Pohang Irons (2)

As a footballer you end up playing every kind of match imaginable, but the ones ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that really grind you down are always the ones with something massive hanging over them.

Finals with a title on the line. Playoffs that decide relegation. Champions League ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠qualification. Or those Split rounds where one result decides whether you finish in the upper half or the lower half.

Matches where both manager and players clench their teeth and prepare like mad because losing would be a genuine disaster.

Our K League Round 34 clash with Pohang had exactly that feeling.

Pohang had already half-given up on the league title, so they were desperate to lock down a top-three finish and at least grab a Champions League spot. On our side, even a loss wouldn’t have been catastrophic, but if we wanted to walk into the upcoming Ulsan match with any real peace of mind, winning here was the smarter play.

Maybe that was why.

“Hyung. Yeah, the weather’s gone completely insane and it’s getting cold, but do you really have to cling to me like this? I’m a Yang-type, so I run hot, sure—but not hot enough to share.”

“What the hell kind of nonsense is this kid spouting now? Yi-an, focus on the damn game. We don’t need a war of nerves right here, do we?”

I was being a gentleman and this is the thanks I get?

The second the match kicked off, Pohang’s players came flying at us with a ferocity that was already getting on my nerves.

Whether their manager had decided they needed to seize the initiative early or the players were simply drawing on hard-earned know-how, the moment the ball started rolling they were already finding pockets of space and driving us backward.

Yeah, these bastards really do belong in this league. They can play.

Most teams that face us set up to defend first and counter. Against Pohang, though, we always seemed to start the match already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠under the cosh.

Maybe after facing us earlier in the season they’d concluded that half-hearted build-up play would never punch through our counter-press. Or maybe they were trying to punish the asymmetric 3-4-3 we’d brought out specifically to overload and isolate.

Not that I had any intention of sitting there and taking it like an idiot.

It was true—every time we met Pohang we somehow lost the early momentum. I wasn’t going to deny it. Anyone who watched even five minutes of the game could see the plain fact of it; whining about it wouldn’t change a thing.

Being the runaway league leaders and still starting matches behind against one particular side might sting, but inventing excuses for it was the ugliest look of all. So I decided to settle it the clean way—with pure ability.

“Hey, Baek Yi-an. Watch yourself for real. Your name’s been coming up a lot among the older guys lately.”

“My name’s coming up? Aw, man. Should I start handing out autographs?”

“Haa… I’m not joking, okay? So—”

Lee Jeong-woo had glued himself to my side and launched straight into a war of words. I’d answered him once out of basic courtesy and now he seemed convinced he’d gotten under my skin, so he just kept yapping. I half-listened while spreading my vision wide and carefully reading the movement of my own teammates.

“Hey! To me!”

The second Shaperi found himself isolated on the ball, Han Gang-rok surged forward and gave him an outlet. The ball then recycled back to Yong-ho hyung so we could reset.

Yong-ho hyung, the veteran, immediately sensed we were being dragged off our ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠preferred tempo. He was probably weighing the options: feed it back to Tae-young hyung, let him reset the shape with a goal kick… or risk a more aggressive advance to raise the pace.

Even for a seasoned pro it was a genuinely thorny problem to solve in a split second. I, however, had lived through situations like this until I was sick of them. I already knew the answer. There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in my movement.

“Hey. When a senior is talking to you—”

“I heard you. Be quiet.”

“…Wh-what?”

The sudden drop into informal speech made Lee Jeong-woo’s eyes go wide. I didn’t care. I slipped his mark in a flash, sprinted into open space, and locked eyes with Yong-ho hyung.

“Yong-ho hyung! Right now! Hurry!”

Thump!

The ball Yong-ho hyung hammered toward the lane I was running into flew true. One clean touch and I had complete ownership.

Part of me wanted to stick to the original plan and slam an asymmetric overload on them the way the manager wanted. But against a side that had already poured too many bodies into the midfield battle just to win the ball, an unprepared overload wasn’t going to land. So I picked the best option available in the moment.

Whether in my past life or this one, the single thing I learned from running my ass off as a player is this:

Guys with a lot to lose come flying at you like animals from the first whistle. And the best way to make them look stupid is to snatch the opening goal early.

We needed that first goal. With that single thought burning in my head I scanned Pohang’s back line.

They pushed up way too high trying to match their own aggressive penetrations.

I found the only exploitable gap available right then.

Shhhk!

“Agh!”

Tuk!

I casually skipped past a hopeless sliding tackle and immediately slipped the ball into the space I’d already marked.

Thump!

A pass that split the earth itself and kept flying. The timing and sheer power of it left Pohang’s defenders—and even our own attackers—momentarily stunned.

Fortunately, our team had one particular talent who could receive a pass of that difficulty like it was nothing.

“What the hell? Baek Yi-an, you usually serve up garbage and now you’ve suddenly got your head on straight?”

Yoon Seung-hwan tilted his head while he ran, then cleanly sliced through the offside line and claimed the ball. Once a perfect one-on-one had opened up, there wasn’t a single defender on the pitch who could stop him.

Thump!

Swish!

After scoring, Yoon Seung-hwan hesitated for half a second, then seemed to get an idea and sprinted straight toward the broadcast camera. He grabbed the lens and shoved his face right into it.

What? This isn’t the kind of guy who normally does that.

His head was a little weird, sure, but I’d always known him to keep his celebrations relatively normal. Had something changed in him?

I walked over to the corner flag where our players were already swarming and immediately heard it.

“Hey! You watching? This is your dad’s prime, you little bastards! Hahahaha!”

“What the hell? Yi-an, what did that idiot just yell into the camera?”

“He’s saying this is Daddy’s prime right now. More importantly, did Yong-ho hyung get married while he was suspended? Why the sudden father talk?”

“Yi-an, how long do you think a suspension even lasts? Nobody gets married in that window. And who the hell gets married mid-season?”

“I heard some families just throw a quick ceremony these days… and knowing Seung-hwan’s usual behavior, I could actually believe it…”

“Hey, hey, Choon-jae. Is that any way to talk about a junior?”

I watched Yoon Seung-hwan’s ridiculous celebration from between Yong-ho hyung and Choon-jae hyung and just shook my head.

Barely any time had passed since kickoff when the goal exploded, and the commentators started pouring out words like they’d been hit by a truck.