Chapter 168: Only a Divine Strike Can Beat a Miraculous Save
"Dingding to take the free kick."
"This position is about 25 meters from goal; Dingding can shoot directly."
"Luiz has no good option. If we leave Xia Qi unmarked it's more dangerous—choose the lesser of two evils. But from here Chelsea is in trouble; see how they set the wall!"
"Xia Qi and Dingding are talking—could Xia Qi want to take it himself?"
"Xia Qi's free kicks are only Robson de Souza-style power shots; Dingding will take it."
On the pitch,
Petr Čech was directing the wall, but however he positioned them something felt off.
That was because Arsenal only put two players in the wall,
while Xia Qi and Mario Balotelli, the two big threats, stood alert to the left and right of the wall, flanking Kevin De Bruyne who'd take the kick.
Čech felt Arsenal could attack either side;
there's no way to have everything at once.
He fretted!
Čech's black "tank cap" looked like it had turned white with worry.
He made the difficult choice, like a schoolkid, between defending De Bruyne's direct shot and defending Arsenal's set-piece routines.
Finally the wall in the box was set.
Kevin De Bruyne, Čech's opponent, pursed his lips and stepped back four or five paces to the spot the referee had indicated, then stood there waiting quietly for the whistle. During that time he didn't exchange a glance with Xia Qi or Mario Balotelli.
This unusual behavior made Čech nervous. He moved Branislav Ivanović and César Azpilicueta to the sides of the wall, leaving Frank Lampard, David Luiz and Michael Essien in the middle.
After that adjustment Čech felt exposed to De Bruyne's range and asked Essien and Per Mertesacker to switch positions.
Mertesacker is an Arsenal player—why would he cooperate?
Essien didn't hesitate and grabbed to pull, forcing the position change.
Mertesacker and Gustavo were tricked; they refused to yield and pulled and pushed, hugged and shoved, and unwittingly moved forward a bit.
Referee Taylor noticed everything; Chelsea's small games didn't escape his eye.
He quickly ran over, measured the distance to the wall, and ordered the wall to step back two paces.
Instantly, discontented boos echoed around Stamford Bridge and José Mourinho stormed to the fourth official protesting loudly.
But Taylor stood firm and insisted the wall retreat, forcing Čech to reorganize his wall again.
At last Čech gave the ready signal. Kevin De Bruyne, under the watch of thousands, also signaled referee Taylor that he was ready.
"Beep!"
The whistle.
Kevin De Bruyne took a few quick steps, planted his weight and swung his already-tensed left foot viciously at the ball.
"Boom!"
A violent explosion sound, like a tire blowout.
The ball rocketed up, tracing a streak of white…
In the wall, Gustavo and Per Mertesacker quickly ducked, Balotelli lunged forward like a cheetah, and only Xia Qi stood motionless, perched in front of the defender Willian who was marking him.
Clearly, the tactic was Balotelli to attack the near post and Xia Qi the second post.
Sure enough that white streak flew over Mertesacker's head; Čech breathed a sigh of relief because he'd swapped Essien and Mertesacker into better spots.
The only shortcoming was the ball's speed—Čech couldn't risk plucking it cleanly out of the air, and Balotelli's burst put pressure on him.
In a flash Čech chose what he deemed the safest option: he leapt high and punched the ball away with both fists.
Of course the ball wouldn't go toward Xia Qi's side by accident—Čech isn't going to make such a rookie mistake.
The ball was punched out to the edge of the penalty arc.
There was no one there at the moment.
Chelsea's Óscar and Arsenal's Santi Cazorla were the closest to that empty space.
As Čech punched the ball out, Xia Qi sprang toward the gap like a rabbit.
He didn't know why he did it. The instant he saw Čech's fist, an instinct told him the ball would fly there, so almost reflexively he reacted to get into position.
On the pitch Cazorla is sharp; his teammates call him "Mama Cazorla," and that nickname is earned.
Maternal and tough!
Seeing Xia Qi sprint for the ball, Cazorla cleverly changed direction and slipped in ahead of Óscar, causing a collision scene.
