Mentality
Jake's thumb moved mechanically across his phone screen, the blue light casting shadows across his face in the darkness of his bedroom. The clock read 1:47 AM, but time had lost all meaning in the endless scroll of TikTok's algorithm. His FIFA 22 career mode save sat paused on his gaming monitor, Grimsby Town's transfer window still open, waiting for decisions he'd stopped making hours ago.
The familiar sound of a gym remix pulsed through his headphones as another fitness influencer appeared, biceps flexing under harsh lighting. "While you were sleeping, I was grinding." The caption read: Day 478 of the sigma grindset. Jake watched, transfixed, as the counter showed the creator's 4 AM workout routine. Need to start waking up earlier, he thought, making another note.
Scroll. A clip from American Psycho: "Let's see Paul Allen's card." The scene played out in slow motion, overlaid with text about "maintaining frame" and "asserting dominance in social situations." Jake had seen this one before, but he watched it again anyway. There was always something new to learn from Patrick Bateman's intensity.
Scroll. A deep voice cut through his headphones: "An alpha male doesn't waste time arguing." The video showed a wolf stalking through snow, overlaid with sigma male quotes in that distinct TikTok font. "He channels his hatred, lets it simmer, lets it grow. And when the moment comes..." The wolf pounced on its prey. "He strikes without mercy."
Jake grabbed his notes app, typing quickly: Channel hatred. Strike when ready. ALPHA MINDSET.
Scroll. A montage of Tom Hardy in various roles – Bane, Alfie Solomons, Tommy Conlon. "Study the silence of strong men," the caption advised. The clip showed Hardy's characters saying little, communicating volumes through intense stares and controlled violence. Jake nodded along. Less talking, more action.
He'd been collecting these pearls of wisdom for weeks now. The algorithm knew exactly what he wanted – a steady stream of sigma male content, alpha mentality coaches, and "real talk" about making it in a beta world.
Scroll. A clip from Drive: Ryan Gosling's character staring intensely, the synthwave soundtrack building. "A sigma male's power lies in his ability to remain calm under pressure." Jake had downloaded the scorpion jacket wallpaper weeks ago.
Scroll. Jordan Peterson, voice cracking with emotion: "The world is a brutal place, and you need to be competent. You need to be dangerous. A harmless man is not a good man..." Jake leaned closer, absorbing every word. Clean my room. Get my life in order. Become dangerous.
The next video loaded: Andrew Tate, sitting in his Bugatti, sunglasses reflecting the Romanian sun.
"You'll never be on my level," Tate's voice dripped with contempt. "You're too programmed, too weak. I've escaped the matrix. I see reality for what it is. While you're playing video games, I'm making millions. While you're studying for tests, I'm driving supercars. That's the difference between pros and..."
Scroll. Another Tate clip: "Women can't drive Bugattis. What color is your Bugatti? You don't have one because you're a slave to the system." The comments section was filled with "W takes" and "Top G speaks facts."
Scroll. A faceless voice over black and white footage of bodybuilders: "The lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of sheep. Your ancestors were warriors. They fought bears with spears. And what are you doing? Scrolling on your phone, eating processed food, living a life of comfort." Dramatic music swelled as images of ancient sculptures and medieval battles flashed across the screen.
Jake nodded along, mesmerized. He's so right. I need to escape the matrix. Need to become a sigma.
Scroll. David Goggins doing pushups in the rain: "WHO'S GONNA CARRY THE BOATS?" Jake had downloaded Goggins' audiobook but hadn't started it yet. Tomorrow. No more excuses.
Scroll. A montage of Patrick Bateman's morning routine, set to "The Perfect Girl." The caption read: "They hate him because he's literally me." Jake had already ordered the same face mask Patrick uses. His bathroom counter was starting to look like a department store skincare section.
Each video reinforced what Jake already knew – the world was divided into wolves and sheep, alphas and betas, sigmas and NPCs. And he was determined to be on the right side of that divide. His notes app was filling up with quotes, workout plans, book recommendations, and mindset tips. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he'd start the grind. Tomorrow he'd...
The algorithm shifted—slow Italian music filled his headphones...
The screen fades in from black. Slow, melancholic piano notes pierce the silence – "Experience" by Ludovico Einaudi. The Signal Iduna Park materializes through a cinematic drone shot, its yellow walls gleaming under the floodlights like a beacon in the night. The username appears in elegant white text: @footballaestheticsHD presents "Luka Zorić - The Croatian Magician - Skills & Goals 2022/21."
