VS Tottenham Hotspur -1
After Yoo Youngbeom headed back to Mallorca, I settled into a normal routine. On days without matches, I'd hit team training, then play with Yohan. On match days, I'd go out, score some goals, get all hyped up in celebration—and whoops! "Eat shit! Double shit!"—bam, another suspension. That everyday grind just kept repeating.
Around the time I'd racked up my personal achievement of three straight suspensions,
the UEFA Champions League Round of 16 first leg was upon us. Our opponents? Tottenham Hotspur, who miraculously snagged fourth place last season and clawed their way back into the Champions League.
Tottenham Hotspur's manager had oozed confidence, referencing Manchester United's win over Real Madrid from last season.
The Tottenham manager took a sip of water, then continued.
I watched the whole thing and slowly nodded. Everyone's got a plan... until they get punched in the face.
After the cocky Tottenham Hotspur manager wrapped up his interview, Valverde smiled leisurely into his own.
I just turned off the TV at that. Whoa. Is Valverde TV for real? He wasn't always like this. Who the hell corrupted him...?
Tottenham Hotspur Stadium. As I stepped onto the pitch, the hordes of home fans unleashed a barrage of boos.
"Booooooooo-!"
"You eat dogs in your country!"
A few particularly ignorant ones even sang dog-meat songs to mock me. I just looked at them pitifully. Hmm... Tottenham fans must not know how much Koreans love chicken. Guess I'll mention it in the post-match interview. That Koreans' favorite food is chicken, and Tottenham Hotspur is the best chicken joint I've ever tasted.
While I was lost in my own thoughts,
the ref blew the whistle to kick off. Starting in place of Iker Bravo, Jesus Gonzalez launched into ferocious forward pressure with his endless energy.
Ever since the Mallorca game, Jesus Gonzalez looked like he'd busted through a wall. His rapid improvement was earning him a starting spot.
Iker Bravo's veteran skills were still sharper, but at his age, who knew when the aging curve would hit and drop him off a cliff? So Valverde had pegged Jesus Gonzalez as his replacement.
Jesus Gonzalez himself—with me owning striker and Roberto Fabian currently on the right wing but able to play striker as a multi-position guy—accepted the manager's pitch and switched to left wing.
Anyway, in this Tottenham match, Jesus Gonzalez quickly proved why he's a prime candidate to captain Real Madrid's Kimchi Pirates next.
Under Jesus Gonzalez's relentless pressure, Tottenham Hotspur's right midfielder Shiba Geiske fumbled the ball on a touch.
"Shimata!!"
Jesus Gonzalez pounced on the mistake. The moment Real Madrid saw him snag it, they flipped to counterattack.
I worked to slip the defenders' gaze.
"Fuck!! Block that punk kid first!!"
And it paid off. Tottenham players, unused to marking me, fixated on Jesus Gonzalez breaking into the box.
"Fuck!! Check Jesus's position, you bastards!!"
From the touchline, manager Jo Wright exploded in rage. By the time Tottenham spotted me, it was too late.
Jesus Gonzalez floated an ambiguous shot-cross. I sprinted in and nodded it goalward for the score.
"Fuck off!"
After netting it, I thanked the Real Madrid away fans who'd traveled to Tottenham Hotspur Stadium with their favorite celebration.
"Siuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"
While Real Madrid fans roared, the home crowd sat stunned after conceding in the 10th minute. I gazed at them, self-reflecting.
'Ah. Shoulda prepped some chicken to munch on.'
Stupid me, I'd visited an English chicken shop but forgot the chicken-eating celly.
"Ha... Jesus, you've lost your edge."
Guess repeating that normal routine dulled my senses.