But it was Óscar who hit him, not the other way around—a legitimate use of the rules. Chelsea fans cursed him with the worst words but had no recourse.
The boos at Stamford Bridge rose again…this was Cazorla's best reward.
Thanks to Cazorla's help, Xia Qi arrived first at the ball's landing spot, the only flaw being Xia Qi had his back to goal at that moment.
If this were an auto-play game, a bicycle volley from 20 meters wouldn't be impossible.
But now, it wasn't the time for a wild speculative strike.
Xia Qi controlled the ball properly and turned.
One fluid sequence with no mistakes—but Willian, who was marking him, was right on his shoulder.
Willian had come in aggressively and clung to Xia Qi's back. When Xia Qi turned, to rotate simultaneously Willian could only grab Xia Qi's jersey with his left hand and wrap his right arm around Xia Qi's waist, turning together.
His teammates watching felt cold sweat on their backs—if Xia Qi went down in that motion…
At this point Arsenal had lost the chance for a quick break; most South American players would have sought an even better set-piece position or tried to con a yellow card… If ruthless, two men grappling could stumble into the box and earn a penalty…
Thinking this, cold sweat started pouring out.
Fortunately Xia Qi, influenced by Al, doesn't "act" or "dive."
This gave the Chelsea players a bit of respect: this guy is tough! Iron-blooded like Chelsea men—he'd make a teammate; recommend the owner buy him.
With Willian's pull Xia Qi managed to move half a step forward—don't underestimate that half-step.
For a striker that's a giant stride.
With that half-step Xia Qi could ignore Willian's clumsy hold and stabilize his center of gravity.
That's crucial for a shooter!
He nudged the ball lightly with his right foot to give it a striking distance, then quickly brought his right leg up and, before César Azpilicueta could complete his recovery, struck the ball.
Xia Qi didn't think about angle, curve or finesse—he did two things: hit it hard and aim for the goal.
Willian didn't expect Xia Qi could still shoot while hanging off him; in desperation the arm around Xia Qi's waist executed a "Mongolian wrestling throw!"
Xia Qi fell and dragged Willian down with him, but Willian's foul came too late to affect the cannonball shot heading toward goal.
At this critical instant,
amid the crowd's gasps,
César Azpilicueta bravely threw his body in front of the shot.
With a loud thud,
the ball struck Azpilicueta; the impact knocked him backwards at once.
The ball rebounded and hit the back of Willian's head as he fell.
Rebound after rebound, the ball bounced into the box.
In an instant the penalty area turned into chaos as everyone lunged for the ball.
In the split second the forward's instinct proved sharpest!!
Mario Balotelli burst from the crowd and attempted an overhead volley on the flying ball.
But Petr Čech, like a god descended, made a double save in a flash—leaping and parrying the ball away with a single outstretched hand.
This time, in the scramble, all he could do was get a touch; there was no placement control.
The ball flew toward Xia Qi's direction.
At the edge of the penalty area lay three men: Azpilicueta with his chest struck, the fallen Willian, and the knocked-over Xia Qi.
Xia Qi saw the ball coming and had no time to think. He planted his hands, pushed off with his feet and sprang like a frog.
A frog jump!
A springing dive!
Robin van Persie's flying header is beautiful in the air,
but Xia Qi's frog-like header leap is launched from the ground and is utterly ungainly.
After springing up, Xia Qi first lifted his head to judge the ball's drop, then quickly bowed his head and crashed it toward the ball like a torpedo.
Because he contacted the lower-middle part of the ball, the ball didn't rocket straight but, like van Persie's diving head, had a small loop as it fell toward goal.
Chelsea players attempted to jump and clear but failed,
and Čech was still lying on the ground.
Even if he'd been on the goal line, it would have been hard to reach that high lofted ball.
The ball inevitably sailed into the empty net.
Stamford Bridge fell silent!!!
Everyone was stunned by the twist-filled drama!!!
Xia Qi's frog-torpedo header was deeply moving, and even more moving was his never-give-up fighting spirit—perhaps that is the charm of football…
"Beep!"