Jake sat up straighter. He'd just checked Zorić's FIFA stats earlier that day – the winter update had been massive. Overall 78, up from 71. Potential 93. Definitely need to try signing him in my Grimsby save.
The first sequence begins in slow motion. The camera pans across Zorić's face in extreme close-up – sweat beading on his forehead, eyes focused with laser intensity. He's squaring up against Leverkusen's Jeremie Frimpong. The defender's stance is confident, almost cocky. The music builds gradually as Zorić rocks back and forth, the ball seemingly glued to his feet.
Suddenly, the tempo shifts. Quick cuts between three camera angles capture the moment – Zorić's step over, executed with surgical precision. The ball seems to defy physics as it wraps around his foot. Frimpong's expression transforms from confidence to confusion to despair in a fraction of a second. The crowd's collective "ooh" synchronizes perfectly with a crescendo in the music.
How does he even think of doing that? Jake wondered, completely engrossed.
The scene transitions seamlessly to the Bayern Munich match. The lighting is different now – harsh afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pitch. Kimmich and Pavard converge on Zorić near the corner flag, like predators closing in on prey. The camera zooms in slowly on Zorić's boots as he slows to an almost casual walk.
Time seems to freeze.
Then chaos erupts. The sequence plays in real-time – Zorić flicking the ball up, spinning 180 degrees, somehow threading a backheel through Kimmich's legs. The stadium erupts. The replay shows it from three different angles, each more impossible than the last. The final angle, from behind the goal, captures Pavard's desperate slide and Zorić's balletic leap over the challenge. The ball rolls invitingly to Haaland, who smashes it home.
The music shifts – "Cornfield Chase" from Interstellar takes over. A Croatian flag waves in slow motion as the international footage begins. Russia versus Croatia. The camera tracks Zorić receiving the ball deep in his own half.
The rainbow flick comes first, executed with such casual brilliance it seems almost disrespectful. The Russian right-back is left grasping at air, his desperate lunge captured in excruciating slow motion. The camera switches to ground level, tracking Zorić's acceleration. Three defenders converge. The music swells.
Quick cuts now: Zorić's first touch taking him past one defender. A sharp cut inside leaving another stumbling. A feint that sends the third defender sliding helplessly across the turf. The finish is clinical – the ball curling into the top corner as the goalkeeper stands rooted to the spot. The replay focuses on Zorić's face throughout the run – eerily calm, almost detached, like a chess grandmaster seeing twenty moves ahead.
The Cole Palmer connection comes next. The video slows dramatically as Zorić receives the ball in midfield. The camera zooms out to show the entire pitch – Palmer's run, the defensive line, everything in perfect frame. Time seems to stop as Zorić looks up. The assist is otherworldly – the ball floating over the Leverkusen defense in slow motion, spinning gracefully, before landing perfectly in Palmer's path. The camera catches Palmer's expression of pure disbelief as he pokes it home. The celebration is pure joy – two teenagers embracing as the Yellow Wall trembles behind them.
Slovakia falls victim next. The sequence begins with a wide shot showing the entire final third. Zorić drives forward, drawing defenders like moths to a flame. Without even a glance, he executes a perfect backheel into Perišić's path. The slow-motion replay from behind the goal shows just how narrow the window was – centimeters between three defenders' legs.
Back to Bayern. The nutmeg on Goretzka plays in real-time first – brutal, efficient, devastating. Then the slow-motion replay reveals the subtlety – the slight shift of weight that sends Goretzka the wrong way, the perfect weight of touch through his legs. Upamecano charges in, but Zorić is ready. The step-over is lightning quick, leaving the defender wrong-footed. The slight clip of contact, the theatrical fall – all captured in perfect detail. The penalty is given.
The music builds to its crescendo as the final sequence begins. Zorić versus Davies – speed against skill, power against guile. The camera alternates between their faces as they square up. Davies' confidence is evident in his stance, his speed his shield. Zorić's expression remains unchanged.
The elastico comes out of nowhere. The camera catches every detail – Davies' feet tangling beneath him, his expression of shock as he falls, the ball emerging on the other side as Zorić accelerates away. The one-on-one with Neuer plays out in agonizing slow motion. The slight drop of the shoulder, the goalkeeper committing, the ball rolling almost casually into the bottom corner.
