After the winter break, the first high-intensity joint training session with the new recruits was underway. Nagelsmann stood on the sidelines, his black down jacket unzipped, revealing a bright orange training vest underneath, a tactics board in his hand. He had spent a long time yesterday in the tactics room, simulating strategies.
De Jong, the young man from Ajax, possessed an extraordinary vision and silky-smooth passing and turning ability, as if he carried a precise map in the midfield. Maguire, whose frontal defense was fierce and aerial dominance almost unchallenged, though his turns were not quick, was enough to be a pillar of stability in Nagelsmann's three-center-back system, playing on the right side.
And the core of the entire tactical puzzle was still his beloved disciple, Oliver, who could stir up huge waves on the right flank.
"Frenkie," Nagelsmann called De Jong over before the team scrimmage, marking out his area with virtual lines on the field.
"See this area? Your task is to receive passes from the defense immediately at the moment of transition between attack and defense. Whether it's Schulz, Vogt, or Harry, they will all look for you first! When you get the ball, quickly move forward, looking for the most incisive breakthrough points on both flanks, especially the right winger's position. Use your through balls to penetrate the defense, or distribute the ball to the wing-backs in time to create overlaps. Remember, be quick, precise, and have a wide vision!"
De Jong listened intently, his eyes sparkling with understanding and excitement, nodding vigorously. De Jong felt a sense of familiarity at Hoffenheim. Because Nagelsmann's style was very similar to Ten Hag's, both of them enjoyed coaching young players, which made De Jong feel very comfortable.
Then, Nagelsmann turned to Maguire beside him and said: "Harry, look closely, your area is here," he drew a semicircle on the right side of the defensive line on the tactics board, "Your duty is to completely crush any attempts to attack from this direction or any delusions of trying to find the center forward with high balls! Use your body! Use your heading! Your frontal defense must be as hard as a rock. Also," Nagelsmann added,
"If you win back possession, don't hesitate! Immediately find Frenkie or other defensive midfielders, let them organize the play. Remember, you are a strong starting point! Not an end point!"
Maguire puffed out his chest, his broad shoulders seeming even more substantial, and he responded with a deep, powerful voice: "Understood, Coach!" His gaze swept across the opposing forward line, carrying a hint of challenge.
Finally, his gaze fell on that familiar figure—Oliver was stretching on the sidelines, his expression focused and calm.
Nagelsmann walked over and patted his beloved disciple on the back: "Kid, run freely, remember, one of our core attacking directions is still your right flank. Frenkie will create more opportunities for you to face the opponent's last line of defense directly, but once the opportunity arises, it's up to you whether you can seize it and whether you can use it to turn their world upside down."
Oliver looked up, a habitual, pleasing smile curving his lips: "Coach, as long as the ball reaches my feet, I guarantee the opponent will experience what it's like to cut through butter with a hot knife."
This remark drew a burst of laughter from Gnabry and others nearby.
"Good!" Nagelsmann clapped his hands, and the whistle cut through the cold air, "Start! Blue Team (main team) vs. Orange Team (backups)! Give me maximum intensity!"
The scrimmage ignited like a battlefield in an instant. The Blue team won the ball in their own half, and Vogt, without any hesitation, nudged the ball with his toe, precisely delivering it to De Jong's feet. The ball, as if guided by a navigation system, settled steadily in front of De Jong. With just one touch, De Jong's value was fully revealed. He didn't stick to the ball, barely even pausing. His body seemed to anticipate the movements around him in advance, executing an incredibly nimble half-turn, evading the Orange team's symbolic pressing midfielder's interference. At the same time, his eyes scanned the attacking third like a radar.
While Vogt was still grinning about his accurate pass, De Jong's right foot, as if equipped with a launching device, shot out a low through ball with a "whoosh"!
The football, like a sharp scalpel, cut through the seemingly tight, yet subtly gapped, connecting area between the Orange team's three lines! The pass was given too early, too tricky, and its target was that blue silhouette that had instantly burst into motion—Oliver!
"Good ball!" Nagelsmann blurted out from the sidelines, leaning forward unconsciously.
The core idea of the new tactic became a reality in this flash of a pass and a run. De Jong's organization was indeed quick and deadly! Nagelsmann could vaguely sense that De Jong's future was also limitless; he was practically born for the midfield. After Oliver received the ball, he pushed his speed to the limit. The Orange team's left-back, Akpoguma, who was defending him, was also a tough opponent and had already anticipated and started to block him.
