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Chapter 112: Arsenal - The False Giants 3
🕑 Added 2025-01-24 21:20:38 +0000 UTCThe Leicester players filed into the dressing room, their jerseys damp with sweat but their spirits high.
Tristan sat down next to Vardy, running a towel over his face.
"Oi, Tristan," Vardy said, opening a sports drink. "That ball you played earlier was pure class. How about another one in the second half, eh? Feed me, mate. You know I love a goal."
Tristan smirked, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "Another assist? How about you set me up this time, buddy? I’ve only got one goal in the league so far. Four assists, though—my stats are looking a bit lopsided, don’t you think?"
Vardy chuckled. "Fair enough, but you know me—I can’t resist scoring. Tell you what, I’ll tee you up if the chance comes, but don’t be surprised if I nick it for myself."
"Deal," Tristan replied with a grin. "As long as we win, I won’t complain. But I’m telling you, I’m getting both even—goals and assists. Watch me."
Mahrez, sitting across the room, chimed in. "You two arguing over goals? Just give me the ball, and I’ll sort it out. Easy. I only have one too, you know.”
The noise quieted as Pearson stepped into the center of the room.
"Great half, lads," Pearson began, looking around the room. "You’ve stuck to the game plan, defended well, and taken your chance when it came. But let me be clear—this match isn’t over.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Stay disciplined. No silly fouls, no unnecessary risks. Keep working for each other, and we’ll see this through. You’ve shown you’re capable. Now prove it again."
The players nodded, their focus sharpening. Pearson’s trust in them was evident, and they weren’t about to let him—or each other—down.
"Let’s go out there and finish the job," Pearson concluded, clapping his hands. "Stick together, and don’t lose your heads."
"We've never been a team known for defensive solidity and I’m sure everyone here already knows that" Pearson remarked laughing with the players to relived some of the pressure.”
"Espically against a side like Arsenal, that's even more evident. We held on so far but all shields crack under pressure. So we won’t rely solely on defending—attack is our best form of defense. We are not Chelsea, we will not park the bus. That’s not who we are.”
In contrast, the Arsenal dressing room was tense. The players sat quietly, most of them avoiding eye contact with Arsène Wenger, who paced back and forth, his frustration evident.
"This is unacceptable," Wenger said sharply, his French accent more pronounced in his anger. "You’re playing into their hands—again! Leicester thrive on space, and we are giving it to them on a silver platter."
His gaze swept across the room, stopping briefly on Mesut Özil. "Mesut, you need to take control in the final third. Be more decisive. Sánchez stop trying to do everything by yourself, pass more and find the open space!”
Turning to the defenders, Wenger’s voice rose. "And the goal we conceded—where was the communication? Per, Laurent—you’re experienced players! You need to organize the backline better. That sort of lapse is unacceptable at this level."
The players shifted uneasily, nodding but keeping their heads down. Wenger took a deep breath, trying to rein in his frustration.
"Listen," he continued, his tone slightly calmer. "We can still win this. Leicester are good, but they are not invincible. Keep the ball on the ground, move it quickly, and exploit the spaces behind their full-backs. Mesut, I want you making those late runs into the box."
He paused, pointing to a tactics board. "Their midfield works hard, but they’re not as technically strong as ours. Use that to your advantage. And for heaven’s sake, stay tight on Tristan. He’s too dangerous when he has time on the ball. Don’t let him dictate the game."
Wenger’s words began to lift the mood slightly, his tactical adjustments giving the players a sense of direction. As the referee’s whistle echoed faintly from the tunnel, signaling the end of halftime, Wenger clapped his hands together.
"Let’s turn this around," he said firmly. "Show them what Arsenal is capable of. We can’t embarrasse ourself once more to the same team, think of the fans!”
The players stood, some exchanging nods of encouragement. Wenger watched them file out, his mind already racing through possible substitutions and adjustments for the second half. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
The King Power Stadium was alive with nervous energy as the players returned for the second half. Leicester City’s slender 1-0 lead had given their fans plenty to cheer about.
The referee’s whistle shrieked, and the game resumed, the ball rolling purposefully under Arsenal's control. The Gunners immediately surged forward.
