Chapter 68: When in Doubt, Take a Shot

"Kaka started his signature midfield long run, his speed was blazing, his moves were precise, making it hard to believe that he was a Brazilian player nurtured in the samba football culture...and another one, poor Kolonic, he didn't even get a chance to foul."

The South American commentator's speech was indeed fast, but by the time he finished blabbering, Kaka had already charged from the midfield into the penalty area, facing Kolonic one-on-one.

The commentator's words were simple, and Kaka's breakthrough looked effortless, but the process was not as smooth as it appeared on the surface.

The long-range dribble was undoubtedly effective, but it was not foolproof, especially against a formidable opponent like Argentina. To charge directly from the midfield into the penalty area required a bit of luck.

So Kaka cherished this opportunity.

Kolonic was Argentina's last line of defense.

Midfielder against defender, captain against captain.

Kaka took small shuffling steps, controlling the ball with the inside of his right foot, gently pushing it forward. Kolonic slightly bent at the waist, his eyes fixed on the ball at Kaka's feet, retreating slowly as Kaka advanced.

The other Argentine players could come to assist in defense at any moment, and the Brazilian team was also ready to provide support. So, they had little time.

Kaka made the first move. He suddenly paused, using the outside of his foot to feint a move to the right. Kolonic's steps halted, and his body leaned slightly towards Kaka's right.

Kaka's right foot crossed over the ball, his instep pushing it inwards, and he followed the motion to burst through on the left. However, Kolonic's footwork was steady. Although he was momentarily thrown off balance by the first feint, he quickly regained his balance and lunged forward.

But Kaka's move was another feint.

The ball he had pushed inwards was nudged forward by his left foot, going straight through Kolonic's legs.

A skillful nutmeg solely for the purpose of getting past the defender.

Kolonic quickly closed his legs, but he was half a step too late. Kaka had already run past him on the right side.

Between Kaka and the goal, only the goalkeeper Lukes remained, but the shooting space left for Kaka was minimal.

His position was about two or three meters away from the goal, and he was almost touching the goal line. The goalkeeper had already covered the far post, leaving only a tight angle near the near post.

The best option, of course, would be to square the ball across the goal mouth, but there were not only Adriano and Maicon, but also a swarm of Argentine defenders rushing back. Hoping for the two strikers to control the ball cleanly and score was less likely than the Argentines accidentally scoring an own goal in their panic.

Kaka found himself in a dilemma for a moment.

Pass or shoot, that was the question.

When in doubt, take a shot. That was the answer.

Although he hesitated between passing and shooting countless times in his mind, Kaka's actions showed no hesitation as he lashed out at the ball with a powerful strike.

The ball flew rapidly towards the gap between the goalkeeper and the post.

Lukes didn't expect Kaka to shoot from such a tight angle and reacted half a second too late. But his right hand and right foot instinctively stretched out to block the ball's path.

His foot deflected the ball, changing its trajectory, but it didn't prevent it from finding the net.

1-0.

"He's through! Kaka one-on-one! Adriano and Maicon...he shoots! Goal! Kaka! Kaka! Kaka! He dribbled from the midfield, beating four Argentine players including Kolonic, and scored from an almost impossible angle into the side netting! He has delivered a Maradona-esque performance in Maradona's homeland!"

The last sentence was, of course, the Brazilian commentator's embellishment for his compatriot, although their playing styles were vastly different. Nevertheless, the impact they created was equally stunning.

Argentina squandered two golden scoring opportunities, while Brazil, without any Argentine mistakes, managed to carve out a path through Kaka's individual brilliance, delivering a decisive blow.

Such is the game of football, both loved and loathed.

Kaka jogged towards the sideline, his arms outstretched, gazing skyward.

The teammates running behind him, Adriano and Maicon among them, momentarily seemed hesitant to disrupt this scene, stopping in their tracks.

Kaka turned around, stepped forward, and embraced his teammates.

The teammates surrounded this captain, whose smile seemed brighter than the sun itself, a whirlwind of emotions.

Such a person really made it impossible to feel envious...

A handful of Brazilian fans erupted in cheers amidst the nearly 40,000 Argentine supporters, their voices barely audible but creating ripples like a pebble thrown into a lake. Kaka raised his hands and gently clapped in their direction, a gesture of gratitude to the fans who had traveled from afar.

Kolonic and Lukes shared an identical stance, hands on hips, exchanging wordless glances.

The reactions outside the pitch were even more intense, especially from the scouts who had flocked in from around the world.

They no longer cared about the remaining part of the match.

They only wanted to slam the recording of that goal on the desks of their head coaches and transfer directors.

"You cannot imagine what I've just witnessed. This kid is a genius, a true genius..."

"We must sign him at all costs, and quickly, or we'll regret it..."

"Listen to me, no matter what price Sao Paulo demands, in three years tops, that price will triple. He deserves to wear the shirt of Arsenal (Manchester United, Bayern Munich, Ajax...) without a doubt..."

Similar sentiments were brewing in their minds, constantly being refined and embellished to highlight Kaka's brilliance while showcasing their own foresight and boldness, with every punctuation mark laden with workplace scheming and maneuvering.

The match resumed, and the leading Brazil team finally shed most of their tentative demeanor, but the trailing Argentina played aggressively, keeping Brazil on the back foot.

Costonio remained calm and content.

A final, home advantage, trailing, arch-rivals, young players... With this string of premises, if Argentina could still defend and attack calmly and systematically, then his team would truly have to settle for this one goal and play a defensive, counter-attacking game.

Playing for counter-attacks was quite embarrassing, especially between top teams. Winning by counter-attacking was never something to boast about.

Winning and winning beautifully were two different matters. Many head coaches have been sacked for winning matches in an unattractive manner - Jose Mourinho and Fabio Capello could attest to that.

After that heart-stopping start, Costonio initially thought that just winning would be cause for celebration. But now, it seemed they could secure a beautiful victory?

The kind that would haunt Argentina for years?

(End of Chapter)