The celebration unfolds like a Renaissance painting. Zorić points to the sky, his teammates converging from all angles. The Yellow Wall is a sea of chaos behind them. The camera pulls back slowly, capturing the entire scene – the fallen Davies still on the ground, Neuer's frustrated punch of the turf, the pure ecstasy in the stands.
The final shot is pure cinema. Zorić walking away from the camera, his number 37 jersey rippling slightly in the wind. The stadium lights create a halo effect around him as the music fades. Text fades in: "The Future is Here."
Jake replayed it immediately. Then again. And again. He opened the comments:
The comment section explodes:
@footballfanatic22: "This kid is actually unreal 🔥"
@CR7stan: "Mbappe who? We got a new prince 👑"
@BallonDor2030: "Davies still looking for his ankles 💀"
@TacticoHD: "That Palmer assist was pure filth... modern football poetry"
@FSGout: "Liverpool board watching this and still signing nobody smh"
@BallKnowledge: "Remember this tweet when he wins the Ballon d'Or"
@ClassicNumber10: "Pure magic. They don't make them like this anymore 🪄"
Jake's thumbs hovered over his phone screen, to say he was in awe would be an understatement. The haunting Einaudi melody had wormed its way into his brain, making even the mundane moment feel cinematic. His "SIGMA MALE GRINDSET 2022" note, carefully crafted over weeks of late-night scrolling, sat minimized and forgotten in another tab.
"How to become world class footballer fast in one week without hard work," he typed frantically into Google, fingers trembling with an excitement that made him misspell every other word. The search results were a mess of clickbait and YouTube tutorials, but Jake barely noticed. His mind was racing with calculations – that PSG match was approaching, and he needed to be there.
The Dortmund fan forums were exploding with anticipation. Their victory over Leverkusen had sent confidence soaring. The subsequent 1-0 grind against Union Berlin with a rotated squad hadn't featured the Croatian but the whispers online suggested he was being wrapped in cotton wool for the big night in Paris like most of their other important players..
Jake's fingers moved mechanically through ticket resale sites, his eyes widening at the prices. Four, five, even six times face value – the scalpers were having a field day. The PSG match wasn't just a random game on the calendar; it was becoming an event, a spectacle, a chance to witness something historic. The narrative wrote itself: the oil-rich superclub against the people's team, the established superstars against the rising phenomenon, Mbappé versus Zorić.
"Two thousand euros?" Jake muttered, scrolling through another listing. "That's... that's..." He glanced at his savings account, the number mocking him. The money he'd set aside for Hustlers University suddenly felt like it could be better spent. After all, what was more sigma male than witnessing greatness in person?
His attention drifted to Zorić's Twitter profile. The follower count – 1.5 million – seemed almost insulting given what he'd just watched. Jake had seen TikTok dancers with more followers. His Hustlers University training kicked in, the lessons about "leverage" and "social media domination" flooding back.
"This is it," he whispered, opening a new draft. "This is my chance to prove my value."
The message started taking shape:
"Dear @LukaZoric,
I've been studying social media optimization and brand building through Hustlers University, and I couldn't help but notice your follower count doesn't reflect your true value. A player of your caliber should have at least 5M followers minimum. I've developed a comprehensive strategy to exponentially grow your social presence:
Passive Income Streams
Engagement Optimization
Alpha Male Content Calendar
Web3 Integration
NFT Strategy (critical for 2022)
[A comprehensive listing of surprisingly sensible recommendations as to how Luka could increase his social media standing follows]
....
I can help you escape the matrix and achieve true social media dominance. What color is your Bugatti? Soon it will be whatever color you want.
Let's connect and take your brand to the next level.
Best regards, Jake (Sigma Mindset Coach in Training)"
His finger hovered over the send button, but something stopped him. The compilation video was still playing in the background, that moment against Bayern Munich where Zorić had sent Davies sprawling. There was something pure about it, something that made all his carefully cultivated philosophy feel... small.
Jake minimized the draft and opened YouTube, searching for "CBS Sports PSG Dortmund preview." He needed something to fill the silence, something to feed his growing obsession with the upcoming match.
The CBS Sports theme faded and Kate Abdo cleared her throat, shuffling her papers with practiced casualness.
"Welcome back to CBS Sports Golazo, where we're looking ahead to the Champions League Round of—" She stumbled, the words tangling on her tongue. A laugh bubbled up, genuine and infectious. "Oh God, I'm so sorry..."
