Chapter 169: The Beastly Inzaghi
At the start of the second half, Chelsea—trailing—switched to full attack and full defense; their onslaught was ferocious, showing little of Mourinho's usual style and looking more like disciples of the Counter-Pressing school.
Arsenal, two goals up, did not choose to bunker; adhering to the spirit of "we are the elite," they struck back and met Chelsea head-on.
Every duel between the two teams was like a meteor striking the earth, intensely stimulating the adrenal glands of the watching fans.
Unfortunately, the third goal that fans eagerly awaited did not come quickly…
The best performer in the Chelsea camp was Fernando Torres, who after halftime—seemingly recharged by a bowl of chicken soup—returned with renewed pride and vigor.
He and Eden Hazard combined to storm the Arsenal penalty area and caused Arsenal plenty of trouble…
Arsenal were no less dangerous: Xia Qi and Mario Balotelli forming a two-pronged threat made Mourinho's defense wobble.
Minutes flew by in alternating attacks and defenses. Ten minutes passed in a flash, and the pressure of being two goals down gradually revealed itself; José Mourinho could no longer sit serenely on the sidelines.
He had to act first: John Obi Mikel replaced the defense-shy Frank Lampard, and André Schürrle came on for Willian.
The magic of the "magical bird" Schürrle showed itself after the substitutions.
In the 58th minute, Schürrle at the right channel of the box pulled and fired a blistering shot; Arsenal goalkeeper Martínez dived sideways to save.
The ball hit the crossbar and bounced into the box. Torres attacked the rebound and headed it into the empty net.
1–2!
"Torres' follow-up! Goal!"
"Torres like a waking lion—one powerful, heavy header brings Chelsea back a goal."
"This goal is crucial: it stops Chelsea's slump and sounds the team's counterattack horn."
"This is the caliber of a top striker—his judgment, explosiveness, and accuracy perfectly combined at this moment. Mertesacker marking him had no answer and could only watch Torres' flying header."
Torres' goal was like a lightning bolt slicing the night sky over Stamford Bridge!
The whole stadium erupted instantly!
Teammates poured toward Torres, hugging tightly and releasing their joy and excitement.
Captain John Terry raised his arms and roared, seemingly trying to pass his passion to everyone.
Eden Hazard's face shone with excitement; he high-fived Torres, eyes glittering with hunger for victory.
Schürrle rushed over, hugged Torres hard and kept saying, "Brilliant—does that count as my assist?"
The substitutes leapt to their feet, applauding and cheering for the brilliant goal.
José Mourinho on the touchline waved his arms excitedly, his face showing satisfaction and pride.
Stamford Bridge turned into a carnival, with fans' cheers and shouts rising like they'd lift the roof off.
At that moment, Chelsea was united and their confidence and morale soared, ready to launch a final push for victory!
Play resumed, and buoyed by the goal Chelsea pressed on aggressively.
John Obi Mikel, who had come on for Lampard, made a ferocious tackle and brought Xia Qi down.
Xia Qi, usually used to easy wins in autopilot mode, was rarely tackled to the ground in past matches. So when he rolled and fell like a tumbling gourd, Arsenal fans and teammates felt something odd but couldn't quite put a finger on it.
After all, who hasn't rolled on the ground in a football match?
Even the famed Cristiano Ronaldo has his theatrical moments.
So what if Xia Qi rolled?
But being tackled cleanly to the ground felt strange—those who knew Xia Qi best found it peculiarly off.
Fans were eager to identify that dissonant feeling and momentarily forgot to pressure the referee.
Referee Taylor signaled that Mikel's interception was legal and that the attack could continue.
Play went on.
After Mikel's tackle and interception, he passed to Oscar.
Oscar immediately delivered an over-the-top ball that sailed over Arsenal defensive midfielder Gustavo's head and dropped behind him.
Torres, who had just scored, shot forward like an arrow from a bow and reached the ball before Mertesacker, who had come out to hoof it away.