"And we’re back underway," Tyler’s voice rang out. "Leicester leading Arsenal by a goal to nil. Jamie Vardy’s first-half strike separates the sides, but Alan, it’s hard to imagine this game staying 1-0 for long."
Alan chimed in, "Yeah, Martin, Arsenal have no choice but to push forward now. They’ve got the creativity to get back into this, but Leicester thrive on hitting teams on the break. It’s a dangerous balancing act for the Gunners."
Arsenal’s first real chance of the half came almost immediately. Flamini intercepted a loose pass in midfield, quickly shifting the ball wide to Sánchez. The Chilean brought the crowd to its feet, his rapid footwork leaving Simpson retreating toward the byline.
The stadium held its breath. Sánchez whipped a low cross into the box, Sanogo stretching desperately to meet it, but Wes Morgan lunged in, deflecting the ball out for a corner.
"That’s heroic defending from Morgan," Alan praised. "He’s been immense for this game, and moments like that show why he’s so important to this Leicester side."
The corner was swung in dangerously, Koscielny rising highest to meet it. His header grazed the outside of the far post, drawing gasps from the traveling Arsenal fans and a collective exhale from the Leicester faithful.
"Arsenal are knocking on the door," Tyler noted. "But Leicester, as always, are finding a way to hang on."
Leicester were under siege. Arsenal pressed high, Özil orchestrating their attacks with precision. In the 54th minute, Cazorla floated a delightful ball over the top, finding Sanogo in stride. He sprinted into the box, but Huth slid in with a perfectly timed challenge, clearing the danger.
"Huuuuuth!" the home crowd roared in unison as the towering defender got to his feet.
"Brilliant tackle from Huth," Alan remarked. "Sanogo was ready to pull the trigger, but the big man just didn’t give him a chance."
Watching the game from above, Pearson could see the Arsenal players attacking with everything they got, almost ignoring defense to do so. Under this much pressure, they would crack. Quickly he made a tactical adjustment In the 57th minute, he made his move.
Lingard came off for Ulloa, a more physical presence up front, while Mahrez shifted to the left flank and Tristan to the right. Andy King replaced the fatigued Danny Drinkwater in midfield.
"A bold call from Pearson," Martin observed. "He’s clearly looking to exploit the flanks with the pace of Mahrez and Tristan, but Alan, does this leave Leicester too exposed in the middle?"
"It might," Alan admitted. "But with Arsenal pressing so high, the space is there for Leicester to counter. If they can get it to their wide men quickly, they could nick another goal."
The change nearly paid off immediately. Andy intercepted a pass deep in his own half and drove forward, feeding Tristan on the right wing. Tristan controlled the ball with one touch before accelerating past Monreal, the Arsenal defender struggling to keep up.
The crowd roared louder with every stride Tristan took. Looking up, he spotted Ulloa making a run into the box and delivered a pinpoint cross. Ulloa rose above Koscielny, his header destined for the top corner—until Szczesny produced a stunning save, tipping it over the bar.
"Oh, what a stop by Szczesny!" Martin exclaimed. "Ulloa thought he’d doubled Leicester’s lead, but the Arsenal goalkeeper had other ideas."
Alan was just as impressed. "It’s a world-class save, Martin. That was heading in all day, but Szczesny has kept Arsenal in this match."
Leicester’s fans roared their appreciation, their chants echoing around the stadium. The Foxes were growing in confidence, sensing that the counterattack was their best weapon.
Moments later, Tristan was at it again. Picking up the ball in midfield, he skipped past Monreal with ease before driving toward the edge of the box. This time, he cut inside and unleashed a low, curling effort that had Čech scrambling. The shot whistled just wide, the crowd groaning in unison.
"Tristan is causing all sorts of problems down that right-hand side," Alan remarked. "Monreal just can’t deal with his pace and skill."
But Arsenal refused to back down. In the 65th minute, Sánchez cut inside from the left and unleashed a powerful strike from 20 yards. Schmeichel flew to his right, tipping the ball around the post to preserve Leicester’s lead.
"Schmeichel to the rescue!" Martin cried. "That’s a magnificent save to keep it at 1-0."
The tension was high between both players and fans as the clock ticked toward 70 minutes. Arsenal dominated possession, probing for an opening, while Leicester bided their time, waiting to pounce on the counter.
