Chapter Fourteen: A Pivotal Choice

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Perhaps many people believe that a one-on-one with the goalkeeper is as good as a guaranteed goal. However, this is not always the case. Even Cristiano Ronaldo in later years sometimes failed to score in such situations, despite many successful one-on-ones and goals. Even penalty kicks have a margin for error—how much more so with a one-on-one?

Vichniarek found himself in this awkward predicament. His shot was blocked by the Hannover 96 goalkeeper, and his hopes for a hat-trick were dashed. The stadium still rang with songs, and Vichniarek was still daydreaming about his hat-trick, but it all came crashing down at the hands of the Hannover 96 keeper.

“Beautiful save! The Hannover 96 goalkeeper has made a crucial play—one of his rare saves tonight! I bet Vichniarek must hate him now,” came the sharp, grating voice of Chen Nu, still echoing around the stands. The fans watching couldn’t help but frown, thinking, “You jinx! If you hadn’t kept shouting about Vichniarek’s impending hat-trick, maybe he’d have made it. But with your constant commentary, it’s as if you cursed him.”

Although there’s a saying that one should not find joy in others’ misfortune—a phrase familiar to many—few truly live by it. In any case, Vichniarek’s hat-trick was thwarted, and everyone in the stadium let out a collective sigh of relief.

The 3–1 scoreline already put Hannover 96 under tremendous pressure. If it became 4–1, they could forget about any hope of victory; the win would be all but sealed.

But the match had to go on. Perhaps now was the moment for a quick counterattack—at least, that’s what the Hannover 96 goalkeeper thought, and he acted on it. With a swift kick, he sent the ball flying toward midfield, finding a Hannover 96 midfielder who had so far been unremarkable.

Vichniarek was still ruing his missed chance, and Wieschek was sympathizing with him. Even Borges, standing some distance away, let out a heavy sigh. At that very moment, the Hannover 96 goalkeeper launched a counterattack.

The Hannover 96 midfielder wasted no time on the ball, sending it straight to Jan Simak, who found himself momentarily unshackled. Simak seized the ball like a wild horse set free, charging toward Bielefeld’s defensive line. Only then did Borges snap to attention and race after him.

“Has Hannover 96 changed goalkeepers? What a quick counterattack! Bielefeld is still wallowing in disappointment over Vichniarek’s missed hat-trick. We’re now in the 70th minute—the prime time for goals. Can Hannover 96 pull one back?” Chen Nu’s voice brimmed with excitement. After all, while many goals make for a thrilling game, the greatest excitement comes when the match is evenly poised and the action flows rapidly from end to end.

Jan Simak didn’t dwell on the ball. Borges was closing in fast, so Simak crossed into the box. Watching Simak’s delivery, Mo Mo thought his crossing ability must be at least a 10—his aim was true, and the ball was landing precisely where Karl was waiting.

Bielefeld’s fullback beside Karl could only look on helplessly. At six-foot-four, Karl had a clear advantage over his six-foot-two marker, and sure enough, he easily won the header, nodding the ball toward Mo Mo.

“Beautiful! Karl wins the aerial duel. He’s been impressive this half—had he played like this throughout, Hannover 96 wouldn’t be in such a predicament. But now Mo Mo is in trouble. Van der Ven has been marking him closely all game, never giving him an inch.”

Chen Nu’s tone was tinged with emotion. In the first half, people were eager to see Karl substituted for Mo Mo, to pair him with Freddy Bobic. Now, it was Mo Mo and Karl forming the partnership, but Mo Mo was tightly shackled by the relentless Van der Ven.

Mo Mo saw the header coming his way, with Van der Ven sticking to him like glue. With his anticipation at 14, Mo Mo knew the ball wasn’t going to land where he was standing.

Perhaps when the ball was first headed out, Van der Ven couldn’t judge its path, but as it dropped lower, he realized it would fall a little further forward. So Van der Ven began muscling forward.

“Karl! Forward!”

Just then, Mo Mo shouted. Suddenly, he tumbled to the ground, startling Van der Ven, who hurriedly raised his hands to indicate to the referee he hadn’t fouled. In that split second, Mo Mo—his acceleration at 15—shot off like an arrow from a bow.

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Mo Mo’s head struck the dropping ball with force, sending it arcing high into the air, landing near the left post, not far from Bielefeld’s goalkeeper, Ehrhoff.

Seven or eight meters to Mo Mo’s right, Karl heard the call and surged forward without hesitation, staying onside.

Mo Mo had intended to set up Karl for a header, but his ball was too low; Karl would have a better chance shooting with his foot.

