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Starting XL 2
🕑 Added 2024-12-17 16:00:07 +0000 UTCTristan's kick was nothing like the one Sturridge had delivered just moments before. His ball arced beautifully in the air, curving inward as it passed a Costa Rican defender just inside the penalty box. The precision was impeccable, aiming directly for the heart of the goal.
From his position, Wayne Rooney had already shaken off the tight marking of his defender and began his run toward the ball. The trajectory of the cross was perfect, and Rooney knew it was coming right to him.
The ball bounced just ahead of him, but there was no hesitation. With a controlled yet powerful swing of his right leg, Rooney met the ball with the inside of his foot. It shot forward with a sharp, resounding bang as it headed straight for the net.
The crowd collectively held their breath. "This is it!" the commentator shouted, the tension palpable. "Rooney, from point-blank range, has unleashed a thunderous shot. It's so fast, so close, this surely has to be a goal!"
Tristan, his teammates, and the English fans in the stands were all convinced. The ball flew past the defenders, but there, standing in the way like a brick wall, was Keylor Navas. Positioned perfectly, the Costa Rican goalkeeper made a seemingly impossible save, his body twisting just enough to deflect the ball with his left shoulder. It brushed the post and flew wide, the goalpost clanging in a sharp, almost surreal sound as the ball sailed out.
"What a save!" the commentator shouted, "Navas, with the reflexes of a cat, denies Rooney from point-blank range! What an incredible moment for the Costa Rican keeper!"
Rooney stood frozen for a moment, his head in his hands, disbelief painted across his face. He rubbed his forehead, trying to shake off the frustration of having missed such a golden opportunity. He turned towards Tristan, a wry smile breaking through his frustration, and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Another day, another brilliant pass," Rooney muttered, his tone tinged with humor, "Nice one, mate."
Tristan couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. Do all Manchester United strikers like to give thumbs-ups after a miss? he mused, recalling another striker, a big, powerful figure in red who had a similar habit.
Despite the miss, the crowd in Mineirão Stadium erupted in applause. There was no denying the quality of the shot. England's hopes for Rooney's goal in the World Cup were as strong as ever. The fans wanted to see him succeed.
Tristan moved to the corner flag, ready for his turn to deliver. After demonstrating his sharp passing ability in both training and games, he had solidified his role as the primary set-piece taker for the Three Lions. In just five games, he had become an integral part of the national team—an undeniable force, and one that the everyone trusted implicitly.
"Here he comes again," the commentator remarked, "Tristan, can he create another miracle?"
As England's central defenders, Cahill and Jagielka, joined the fray in the penalty area, the tension grew. The entire box was a whirlwind of players jostling, positioning, and battling for space.
The whistle blew, signaling the start of the play. But just before Tristan could strike, he glanced over at Steven Gerrard, standing on the outskirts of the penalty area, marked by just one defender. An idea flickered in his mind.
"Rahim!" Tristan called, waving Sterling over.
Sterling jogged up, his face puzzled, but obedient.
"What's up, man?" he asked, slightly breathless.
Tristan covered his mouth with his hand to ensure the defenders couldn't overhear. "Let's play a cooperative game. You pass it back to me, and I'll create a time difference with a quick cross."
Sterling's eyes brightened with understanding. "Got it, mate," he replied with a nod.
The exchange was quick, and the commentators, still in suspense, began to speculate. "Are they going for a tactical play? A short corner to catch Costa Rica off guard?"
As the referee blew the whistle, the game shifted into motion. Sterling, instead of running away from the corner, sprinted back toward the flag. Tristan passed it to him lightly, setting up the move.
"Sterling on the ball now—oh, look at this! Costa Rica's defenders are closing in fast. They know his speed and his ability to exploit the wing. They can't let him turn," the commentator continued, his voice rising with excitement.
Sterling didn't stop to control the ball. Instead, he knocked it directly back to Tristan, who was now a few steps behind.
The tension in Mineirão Stadium is palpable as England pushes forward, with the ball at the feet of Tristan. He stands poised, his eyes scanning the penalty area, and it looks as if he's preparing another one of those textbook crosses—just like fans seen before, only this time, something was different.
And just like that, with a smooth flick of his ankle, Tristan swings his leg. Everyone in the stadium is thinking the same thing: "Here comes the cross." The live camera follows the ball, tracking it toward the crowd of bodies in the penalty box. Even the Costa Rican defenders have braced themselves, anticipating that perfect arc into the heart of the area.
But—hold on—a twist!
The ball doesn't soar into the crowd of defenders and attackers. It didn't curl towards the far post. No, instead, it skims low, like a laser cutting through the grass, heading straight for the feet of Steven Gerrard, who's lurking just outside the penalty area.
"What a move!" the commentator exclaims, stunned.
