The ball flew outside. I clicked my tongue.
The crowd roared again, this time in jubilation, as the goalkeeper pumped his fists in celebration and motioned for the defenders to reset. Their coach shouted something from the sideline, but the words were lost in the din of the crowd. The referee trotted over, signaling for a corner.
Kim Jun-hwan jogged towards the flag, collecting the ball from a nearby official, and placed it down on the spot. I took position in the six-yard box. Two Thai defenders stood nearby, marking me. Their eyes were fierce, and I knew they were eager to make amends for their mistake. The goalkeeper called out commands, and the defenders tightened up, forming a wall in front of him.
Jun-hwan ran up to the ball and swung his foot. The ball sailed through the air, dipping towards the far post.
The Thai goalkeeper hesitated, then decided to come for it. He leapt, reaching high, but the ball curled away from his outstretched fingertips.
It was heading for me. I had to time my run perfectly. The two defenders were closing in, their arms outstretched, ready to block my path. I took a step back, then sprang forward, using their momentum against them. I rose into the air, my neck craned, my head snapping down.
The ball hit the perfect spot on my forehead, and I directed it back across the goal, where the keeper was scrambling to recover. It flew past him and struck the inside of the post before nestling in the back of the net.
1-0
The stadium erupted. I landed on my feet, and was immediately mobbed by my teammates. Sung-tae leapt onto my back, while Dae-hyun wrapped me in a bear hug from the side. Jun-hwan, with a reserved smile on his face, clapped my back.
The stadium was still roaring, the Thai supporters in shock, while the Koreans in the stands chanted and sang. But I barely heard any of it. I was too busy soaking in the moment. We jogged back to our own half, the merriment still lingering.
The referee blew the whistle, signaling for the restart. The Thais were fired up, but we remained calm and composed.
Their striker, Number 11, dribbled forward, trying to make something happen. But our defenders closed him down quickly, and the chance evaporated. We regained possession, and began our slow, methodical build-up once more. Jun-hwan dropped deep, collecting the ball, before looking up to survey the field. He found me making a run, and released the ball into my path.
I took a touch, then turned, looking to make inroads into the Thai half. Two defenders closed in, trying to snuff out the attack. I feigned left, then spun right, wrong-footing one of them. The other stayed with me, but not for long. I rolled the ball through his legs, shouldering past him as he tripped, fell, and dragged me down with him
"......"
The referee's whistle pierced the air. Freekick to us, right on the edge of the box.
I got up slowly, brushing the grass from my sleeve. The Thai player did likewise, holding his hand out for a handshake.
I accepted, giving him a nod of respect. He had played well, despite the foul.
Jun-hwan and I stood over the ball, discussing our options. The Thai wall lined up, four players, arms across their chests, while the rest guarded the near post or the far side. The goalkeeper stood tall, shouting orders, ensuring his defense was in the right position.
Seeing him position himself for the free kick, I asked. "You want it?"
Jun-hwan nodded, a faint, confident smile hovering around his mouth. "It's this close, it'd be stupid not to, don't you think?"
I clicked my tongue. "You see, I kind of want it too." I told him, and his eyes narrowed.
"Rock, paper, scissors then."
I snorted. "... Are you serious?"
Sung-tae walked up to us, shaking his head in amusement. "Does it even matter who between you two monsters take it? It'll go in either way."
I looked at Sung-tae, then at Jun-hwan. My rival merely shrugged, then raised his fist.
"Alright. Let's settle it like men."
We got in position, our fists ready, and then the game began.
Rock. Paper. Scissors.
"Best of one." Jun-hwan said, his eyes blazing.
I nodded.
Our fists went down.
One.
Two.
Three.
My hand was flat, whilst Jun-hwan had his index and middle fingers pointing up. He grinned, watching my expression falter.
"... Best of three?" I asked, hopeful.
He shook his head, chuckling arrogantly.
"Fuck." I muttered, shaking my head. "You better score, asshole."
Sung-tae patted my shoulder with 'there there' expression.
"Don't worry about it." Jun-hwan said. He took a few steps back, judging the angle.
He glanced at the Thai defenders, then at their goalkeeper. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then began his run-up preparation.
The referee whistled. He jogged, his foot swinging back, and then forward, connecting with the ball with a resounding thump.
