Bale could not accept what had just unfolded before his eyes.
That had clearly been a perfect scoring chance.
It was even from the pattern he was most confident in.
It was not blocked by the goalkeeper, nor was it stopped by a defender.
'Ho-young.'
He had clearly seen with his own eyes that Ho-young was far away, covering a wide area near the halfway line.
'Yeah, that's right. Ho-young was there.'
Bale was not a player who simply relied on instinct.
Although he was often criticized for having a simple playing style and being stubborn in his approach, his sharp judgment and boldness greatly increased his success rate.
It was the same this time.
He knew well how exceptional Ho-young's field coverage was, so he confirmed it before making his run.
He drove forward and took the shot inside the penalty area.
But if Ho-young had been nearby, he would have passed to a teammate after his run.
In other words, it was not a reckless play, but a completely rational decision based on sound judgment.
Yet everything was ruined because of one abnormal player on the field.
Ho-young.
"Haha…"
Bale let out a hollow laugh as he lowered his head.
Under normal circumstances, that should have resulted in a goal.
If it had not been for Ho-young, Tottenham would have been leading 2-0 by now.
But the scoreboard read 1-1.
After scoring with a 90-meter dribble, Ho-young ran toward the away stand and performed a composed, gentlemanly celebration as if it were nothing special.
"Haha…"
Bale let out another hollow laugh.
That player, even to another man, looked unbelievably cool.
In fact, he could see a few Manchester City players following behind him.
Even the home crowd began to rise one by one, applauding Ho-young.
Something felt off.
A sense of unease crept in, as if a massive change was about to shake the EPL.
[Ho-young has carried the ball from one goal to the other in an instant. Anyone who saw that live cannot help but applaud.]
[He might be the fastest delivery man in the world. This goes beyond football. It feels like a track athlete playing football.]
Bale's top speed was 36.9 km/h.
And the player with a higher record than that was Ho-young.
Last season, Ho-young had recorded a top speed of 37.8 km/h, and that run just now clearly surpassed it.
[We need the exact numbers to be sure, but from what it felt like on site, it definitely seemed faster than that. This will likely be nominated for Goal of the Month in January. In fact, it is almost guaranteed to win.]
[Yes, it is simply astonishing. Who would have thought Ho-young would break his sprint record at White Hart Lane? That was a 90-meter run.]
[Usain Bolt's top speed is said to reach 45 km/h. Perhaps one day Ho-young might even approach that.]
[Haha, that might be going too far.]
[Didn't something unbelievable just happen?]
[Ah… that's true.]
As the commentators came to that realization, Ho-young was still celebrating his goal.
And he was not alone.
Two players had followed behind him.
"Ho-young! That was an incredible goal!"
It was Shaun Wright-Phillips, the "little bullet" who had spent nine years at Manchester City.
He flashed a wide smile and threw himself into Ho-young's arms, his small 166 cm frame looking even more compact.
"Thanks, Shaun."
Beside him stood the Argentine striker Carlos Tevez, grinning with his sharp teeth showing.
"Hahaha. Congratulations!"
There was genuine sincerity on his face.
Both in training and during the match, he had been lethargic due to homesickness, but now he seemed to have regained some energy.
How should it be described?
"I just saw something incredible. I dare say that goal will be named Goal of the Year in the EPL. Congratulations in advance. Hahaha."
An innocent, simple-minded older brother.
That was the expression that suited Tevez best.
Giving a thumbs-up and smiling like a child, he had followed purely out of admiration.
'At least these two are the easiest to get close to on this team.'
They were among the few players in Manchester City who remained neutral despite the many internal issues.
Either way, Ho-young was genuinely happy to share the joy of his debut goal with his new teammates.
It might not seem like much, but for him, who had expected no one to follow, it was deeply moving.
Then.
"Robinho?"
It was not just those two who came to him.
From afar, Robinho had approached late, looking around with pursed lips.
He seemed confused, then turned back without saying a word.
Scratching the back of his head, he quickly returned to the field.
"..."
Robinho himself was baffled.
'Why did I even come here?'
Was it because the goal was that amazing?
Was it that impressive?
He did not know.
It felt as if he had been drawn in by something.
At this very moment, something almost magical was happening at Manchester City.
[Meanwhile, the match resumes. Tottenham kick off. Jermain Defoe passes backward.]
[Luka Modrić receives the ball and calmly circulates it, controlling the tempo.]
The match took on a completely different flow compared to the early stages of the first half.
After Ho-young's wonder goal, the game entered a new phase, and to Manchester City fans, it looked almost ridiculous.
Tottenham, their momentum suppressed, could not even cross the halfway line. They simply exchanged passes in their own half, not even attempting their trademark sharp wing attacks.
Even after ten minutes, the home crowd saw none of the play they wanted.
Just passing, and more passing.
That was all.
Like a beast locked in a cage that had been provoked, only for the provoker to hide like a frightened cat once the beast was unleashed.
