God Of football

Chapter 836: Awards And Arising Concerns.

In the midst of that morning, the Premier League’s website refreshed quietly, no grand countdowns, no heavy build-up, just a post that appeared under the ”News” banner with a single headline in bold:

2024/25 Professional Footballers’ Association Awards – Team of the Season Announced.

Within seconds, screenshots began spreading across every platform imaginable.

Fans who had been checking every morning for days finally had their answers.

”About time,” one comment read beneath the official post.

”They usually drop this three days after the last league game, what took so long?”

”They had to double-check Izan didn’t secretly win everything again. Bro might have even won the Golden Glove if they had him in goal.”

And, in a way, he almost had.

The Team of the Season graphic loaded slowly for most users, the servers straining under the early traffic, but once it did, the list was clear, bold, and very red.

Team of the Season (2024/25)

GK: David Raya (Arsenal)

DF: Virgil Van Dijk (Liverpool)

DF: William Saliba (Arsenal)

DF: Gabriel Magahaels (Arsenal)

DF: Milos Kerkez (AFC Bournemouth)

MF: Ryan Gravenberch (Liverpool)

MF: Declan Rice (Arsenal)

MF:Martin Odegaard (Arsenal)

FW: Izan Miura Hernández (Arsenal)

FW: Mohammed Salah (Liverpool)

FW: Bukayo Saka (Arsenal)

It was more than half an Arsenal spine, and it looked like dominance frozen in pixels.

Other fanbases joked that the list looked like Arsenal’s lineup on matchday rather than a league-wide selection.

Next was the Manager of the Season, and nobody was winning, when Mikel Arteta was around.

Then the next headline followed almost immediately, Golden Glove: David Raya (Arsenal), and immediately, it came, the fans knew what kind of morning this was going to be.

Clips from the season began circulating underneath, each one attached to the award categories as they dropped: Odegaard’s assist compilation, Saka’s finishing reel, Saliba’s defensive highlights.

But one link quickly overtook them all.

Goal of the Season – Izan Miura Hernández vs Manchester City.

An Overhead kick to praise the heavens.

The kind of goal that silenced even rival fans for a second before they admitted how outrageous it was.

A camera angle from the away stand captured it best, the ball leaving Izan’s foot like a bullet, carving a perfect line through the misty air before crashing into the top left corner as the post shook.

The Premier League’s caption was simple.

Because it was Izan.

And then came the biggest headline of all, the one everyone already knew was inevitable yet still stopped to read in full.

PFA Player of the Year – Izan Miura Hernández (Arsenal)

A photo followed, taken at London Colney, where Izan stood in the red and white training top, trophy balanced casually in one hand, with a small but genuine smile on his face.

Behind him, the rest of Arsenal’s winners stood shoulder to shoulder, Odegaard with his quiet pride, Saka grinning, Saliba and Gabriel nudging each other, Raya still in gloves.

The backdrop was plain, the lighting natural.

It wasn’t a studio shoot, just another morning at training, yet the image looked like a portrait of an era.

By midday, hashtags like #ArsenalSweep and #PremierLeagueAwards were trending across Europe.

Still, among the flood of applause and congratulations, there were quieter corners of the internet with more cautious tones.

On one of the forums, buried beneath hundreds of celebratory posts, a lone comment stood out, simple, almost wistful.

”I doubt it, but I pray... the Club World Cup doesn’t follow the same route the Premier League did with Arsenal’s domination.”

It was liked once.

Then twice.

Then fifty thousand times in a minute.

By the end of the hour, it had become the top comment under the post, a small, trembling echo of the rest of football’s hope that someone, somewhere, might finally stop them.

In the course of a season, Arsenal, led by Izan, had become the antagonists of football.

[3 days later]

Nwaneri leaned back in his seat, phone angled toward his face as he called out.

”Yo, Izan, you there?” he said, the corners of his lips curling.

Izan’s voice came through a second later, a little grainy before the screen showed him clearly.

”Yeah, bro. You guys still grounded?”

”Still waiting,” Nwaneri sighed, turning the camera slightly to show the cabin behind him.

”Somebody said it’s a paperwork delay. But hey, ” he grinned, flipping the camera again to face forward, ”look who’s been getting special treatment on the flight.”

Saka, Rice, and a few others leaned into the frame from their rows, all with mock-serious faces.