Amid thunderous cheers from the crowd, Torres gently nudged the ball past Mertesacker and slipped off to the other side.
"Brilliant give-and-go!"
"One-on-one!!!"
"Arsenal's defensive line has been torn open!"
On the touchline Mourinho sprang up—could Chelsea's second goal be coming?
"I'm a genius—two goals after my changes!"
But soon his brow furrowed; in his view, Arsenal's young goalkeeper Martínez was too composed and decisive—he had come off his line without hesitation.
That was the right choice.
Torres reached Mertesacker, glanced up and was shocked—Martínez was surging out like a thundercloud.
Torres glimpsed Hazard on his left signaling for the ball, but brimming with confidence he decided to take the shot himself.
In an instant Torres chose to push the ball to the near post and see who would be faster. As he ran he clipped the ball with a slide finish.
Martínez, lightning-quick, dived and got a touch on the speeding ball.
The ball's momentum reduced slightly and it nicked the near post before rolling out for a goal kick.
"Martínez—world-class save."
"Golden boy Torres misses a great chance to equalize."
On the bench Mourinho's expression changed dramatically; that hopeful look was instantly chilled as if doused in ice water and replaced by deep disappointment.
His stern face tightened to the extreme, his mouth twitching as if to say something that he swallowed back.
He stood motionless, shrouded by an invisible gloom—contrasting sharply with his earlier swagger.
Arsène Wenger on the opposite bench smiled maliciously at Mourinho's lost look.
However, Mourinho's experience at Real Madrid had taught him some restraint. In Wenger's memory, if this had been Mourinho's earlier Real-era self, he would have loudly berated Torres for not passing.
The old Mourinho was both emotion- and result-driven; now mostly just emotion.
"Arsène, do we make a change?"
"Wait and see—let the boys adjust themselves…"
Wenger murmured to assistant Pat Rice.
…
On the pitch, the wind and clouds stirred.
Chelsea's corner was like a shooting star across the sky.
It was Torres again!
That legendary Torres!
He sprang at the near post, flicking off, then Hazard at the far post struck like a whirlwind. The ball skimmed the crossbar and went out.
Martínez took the goal kick; Chelsea's players grew a touch overconfident.
They assumed Arsenal wouldn't directly connect goalkeeper to forward.
The ball raced toward Xia Qi.
Most were taken by surprise—only Michael Essien, marking Xia Qi, kept his eyes on him.
Suddenly Essien saw Xia Qi burst forward, alarmed, and hurried to follow.
This time Essien swore he would not let Xia Qi score again.
He decisively grabbed and held, tugging at Xia Qi and wrapping him up.
It was clearly a foul.
But Essien had no time to care—a yellow card that stopped an Arsenal break was a bargain!
So, dragged by Essien, Xia Qi still pushed forward.
The two staggered toward Chelsea's box.
Referee Taylor already had his whistle in his mouth, ready to blow and brandish a yellow when Xia Qi went down.
But Xia Qi refused to fall; he exerted everything and sprinted on.
Even if pulled down one second, he popped up the next.
So tenacious, never giving up—Essien was left grinding his teeth in frustration!!!
Seeing Essien unable to properly foul and Xia Qi about to enter the box, Terry could not bear it any longer. He charged from the other side to cover.
He barreled into Xia Qi, determined not to let Xia Qi—a potential brace scorer—enter the box. That was the consensus of Chelsea's entire backline.
Terry's collision left Xia Qi staggering, wobbling and seemingly about to fall.
At that moment Xia Qi was filled with unwillingness!
This was sacrifice at the edge of victory!
Xia Qi gritted his teeth and resolved: damn it! If I'm going down, I'll fall in the box—never on the dark eve before dawn!
Suddenly he unleashed primal strength; the veins popped in his legs as he dug in and surged forward.
"Rip!"
A tear opened in Xia Qi's shirt.
The part of his shirt Essien had been clenching finally gave and freed its owner, granting Xia Qi liberty.
Xia Qi rejoiced—the cut in the shirt was perfect; he loved it!!!