[Are they just trying to secure a single point now? They are completely hiding and refusing to come out.]
[Well… it is quite rare to see Tottenham play such a humiliating match this season.]
The meaningless passing continued.
It was pure frustration.
The game became so dull that the crowd's cheers gradually faded.
Then, around the 30th minute of the first half, something surprising happened.
"Hey! Aren't you suffocating staying in that cage?!"
Carlos Tevez.
The man who had shown no motivation suddenly initiated a strong high press and provoked the opposition.
Huddlestone momentarily reacted and almost stepped out of line.
It seemed Tottenham's midfield line was about to break.
But then.
"Hold your position! Don't step out!"
William Gallas.
A veteran who had once anchored the defenses of France, Chelsea, and Arsenal, now serving as Tottenham's defensive leader.
With 16 years of experience, he instinctively understood how dangerous the situation was.
"Just move the ball!"
They needed to calm themselves and eliminate their fear.
Fear weakens the mind and tightens the body.
They needed time to recover composure while maintaining their defense.
Then, in the 40th minute of the first half.
Manager Redknapp, who had been watching the match intently with a furrowed brow, finally made a move.
His previously lifeless eyes sharpened as he signaled captain Michael Dawson to change tactics.
It was quite surprising.
Redknapp was known for his unique philosophy that "tactics are not important in football," and he rarely gave detailed tactical instructions.
Of course, there was a tactics board in the dressing room, but to him, it was little more than a notepad.
Normally, his only instructions were simple, do your best in your position, and give everything for the fans.
That had been his philosophy for 35 years.
But sometimes, even that belief had to bend.
And this was one of those moments.
[If Tottenham lose this match, they will drop back to fifth. And their remaining fixtures include big clubs like Arsenal, Manchester United, and Chelsea.]
[That's right. Tottenham have nowhere left to retreat.]
Unlike Tottenham, Manchester City had not expended much energy in the first half.
If Mancini motivated his players at halftime, the second half would likely belong to City.
In other words, if the first half ended like this, Tottenham would be at a disadvantage.
So they had to take drastic action before then.
Having reached that conclusion, Redknapp made a bold tactical change.
[Redknapp makes a daring substitution before halftime. Lennon is off, Pavlyuchenko comes on.]
Roman Pavlyuchenko.
A key figure in Russia's run to the semifinals at Euro 2008, now serving as a reliable rotational striker for Tottenham.
Despite frequent issues with Redknapp due to language barriers, he consistently delivered on the pitch.
[Tottenham switch from 4-4-2 to 4-3-3. The midfield of Modrić, Huddlestone, and Bale spreads out in a flat line. Up front, Crouch, Defoe, and Pavlyuchenko form a three-man attack.]
[It is a very attacking formation. They are clearly trying to decide the game before halftime.]
Tottenham's newly formed front three maintained a tight structure that looked suffocating.
Pavlyuchenko used his physical presence and positioning to dominate the penalty area alongside Crouch.
Meanwhile, Bale shifted to the right, targeting the open space on the flank.
Modrić and Huddlestone covered the central gap with wide movement.
[Including Bale, you could say there are effectively four attackers. It is an asymmetrical setup to disrupt Manchester City.]
[Ironically, Redknapp is showing a gambler's instinct here. Let's see if it works.]
Redknapp's change unsettled Manchester City's defense.
Bale, who had been attacking from the right, began cutting inside, while Defoe dropped deeper, looking for long-range shots.
The asymmetrical switching play was pulling City apart.
[Even as halftime approaches, Tottenham's attacks are only intensifying.]
[This is dangerous. Tottenham are committing many players forward. City just need to hold on for this phase.]
It happened at that very moment.
"Push up more!"
"Now!"
A long ball came from the back, Defoe controlled it and immediately played a through ball to Bale, who was sprinting down the flank.
From there, the play accelerated rapidly.
Tap, tap!
Bale beat Kolarov with two quick touches and drove deep into space.
If he delivered the cross, it would be a perfect scoring chance.
But then.
Bang!
The cross was blocked and deflected in an unexpected direction.
Intercepted.
'Ho-young?'
No, that was impossible.
Ho-young was on the opposite side, hovering between Modrić and Huddlestone, preparing for a counterattack.
Then who was it?
When he turned, he saw someone who should not have been there.
Vincent Kompany.
The center-back, who should have been inside the box, was somehow out here.
'How…?'
It was unbelievable.
His movements looked slightly unnatural, yet his positioning was perfect, completely shutting down Bale's attack.
He was not the Kompany Bale knew.
It was as if he was moving under someone's instructions.
'Mancini?'
Something felt off.
At that moment, Bale's gaze shifted toward the center.
"Ha."
It was not Mancini.
The one signaling Kompany with gestures was none other than Ho-young.
A chill ran down Bale's spine.
It felt as if the pitch he was standing on was not White Hart Lane, but the palm of Ho-young's hand.
"Fuck."
The match was being controlled by a single player.
(To be continued.)