In the 75th minute, Arsenal finally broke through. A swift and intricate series of passes carved Leicester's midfield apart, Özil gliding past Andy King before threading a perfectly weighted diagonal ball into the path of Sánchez. The Chilean, moving like a predator closing in on its prey, feinted inside to shake off Simpson, creating a sliver of space. He looked up and delicately lifted the ball over Schmeichel’s outstretched hands.
The ball arced beautifully into the far corner of the net, kissing the inside of the post before nestling into the back of the goal.
"What a finish!" Tyler's voice rose with excitement. "Sánchez with a stunning lob that leaves Schmeichel with no chance! Arsenal are back in it—1-1!"
Alan Smith added, "That’s a moment of pure class. The vision, the execution—Sánchez makes it look effortless, but that’s a world-class goal under immense pressure."
Sánchez didn’t celebrate. Instead, he strode into the net, scooped up the ball, and sprinted to the center circle.
The Arsenal fans, packed in the away end, roared in approval, their hopes reignited.
"This is what you call hunger," Alan noted. "Sánchez isn’t satisfied with a draw, and that attitude is infectious. Arsenal look like a team that believes they can snatch this late on."
Leicester, rattled but resolute, braced themselves. The Foxes' defense found themselves under siege, with wave after wave of Arsenal attacks crashing against them. Wenger, uncharacteristically animated on the touchline, clapped furiously and gestured for his players to keep the tempo high.
"It’s relentless pressure from Arsenal now," Martin observed. "Leicester are digging deep, but you wonder how much longer they can hold out."
Pearson kept faith in his players. His eyes darted to Tristan, standing wide on the right. If Leicester could weather this storm, the young man might still have a say in the match.
Minutes ticked by like hours for the Leicester faithful. Arsenal continued their assault, with Sánchez and Özil at the heart of every move. In the 83rd minute, Özil slid a ball into the box for Cazorla, whose low drive was palmed away spectacularly by Schmeichel.
"Schmeichel is keeping Leicester in this!" Martin exclaimed. "Time and again, he comes to their rescue!"
Alan agreed. "He’s been outstanding tonight. If Leicester get anything from this, they’ll owe it to their goalkeeper."
The Foxes finally caught their breath in the 87th minute, launching a rare counterattack.Mahrez, intercepted a loose ball and released Tristan on the right wing. Tristan darted forward, skipping past Monreal with ease. The crowd rose in unison, sensing something special.
Tristan reached the edge of the box and whipped in a low cross, but Mertesacker slid in to clear the danger. Arsenal regained possession and launched one last attack.
The fourth official’s board went up: four minutes of added time.
"This is it," Alan said, his voice tinged with anticipation. "Four minutes for someone to find a winner."
Leicester sat deep, every player behind the ball. Arsenal probed, looking for an opening, but the Foxes held firm. Then, in the 93rd minute, with the stadium on edge, Leicester struck.
It started with a moment of brilliance from Andy. Pressing high despite the situation, he dispossessed Cazorla and immediately drove forward. The diminutive midfielder looked up and saw Tristan sprinting into space on the right.Andy’s pass was inch-perfect, landing at Tristan’s feet in stride.
"And here comes Tristan!" Martin Tyler’s voice cracked with excitement. "Is there one last twist in the tale?"
Tristan tore down the flank, the Arsenal defense scrambling to recover. Monreal, desperate to block his path, lunged in, but Tristan skipped past him with a deft touch. Inside the box now, Tristan looked up. Time seemed to slow. The Arsenal defenders converged, and Szczesny stood tall, his eyes locked on the ball.
Tristan shifted the ball onto his left foot and unleashed a curling effort toward the far post.
"He’s gone for it!" Tyler shouted.
The ball arced beautifully, curling away from Szczesny’s outstretched fingertips and slamming into the top corner. The net rippled violently, and for a moment, the King Power Stadium descended into stunned silence. Then, an explosion of noise.
"GOOOOAL!!!" Tyler roared, his voice filled with disbelief. "TRISTAN HALE HAS DONE IT! He’s shattered Arsenal hearts at the death!"
