Unforeseen Resistance X

Vlad was off on the sidelines, staring at Forestier intently as he pointed at Mr Dreadlocks. "Have you forgotten my words?"

Forestier looked helplessly at Desroches that is roaming all over the pitch. "No....."

"Then what are you doing? GET ON HIM!"

Time is closing down quickly, faster than anyone in Le Harve could hope for. The minutes dwindled from 30min to 20min. From 20min to 10min. All until the match clock reached the 82nd minute, where the home team can only agitatedly watch as attempt after attempt was sent to the Amiens goal, but only to grow troubled as each shot failed to go into the back of the net.

Le Harve was dangerous, very dangerous in that fact that Desroches was blessing the ball with magic, spreading the ball all over the pith to create chances for others. Yet despite his influence and ability to change the match, he was completely marked out of the match. Other than the first few minutes where he found room and time to leverage his passing ability, Forestier followed him like a pest, annoying Desroches to no end as the defensive midfielder had only one task– To not allow the No.21 any touches on the ball.

Sébastien: "And Arbeleaz wins the ball back! Passes the ball to Rivera."

The midfielder enjoyed his touch on the ball. Spinning around to face forward at the opposition field, he scanned the players around him, but he chose the one that is tightly marked by another player.

Forestier had no squirms, he collided against the player as he fudged the person to make him off balance. Using both hands as he secretively pushed Desroches on the back, at an angle that the referee couldn't see.

But so focused on the player did he not realise the ball had rolled past the Le Harve player's feet. Desroches didn't even bother trying to touch the ball.

He had his doubts. It was only a few minutes but he had already felt that unquestionable quality of the player he is facing against. His touch, his grace, his vision ...everything that comes with being a professional footballer.

The ball somehow ended up in Pape's feet. The striker was even more surprised that the audience by how the ball came to him. But there was no hesitation in the striker as he immediately spun on the spot before facing the goal head-on.

"AND PAPE DRIBBLES AGAINST THE BACKLINE!"

Though the word dribble is more than generous for Pape's dribbling was more like an amateur running with the ball, with the player not having any proper finesse and grace. But the action still garnered an immediate response. Bain closed the striker down, yet maintained the giant at arm's length to give himself time to react.

Leroy recognized the situation at hand. But he is also realizing that he is running into a brick wall. The situation was becoming tense. He was in front of the goal. Just one last chance to give his team the victory. Yet as the striker tries to find some space, the defenders were completely dedicated to stopping his movement.

Pape had his face deterred, left with no choice. He eyed the goal for himself as he realised there won't be any passing options for him. Yet doubt was within himself, for he wasn't confident in his ability to score. But he just went for it. The player took his shot with force, swerving the ball slightly to his right, hitting the ball but not hitting the net. Spectators looked stupefied as they witness the ball being launched into the sky. With no intent and purpose giving the audience any hallucination that it will go into the net.

"OH! And Pape kicked the ball straight over the goal. That's not troubling the keeper..."

Lanier smacked his head as he watched the ball going out of bounds. The coach fell in front of the bench and cursed in anger. Everyone in the dugout was fidgeting and having trauma as they saw their shots at the keeper but never found the crucial goal they need to be the rightful victors of this match.

The match continued in this unpredictable, yet also predictable manner. Amiens holding down the fort with every single player on the field dedicated to defending the 1-1 score no matter what the sacrifice may be. Le Harve attacked, threw their men forward, and used all their wits, determination, and speed to their advantage as they played those long and high-pressure balls to their strikers in a bid to break the stalemate.

Desroches, the substitute that Lanier threw on, was a peculiar player, peculiar in that the player is an archetype of the traditional advanced playmaker taken to the extreme. Mr Dreadlocks, whom the youth team nicknamed him, has the touch, the vision, and the passing ability to spot his teammates making those dangerous runs during the attack. Those are the qualities that you need to break down a stubborn defence. But although he is thrown on as a substitute, regarded as being fresh off the bench, he didn't run, nor did he make any attempts to defend.

This left Roys and Rivera much of the responsibility to do the dirty work. Covering for Desroches when he was caught too high up the pitch, attacking and using his creative presence to find the forward partners of Pape and Leroy.