The whistle!
Stamford Bridge came back to life!!!
"Goal!"
"Goal!"
"Xia Qi has scored an incredibly wonderful goal. Čech, though inspired with successive saves, was finally undone."
"Only a divine strike can beat a miraculous save!"
"Willian's grabbing not only failed to stop Xia Qi's shot but made himself Xia Qi's backdrop. This goal will be replayed and talked about all week."
"Really, really, that was the most wonderful thing I've ever seen—utterly brilliant. Chelsea's defensive grit and Arsenal's fight to the end—this was a goal earned by effort; it declares the meaning of battle…"
On the touchline Mourinho shouted at team doctor Eva without any decorum: "Look what you've done! How stupid do you have to be to do something this idiotic?"
In Mourinho's view, if John Terry hadn't come off, everything would have been different—at least Balotelli's overhead volley would have been much harder to appear…
The attractive Eva was fiery in temperament and refused to be a scapegoat. She shot back, "Your defensive tactic had a hole—how is that my fault? Even if it were, you need to respect women. It's the coach's job to fix errors—why didn't you recall a forward to defend?"
Seeing Eva not only refuse to apologize but argue back, Mourinho exploded further: "You filthy bitch—who are you to tell me what to do?"
"Watch your language…"
Players and staff on Chelsea's bench hurried to pull the two apart.
On the other side of the pitch,
when Xia Qi leaped, Arsenal's side erupted!
Arsène Wenger and his assistants stormed out of the dugout to celebrate with the players,
but they were surprised to find their neighbors even more jubilant.
Wenger looked as glad as an overweight homebody sipping soda—happy and content…
After the soap-opera episode, Mourinho soon composed himself.
Being two goals down, Mourinho still had faith in himself and his players.
He sent Eva back to the dressing room and ordered Terry to get his ass back on the pitch.
When play resumed,
Chelsea abandoned a counterattacking stance and piled pressure onto Arsenal's goal.
They at one point battered Arsenal into impotent retreat, forcing Arsenal to bunker thirty meters from goal,
so much so that Xia Qi had to drop back to help defend.
After Arsenal's relentless effort, when referee Taylor blew for halftime,
the score on the pitch remained unchanged.
On Stamford Bridge's LED scoreboard it still read Chelsea 0–2 Arsenal!
Amid the boos, Xia Qi and his teammates laughed and joked as they walked into the players' tunnel.
During the fifteen-minute interval Mourinho was livid; his roaring could be heard at the tunnel entrance.
"In the first half we defended well, but that Chinese kid scored. Many of you are still blaming their luck!"
No one spoke, but many faces told Mourinho: that's right.
"One was luck—two as well?"
"Don't you notice? They want the win more than you. They fight harder. Think about that kid who blocked the shot with his body—think about Xia Qi, think about Kevin De Bruyne…"
After delivering that verbal blow Mourinho gave them some encouragement.
He said to Fernando Torres: "Fernando, are you getting old?"
Torres's face flushed crimson. The Torres who left Liverpool has been trying to get back to his peak.
His eyes flashed anger, silent but stubborn as he looked at Mourinho.
"Teach that kid a lesson. You can do it. Show him what a true Premier League Golden Boot looks like."
"You're not old. Don't let that youngster wash you up on the sand…"
"Eden, same to you—you're the closest to Messi/Ronaldo in this league; why let a kid swagger in front of you?"
Eden Hazard nodded but didn't puff his chest out. Compared to scoring, he wanted a burger more.
"In the second half you two will get more support from the midfield and defense…"
In Arsenal's dressing room Wenger praised the whole team. Although both goals were Xia Qi's, it was a team effort…
Xia Qi received a massage while replaying the first half in his head—a habit he developed watching matches in auto-play.
After reviewing he realized there was still a significant gap between him and Al; many of his traits—speed, physicality—hadn't been fully utilized.
Should he come up with a surprise for the second half??
The fifteen minutes of halftime passed quickly. (END CHAPTER)
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 20 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/Bankai10