810 A Giant’s Waltz

"Aaron Mitchell! A beautiful header from outside the penalty area! Nottingham Forest has evened out the score between the two sides!"

Huge cheers broke out at the City Ground stadium.

The Barcelona manager, Guardiola, was furious where he stood on the sidelines. He threw down the water bottle in his hand when Mitchell's header knocked the football in.

"Who is this kid?!"

Both assistant managers, Vilanova and Eusebio, wisely chose to remain silent at that moment.

Guardiola's anger was not directed at his own team. The fact that they could score a goal under such conditions was already enough. What angered him was that he knew nothing about the Nottingham Forest striker. He obviously could not make targeted arrangements without any information; for example, he had not known beforehand that the number-9 player was outstanding at headers. Otherwise, he would not have let the team give Bentley the opportunity to play from the side...

After a while, Vilanova said, "Maybe it isn't as bad as we think it is? At least the total score on each side is currently tied, and the away goals are also tied up. We still have the chance to play into overtime..."

Guardiola frowned and shook his head. He said in a foul temper, "Playing overtime would be useless with the current state of the team... The players will physically exhaust themselves very quickly in these conditions."

He was right. Even if Nottingham Forest accidentally allowed Barcelona to drag the game into overtime, they had nothing at all to worry about. Tony Twain had taken that possibility into account before the game. The Forest players were fit enough to ensure that they could complete an intense 120-minute game, while Barcelona was not. Playing on such a terrible pitch required more stamina than usual. Playing an additional 30 minutes would increase the likelihood of their players getting injured.

No wonder Twain had not been anxious after they conceded the previous goal.

Everyone was lamenting in the Barcelona technical area, and the players on the pitch were no better. After Barcelona's goal, they had been in high spirits and had wanted to build on their momentum. If they had scored a second goal, it would have been almost impossible for Nottingham Forest to reverse the situation. However, not only did they not score again, but they had unexpectedly let Nottingham Forest get a goal...

When they saw the football fly into the net, their hearts instantly went cold almost simultaneously.

What scared them was not the score, but the fact that they were already 70 minutes into the game and were still unable to adapt to the feeling of playing on this ground, while Nottingham Forest took to it with ease. What would be the outcome of the game if it were to continue like this? They did not dare to think about it.

After the game resumed, Barcelona stepped up their defense against Mitchell. But, this time around, he played even better. The Barcelona players could block him from shooting, but they could not necessarily prevent him from passing the ball. As a beacon for the front of the field, he not only had the ability to score goals himself, but could also create all kinds of opportunities for his teammates. His height was his biggest weapon. At the same time, the skills he displayed in stopping and protecting the ball left the Barcelona defenders to be at a loss as to how to deal with him—once they were squeezed behind him, they could not get at the ball without fouling.

Agbonlahor also got two opportunities to make threatening shots thanks to Mitchell's excellent performance.

To make matters worse, four minutes after the Forest team scored, Messi withdrew from the game after spraining his knee in a scuffle. The departure of the team's veritable soul due to an injury hit Barcelona really hard. Many Barcelona players on the pitch had a lost look in their eyes. They really did not know how to play this game.

When Messi was injured, the Catalan commentator began to scold Tony Twain and his Nottingham Forest team incessantly. He accused them of lacking all sportsmanship and destroying the opposing players' bodies in order to win.

The English commentator, on the other hand, took a long breath, and then said, "A player was finally injured... It would have been incredible if no one was hurt playing on such a bumpy field."

When Messi was injured, Guardiola, finally, could not stand it any longer. He rushed to the sidelines to look for the fourth official—the previous referee who had been taken off the pitch due to an injury—and pointed at the field, saying to him, "Is this a venue where the Champions League can play? It's bumpy, and it caused my player to get hurt! Is this, also, allowed?"

Unfortunately, Twain was not on the sidelines. Otherwise, he would have stepped forward to rebut him without hesitation: "The UEFA agreed. Why are you making a fuss?"

The fourth official shrugged helplessly. "There's nothing we can do about it, Mr. Guardiola."

"I'm going to file a complaint with the UEFA after this game! How can something like this, which violates sporting ethics, be allowed to happen?"

"Hey, look!" John suddenly pointed at the technical area below, where Guardiola was speaking agitatedly to the fourth official. In fact, everyone could tell what he was saying by watching his gesticulations—he was pointing at the pitch.

"Ha! Is he sore about losing?" Twain laughed in his seat. "Does he want to go crying to his UEFA mommy?

"I would guess that he's probably demanding that they cancel the game or lodging a complaint with the UEFA!