"YESSSSS!" Micah's laugh boomed through the studio, his whole body shaking. "She's done it! She's actually done it! The perfect Kate Abdo has finally messed up!"
"Will you shut up?" Kate chucked a balled-up paper at him, missing wildly. "I've got a cold, alright?"
"Nah nah nah," Micah wagged his finger, still grinning. "No excuses. This is going on Twitter."
"If you two are quite finished," Jamie cut in, though he was fighting back a smile himself, "we've got actual football to discuss, you know."
"Right, right." Kate composed herself, though her eyes were still dancing. "PSG-Dortmund. Massive tie."
"Huge," Thierry nodded, leaning forward in his chair. He'd been watching the banter with that characteristic half-smile of his. "But you know what worries me? All this pressure we're putting on the boy."
"What, Zorić?" Micah's energy shifted instantly to genuine interest. "Come on, Thierry, he's been unreal."
"No no no, listen to me—" Thierry held up a finger, but Kate was already jumping in.
"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you though – can he handle it? Seventeen years old, Parc des Princes, knockout football..."
"Kate, Kate, let me finish," Thierry insisted, that familiar intensity creeping into his voice. "The talent is there, obviously. But we're talking about a kid who was playing youth football six months ago."
"Yeah but have you seen—" Jamie started.
"Hold on, Carra," Thierry cut him off. "Let me tell you something. When I first saw Messi in Barcelona training—"
"Oh here we go," Micah rolled his eyes dramatically. "Thierry's Barcelona stories..."
"No no, this is important," Thierry pressed on, ignoring the interruption. "This skinny little kid, way smaller than me. First training session with him, he nutmegs me. Second time, nutmegs me again. Didn't celebrate, didn't smile, just... next action."
"And you see that in Zorić?" Kate leaned in, genuinely curious.
"I see..." Thierry paused, searching for the words. "I see something special. That same... that thing you can't teach."
"Better than you?" Micah couldn't resist.
The studio went quiet. Thierry didn't answer immediately, which was an answer in itself.
"Hang on," Jamie sat up straighter. "Are you actually saying—"
"The potential?" Thierry shrugged. "Yes. Better than I ever was."
"Faster too, innit?" Micah grinned.
"Now you're pushing it," Thierry laughed, pointing at him. "Let's not get carried away."
"Nah but seriously though," Jamie steered them back, "what does he need to work on? Because I've been watching him, right, and the skills are unbelievable, but—"
"The output," Thierry nodded vigorously. "That's exactly it. Listen, I see him doing these beautiful dribbles, ten, eleven times a game. Magnificent to watch. But you know what the truly great players do? They might dribble three, four times. But from those four dribbles? Two assists."
"Efficiency," Kate offered.
"Exactly!" Thierry snapped his fingers. "Right now he's like... how do you say... a beautiful painting that doesn't fit in any room. The talent is stunning, but—"
"But this is PSG away," Micah interrupted, serious now. "This isn't the Bundesliga anymore. This is Messi, Neymar, Mbappé..."
"And you know what?" Jamie jumped in. "That's what I love about it. Because two years ago, PSG knocked Dortmund out. All that Haaland meditation celebration, then Neymar mocked it..."
"The narrative writes itself," Kate nodded.
"No but listen," Thierry raised his voice slightly, passionate now. "You know what makes champions? These moments. These tests. When I was at Monaco, seventeen years old like him—"
"Different era though, innit?" Micah couldn't help himself.
"Different era?" Thierry's eyebrows shot up. "What are you trying to say?"
The studio erupted in laughter, the serious analysis dissolving into friendly chaos once again.
"What I'm TRYING to say," Thierry continued through the laughter, "is that these moments define you. And this boy... the way he plays... he doesn't know how to hide."
"Big words," Kate noted.
"Maybe," Thierry shrugged. "But football needs these stories. The young challenger against the established kings. It's what makes our game beautiful."
"Well, speaking of beautiful," Kate turned to camera with perfect timing, "we need to take a quick beauty break. But when we come back..."
Jake barely registered the commercial break kicking in. His mind was still processing what he'd heard – the casual way they'd discussed potentially witnessing the emergence of greatness. He had to be there. He had to see it for himself.
Deep within, he couldn't negate the feeling—that Luka Zorić was about to introduce himself to the world.
And this was a introduction that he wouldn't miss