From Arsenal to the Ball God

”Boom!”

Iniesta made a low pass across, quickly sending the ball past the control range of Koscielny and Rami, looking for the open space at the far post.

”Chance!! Fabregas with a push shot! Klich’s sliding tackle rescue!!”

”.....”

In the penalty area, Xiaofa saw Klich sliding quickly towards him, cleverly flicking the ball to the left, and then stood still.

”Pop!” When Klich’s leg contacted his calf, he fell to the ground following the force, crying out in pain, ”Ah.....!”

After getting up, Klich kept waving his index finger left and right at the referee, and later made a gesture of surrender, indicating he absolutely didn’t commit a foul.

However, his solemn expression showed he understood what he’d just done and knew his plea was nothing more than a last ditch hope.

”Hey.....!” Spain’s fans instantly rose from their seats, tens of thousands standing at the same time, protesting with open arms.

Before their players could swarm the referee, the referee pointed to the penalty spot and blew the whistle: ”Bee——!!”

”Penalty! In the 69th minute, Spain has won a crucial penalty kick opportunity!! This could be a game-changing decision!

”The decline in physical ability has brought some risks to the French team’s defense. Spain is adept at exploiting small gaps and gradually tearing them open into big ones!

”Can’t blame Klich for this, if he didn’t slide, Fabregas’s push shot would likely have been a goal, an easier kick-in than a penalty!”

”.....”

The referee ran towards Klich, showing a yellow card to the Manchester City full-back with hands on his waist and a look as if he was about to cry.

”Yeahh.....!” All the Spanish fell into a frenzy, Xiaofa, D Silva, Iniesta, and others laughing and hugging, as if they had already taken the lead in the score.

”No way!”

”He touched the ball!”

French players quickly approached the referee for arguing, but of course, it wasn’t enough to change the decision.

Ma’el walked slowly back to the penalty area line, staring blankly at the tense goalkeeper Lori and the self-reproachful Klich, knowing that the score might be rewritten.

To go behind in the 70th minute is absolutely terrible, but that’s football..... your opponents are always trying everything, able to score with effort and personal creativity.

He came beside Klich, placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it hard, indicating it wasn’t his fault.

On the sidelines, Deschamps’ face darkened, he turned away, went back to the coaching area to drink water.

In the box above him, President Hollande and Prime Minister, Deputy Secretary-General Michel, Wenger, Mendes, and some Polish dignitaries sat in silence.

The team’s defensive players had done well most of the time, only to collapse at the last moment, putting them on the edge of the cliff.

”I thought we were gaining momentum, I saw Ma’el’s recent possession very threatening.”

This time Hollande was visibly different from the last, his anxiety apparent, obviously understanding the significance of this game for their country with the De Lorne Cup in sight.

”Not an unexpected ball.” Wenger explained from a professional angle, though he couldn’t avoid disappointment, ”Holding on until now is already quite good, this Spanish team is frighteningly strong.”

”No chance?” Michel turned to look at Wenger, his expression full of tension, with his relatively wrinkle-free face bunching up.

Wenger shook his head, denying, ”Can’t say that, football is full of possibilities..... but it’s difficult, the leading Spanish team is certain to use mid-back control to delay time.

”It’s hard to take the ball from them, also hard to break their tightly packed defense.”

Michel turned his head to look at the field again, lamenting, ”Ma’el gets too little support, if only there was a top-class passer.”

”Actually Nasri fits that, but with low ball control rate, they don’t have many opportunities to connect, Ma’el mostly has to fight alone.”

Mendes then picked up the thread, having a deep understanding of football, ”However, I still believe in my player..... he has never lost such an important game.”

The Polish dignitaries listened to their conversation, wanting to offer words of comfort, but didn’t know where to start.

”Bee!”

On the field, the referee blew the whistle that allowed the penalty to be taken, all French hearts instantly in their throats.

Javi Alonso stood at the penalty spot, a master of penalties, rarely missing them in his career.

Upon hearing the whistle, he glanced at goalkeeper Hugo Lloris, then began his run-up.

On the last step, he chose to use a small leap for rhythm variation, simultaneously lifting his head to observe the goalkeeper’s diving position.

”Bang!”

Noticing Lori intended to dive right, he gently pushed the ball to the left, confidently aiming somewhat close to the middle for stability instead of shooting far corner.

Lori then understood his intention but was powerless to change his diving direction, sitting on the ground in despair.

”Swish!” The net of the French team trembled for a few moments, symbolizing the broken goal.

”Aaaahhhh.....!!” The shouts of the Spaniards rocked the Warsaw National Stadium, at this moment outside, in Madrid, in Barcelona, surely many people were throwing beer to the sky in celebration for the team.

They saw hope for the defending champion, hope for the third consecutive tournament victory!