He planted his hands and feet and exploded forward.
"Rip!"
Like heavenly trumpets sounding!
The rip widened; Essien felt his grip go light—only cloth remained in his hands.
Essien and Terry both stared in shock…
This kid had become a star, yet fought like this?
Neither had expected Xia Qi to be so desperate.
After the collision Terry staggered and, seeing Xia Qi break free and dash off, he panicked trying to regain balance and chase.
But his coordination failed and he tumbled.
His fall fortuitously blocked Essien's run and knocked Essien over as well…
…
Stamford Bridge erupted in an uproar!!!
Is this Mourinho's defense standard???
It's utterly ridiculous!!!!
"Xia Qi!!!"
Commentator Zhan Jun—on Penguin broadcast—was completely won over, practically raving: "Xia Qi has burst through—nothing can stop him! He's like a wild beast breaking free of his restraints, charging toward the vast sky that belongs to him…"
After reaching the ball, Xia Qi didn't hesitate. He glanced at the stunned goalkeeper—Petr Čech—
and decisively produced a driven curl with his instep!
A shot need not be stylish,
but
the angle must be wicked!!
The ball was cupped and drawn into a very strange, curling arc aimed at the absolute far corner.
After Xia Qi's outside-of-the-foot curl, not being in autopilot mode he could not keep going; he tumbled and rolled forward.
Oddly, Xia Qi didn't immediately think whether the ball went in—he thought, "I really am not the protagonist of a web novel where the pose must be perfect—non-main character!!"
Čech was truly stunned;
he had not expected Xia Qi to power through the tugs and pulls and surge inside.
In that instant,
what charged at him was not Xia Qi but a humanoid beast; Čech had no time to prepare.
When the ball arced in, his only hope was that Xia Qi would somehow hit the post.
Indeed,
the only thing that could save Chelsea was the home post.
Čech made no dive—he only watched the ball.
The ball traced an irregular "S" in the air, struck the inside of the far post and rebounded into the net.
"A Quintal curve!"
"Xia Qi showed guts and skill with the extremely difficult outside-of-the-foot curl!"
"Goal!"
"1–3! Arsenal restore a two-goal lead; Chelsea's hard work goes back to square one. Who will be the hero now? Last time it was Torres—who this time?"
"Xia Qi's fighting spirit is something to learn from. Essien tugged and pulled, Terry crashed in—none could stop him. How can you not love such a goal?"
"Can you hear it? The ten thousand Arsenal fans are roaring like sixty thousand—they're all conquered by Xia Qi. Are you at home conquered too??"
"With this goal tonight, staying up late was worth it. Oh! Sorry, I forgot to say—Xia Qi's first match back just produced a hat trick…"
"Tonight Xia Qi is like a beast version of Filippo Inzaghi—give him a sliver of sunlight and he will bloom brilliantly…"
While rolling, Xia Qi heard the whistle and knew the goal counted; wild joy surged in him and he broke into the brightest smile.
He scrambled up, confirmed the score, opened his arms and sprinted, eager to share the moment's joy with everyone.
His gaze swept the stadium, pride and confidence flashing in his eyes—this wasn't an autopilot hat trick; this was hard-earned quality.
On the touchline Wenger joyfully ran onto the pitch to celebrate with his players. With this goal, they'd very likely beat their "mortal enemy" tonight—nothing beats forcing Mourinho to bow in his own stadium…
On the other side, José Mourinho's face was sullen, full of helplessness and bewilderment, almost disbelief.
This can't be,
absolutely impossible!
Besides Yossi, how can anyone be braver than Cristiano Ronaldo???
Arsenal fans went delirious, chanting Xia Qi's name with a roar that washed over Stamford Bridge.
They jumped, waving flags, scarves and even bras in salute to Xia Qi's performance.
Chelsea fans were collectively speechless, their faces full of disappointment and frustration—but they had to admit Xia Qi's brilliance and privately admire the opponent's strength.
(END CHAPTER)
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