Football: Three sure-fire weaknesses in every match!

"Never mind, never mind."

He waved his hand.

"They're not good enough for me."

The person next to him was taken aback.

"Vanessa? No way."

"Elisa? That won't work either."

"Sophia? Not quite there."

He became more and more serious as he spoke:

"This kid needs to be upgraded from his current level."

Another senior executive couldn't help but laugh:

"What level do you need?"

Ferrero looked serious:

"Top-notch!!!"

"International level!!!"

"Something that matches its commercial value!!!"

Everyone burst into laughter again.

Someone suddenly added:

"However, the Italian newspaper *La Gazzetta dello Sport* didn't say there were rumors circulating outside..."

"Is his sexual orientation a mystery?"

"It seems like I haven't had a girlfriend yet."

The private room fell silent for a second.

then……

"fart!!!"

Ferrero slammed his fist on the table.

"That's because you haven't met the right one!!!"

"You have to be selective about who you choose!!!"

"Do you understand?!?"

Everyone burst into laughter again.

……

Sea breeze, beach.

On a recliner.

Lippi was wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigar.

A glass of white wine in my hand.

The small screen in front of me is showing the match.

just.

That goal by Lin Qi.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

then……

"puff--!!!"

He spat out a mouthful of wine!

"Cough!! Cough cough cough—!!!"

The cigar almost fell to the ground.

He coughed as he pointed at the screen:

"This...this..."

"This ball..."

He paused for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

I watched the replay again.

He sat up a little straighter.

He pushed his sunglasses down a little.

"That Giampaolo guy..."

"Great, looks like he's got the makings of a handsome man."

"They really dare to use that."

"And they are really designing tactics around Lin Qi."

He took a puff of his cigar.

"This wasn't improvised."

"This was prepared."

"Retreat, receive the ball, then make another run."

"It's clearly a rehearsed routine."

He became more and more serious as he spoke.

"But more importantly..."

"This kid has improved again?!"

"We weren't this mature in the last game."

"It's only been a few days?"

"That's interesting."

"That's talent."

"You can't contain this kind of player."

"You have to give him space, give him freedom, and let him grow on his own."

He paused for a moment.

His eyes lit up slightly.

"If someone like this gets into the national team..."

He leaned back in his chair.

He slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.

A meaningful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"That's going to be interesting."

"That's very interesting."

Lippi gently pressed the cigar into the ashtray.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

The call was connected quickly.

Lippi spoke calmly and unhurriedly.

The person on the other end of the phone was clearly excited as well.

He said a few words.

Lippi nodded:

"Yes, that's the child."

"Give me your name first."

"Let me reserve a spot."

"Don't use it yet."

"If all goes well."

"Let him play well in Serie A."

"Don't disrupt the rhythm."

"This kind of upbringing is more important than anything else."

"But what if we encounter difficulties?"

"We'll consider recalling them for emergency use."

"after all……"

"The World Youth Championship is coming up next."

"That level of competition, where you can showcase yourself to the whole world."

"If we have to give it our all, we should."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

He then gave a solemn response.

Lippi nodded.

"that's all."

hang up the phone.

He leaned back in his chair.

My gaze returned to the screen.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

Take your time.

"Don't rush."

……

court.

Sixty-eighth minute.

After the score was changed, the game entered the real psychological battle phase.

Midfield.

Bruno Fernandes quickly replayed the goal in his mind.

"The timing of the pullback... was extremely precise."

"It wasn't a demotion done arbitrarily."

"It's at the critical point where the center-back is preparing to press."

"Misalignment of manufacturing structure".

"The first move is to break free by using the center of gravity to deceive."

"But the key is not the action itself."

"The key is that Lin Qi knew the subsequent route in advance."

That wasn't an on-the-spot reaction.

That's a continuous decision-making chain.

"Retreat → Attract attention → Pass the ball → Cut inside → Finish."

"Plan every step in advance."

He couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

"A striker of this caliber..."

"It's no longer a single-point capability."

"It's about understanding the whole picture."

He looked at Lin Qi.

"Incredible."

"And the scariest thing is..."

"He carried it out very easily."

"Without hesitation."

"No unnecessary movements."

"Like instinct."

"Having teammates like this is so much fun!"

……

at the same time.

Juventus' side.

The atmosphere began to subtly change.

The score was 2:1.

time is limited.

Bonucci directs from the backfield.

The voice was noticeably more urgent than before:

"Stop right there!! Don't move!!!"

But there was a hint of impatience in his tone.

He had just been repeatedly shaken off by Lin Qi.

Psychologically, it has already left a shadow.

He gets nervous every time the other person makes a move.

Hernanes was running back and forth in midfield.

My breathing has become heavy.

His rhythm started to falter when he first came on.

Because the game has entered a high-intensity, tug-of-war phase.

And he needs to take care of both at the same time:

Pressuring, defending, covering.

The load is piling up.

Dybala frequently called for the ball in the attacking third, making frequent hand gestures.

But when he turned to look back at the backcourt, his brows furrowed slightly.

The rhythm is a bit off.

Side road.

Cuadrado was initially confident in his advance.

There are now more pauses.

Because he noticed that the space behind him was getting bigger and bigger.

Once cut off, it means being counterattacked.

In front of the door.

Buffon stood in front of the goal line.

Hands on hips.

Sharp eyes.

But he also began to frequently give instructions.

"Press it down!"

Watch out behind you!

The sound was louder than usual.

Because he knew this match very well.

It may already be on the verge of getting out of control.

Time marches on, second by second.

In the stands.

A sea of ​​people in black and white.

But it was unusually quiet at that moment.

The previous composure during the crushing victory was gone.

There was no mockery.

There was no joking.

Only suppression.

The home team fans gripped their scarves tightly.

Every time Sampdoria advanced, a low gasp would involuntarily escape from the stands.

Every time Juventus gained possession, someone would wave anxiously.

"Hurry up!!!"

"Charge forward!!!"

They were unwilling to accept it.

On this stadium.

Inside this fortress they took for granted, the one being suppressed was actually themselves.

On the field.

The pace remains high.

But Dybala started to change.

He raised his hand, asking for the ball.

Once, twice, three times.

The frequency has increased significantly.

They even began to actively retreat to deeper positions.

"Give me!!!"

The tone was urgent.

Their footwork became faster, they touched the ball more frequently, and it was no longer just about linking up play.

Rather, it is the dominant force.

His rhythm is driving the whole team.

One catch.

He turned around and pushed forward.

Facing a double-team.

Eat it anyway!!

"Dybala is forcing his way in!!!"

He did not choose the most reasonable pass.

Instead, they continued to drill inside.

At that moment, some images flashed through his mind.

It's not a sports field.

It was much longer ago.

Argentina, an unremarkable small town.

A dirt road, sandstorms, and an old Opel.

They all make a piercing sound when started.

in the car.

A sitting boy.

And his father.

It takes fifty minutes round trip each day.

Just to go to training.

There was a pair of old sneakers on the back seat, worn out but still in use.

My father didn't talk much; he just drove.

Sometimes I'll say:

"Play well."

after that.

The scene changes.

hospital.

white.

It's blinding.

15 is old.

He stood outside the door.

The doctor came out.

Shake head.

that moment.

The world is quiet.

No one drives him to training anymore.

No one says "Play well" anymore.

He lowered his head.

Hands clenched into fists.

"Then I'll do it myself."

I'll manage on my own.

The image is shattered.

……