Chapter Thirty-Four: Stillness

A gentle suggestion, if you have time, come join the group! The book group, 563036979. Watermark advertisement test. Watermark advertisement test. Everyone is noisy and cheerful, talking about football, bragging—how delightful!

This was a fatal mistake!

A free kick at midfield, which should have posed no threat, but Li Weifeng failed to control the ball, causing it to fly backwards, strike Du Wei, and then rebound to the feet of the previously hopeless number 11, Hasan Sas.

Number 11, Hasan Sas, slipped past Du Wei. It was a perfect one-on-one opportunity, and the stadium erupted. No one could believe their eyes. I imagine, at this moment, Chinese fans must be feeling what Costa Rican fans felt before—think about their two conceded goals!

Goalkeeper Jiang Jin clearly hadn’t anticipated facing such a situation, but he chose to decisively rush out. The instant Jiang Jin moved, number 11, Hasan Sas, took a direct shot toward the far corner.

Jiang Jin leapt into the air, stretching out a single hand to reach the ball, but ultimately, his effort was in vain!

“Turkey scored in the sixth minute, due to a mistake by China’s defense, which led to this opportunity. Jiang Jin tried to make the save, but was unable to turn the situation around. Number 11, Hasan Sas, seized the moment and scored. Turkey leads 1:0 for now.”

Chen Nu felt utterly bewildered. Back when Mo Mo played in the Bundesliga, he had a talent for saying the opposite: if he said it wouldn’t go in, it did; if he said it would, it didn’t. Fans used to joke that he should always buy lottery tickets against his own predictions. Unexpectedly, now...

Perhaps most Chinese supporters were still dazed, because on the surface, it looked like China was pressing Turkey, so how could the goal suddenly be conceded? But Bora Milutinovic wasn’t surprised at all.

Too much—China’s performance was too much, too aggressive. One must remember, excess is as bad as deficiency. If Li Weifeng hadn’t reacted so strongly just now, perhaps the mistake wouldn’t have happened, Du Wei wouldn’t have failed to react in time, and Hasan Sas wouldn’t have had that one-on-one chance.

Bora Milutinovic frowned as he watched the situation on the field. The goal hadn’t calmed the players; on the contrary, it made them even more aggressive. Yes, aggressive! What is China’s greatest strength? Defense! What are they best at? Counterattacking!

But now? They abandoned their strengths and started to play attacking football. Milutinovic could understand them, really. When people are excited, they inevitably do out-of-character things—like driving after drinking; in a state of exhilaration, you unconsciously speed. It’s much the same.

Among the players, some remained calm—like Jiang Jin, or Yang Chen—but when most are aggressive, the calm ones are like swimmers going against a current, finding it hard to move forward and ultimately swept along.

Hao Haidong’s face flushed red. He’d hoped to score quickly and forcefully, but instead, not only did he fail, he conceded a goal. This made Hao Haidong feel embarrassed—four attempts at goal, none successful, but with a single strike, the opponent broke through? Under such circumstances, Hao Haidong felt out of step.

Actually, Hao Haidong is a solid player on the field: diligent, calm, highly professional. Yet, on the World Cup stage, not a single one of the three goals had anything to do with him. For Asia’s number one striker, where is the dignity in that?

Bora Milutinovic noticed Hao Haidong’s uncharacteristic play, but couldn’t figure out what had caused it. The man had always put the team first, frequently dropping back to collect the ball in previous matches—so why was he so intense now? Ah, men! Always trapped by pride.

“The match has reached the eighth minute, just two minutes since the last conceded goal. China launches a fierce attack, Hao Haidong is particularly active.”

Honestly, Chen Nu was genuinely anxious. Please, not already! Only six minutes in, and we’ve conceded a goal? Can’t we hang onto our dreams of reaching the last sixteen a bit longer?

All around, shouts of "Go China!" filled the air. Mo Mo turned his head, looking at the fans surrounding him, and suddenly felt a moment of heartache. The deeper the love, the sharper the criticism. The greater the hope, the greater the disappointment. He couldn’t imagine how many would continue to support the national team after another failure, but Mo Mo knew—

There would still be many. In fact, in the future, a whole group would emerge, who upon seeing the national team would curse, skip any news about them, skip any novels featuring them, or simply abandon the book. Maybe these are fans, but they are certainly not the fans China needs.

These people might hope for Chinese football to improve, but they’re definitely not the ones who can help build it. Any good news about Chinese football, they call superficial; any bad news, substantial.

They won’t make more people like or support Chinese football; they’ll only make more people hate it and despair over it. In fact, to some extent, they’ve affected the development of Chinese football. Mo Mo had seen too many like this. Many mocked him for being a Chinese football fan, but Mo Mo was proud of it.

Now, Mo Mo’s mission was clear: to play well. As Zlatan Ibrahimovic did for Sweden, as Lionel Andres Messi did for Argentina, as Cristiano Ronaldo did for Portugal.

At this moment, Mo Mo decided: he would use his own efforts to change how others viewed Chinese football. Even if no one supported him, even if no one understood, even if everyone mocked and attacked, Mo Mo believed he was not alone, for there were still many—many—who, like him, saw the true strength of Chinese football: its people.

“Danger! Number 10, Yildiray Basturk with a left-footed long shot! The angle is sharp! Jiang Jin! Jiang Jin makes a brilliant save! The ball rolls out of bounds, Turkey has a corner.”

Chen Nu’s voice echoed in the ears of Chinese fans watching on television. Everyone felt a surge of anxiety, but the danger wasn’t over!

“The corner is taken, a short pass, the Turkish player returns the ball to Hasan Sas who took the corner. The Chinese defenders rush to press! Hasan Sas lofts the ball into the penalty area! Danger!”

Hasan Sas didn’t send the ball directly into the box but passed to a nearby teammate. Under fierce Chinese pressure, he didn’t hold on but immediately returned the ball to Hasan Sas. Hasan Sas controlled the ball, and with the Chinese player rushing to intercept, he decisively lifted it into the box.

“There they are! Li Weifeng and Du Wei! And Brent Korkmaz! Brent Korkmaz is too strong! Li Weifeng and Du Wei can’t hold him at all! Brent Korkmaz with a header!”

At that moment, the ball was lofted perfectly into the box, where three players converged—Li Weifeng and Du Wei for China, and Turkey’s defender Brent Korkmaz. As all three moved, Li Weifeng and Du Wei together couldn’t match Brent Korkmaz!

The white figure leapt up, a bit unsteady but forcefully met the ball with a header!

“A header! Brent Korkmaz’s header! Jiang Jin! Jiang Jin leaps! He reaches the ball!”

As the ball was sent into the box, Jiang Jin had already noticed Brent Korkmaz, but he also saw another Turkish player breaking into the area. Still, Jiang Jin made the right judgment, predicting the ball would fall to Korkmaz, and acted accordingly!

A dark figure barely managed to jump; the ball and glove made intimate contact. The next second, the stadium fell silent—then erupted in thunderous cheers!

Mo Mo’s eyes were filled with disbelief. Bora Milutinovic applauded the players on the field.

Guess what, I’m ending the chapter here again.