February 2nd, the new month's schedule began, and Sheffield United's opponent in this round of the EFL Championship was Leicester City.
"Oh!"
The match kicked off at noon that day. They were at home, and the center circle was kicked off amidst the enthusiastic cheers of more than 30,000 fans at Bramall Lane.
Gareth Speed stood with his head held high and his hands behind his back on the sidelines, his expression relatively relaxed. Every so often, he would wander around aimlessly and stomp his feet, seemingly unconcerned about what was happening on the field.
During this period, the team's excellent performance gave him confidence and a spirited demeanor.
No one could avoid getting carried away in this situation. Look at last month, they won four out of five games, earning twelve EFL Championship points!
Were those really just points? No! They were his bargaining chips for promotion and a raise, his triumphant feeling of regaining success in his coaching career after ending his playing career, his spiritual pillar, the 12 doses of good medicine injected into his body! "Bang!"
In the 31st minute of the match, Andy King, the Blue Fox's young midfielder who had scored against them in the first half, broke through their goal in a corner kick scramble.
"Sheffield United killer."
Gareth Speed gritted his teeth and sighed, glancing at his watch, but he wasn't too worried, as there was still plenty of time.
As he expected, only 9 minutes passed before Maël got an opportunity on the wing and completed a breakthrough. He then sent an accurate cross to Evans, who jumped up and knocked the ball in with his knee! One to one!
Equalizing the score!
"Yeah!!"
A roar erupted, not only from the fans on the scene, but also from Gareth Speed, who clenched his fists and roared with bared teeth.
How could he miss this moment of celebration? At this moment, he felt that Bill Shankly's saying, 'Football is nothing without the fans,' was not absolute. Gareth Speed also had something to say.
Without the celebration and roar after a goal, football would not stir anyone's emotions, nor would it become a spiritual pillar for many people.
As he was thinking, he refocused his attention on the field, because he saw Leicester City's kickoff being intercepted, and Maël received the ball from the wing, cutting inside towards the center, preparing to shoot.
"Here it comes again?!" He saw Maël's shooting posture, the height and quality of the ball after it was kicked, and subconsciously raised his hands, thinking he was about to be hit by a second wave of surprise.
"Clang!"
As a result, the sound of metal brought him back to reality, as Maël's curved shot hit the goalpost.
"Ah!" Gareth Speed held his head with his hands raised, his body sinking down, almost buckling at the knees, but he managed to stop himself just in time.
That sentence needs another half sentence—regretful emotions too! The first half ended like this, with both sides entering halftime with a score of one to one.
Returning for the second half, Gareth Speed's emotions were a bit more tense than in the first half. The fear of the opponent scoring was only a small part of it; more than that, he was afraid that his team would not be able to win.
This was the pressure from the winning streak, imposed on the team by his own obsessive-compulsive disorder and external expectations.
In the 73rd minute of the match, seeing that the team had not yet scored, Gareth Speed became a little anxious. He called on Mark Yates, preparing to go all out.
"Oh," he saw the fans suddenly noticing something, gradually rising from their seats, their eyes full of anticipation.
He turned his head and saw an extremely cool scene: Ward flew up at the front post, side-on volleying the ball out, elegant and sa che.
The ball slammed into the net without any suspense. Ward ran towards Kyle Walker, the full-back who had just made a late run to assist him. The arrival of this full-back gave him more opportunities to release the wing and enter the center.
"Yeah!"
Gareth Speed jumped up from the spot and shouted with the fans again. He waved his hand at Mark Yates, who was taking off his substitute vest, signaling him to sit down first.
Two to one!
They reversed the score!
It wasn't over yet. Just 3 minutes later, Maël once again charged towards the center with the ball. He had made this kind of move many times today, as if he was obsessed with something.
With a curved shot? Gareth Speed guessed something. He could also see that the quality of Maël's two cut inside curved shots today was good, so his foot felt good.
In this case, there was nothing wrong with wanting to try more.
"Bang!!" Maël suddenly kicked the ball during the cut inside, and the ball flew towards the goal like an arrow, spinning along the side net after hitting the net: "Swish!!"
"Wow!!" The fans at the scene once again erupted with deafening shouts, not just cheers, but this time with a clear sense of amazement.
In any case, this kind of long-range goal from outside the box with a curved shot is extremely spectacular!
"Look at him, look at him!"
Gareth Speed laughed, turned around, and pointed back at Maël on the field from the bench, a hint of self-deprecating pride in his expression. "Good thing I retired, or I might have been compared to him!"
Little did he know, Maël wasn't done with Leicester City's goalkeeper, Charles, in this match.
"Bang!!"
With three minutes left in the game, he unleashed another earth-shattering cut inside shot, blasting past Charles' goal.
"Wow!! Wow!!!" The exclamations erupted again, even more intense than before. No one could believe their own player scoring two absolute rockets in one game.
Charles lay on the ground, staring at the sky partially obscured by the stadium roof, shielding his face with his hand, utterly dejected, wondering what sins he had committed.
In the first minute of stoppage time, defender Steven scored Sheffield United's fifth goal of the match amidst a chaotic scramble in front of the net from a corner.
"Haha!"
Gareth Speed threw his head back and laughed at that moment, clapping his hands numbly, this was definitely an unforgettable final 20 minutes filled with surprises.
This moment of his was also captured by the on-site cameras and used as the cover image for the match report.