”Special treatment, my ass,” Saka said, shaking his head. ”He’s up here in front like he’s the pilot.”

Nwaneri flipped the camera again, this time facing toward the front where Arteta was sitting with his tablet and the ever-present magnetic board balanced on the pull-out tray.

”You see this?” Nwaneri said, lowering his voice dramatically.

”He hasn’t stopped since we left Colney. The boss is now synonymous with moving magnets. You really harmed him.”

That earned a collective groan from the players around him.

”Ever since you mentioned bringing the Club World Cup back,” Saka added, loud enough for the mic to pick up, ”he’s been possessed, man. I actually feel bad for the assistant coaches.”

At that, Arteta turned, his expression half-amused, half mock-threatening.

”Oh, so you feel bad, huh?” he said, walking slowly down the aisle toward them as laughter rippled through the cabin.

When he reached Nwaneri, he leaned toward the phone, Izan’s face bright and laughing on the screen.

”And you,” Arteta said, pointing playfully at Izan.

”Don’t come to the U.S. fatter than Saka, or I’ll make you run laps alone.”

Saka threw his head back. ”Why am I catching strays when all I was doing was looking out for the boss!”

Izan couldn’t stop laughing as he saluted the screen with exaggerated seriousness.

”Yes, sir. Promise I’ll stay lean.”

Arteta smirked, straightening up.

”Good. See you in the U.S., soldier,” he said, turning back to his seat.

Nwaneri turned the camera back to himself after Arteta left, waving off Saka.

”Alright, man, they’re telling us to switch to aeroplane mode,” he said, waving the phone slightly. ”Catch you soon, Izan.”

”Safe flight, bro,” Izan said, smiling softly before the call ended.

The screen went dark as silence settled in the Hampstead living room for a moment before Izan let out a small breath and pushed himself off the couch.

He tossed his phone onto the armrest, stretching his shoulders as the quiet wrapped around him.

”Now what to do,” he said, and then, with a lazy jog, he made his way back upstairs, each step echoing through the calm of the house.

....

But while the clubs that had qualified for the Club World Cup continued their preparations, with a few clubs like Arsenal making it to the US ahead of schedule, problems began to arise.

In the Sky Sports studio, lights cast a calm, professional glow over the set.

”Welcome back,” the host began smoothly, turning toward the three pundits seated beside him.

”We’re less than a week out from kickoff, and there are a few concerns making headlines: ticket sales, scheduling, and player fatigue. Let’s start there.”

Sitting in his trademark blazer, Alex Scott nodded first.

”It’s a strange one, isn’t it?” she said.

”You’d think a global tournament in the U.S. would sell itself, but clearly it hasn’t. Less than a third of tickets sold 7 days out, that’s worrying. I get that FIFA’s trying things like free tickets for students and dynamic pricing, but it tells you there’s still a disconnect. Football’s growing there, sure, but it’s not quite embedded like it is in Europe or South America yet.”

”Yeah,” agreed Clint Dempsey, leaning back in his chair with a faint Texan drawl. ”Look, I love that the U.S. is gettin’ these big events. But you can’t just rely on hype. A lotta people don’t even know who’s playin’. The promotion’s been poor, no real narrative, no player push. It’s like they assumed people would show up just ’cause it’s FIFA.”

Rio Ferdinand, seated at the far end, interjected with a measured tone.

”And part of it’s timing, too,” he said.

”This thing’s right after the busiest football calendar I can remember. Players are shattered. You’ve had league seasons, Champions League finals, international windows, and then straight into this. I mean, what kind of spectacle are fans supposed to expect if half the stars are managing recovery instead of playing at full throttle?”

Scott nodded.

”Exactly. It’s not just about getting people in seats; it’s about the product on the pitch. The last thing FIFA needs in a test run before the 2026 World Cup is half-empty stadiums and fatigued performances.”

Dempsey crossed his arms.

”And there’s the whole club pressure thing. Managers aren’t happy. You’ve got players, lads who’ve barely had a break all year. So it’s a balance, right? You want to grow the game, but you can’t keep squeezing it dry.”

Rio glanced toward the host.

”It’s also a warning shot,” he said calmly. ”If they don’t sort out logistics, marketing, and fan engagement now, the World Cup could run into the same issues, just on a bigger scale. It’s not just about testing stadiums; it’s about testing trust. Fans need to feel the excitement, not be begged into it.”