The tactical coach Lanier watched from the sidelines as Dreadlocks terrified the defending team of Amiens, yet secretly the coach himself is even more terrified when he decides to throw that player on the pitch. Lanier's eyes drifted from the ball on the right knee of Desroches, where the athletic tape is professionally bandaged by the club doctors. He could only prey, prey that the last few minutes of the game would go unpunished for that fragile playmaker.

Bombardment. Wave after wave of attack was directed at the Amiens goal yet none were converted by the striking duos of Leroy and Pape. Each and every shot was taken on goal is met with repeating disappointment by the fans, staff, and teammates from Le Harve.

Wave and wave of the attack sent down the Amiens' goal:

.

"OH AND LEROY SHOOT!!! –– Saved by the keeper."

.

"PAPE JUMPS FOR THE HEADER!!! ––– Just over the bar....."

.

"DESROCHES SHOOTS!!! –– AWWW! Denied by the post...."

.

But eventually, the shortage of time caught on to them. With the referee blowing the whistle after the addition of injury time. Lanier had his eyes on the scoreboard as he sighed. "If only we were luckier..."

The Le Harve players collapsed on the ground demoralised after their attempts were unrewarded. Injustice, a great injustice was lingering in every player's heart as they all didn't believe the score was a true reflection of the match.

Lanier shook his head. Four.... Four shots..... Amiens only had 4 shots sent Faira's way in the entire match and they somehow scored a goal. Compared to Le Harve's 28 shots, the statistics were firmly on the home team's side. Yet they had nothing to show for other than one measly point to show for their campaign. They should have gotten three points, but they were sent back to earth with only one point.

They all thought they were a genuine contender. They have beaten the strong side like RC Lens, yet lost to an on-paper weaker side like Amiens. They didn't know what to say but blamed their fortunes. Blame on their luck. Blame their opponent's opening goal in the first minute of the match.

"Sort out your look." Marley voiced as he saw Lanier exhibiting his regrets.

"We're coaches damn it. We are supposed to be their role models. Stop acting like it's the end of the world."

Lanier rose his head in confusion.

"The End of the World?" Lanier repeated.

Marley spoke. "Yeah. Like no hope. No celebration."

Lanier sat back, confused. "But...but....just a minute. Just hold on. We've got one point. Yes, that's a point. No matter what, that's a point. Where are we with the season?"

Marley repeated, "One point! So what's the big deal? A point is a point. You lose some and you win some. This is a marathon, not a sprint."

Lanier uttered, "Yes, that's true, but there are so many things that could have gone better. We could have more possession. We could have played our best players. We could have shot more. We should have been more disciplined."

Marley shook his head. "Lanier, calm down. Relax. We got one point and that's all we need. Look at the positives and stop focusing on the negatives. If you keep looking at the bad things, they will come back to bite you."

Marley patted Lanier on the back and said, "Even if you want to yell, you want to be disappointed, you'll only be setting yourself up for failure. You just focus on what's going well. We have one point. Not a bad start at all. Plus, I still feel we are good enough to compete for a spot in the Top 2."

"But we were the better team..." Lanier said as he and the rest of the staff came to the players' aid.

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we were..."

The players rested in the dugout as they were urged by their staff. There was a dread lingering in the air as their head bowed down, the droplets of snow fell upon the back of the head as it melted upon the touch. Silence surrounded them like a bomb exploding. The look of dismay on their faces spoke louder than any words could do. The cards had been dealt. But they had to play them.

That was the only thing they knew.

They were careless. They underestimated their opponents. A little arrogance could have been forgiven if it was for a higher prize, but that wasn't the case. They lost the game in the opening minute when they were oblivious, when they were arrogant, when they were confident in their ability. And it was thoroughly punished.

Even now, Séverin who had been subbed off wondered if he could have made an impact if he didn't misplace that pass. Séverin felt foolish for letting his confidence leave him in that way. Sure, he may be one of the better players on the team, but there was a responsibility that is placed upon him for being a starter. The No.10 shirt carried a great deal of weight and responsibility. He failed to show it and came off the field in a flood of tears. Séverin felt stupid.

The same too was the other players. To only able to level the score through a penalty kick? What a failure in the players to create genuine chances to score.