"Gareth Speed's Laugh! Sheffield United Thrash Leicester City Five to One! Maël Scores a Brace, Single-Season Goal Count Exceeds 20, How Far Away is the Next Hat-trick?" - The Guardian match report
The next day, the transfer window officially closed. Sheffield United invested £16 million in this winter window, making it one of their larger winter investments in recent years.
If someone happened to be both an Arsenal fan and followed the performance of their youth player Maël at Sheffield United,
they might notice that Arsenal's investment in this winter window didn't even exceed that of an EFL Championship team, and not just Sheffield United. That afternoon, at Reading Football Club's training base, after the daily training session, the players sat on the grass stretching and resting.
"Help me check something."
Reading's star player, Sean Long, stood next to an assistant coach. Seeing the other person using their phone, he asked with slight anxiety, "See if that Maël from Sheffield United has left the EFL Championship yet?"
"Okay."
The assistant coach opened Sheffield United's winter transfer changes, scanning up and down three or four times, but didn't see an entry for 'Maël - Loan Return - Arsenal'.
He squatted down, shook his head, and then offered comfort, "Actually, it doesn't matter. There are still many league rounds left. Stay competitive, and don't give up until the last moment. You still have a chance to win the best."
Sean Long nodded absentmindedly, not speaking, clearly somewhat melancholic.
As a young... well, let Zaha and Andy King of that age lament about it, especially in front of the 17-year-old Maël.
"Sigh."
He sighed, still needing someone to confide in, "I don't understand, I really don't understand, why a player like that would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Have you ever seen a player like that?"
"No."
The assistant coach shook his head, squatting and looking at the sky, also sighing, "Even Lionel Messi, after entering the First Team from the youth team, went through a period of adaptation and time on the bench."
"There's simply no such growth rate. No matter whose growth experience you look at, you can't find anything similar."
He remembered something and added, "Of course, there's one, the alien Ronaldo. He's the type of player who has high stats right from the start.
"But he's an alien."
Sean Long was even more depressed, sighing repeatedly, which didn't really fit his tough guy image. "Are you saying he'll reach the heights of Messi or Ronaldo in the future?"
"I didn't say that."
The assistant coach shook his head, not daring to make such bold claims. "I'm just saying, he's very strange. I just feel sorry for you, having such a good season but running into a player like that."
Sean Long sat down, lowering his head, knees pressed against his shoulder blades, burying his head in his legs.
"That guy didn't leave!"
At the same time, a similar scene was unfolding at the Queens Park Rangers' base, which was just about the time when all the clubs were finishing their afternoon training sessions.
Someone stopped Taarabt, regretting, "What he said before was true, he didn't leave the team, and Wenger didn't call him back."
Taarabt was actually somewhat similar to Maël, considered a player who had suddenly risen to prominence in the EFL Championship. At the beginning of the season, he could only be said to have secured a starting position, but his stats weren't particularly noticeable.
Who knew, as he gradually adapted, he exploded with amazing strength, with both his goal and assist counts exceeding 10, putting on a 'Best Player' performance.
Talented player! That was the outside world's assessment of him. Everyone believed that he would eventually return to his parent club Tottenham, where he would achieve great things.
"Didn't leave, so he didn't leave."
Taarabt didn't say anything on the surface, but his face darkened, and he stubbornly said, "I'll surpass him sooner or later. He won't be able to be smug for long."
"It's nothing."
A player next to him patted his shoulder, offering premature consolation, "Even if he's like this in the second half of the season, it doesn't matter. He can't help Sheffield United win the EFL Championship, but you can help Queen's Park win the championship."
Taarabt snorted softly, seemingly unconcerned, a proud Moroccan man with a bit of roughness.
But his playing style was different. He could often cleanly dribble past opponents with his delicate technique and sharp breakthroughs, then score goals or provide assists.
"Everyone envies his talent."
This player seemed to be a close friend of Taarabt, flattering him as he continued to console, "But you know, no one in Queen's Park envies him. We all know who the real genius is, the football artist.
"You were born in '89, he in '93, ah, not much difference really."
As soon as he said the ages, he regretted it, but in order to show that 'he really thought so', he pretended to be calm and continued.
Unsurprisingly, the flattery backfired.
Taarabt suddenly went berserk, quickly rushing forward and kicking a water bottle on the ground, sending it flying into a window of the Administration Building.
A loud bang quickly came from inside, and an old man poked his head out, angrily shouting, "Who kicked that?!"
Unexpectedly, Taarabt had an even worse temper, not only admitting it with a provocative look but also giving him the 'middle finger', continuing to fuel the fire.
After seeing Taarabt, the man silently closed the window and retreated back inside.
At the Watford training base, their star striker Graham held his phone, nervously clicking into Maël's search bar and entering the secondary page.
He refreshed for a long time but still didn't see the 'loan return' message. However, there was a new report below.
He didn't care about anything else; what he cared about was the sentence—Maël scores a brace, single-season goals exceed 20!
"Oh!"
Graham exclaimed in amazement, feeling a cold sweat and wanting to slap himself twice, questioning why he clicked on this page.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, and the more he felt the pressure was too much, and his nerves couldn't take it anymore.
Suddenly, he started to go crazy, rushing towards a teammate and punching him hard in the arm, "Oh!"
The Watford player who was hit had never widened his eyes so much in his life, feeling like he was looking at a lunatic, and also feeling surprised that he could experience such a thing in his life.
This astonishment reached its extreme, gradually making him laugh tremulously at this moment when he should have been angry, even saying words he didn't expect: "Good, good!"
...
ps: Sorry to disappoint everyone, only 5 chapters today, 19k. I'll see if I can make it up tomorrow, something urgent came up.
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