Alan almost breathless, added, "I don’t believe it! This young man—this incredible talent—has done it again! Arsenal fans must be feeling déjà vu. This is almost identical to the FA Cup final, where Tristan scored a beauty to win it for his club! Lightning has struck twice!"
Moment that ball went into the net, Tristan rushed the corner shouting screaming as he reached the Lecieter City faithfuls his stretching his arms out wide taking it all in before the Leicester players swarmed him, piling on top of him in a chaotic celebration. The crowd was in absolute delirium, grown men hugging strangers, scarves whirling in the air. The Arsenal players sank to their knees, disbelief etched on their faces.
"And there it is," Tyler concluded, his voice rising above the deafening roar. "Once again, Tristan—the young man with ice in his veins—has delivered a moment of pure magic. For Arsenal, it’s heartbreak all over again. For Leicester, it’s glory. What a game. What a finish!”
The final whistle blew seconds later, but the noise didn’t subside.
Alan summed it up perfectly. "That’s football, Martin. One moment can define everything. Tristan will remember this night forever. I believe this is his first late minute goal, and I’m sure we certainly will see more of it. And I’m sure Arsenal fans will, too—though for very different reasons."
The sound of Leciester City fans filled the air, rising in unison to sing Tristan’s song for the first time in the Premier League.
“Tristan! Tristan!”
"From Leicester, he's our shining star!"
"With every pass, he takes us far!"
"His vision's sharp, his touch is gold"
"A football tale that's yet to be told!"
“Tristan! Tristan!
"With skill and heart, he'll lead the way!
"A hero on the pitch, watch him play!"
"Tristan! Tristan!"
"We cheer for you, our pride today!”
.....
Tristan stood still once he was able to stand, just hearing it again after the World Cup, pointing toward the stands and clapping as the chant grew louder.
His teammates didn’t distribute him letting him his moment.
On the sideline, Wenger stood frozen, his hands on his hips, a look of disbelief etched on his face. “Not again,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The memory of Tristan’s last-minute winner in the FA Cup final had come crashing back with brutal clarity.
Wenger finally snapped out of his daze, his professionalism taking over. He walked toward Nigel Pearson, his stride slower than usual. Reaching the Leicester coach, he extended his hand.
“Congratulations,” Wenger said with a faint smile, though his voice carried a weary undertone. His gaze flickered back to Tristan, who was still being hoisted into the air by his teammates. “How much is his release clause?” Wenger asked dryly, a hint of resignation in his tone. “Sixty million pounds?”
“Tristan isn’t for sale, so you can stop trying, go away.” Pearson answered somewhat joking, almost tired of everyone asking this question.
Wenger didn’t reply as he walked back to his bench, he glanced one more time at Tristan. The young man had shattered Arsenal’s hearts yet again.
…….
After the jubilant celebrations on the pitch, Tristan was guided toward the interview area, clutching the Man of the Match award—a bottle of champagne. He had already decided he’d only keep the first one as part of his personal collection; the rest, he’d be giving away to Vardy and anyone else who asks.
Standing in front of the cameras, Tristan adjusted the award under his arm, beads of sweat shimmering on his forehead under the bright lights. The interviewer greeted him with a wide smile, microphone at the ready.
“Tristan, congratulations on a phenomenal performance and an unforgettable goal. You’ve done it again against Arsenal. What is it about facing them that brings out the best in you?”
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head humbly. “It’s nothing personal, I swear. Arsenal’s a fantastic team, and you’ve got to give them credit—they make you fight for every inch. I guess it’s just the adrenaline in these big games. Moments like that… they’re what you dream of as a kid kicking a ball in the park.”
…………..
The buzz surrounding Leicester City’s shock 2-1 victory over Arsenal dominated football discussions across England. It was the talk of the town, with pundits analyzing every angle as if it were the gospel. That evening, thousands of fans tuned into "The Football Show," where hosts Roy Keane, Jamie Redknapp and Paul Merson dissected the match.
Roy kicked things off addressing the camera. “Alright, alright, settle down, folks—what a weekend it’s been! Leicester City, the newly-promoted side, have gone and pulled off one of the biggest results of the season, beating Arsenal 2-1.”
Paul, sitting beside him, chuckled. “Roy’s right, it was a huge win for Leicester. But Arsenal, come on—what were they doing? Sloppy defending, disorganized midfield, and let’s not even talk about the striker situation.”
