Let Not Thy Left Hand Know What Thy Right Hand Doeth - 2
To his three-year-old son Yohan (in Korean age), Dad Jesus was an amazing guy. Playing matches in front of crowds of people. And all those folks cheering for Dad and loving him. It was only natural that Yohan, growing up watching that, would want to become a soccer player just like his dad.
"Dadaaa— great at soccer!"
Yohan, glued to the TV watching Jesus play soccer, let out a startled hiiik! at the sound of Mom's voice from the kitchen and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yohan, let's drink some milk."
Milk was Yohan's most hated food. When calling Yohan got no response, Yuna walked out of the kitchen.
Seeing Yohan pretending to sleep with his eyes clamped shut, Yuna said in a voice way too loud for a mutter to herself.
"Is Yohan sleeping?"
"Yeah—! Yohan sleep!"
"Then Yohan can't be like Dad, huh? To become a soccer player, you gotta grow tall and handsome…."
At Mom's words, Yohan's squeezed-shut eyes snapped open. Meeting Mom's gaze, Yohan started rolling his eyes around. Then he stared right at Mom's eyes and put on some awkward acting.
"Yawwwn—! Yohan do like this! Milk please!"
"Pfft! Yohan, you gotta finish all this milk? That's how you get good at soccer like Dad."
Yohan nodded glumly at Yuna's words. As Yohan started sipping the milk slowly, Jesus scored a goal. Seeing Jesus run to the corner flag, Song Yuna slyly turned off the TV.
Suddenly the TV went silent. Yohan, mid-sip, jumped in surprise. Turning to look, a black screen greeted him.
"Euuuh—! Dadaaa—!"
Wearing a panicked face, Yohan whipped his head around looking for the remote. His eyes locked onto the remote in Mom's hand.
"I'll turn it on once Yohan finishes it all!"
At Mom's words, Yohan chugged the milk down in one go. Glug glug. He stared hard. Ignoring Yohan's desperate pleading eyes, Mom slowly turned the TV back on.
The screen showed Real Sociedad players in white-and-blue striped uniforms preparing for kickoff.
With Jesus' celebration ending, Yohan burst into tears. Fury filling him, Yohan's soft little palm started smacking Yuna's thigh.
Smack!Smack!
"Waaah! Maaa—! Hate you!"
"Vamos!! Focus!!"
Thinking Yohan might be watching, he'd gone with a plain celebration. Enjoying the equalizer joy with his teammates, he heard Ricardo urging his Real Sociedad players to step it up.
Ricardo Dus Santos. Right now, just a talented prospect not widely known yet, but in the distant future, a puzzle piece in Brazil's World Cup-winning national team.
Originally, he should be kicking a ball around at Sao Paulo by now. For some reason, he was playing for Real Sociedad instead.
"This because of me too?"
Life sure ain't easy. Was starting out at a big club such a deadly sin? Just how far did this butterfly effect reach?
Unfair thoughts shoved aside for now, as Ricardo approached, he focused on the game. With a "Do you believe in the Way?" smile, he politely presented negotiation terms to Ricardo.
"Hand over the ball nice and easy, and there won't be any bloodshed."
"…"
The guy clamped his mouth shut and tried to break through him. He used non-violent means to steal the ball.
"Aaaak—!"
To the Brazilian's samba-dance-like rhythmic dribbling, he showed off Korea's pride, Taekwondo. A clean hit to Ricardo's thigh. The dribbling guy couldn't hold back the pain and crumpled to the ground. As Ricardo went down, the ref blew the whistle right away.
Tweeeet—!
Only then did he admit his mistake. 'Ah… that was way too obvious.'
Expecting maybe a yellow at worst, the ref came over and just gave a verbal warning.
"Too rough. Show some restraint."
He raised both hands to the ref in apology. Then patted Ricardo's shoulder on the ground to ask if he was okay.
No card for that? La Liga refs were starting to feel like EPL refs.
"Charlie Stone and Adam Stone would love this."
What if those two bastards came to La Liga too? Damn, just imagining it was nightmare fuel.
The Real Sociedad vs. Real Madrid match grew rougher as time passed. Team fight spirits and the ref's inconsistent calls surely played a part. But no one could deny the biggest share went to Jesus.
As Ricardo got the ball, Jesus blocked him with the smile of a good shepherd. In the tense standoff, Jesus spoke.
"If you hand over the ball nice and easy…."
Before he could finish, Ricardo booted it and ran. Ricardo charging with his ponytail whipping side to side caught his eye. Suddenly, Charlie Adam's words popped into Jesus' head. "Miss the ball, but never miss the man." To follow Coach Charlie Adam's wisdom etched deep in his heart, he straight-up grabbed the running Ricardo's ponytail.
"Puta!!!!"
Ricardo collapsing to the ground clutching his head hit the big screen. Jesus shook the hairs off his hand. He put on an innocent face toward the approaching ref. The ref gave him a yellow.
Relief washed over Real Madrid players since it wasn't red. Real Sociedad players got heated and protested to the ref.
As the ref's face hardened, victim Ricardo calmed his teammates.
"Vamos! I'm fine! Focus on the game!"
And soon after, the halftime whistle blew.
I returned to striker right at second half kickoff. Not my idea—Valverde's orders.
Bit of a shame, but whatever. Good enough. Ricardo flinched the second I got close. Guess losing that hair hit hard.
Anyway. Back at striker, bam—reversal goal. Tamed Ricardo. Snagged a fresh yellow card for the Real Madrid Jesus Museum.
Solid results.
Before subbing out, I went to Ricardo, patted his head like "good job," and chanted the magic words.
"Grow, hair grow!"
Even with the magic spell, Ricardo's lost hairs didn't regrow. Damn….
Match end. Copa del Rey quarterfinal leg 1. Real Madrid 2 : 1 Real Sociedad.