“Prepare thoroughly. We do not lose. By any means necessary! Break their legs if you have to! We take the three points no matter what. Understood?”
“……Understood.”
“Alan, you’re responsible for whipping those idiots outside into shape. If we don’t get results this season, you won’t survive either. You know that, right?”
“……Yes.”
“Get out.”
Hooo. Di Canio exhaled a long stream of smoke. As he stared at the analysis packet on Southampton FC, a crooked smile spread across his face.