God Of football

Chapter 979: Party Cut Short.

The half did not so much end as it faded out, like a storm moving on after doing its damage.

Because even though the damage had already been done, they still had to play.

Even after seeing a single player repeatedly prove their work worthless, they still had to go on, and they did.

After the goal, Erling Haaland, who had been missing from the game after his attempted bicycle kick, started getting more and more involved in the game, showing off his new link-up movements that he had trained with his mates.

That resulted in Manchester City getting a few chances, but they were either half-chances or caught cleanly by Raya, with the latter leaving his defence to block a few.

But just like, some guy called Newton said, to every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction and for Arsenal, that reaction was Izan, who time and time again drifted into view, even without the ball, stirring the whole stadium into a low murmur as well as collective intakes of breath.

City’s back line never stopped checking their shoulders.

They never switched off, keeping one eye on the ball and the other on him, even when the former wasn’t involved in the play.

That was one of the many things Izan did to teams.

He split their focus, and you could see in the chances that Gyokeres got but was unable to finish.

After a while, the referee’s whistle sounded, sharply and mercifully, at least for the Manchester players and fanbase, because the home side, on the other hand, were enjoying the show.

”And there it is. Half-time at the Emirates,” came the call from the commentary gantry as the players turned towards the tunnels.

”Manchester City head for the tunnel looking like they’ve just come off a battlefield,” the commentary continued as the camera followed the away side, with their shoulders slumped, hands on their hips, and a few quick words exchanged that went nowhere.

No one from the Manchester City lineup dared meet the eyes of the away fans, nor that of Pep’s, even though the two goals they had conceded had been inevitable.

They disappeared into the tunnel in a line that felt longer than eleven men, just as the camera cut back to the pitch where Izan was just making his way towards the tunnel, looking like he hadn’t even had a hand in the game.

”You run out of words at some point,” the analyst said on the broadcast as Izan met one of the Arsenal staff at the tunnel.

”You really do. Because this isn’t just form. There’s something else going on here.”

”There may come a time when people stop analysing the goals and start dissecting the player. Maybe even conduct a study on Izan when he plays the game. How he sees the game. How he decides. Because this... this isn’t normal football.”

As the players disappeared down the tunnel, the commentator closed it out, almost softly.

”And remember, there’s a ceremony tomorrow. A stage waiting. A crown to be placed.”

”And there is a consensus that tomorrow might be the start of a new era, or the end of one. Either way, whether tonight confirms it or not, it feels like everyone’s waiting for the name tomorrow.”

After the 15 minutes had passed, the players filtered back onto the pitch in ones and twos as the noise inside the stadium returned in patches while the referee kept checking his watch as he made his way towards the centre of the pitch with the players.

It was at this point that people began leaning forward and staring keenly at the Arsenal shape as they spread out.

And more and more eyes noticed the irregularity.

Izan wasn’t in the lineup anymore.

He was now sat on the bench, jacket half-zipped and elbows resting on his knees, in a relaxed manner.

In his place, Nwaneri stood near the right side of the centre circle, rolling his shoulder and bouncing lightly on his toes, trying not to look at the bench too often.

A few disappointed groans broke free from the fans, almost like they were being told the best part of the night had already passed.

”Well, it seems that is the end of the night for Izan,” the commentary finally said as the board went up, confirming the change.

”But the home fans aren’t too keen on it. It seems they were expecting more of the first half, but they now have their party cut short.”

Despite the adversity to Izan’s sitting on the bench, the game wasn’t going to wait for anything, and when the referee saw that it was time, he blew his whistle.

City took the kickoff with urgency, as if the sight of Izan on the bench had unlocked something.

They moved like sharks after spotting blood, showing glimpses of the dominant Manchester City side that people had come to know.

So much so that even away from the pitch and on the touchline, Pep didn’t sit.

He paced the edge of the technical area, arms folding and unfolding, eyes never leaving the pitch.

Savinho came on not long after, and it looked like Pep was ready to go at Arsenal, who were forced back a few steps at a time, and more and more crosses began to invade the home box, becoming sharper and sharper.

Then Haaland found space where there hadn’t been any all night.

Using a very subtle misdirection, he got in behind the Arsenal backline after Gabriel failed an attempt at clearing the ball and once, one-on-one with Raya, there was no way the Norwegian Cyborg was going to miss the shot, making the scoreline 2-1, and things suddenly became cagey as the City end found its voice.

On the pitch, Haaland turned away without celebration, already jogging back, already hungry.

”Erling Haaland has just made this game competitive again,” the analyst said. ”And it is enough to make things interesting.”

City pushed again, sensing the moment.

But Arsenal proved they weren’t just a one-man club, defending with their lives on the line while playing like they had second hearts, until they got a corner that didn’t look special.

But with Arsenal, and their setpiece antics, a corner was almost as good as a goal because the moment the ball arced in and hung for a heartbeat too long, Timber rose through it and almost swung his head through the ball, snapping it past Donnarumma before the keeper’s feet had set.

Timber, who landed awkwardly after the goal quickly, steadied himself, then turned toward the crowd with a shout that tore straight out of his chest.

3–1.

On the bench, Izan stood with the rest of his mates, clapping, knowing that the job might finally be done.

The game began to drain away after that as both teams seemed to settle for the score, though one side couldn’t really do anything about it.

And a moment later, the final whistle came.

A resounding roar broke out from the upper stands of the stadium to the lower tiers as the Arsenal crowd broke out into a fit of applause and joyous smiles as their players slowed to a halt.

The game was done.