"What a coward!"

An immediate, deafening hiss at Guardiola erupted in the north grandstand. Even Twain booed with the crowd. He could not go down to argue with Guardiola. Obviously, he could only boo from where he was.

The fourth official reassured Guardiola, "We will record all these details in the game report. But, for now, please head back, Mr. Guardiola."

Guardiola walked back with a black look on his face. The boos grew increasingly louder, and he pretended not to hear them.

Messi was eventually carried off on a stretcher, wearing a pained look. The team doctor's expression also did not bode well. Guardiola could not help but swear as he looked upon the scene. He did not see Twain when he looked up toward the stands with the loudest boos. The manager was hiding among a crowd of fans, dressed as they were, and could not be told apart from them.

The UEFA sent him to the stands as punishment. From the looks of it, it might even have been a favor to him...

Guardiola gritted his teeth as he thought this.

Messi could not continue to play, so Guardiola brought on a young midfielder, Busquets, to strengthen the squad and increase their control of the midfield. Busquets, who stood at 1.89 meters tall, had outstanding physical qualities. His presence could reverse Barcelona's weakness in competing for headers. At the same time, his playing style was at a level that was quite suitable for handling the ball on such terrain.

Before he went on, Guardiola patted Busquets on the shoulder and said, "Be careful. Don't get hurt..."

It was, indeed, a pointless effort.

As the game went on, the Barcelona players played with fury. This was to be expected: who would not be angry watching his teammate get hurt due to that terrible field? Moreover, any of them might follow in Messi's footsteps, and they could not calm down at the thought of it.

Even Piqué set aside his relationship with Nottingham Forest, as well, and did not hesitate to make Mitchell fall during a defensive play. His approach won him boos from Nottingham Forest. He did not find it awkward.

Nottingham Forest did not care what the Barcelona players thought. As always, they attacked Valdés' goal and were bent on settling the fight within 90 minutes.

However, Busquets did prove to be effective on the field. His height and physical condition helped Barcelona maintain their midfield defense well. He and Piqué teamed up to defend against Mitchell in the grabs for the headers, thus freeing Puyol, while Agbonlahor had little chance.

In response, Nottingham Forest began trying to make greater use of long shots to seek scoring opportunities. Such offensives tended to end hastily after they reached the front of the field.

Twain was very unhappy about this, although he waited a little longer to see if the team showed any signs of change. Then the north grandstand rang out with shouts from the fans, "Be patient! We have the upper hand! Don't shoot blindly!"

"OK, guys. I'm sure they heard it." After they shouted a few times, Twain told them to stop. He did not want to act too explicitly.

As the game progressed, the Barcelona players began to gradually recall their defensive lines, until everyone had retreated to their half of the field. They did not have much energy left to attack now, and so they naturally concentrated on defense. They wanted to be able to hold on to the current score so that they could have at least 30 minutes more to push back again.

Dunn stepped out from the technical area when he felt that it was time for the team to attack. He signaled to indicate to the team that they should press forward with full force.

"The Nottingham Forest offensive is pretty fierce! Barcelona has fully retreated to defend against it… Let's look at how many Barcelona players are in the penalty area when Nottingham Forest strikes. Eleven! They're all back!" The English commentator was quite proud of it. "Who says that Nottingham Forest only plays conservative and utilitarian football? Such scenes are not common in an offensive play, are they?"

Such a situation was surely humiliating to the Barcelona fans because their team had always been the ones to press their opponents like this in previous games. They had never displayed such a pathetic front.

Mitchell felt greater pressure than he had before the 1.89-meter-tall kid had come on. Sometimes he still won while they competed for a header, but then the header that he sent out did not go accordingly to plan. It seemed that Barcelona had made special arrangements to counter his height and header ability...

If this continued, Mitchell did not know if he could still contribute to the team with his headers. He had played almost the entire game. During this long period of time, he had been directly facing up against two of Barcelona's best defenders and had expended more energy than he had in the last league game. His jumps and sprints were not as powerful as before. Sometimes, he could not guarantee that he would lock in his position.

When Bentley passed the ball over, he was pushed back by Piqué at the last minute, even though he had previously secured his position. When he struggled to squeeze back in, he felt as if he was pushing against the head of a train and could not jump. He watched helplessly as Piqué headed the ball in front of him.

Barcelona fought back. His teammates were quick to defend. His spirit was willing, but his body was weak. He placed his hands on his knees, taking big gulps of air. In the past, he had always appeared as a substitute. Even though he had been in the starting lineup in the last league game, he was then replaced midway through and had not even completed the game. Now, having persisted in such a fierce match for more than 70 minutes, he did not know if his body could last to the end.

