Football singularity

Chapter 829: Chapter 829 Silance

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[28-06-2021 | Arena Națională, Bucharest | 21:07 EET]

[Germany 0-2 Switzerland]

The delivery curved back out at the six-yard line, dropping toward the centre, where Werner attacked it first, launching himself between Akanji and Elvedi. Both centre-backs sandwiched him in the air as his neck snapped through the contact trying to reach the ball. However, the two Swiss defenders squeezed him so tight that his head barely glanced off the top of his skull rather than his forehead, the ball skipping over toward the far side of the box without any real venom.

Rakim, who had gotten to the inside of Widmer, raced toward the ball’s flight path with his marker sticking to him like glue. Coming to a stop, he adjusted to the ball’s flight path, looking to take off, but Widmer grabbed a fistful of Rakim’s shirt from the front and yanked, hard as he slipped to the ground. No matter how strong he was, having a grown man hanging off him wasn’t something he could handle on the spur.

The momentum dragged him down, but he did not give up on the ball as his left hand shot out on instinct. Clawing the wet turf below, he showed incredible body control as he balanced for a moment, his lower body twisted mid-fall so that his hips opened up horizontal to the sky. His left leg swung forward, missing the ball by inches, using the momentum for his right leg to whip for the follow-through.

The laces of his purple Singularities violently hit the leather of the incoming ball, momentarily deforming it as it smashed goalward. Sommer tried to react by throwing a palm at the ball’s way, but it was blasted away, only slightly altering its path into the goal.

"GOOOOOAAAAAL!" Martin Tyler roared but was still drowned out by the German crowd who finally had something to cheer for. "What a Beauty."

Rakim sprang up almost the moment he landed and took off to the corner flag, shushing the crowd with an index finger to his lips before coming to a stop at the flag with his arms spread wide. "Well, that one will have silenced all the doubters regarding this young man," Smith noted as the rest of his teammates swarmed him.

"Look at that, he was dragged to the ground and still found a way."

"We’ve talked about it before, but he has incredible body control."

[Germany 1-2 Switzerland — Rakim 52’]

On the reset, Löw stood with his arms folded as Fredrick Bauer gave instructions by the touchline. However, no matter how he tried to get Rakim’s attention, the latter was busy fixing his shin-guards. It was clear that the kid was still in a mood, and he couldn’t reprimand him well after scoring, so he did the next best thing: give the instructions to Gosens.

The Swiss side restarted with even more care than seven minutes ago as they looked to calm things down. Embolo tapped the ball to Seferovic, who cycled it back to Elvedi within three touches, and they were back to keeping the ball at arm’s length from the Germans. Rodríguez to Akanji, Akanji to Xhaka, Xhaka to Freuler, Freuler back to Sommer, who patiently scanned his options.

Germany pressed higher now, hungry for the equaliser. Werner and Müller were squeezing the Swiss defenders as a duo rather than a pair of soloists, and Rakim began drifting into space more, dragging Widmer out with him. For seven minutes it looked as if the Swiss might weather it, then Shaqiri got the ball.

The former Liverpool man collected it thirty yards from his own goal, spun away from Goretzka’s press with the drop of a shoulder and the flick of a boot, and he was away. He drove up the middle, chopped across Kroos once, twice, the ball glued to his boot, as he charged into the German half with a numerical advantage.

"Switzerland with numbers!" Tyler called, his voice climbing.

Kross, who had given chase after being beaten, caught the Swiss star at the edge of the final third. He numped into Shaqiri’s shoulder at full pace, wrapped one arm across the front of him, and used every ounce of thirty-one-year-old body weight to wrestle him into a slow, controlled falling motion that ended with both men on the wet turf and the ball skidding harmlessly to Hummels.

"OH!" Tyler exclaimed. "That’s vintage Toni Kroos!"

Rapallini let it go, waving play on as Shaqiri sat up and turned to look for a whistle that was not coming. Kroos was already back on his feet, jogging past him without a glance, and the German section roared in approval.

"Alan, when was the last time Toni Kroos threw a shoulder like that?" Tyler asked, half-delighted.

"It would probably be during El Clásico," Smith replied, chuckling. "But Löw must have given him some motivation; he looks like a completely different player in the second half."

Two minutes later, Zuber whipped in a cross from a Swiss free kick out on the left that dropped through the traffic and dipped late toward the top corner. Neuer flew across his goal, at full extension with his left glove, but the ball skipped off the top of his fingertips and cracked against the underside of the bar with a hollow, sickening ring before Rüdiger hacked it clear for a corner. The Arena drew a collective breath.

"OFF THE BAR!" Tyler shouted. "Zuber, unbelievable delivery! Neuer barely got a glove to it, and the woodwork saves Germany!"

"An inch lower and this is three-one, Alan," Smith exclaimed. "That is how thin the margins are tonight. Both coaches will want to tighten the ship before they lose control."

The corner was headed clear by Hummels, back to Kimmich, back to Kroos, and the ball rolled its way to Neuer, who took a slow breath before rolling it out to Rüdiger and starting again.

[63’]

Rüdiger to Hummels, Hummels to Kroos, Kroos to Goretzka, Goretzka drifted deeper to receive from Kimmich, the shape stretching horizontally as the Swiss dropped back into their block. Rakim, on the left flank, drifted infield twice, then twice back out to the touchline after not receiving the ball, dragging Widmer along with him each time like a man on the end of a fishing line.

Kimmich lifted his head on the right flank half a second longer than his marker allowed him. He flicked it by him, creating some separation, and for a single beat there was a lane of green stretching from the Munich man’s boot to the touchline where nobody in a red shirt was standing. Kimmich took it immediately, beaming a diagonal cross-field pass with the inside of his right foot, arcing it fifty yards through the drizzle.

Just past the halfway line, Rakim rose into the air momentarily blocking Widmer behind him. He leaned back into him, practically forcing him to hold him up, as he cushioned the incoming ball off his chest so softly that it floated back up into the space between his forehead and the sky.

Widmer lost balance and fell to the ground, but Rakim remained on his feet, performing an almost Limbo stance as he popped right back up. He caught the ball on his forehead, then let it settle onto the top of his head as he stood back upright. He balanced it there for one full second, two, then three and the arena, which had been humming, dropped into a strange, disbelieving hush.

Xhaka arrived first, jogging to close him down, then slowed in an awkward trot, momentarily unsure what to do. Before he could react, Rakim flicked the ball down the line into the path of Müller, who used the distraction to lose his marker.

The Bayern veteran used his thigh to tap the ball into stride and exploded after it. Elvedi turned to give chase, but Müller had already gained a stride on him, his old bones somehow finding the rhythm of a twenty-two-year-old for one crucial burst. Widmer had scrambled up from the turf and was now sprinting back across, screaming for cover, but Müller was already inside the final third.

"Müller is loose!" Tyler called, his voice climbing again. "This could get tricky if he gets to work!"

The Bayern veteran reached the byline with Widmer half a step behind him and Elvedi arriving to cut off the space on the inside. He glanced up once, saw the two Swiss defenders converging, and chopped it back with the sole of his left boot, connecting with Kross at the edge of the box. The Real Madrid man came to a sudden stop, opening up with the ball’s momentum, creating separation from his man.

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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