Chapter 202: You Must Believe in Football Superstition
In Chelsea's dressing room, a darkness like ink hung heavily over every player's face, as if one gentle twist could squeeze rivulets of water from them.
At this moment the players didn't just lack words to speak — they didn't even meet each other's eyes.
Despair, confusion, helplessness… a plague of emotions seemed to hang in the air.
The match had become an unspoken taboo.
With a creak,
José Mourinho pushed the door open.
There were none of the usual pleasantries.
In the past, the players would greet him — loved or hated, they'd politely say, "Boss, hello!"
"Boss, what are the instructions?"
"Boss…"
Not now. The dressing room grew even quieter.
Hearing the door, Chelsea players bowed their heads lower, as if some force on the floor held them down.
The substitutes were the same; the usual hunger to get onto the pitch had vanished.
Smack!
Mourinho threw his notebook onto the table and barked, "Is the apocalypse upon us, gentlemen?"
"Lift your heads!"
"Raise your heads for me!" Mourinho slammed the table and ordered them to look up.
Slowly the Chelsea players lifted their heads; their eyes were no longer glazed, though solitude still lingered on their faces.
"Children, never lose your fighting spirit — in football or in life."
"Life cannot always be smooth; temporary failure is inevitable. But if you lose the fighting spirit in your heart, you will fail forever. I don't think any of you want to be failures!"
Mourinho scanned the room. When he sensed their moods had eased slightly, he continued, "First, I must apologize to Frank. Our second conceded goal was my responsibility, yet I dumped it all on him."
Frank Lampard suddenly looked up, astonished!
As a member of Mourinho's first spell, Lampard knew how proud he was.
"Frank, sorry!"
Mourinho slightly bowed to Frank.
"It's all right, boss. I did play poorly." Frank Lampard looked a little embarrassed.
"Yes, you underperformed, and so did we all."
"Take me for example. Arsène Wenger that hypocrite designed tactics specifically to beat us — that's why we conceded the second goal — and I didn't change anything…
"Apologies, children! Because I did nothing, we went into halftime two goals down. I apologize to you." He bowed slightly to the players.
John Terry and other members from Mourinho's first tenure leapt up, fired up.
"Boss, it's not your fault!"
"Boss, take us out to fight!"
"Boss, we're only two goals down — we've come back from worse!"
Mourinho truly is a master at brewing motivational chicken soup: he took all blame on himself and instantly reignited the players' fighting spirit.
"In the second half, Frank, you must take more responsibility in attack. Release your strengths.
"Also, we must tighten set-piece routines…"
Meanwhile, in the other dressing room, Arsène Wenger warned his players not to open champagne at halftime.
"We must be wary of Chelsea's counterattack — they won't give up easily…"
"They will use every method to pressure us: little dirty tricks, trash talk, and set pieces… I demand you stay calm and highly focused…"
Murphy's Law is everywhere.
Wenger predicted Chelsea would counter and had prepared defensive plans, yet you can only prepare so much.
In the 49th minute of the second half, Gustavo's bulldog defending collided with Ramires and was judged a foul.
Chelsea won a free kick deep in their half.
Ramires quickly delivered it; Samuel Eto'o broke down the flank and delivered a low cross,
a high ball into the box.
Torres and Samuel Umtiti — you pull, I tug — neither rose properly; the ball struck the back of Umtiti's head.
He was towering!
In an instant it was like bait thrown into a pond — fishes scrambled to it.
Luke Shaw, a year younger than Xia Qi, truly reckless!
He even attempted a bicycle clearance in the box!
Fortunately, the technique was clean and decisive,
and fortunately there was no opportunist around to fake it.
The ball flew out of the box, only to be headed back by Mikel.
Luke Shaw was still young.
He reached the second ball and, perhaps in the heat of the moment, didn't push it out to the flank. The opponent cleared inward and he cleared outward — not an unreasonable choice.
The ball flew out again.
At this moment, inspired by Mourinho's pep talk, Frank Lampard bent and struck.
He first chested the ball and then looked at the goal, Mourinho's earnest admonition echoing in his mind:
"In the second half, Frank, you must take more responsibility in attack; release your strengths."
That was it — my poor first-half performance wasn't really me!
This shot is the real me!!!
The ball, Lampard's assertion of self, thundered toward goal like a shell.
Lampard's thunderbolt was something Arsenal had prioritized defending against; both goalkeeper and defenders were prepared.
Yet the problem was they were prepared.
Arsenal defensive midfielder Gustavo "prepared earlier" and stuck out a leg — effectively taking the job of both defender and goalkeeper.
He reached out his leg and blocked!
Perfect!
The ball struck his shin and seemed to have done its job.
But after the deflection it still sped toward goal — it had been redirected from one corner to another.
The ball lost some pace after the deflection — not lightning-fast but catchable.
Yet apart from Gustavo, goalkeeper Martínez had also "prepared."
At that instant Martínez was facing the opposite direction to the ball's flight.
Even with lightning lateral speed, he couldn't get back in time.
The ball curled past every Arsenal player and slotted into the net.
When the net rippled, Arsenal players stared at Gustavo in a daze.
Gustavo's face was an extraordinary palette of red, black, white, purple — like a dye house let loose.
Hero to bungler in half a second!
"Lampard's long shot!"
"Gustavo! Oh, that was dangerous!"
"Goal!"
"Not an own goal; the referee credited the goal to Lampard. Gustavo only made things worse."
"Perhaps without his deflection, Lampard wouldn't have scored."
"The King of Deflections has struck — you can't deny football's little superstitions."
"The score now is 1–2! Chelsea have closed the gap, but Arsenal must not collapse!"
Silence-broken, Chelsea fans erupted like volcanic lava in the stands.
They screamed hysterically: "Magic lamp!" "Magic lamp!"
And chanted: "One more!" "One more!"
Chelsea players didn't celebrate wildly. Lampard fetched the ball from the net and, running toward the center circle, waved thanks to the fans.
Chelsea supporters roared, and the team's spirit peaked.
The true battle began in the next second!
(END CHAPTER)
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