Gerrard, who was waiting for the ball in the crowd of defenders, sees the surprise pass streak toward him. His eyes widen as he made a quick decision.
"Here it comes!" he says under his breath, then dashes past Costa Rican captain Ruiz, who couldn't react in time.
He gets the ball, lines it up and strikes it with all his might!
The ball rockets off his foot like a cannonball, its trajectory a thing of beauty. There's no spin, just pure velocity, as it hangs in the air like an arrow aimed straight for the goal.
Navas, sees it coming, but the crowd's mass of bodies blocks his view for a split second. By the time he dives, it's too late.
The ball slams into the upper right corner of the net, rattling the post and sending ripples through the net.
“GERRARD! The captain delivers!” the commentator roared. “A brilliant assist from Tristan, and England finally have the breakthrough!”
In a flash, Gerrard slides on his knees toward the stands, pumping his fists as he celebrates.
As the other England players flood toward Gerrard, Tristan makes his way through the pack, a grin on his face. He reaches Gerrard and throws his arms around him.
"Tristan! That was an amazing pass!" Gerrard says, still catching his breath, his voice full of admiration.
"Steven, that was a rocket of a shot! Teach me how to do that sometime?" Tristan replies, his smile wide, his voice light-hearted.
The young midfielder is clearly proud to have set up such a moment for his captain.
"Haha, no problem," Gerrard chuckles, clapping Tristan on the back.
The England squad, now in full celebration mode, surrounded the two.
As the replays flash across screens worldwide, the pundits are already making their assessments.
"Half of the credit for this goal goes to England's number 22, Tristan! His fake move completely fooled everyone—defenders, teammates, even us in the commentary box!"
"That pass is as tricky as they come. Reminds me of Pirlo's famous no-look passes. In fact, I think we're seeing a new Pirlo in England!"
"What a young talent! Two assists and a goal in three matches, and a goal contribution in each! Tristan is making his mark on this World Cup!"
Some of the commentary takes a more reflective tone. "It's a shame he didn't manage that assist against Uruguay, or he would've set a new World Cup record for assists in three consecutive games!"
Tristan, of course, has no idea about the missed record. If he did, he might have rolled his eyes at Sterling for wasting that one-on-one.
As the clock ticks on to the 20th minute, the scoreboard read 1-0 in favor of England, and the game shifts in their favor. With the win, they'd secure second place in the group, regardless of the outcome in the other match. The ball is in their court.
Costa Rica, now behind, sticks to their defensive formation, maintaining their 5-4-1 setup, but the question is—how long can they keep England at bay with their backs against the wall?
"England leads 1-0, with a fantastic long-range strike from Gerrard," the commentator said. "It was an unstoppable shot that left Navas with no chance."
"The early lead gives England a boost," the second commentator added. "But Costa Rica won't be too shaken up. Their defense has been solid, and they'll look to respond."
As England settled into the match, their confidence grew. But with it came a bit of overconfidence. The frontcourt players, eager to make their mark, all attempted to take shots from distance, much like Gerrard had done moments earlier.
Sturridge, in particular, seemed determined to score. With Sterling drawing defenders on the right, Sturridge was presented with space on the left. However, instead of passing the ball to a teammate in a better position, he opted to take matters into his own hands, dribbling through defenders.
"Sturridge certainly has the talent, but he's trying to do too much by himself," the commentator observed.
Each time he got the ball, Sturridge tried to beat his man. But Costa Rica's defense stood firm, blocking shots and intercepting passes. It was clear: Sturridge was frustrated.
Despite the pressure, Costa Rica took advantage of England's missteps. A quick counterattack from the wing nearly caught England out, and Baines was forced to make a timely block to prevent a dangerous cross into the box.
"Close call for England," the first commentator noted. "Baines has been solid in defense, but the more Sturridge holds onto the ball, the more vulnerable England becomes."
After another failed dribble, Sturridge lost the ball once more, and yet again, he failed to chase back. Gerrard, showing leadership, rushed to intercept a pass and clear the ball from the sideline.
"Sturridge is not doing enough defensively," the second commentator pointed out. "He's been caught out a few times now, and that's something England can't afford."
Gerrard, visibly frustrated, shouted at Sturridge. "How many times have you done this? Why didn't you chase back after losing the ball? Pass the ball to your teammates!" he scolded.
Sturridge, realizing the error of his ways, meekly nodded in response, but his body language showed his frustration.
Tristan, watching the scene unfold, shook his head but resisted the urge to speak out. Despite his frustration with Sturridge's selfishness, he knew it wasn't his place to intervene.
.....
[I won't lie to you guys, this chapter was a pain in the ass, shit give me brain damage, half of it was Beckham dick sucking, the other half I don't even know, I was trying to understand what was even going during the game.]
Comments
l K
the boy revved in red, returned in his immaculate maturity. THE AUTHOR more chapters please lad