As Oliver was about to run into the "pocket" set up by Akpoguma, everyone thought this incisive attack would be stopped by a body collision. Just at that critical moment, Oliver, while running at high speed, made a move that instantly silenced the entire field. Oliver took a large step forward with his left foot, planting it firmly on the turf, and almost using it as an axis, his body's center of gravity sharply tilted far to the left, feigning an attempt to forcibly overtake from the outside! His shoulders swayed, his eyes aimed to the front left, and his entire body posture was incredibly convincing!
Akpoguma was completely fooled, and then he hastily adjusted his center of gravity, moving with all his might to his left side to block. His entire body was already tilted, preparing to block! However, at the moment his center of gravity shifted, Oliver's planted left ankle seemed to have a life of its own, twisting sharply inward with an incredible burst of power and flexibility! The tilted center of gravity was forcibly pulled back to the right by this explosive force!
At the same time, his right instep deftly pushed the ball forward, and the football did not roll along its usual trajectory. Instead, it moved eerily close to the ground, carving out a sharp inward curve in an extremely small space, passing precisely between Akpoguma's unbalanced inner legs! A feint toward left! But the ball cut inward to the right!
This was a feint so convincing it couldn't be more so, but the core lay in the terrifying explosive twist of the supporting foot and the exquisite power of the right foot's touch!
This exquisite power made this stop-and-go difficult to distinguish between real and fake. Akpoguma only felt a blur before his eyes, and Oliver seemed to tear through space instantly, appearing behind him, where his body was completely out of position. He was cleanly left in place, without even a chance to foul! He could only turn around in vain.
"Oh my god!!"
"What a kid!!"
The substitutes on the sidelines and the players watching on the field simultaneously let out huge gasps of astonishment. The move was too fast and too clever. The explosive twist of the supporting foot was the core; that sudden, sharp change of direction sent a chill down the spine of everyone who witnessed it.
Nagelsmann's eyes instantly lit up! He gripped the tactics board in his hand, his knuckles slightly white from the effort. Although this move was flashy, it was also an extremely practical way to beat an opponent in high-speed confrontation, achieving victory in one move. Its core lies in explosive power and exquisite control over deceiving the center of gravity. Wasn't this exactly the weapon he had dreamed of, one that could break stalemates and create killing opportunities in small spaces?
Oliver, having successfully broken through, did not hesitate for a moment, not even looking at the disheveled defender behind him. He caught up with the ball he had led with his instep and looked up to observe the penalty area. The opponent's defensive cover was too late, and there was chaos in front of the goal. Oliver, without hesitation, raised his right foot and unleashed a powerful, low shot. Although goalkeeper Baumann reacted with lightning speed, his fingertips barely touched the ball, but the speed and power were too great, only changing the angle slightly.
Bang!
The ball slammed heavily against the inside of the post and rebounded, and the alert Gnabry followed up to tap into an empty net!
"Yeah!!!" The Blue team, Oliver's team, erupted in cheers. Everyone's gaze was focused on Oliver, who had just performed that bizarre dribbling move. Training paused for a moment.
Gnabry was the first to rush over, dramatically gesturing the move he had just seen as he ran: "My goodness! Oliver, is your ankle made of bearings? What was that just now? So slick! Absolutely slick!" He mimicked twisting his ankle, looking a bit comical and endearing.
Geiger also slapped his thigh, a look of disbelief on his face: "Damn! Oliver, you have to tell me, how did you generate that power just now?! Akpoguma looked like he was frozen!"
Even Hübner, who was usually not very talkative, walked over and, uncharacteristically, commented, "It really seems effective."
Akpoguma stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, a helpless yet admiring wry smile directed at Oliver: "I have to say, mate, that move was too cunning... I was completely fooled into looking like an idiot."
At this moment, a large figure somewhat clumsily squeezed through—it was Harry Maguire.
The big man's eyes gleamed, and he grinned, revealing a simple, honest smile: "Oliver, that dribble, can you do it again, slowly? We want to watch it closely." His massive frame squeezed into the crowd, showing particular interest in that dribble.
Clearly, Oliver's move was not just a display of skill, but it also struck a chord with the players' instinctive appreciation for practical techniques. Nagelsmann also walked over; he wanted to confirm whether his beloved disciple could replicate the dribble just now, to prove that it wasn't just a flash of inspiration. Oliver was surrounded by teammates and coaches, a habitual, slightly smug smile on his face. Facing a barrage of questions, he lifted his left foot and wiggled it:
"I practiced it, you know, at the street football pitch near my house. I almost cramped up while practicing ball control. This move isn't much, really. It's just that the supporting foot has to be firm, the change of direction has to be quick, and your eyes have to deceive. The key is the explosive power and the angle of the twist in that supporting foot, and also the timing... it has to be precise."