The ball rose into the air, spinning viciously. It flew over the wall, dipping just at the last moment.
The goalkeeper dove to his left, stretching out a hand, but the ball swerved away from him, clipping the post and going in.
The net rippled.
2-0
The stadium was in raptures. The Korean supporters were in full voice, while the Thai fans were stunned into silence. I watched as Jun-hwan ran towards the corner flag, arms outstretched, shouting in delight. His teammates mobbed him, ruffling his hair, slapping his back.
I jogged over, joining in the celebrations. I slapped his shoulder, grinning widely. "Not bad." I said. "Not bad at all."
He turned to me, and for a second, we shared a look.
This bastard was actually good. Better than I expected, even.
As we made our way back to our half, Coach Ahn Ki-seok clapped delightfully. "Good job!" He called out. "Maintain that intensity and the match is yours."
We nodded in acknowledgment. The referee blew his whistle once again, and the game resumed.
Thailand was looking to strike back immediately. Their midfielders were pressing higher up the field, trying to win the ball in dangerous areas. But Jun-hwan was equal to the task, his passing and vision unrivaled in this contest. However, Jun-hwan couldn't carry the whole team, and it showed.
Our wingers, Dae-hyun and Sung-tae, were struggling to make an impact. They were both fast and skillful, but lacked the composure and decisiveness of a true finisher. Whenever they received the ball, they'd either hesitate, or try to take on defenders, often to no avail.
As such, it was becoming increasingly clear that the team was overly reliant on me and Jun-hwan to create chances.
With about twenty minutes gone, the Thais were starting to find their rhythm. Their midfielder, Number 7, a short, stocky lad with a mop of curly hair, was starting to control the midfield.
He won the ball back with ease after a slip-up, and began spraying passes out wide.
Their wingers immediately pushed up. He threaded a perfect ball through the center, and their striker, Number 11, raced onto it.
Jong-su tried to press him, but the Thai striker was too quick. He cut inside, beat another defender, and fired a shot—that was fortunately intercepted by another of our own.
The ball arched overhead, finding purchase on the chest of Number 7. He controlled it with a deft touch, and volleyed it first time, aiming for the far post. Our keeper reacted quickly, diving across his goal, and parrying the ball away.
But Number 11 was already there to latch onto the rebound. He steadied himself, and struck it hard. Our goalkeeper flung a desperate arm out. This time, however, he wasn't so lucky.
2-1
The stadium erupted in cheers. The drums were pounding, the Thai supporters were on their feet, singing, clapping, celebrating.
The Thai players swarmed Number 11, who stood with his arms aloft, basking in the adulation of the home crowd. Our players trudged back to the halfway line, heads bowed.
It was a bit of a sucker punch. I could only hope that the team would respond to the setback. We still had the lead, but that could easily change if we didn't keep our focus.
We restarted, and the game resumed its previous pattern. Thailand was content to sit back, absorb our attacks, and then hit us on the counter. It was a classic rope-a-dope strategy. They knew they couldn't match our quality, so they were trying to make it a battle of wills instead.
Except that the score was still in our favor.
So, the Thai players were bound to try something different.
And, as if on cue, Number 11 started to drop deeper. He wasn't the only one. Their wingers started pulling back as well, joining in the midfield. Their fullbacks, sensing the shift, joined the attack as well. Their Number 7 retained possession for a while—until I rushed towards him like a maddening bull.
Since there was a lot of distance between us, and I was behind him, he thought that he could easily keep that distance as it was by running deeper into our half as well.
But I was built for light-fucking-speed. Besides, I didn't like that they were controlling the pace, so I overworked this young engine of mine and sprinted at full throttle.
I managed to close that gap in a matter of seconds. He looked over his shoulder and paled at the sight. He had barely enough time to register the situation. He attempted to hoof it away, but I launched into a slide tackle, nicking the ball off his toes before he could get a proper touch. As a result, he fell in an ugly heap on the grass. No foul. I got the ball cleanly.
From my knees, I took a touch to steady myself, then rose to my feet. I had a good view of the pitch. The Thais were in full retreat, trying to shore up their backline. I saw the space in front of me, the defenders scrambling to get back, and our players surging forward. I took a moment to consider. A pass?
No, too risky. I had to take this myself.