And that’s exactly what Karl did. Such low-flying balls are difficult to control—perfect tests of a player’s technique.

Karl’s fundamentals were clearly solid. He struck the ball cleanly, firing a low drive straight at goal.

Ehrhoff, Bielefeld’s goalkeeper, was fully alert. At the moment Mo Mo shouted, he sensed danger. As the shot came at speed, he heard only the “thud” of the strike and thought, “How much power did he put behind that?”

But Ehrhoff’s reactions were quick. He dived sideways, almost as if someone had yanked his feet out from under him with a rope. At six-foot-three, he crashed to the turf, feeling the force of the ball on his hands.

One has to say, Ehrhoff’s hands were steady—his ball-handling must be at least 12 or 14, the mark of a good goalkeeper. A lesser keeper would have been unable to stop such a shot; the ball would have bounced past him and into the net.

Though Ehrhoff didn’t catch Karl’s shot, he did manage to deflect it—a rare display from a keeper not typically inclined to punch clearances.

But it wasn’t over yet. Since the keeper touched the ball, Karl could go for another shot without risk of a foul or offside. As the ball rebounded, Karl swung again, and Ehrhoff, like a firecracker exploding, blocked the ball once more.

This time, the ball ricocheted up toward the top corner, struck the post, and bounced out.

Had Mo Mo been the one waiting there, the chance would have been lost. But Karl was there instead. He leapt high and powered a header at goal. This time Ehrhoff could not work another miracle. In truth, his performance had already been outstanding.

“It’s in! Despite Bielefeld’s goalkeeper’s heroics, Karl has finally scored! The score is now 3–2, with just over 20 minutes left. Can Hannover 96 pull off a comeback?”

Chen Nu’s voice was electric with excitement. Chinese fans watching were thrilled—three shots in a flash, two saved, the crowd’s passion ignited—though it was a pity this wouldn’t count as an assist for Mo Mo.

“It was a key decision—Mo Mo stayed calm under Van der Ven’s tight marking, made no unnecessary moves or wishful attempts, and decisively chose to pass. I believe everyone watching live understands that Mo Mo played a significant role in this goal.”

Ehrhoff glared at the ball in the net and pounded the turf in frustration. It wasn’t really his fault, but he was still angry at not keeping hold of the ball.

Meanwhile, Karl’s face was flushed, his body stiff as a board, turning in circles, mouth opening and closing without a sound, as he made his way toward Mo Mo.

“Karl, have you lost your mind?” Mo Mo poked him, unable to help himself; Karl really did look a bit dazed.

“Ahhhhh! Mo Mo! I scored! I scored!”

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Unable to resist, Mo Mo rubbed his forehead and turned away, ears ringing. Really, was a goal worth all this fuss? Yet he had forgotten how ecstatic he himself had been after his first goal—far more than Karl was now.

This might not have been a match against a true powerhouse, nor a Champions League final, but for Karl, it was the most important match of his life—without question. He had broken free of his inner shackles and was finally reveling in the joy of football, no longer just a target for criticism. Realizing this, Karl pumped his fists and shouted at Mo Mo.

“Are you crazy? The game isn’t over yet! Don’t you want another goal?”

Karl was stunned, then grabbed Mo Mo and asked, “Can I score again?”

The scene was almost comical—a six-foot-four giant clinging to a five-foot-seven teammate, as if seeking protection.

“I haven’t tasted victory in so long. I crave it,” Mo Mo said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. Fortunately, only Karl was nearby—anyone else might have scoffed at his bravado.

The match blazed on. In the remaining minutes, Bielefeld played cautiously. They hadn’t forgotten how, at Hannover 96’s home ground, a 2–0 lead had been forced into a 4–4 draw. Pulling off such a comeback as the visiting team was exhilarating, but at home, it would be anything but.

With Bielefeld now bunkering in their own half, it became much harder for Hannover 96 to score again. Playing defensive football at home? Bielefeld’s fans might accept it, but if it were Real Madrid’s supporters, white handkerchiefs would be waving everywhere in protest.

When the fourth official raised the board for three minutes of added time, Mo Mo keenly sensed a sudden slackening in Bielefeld’s defense. He had several outstanding attributes—imagination at 18, vision at 14, determination at 15, anticipation at 14.

A thought flashed through Mo Mo’s mind. With the right approach, maybe they could equalize.

Everything was planned—except for the ball. Where was the ball?

Mo Mo’s eyes lit up. Suddenly, he shot forward at full speed. This might be the last chance of the match.

A crucial decision awaited.

Could Mo Mo seize hold of it and grip destiny by the throat?