Oliver explained the core in the most straightforward language, without holding anything back. Next, Oliver demonstrated the Phoenix Spin dribble several times at a speed everyone could clearly see. He patiently slowed down to demonstrate the key points of the supporting foot's landing and the inward force of the ankle, although the essence of this move lies in its application at high speed. But the slow-motion analysis already made technical players like De Jong's eyes light up, and also made power players like Maguire thoughtful.
This frankness and sincerity made the teammates, especially the newly joined De Jong and Maguire, feel very appreciative. Oliver never put on airs; he was truly good, but he also truly shared. After a brief commotion, training resumed. With this powerful breakthrough point as a guarantee, the new tactics operated even more smoothly and imaginatively. De Jong, positioned in the middle, continuously supplied ammunition forward, especially through balls to the right winger.
Each pass was more threatening than the last, and each was better adapted to Oliver's starting rhythm and preferred direction. Every one of his surgical passes always found Oliver's most threatening sprint line, and Oliver always understood the Dutchman's intentions, quickly establishing a subtle yet highly effective connection between them. And Maguire was stationed on the right side of the defense.
The Orange team's several attempts to attack behind him or with high balls were either headed away or disrupted by his almost unreasonable strength and precise anticipation. Even more surprisingly, Maguire had truly taken Nagelsmann's words to heart.
Once, he leaped high, forcefully heading an opponent's cross out of the penalty area with his head. The ball's landing point was slightly off De Jong's anticipated position. Maguire didn't hesitate for a moment, letting out a roar, charging forward like a full-throttle tank, using his physical advantage to forcefully win the ball back from the opponent's forward's feet. Then, with a not-so-delicate but exceptionally simple and powerful instep, he precisely pushed the ball with a thud to De Jong, who was signaling twenty meters away.
The entire sequence was seamless, from clearing the ball to winning it back again and then accurately finding the core, so concise and efficient that it was remarkable. Oliver, on his side, was completely unleashed. With De Jong's exquisite passes and the new trump card, the "Phoenix Spin," which made defenders incredibly wary, he became an utterly lawless explosive point on the right flank.
Once he received the ball, whether it was a direct one-on-one breakthrough, a quick one-two with the overlapping right wing-back, or a direct cut inside to look for a shot or a pass, he seemed to do it with effortless ease. He didn't use that dribble lightly; it was a trump card to be unleashed at crucial moments or when the opponent was defending tightly. But the psychological deterrent this move brought to the opposing players was immense. This is like nuclear deterrence; once you know I have nuclear warheads and long-range strike capabilities, you have to weigh your options before you move against me.
Defenders also learned their lesson when defending Oliver; they no longer dared to easily commit their entire weight to his outside, and they didn't dare to get too close. This space of hesitation and apprehension precisely gave Oliver more options. After a scrimmage, De Jong organized the play with ease, showcasing his strengths of precise passing and elusive positioning; Maguire's presence and stability in the defense made the entire backline feel secure; and Oliver's full firepower in attack became the most dazzling spearhead. Nagelsmann stood on the sidelines, nodding repeatedly as he watched the new tactics.
Today, he didn't shout instructions as usual; most of the time, he just observed quietly, but the passion in his eyes was evident to everyone. He had initially anticipated high-efficiency operation from the new tactics, but his beloved disciple Oliver's new weapon and new form had exceeded his expectations. That dribble was a stroke of genius, a sharp blade honed through diligent practice. And the almost telepathic connection between Oliver and De Jong, as well as their unreserved friendliness and sincerity towards the new recruits, brought this important tactical integration to a "perfect" effect far beyond expectations.
"Alright, lads, that's it!" Assistant coach Kramer blew the whistle to end the training.
The players walked towards the sidelines, panting, the air filled with the strong scent of grass mixed with sweat. Everyone's faces showed fatigue, but even more, excitement.
De Jong wiped his sweat as he walked over to Oliver and said, "Oliver, your positioning is really... so smart. I know where to pass the ball now, and that dribble, incredible! I've never seen a player like you at Ajax." He gave a thumbs-up.
Maguire also walked over, and his huge palm slapped Oliver on the back with a "thwack," making him stumble: "That was brilliant, kid! We're a hundred percent confident with the right wing in your hands! With Vogt and me covering you at the back, you can play without worries too!"
Maguire's words conveyed a sense of reliability. Oliver smiled in response, nodding vigorously, and unscrewed a bottle of water, taking several big gulps. After drinking the water. Oliver's gaze instinctively turned towards his mentor, Nagelsmann, who happened to be looking at him as well, a slight smile on his lips, nodding at him and giving a thumbs-up.
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