Roy raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed. “I’ll give you that, Paul, but Arsenal made it easier for Leicester than it should’ve been. I thought after losing a cup final to a Championship side, they’d be fired up. But that performance? It was embarrassing.”
Merson laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, Roy. Leicester didn’t just sit back and defend. They had a game plan, and they executed it perfectly. And let’s not forget that lad, Tristan Hale—absolute class.”
Redknapp jumped in, nodding enthusiastically. “Exactly! If you’re an Arsenal fan right now, you’ve got to be fuming. A kid, just nineteen years old, bossing around a team like Arsenal not once, but twice? That’s got to hurt.”
Keane sighed and folded his arms. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit, Tristan played well. But let’s not get carried away. Arsenal were missing Giroud. It wasn’t a fair contest.”
Merson shook his head again, clearly not buying it. “I get it, Roy. Giroud was missing, but Arsenal still have enough quality to beat a newly-promoted team like Leicester. The way they defended, Leicester were solid, and Tristan? He was on another level.”
Redknapp leaned in, pointing at the highlights playing on the screen. “Look, Arsenal’s players are all worth more than Leicester’s, including Tristan, but you’d expect them to win, right? That’s how football works. Yet here we are, talking about a Leicester win.”
Keane, still skeptical, gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, alright, Leicester were good. But let’s see how long it lasts. And as for Tristan, once teams figure him out, he’ll be in trouble.”
Merson smirked, sipping his mug. “I think he’ll be just fine. Three games, two goals, five assists, two Man of the Match awards... just last game, he had an 8.2 rating, the highest in the game. You don’t think teams are already researching him? Come on, Roy, we’ve been there, you know how this goes.”
Redknapp chuckled, addressing the camera. “Well, I don’t know if Arsenal will ever forgive him for that performance, but for Leicester, it’s massive. If Tristan keeps playing like this, we’ll be talking about him as one of the Premier League’s rising stars soon enough. Just look at his stats—88% pass accuracy, three key passes, one assist, and a late goal that sealed the deal. Defensively, he was solid too—one steal, two interceptions, and three successful tackles. He’s doing it all.”
Keane exhaled sharply. “Alright, alright. He was good. But let’s not get carried away, yeah?”
Redknapp grinned. “I hear you, Roy. But I’ve got a feeling that by the end of this season, everyone will know Tristan Hale’s name. You heard it here first.”
……
In terms of tactics, Leicester’s 4-4-2 parallel formation was devised by Pearson as a fallback option for games when that was close to cracking.
It focused on direct play from the flanks, using Ulloa and Vardy as targets for long balls into space. But against a side like Arsenal, known for their fluid play through the middle, the system quickly showed its vulnerabilities. Arsenal’s midfielders, masters at exploiting gaps, found it easy to penetrate Leicester’s defense, highlighting the limitations of a formation that relies on just two players in the center.
“The 4-4-2 parallel was a bold choice, but against a team like Arsenal, it was always going to leave Leicester exposed,” noted one pundit. “Pearson needs to be more flexible against opponents like this.”
Despite the tactical concerns, Tristan Hale was undoubtedly the star of the show. His all-around performance earned him a Man of the Match rating of 8.2, the highest of the game
“Tristan was sensational today, not just in attack but defensively too,” said one commentator. “He’s got that rare ability to influence both sides of the game, and that’s what makes him stand out.”
Post-match, Gary Lineker tweeted: “Without Tristan, Leicester could’ve been on the receiving end of a heavy defeat. He made a huge difference.”
This marked Tristan’s second Premier League Man of the Match award of the season, a remarkable achievement given that it had taken him just three games to earn such recognition. Leicester’s strong start to the season, with two wins and one loss, has seen them sitting comfortably in 6th place in the Premier League standings.
For a newly-promoted team, Leicester’s early-season form has been impressive.
.............
Let me know if there are mistakes, I will do my best to fix it as soon as possible as I was writing this chapter fast. Also I'm not sure if I can always post at 11 on Patreon everyday, I simply don't have the kind of time anymore, hoowever I did promise daily chapters and I will do my best to uphold the promise I made.