George Wood intercepted Silva's pass to Bojan in the back. He did not hesitate to send forward a long, direct pass.

Mitchell, who had just been gasping for air at the front, wanted to jump and catch the ball, but was ruled to be in an offside position—he had been focused on taking a break and forgot to look around at the situation.

"Is his size a weak spot in terms of stamina?" Twain muttered to himself in the stands.

Mitchell then got another chance, but this time, he lost it quickly under the joint defense of Piqué and Busquets, right after he got the ball under control at his feet. The two players, who were not as tall as himself, even crushed him to the ground. He looked really vulnerable.

The Barcelona fans in the stands began to laugh at the stupid great hulk of a man.

"Aaron Mitchell has completely exposed his physical weakness. Being overly thin, he cannot achieve anything against Barcelona's tight defense. His performance is worrying. Perhaps the Forest team should consider replacing him?"

Even the commentator began to question Mitchell. "He scored a goal, and has done well enough for a young player who is making his debut in such an important game. The Forest team's coaching staff can't ask him to do more—it would be impossible."

Kerslake also noted that Mitchell's performance during this period was not as energetic as it had been before. Apparently, it had to do with Barcelona's targeted defensive arrangements. Guardiola had found that the situation had changed for the better after he replaced Messi with Busquets. So, he simply brought on Keita to replace Xavi and shifted the team to play in a 4-4-2 formation, with three defensive midfielders and one offensive one. The Forest team now had difficulty delivering the ball to Mitchell's feet, as Barcelona's midfield defense had hardened. Another factor was the fact that Mitchell's fitness had declined considerably...

Kerslake turned to Dunn to discuss this. "Aaron looks like he can't play anymore. The opponent's defense against him is too tight. He has overexerted himself physically... Plus, this is his first time playing in such an important game. I think he's done a great job, going head-to-head with Puyol and Piqué for 80 minutes... Should we think about replacing him? The most important thing..." He hesitated for a bit before voicing his worry: "Tony insisted on putting him in the starting lineup. He performed wonderfully. But I'm afraid that the confidence he's just built up, with much difficulty, will be destroyed if he continues playing. You must know that Piqué and Puyol are not your average defenders. We may have been too hard on him, letting him go up against these two strong opponents..." Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click www.novelhall.com for visiting.

Dunn frowned. He was also considering whether he should have Mitchell come off and bring on Ibišević, who had better stamina and more superb shooting, on the offense. But his mind inevitably diverged in the other direction—what kind of choice would he make if he were Tony?

He realized that, if he were Tony, he would probably insist on keeping Mitchell on the field.

In that case, should he also decide to do the same?

"David... I don't think Tony would agree to bring him off..." Dunn was hesitant.

"But we're the ones in charge of the team now, Dunn!" Kerslake was unhappy that Dunn was using Tony Twain as an excuse.

Dunn also seemed to feel that he had been too feeble. He could not always take Tony as his only guide. He thought about it, and then made his choice: "Let's wait a little longer. Give him five minutes..."

Kerslake nodded and stopped speaking.

The game entered the 79th minute. Soon, there would only be ten minutes left.

Once again, Nottingham Forest organized an attack.

Keita, Yaya Touré, and Busquets formed a wall in front of Barcelona's penalty area, blocking the Forest team's offensive.

The Forest team's midfielders very much wanted to send the ball to Mitchell's side, but, under the opponent's tight defense, Mitchell would not be able to hold the ball, even if it were passed over. What was the use of passing it his way if he would soon lose it?

Tiago took the ball, feeling a little confused. He wanted to send it away, but did not know to whom he should pass it. Just as he was looking in all directions and hesitating, Keita snatched the ball away with a jab.

The Barcelona fans in the stands suddenly burst into huge cheers, but their glee had only just gotten started before coming to an abrupt end, because Keita's ball was also intercepted by George Wood.

When Keita successfully intercepted the ball, Barcelona was about to fight back, and their formation pressed slightly outward.

Mitchell found himself in an offside position again, so he also followed suit and retreated. This time, he could not once again allow a teammate's pass to turn into an offside position. Just this once, he retreated a little further. Instead of acting as a beacon in front, he simply retreated to Agbonlahor's position in one go—somewhat like a shadow striker. Was he over-compensating?

After George Wood intercepted the ball, he saw Barcelona's rear defensive line hurriedly pull back and widen its distance just enough from Mitchell, who was running back. No one was marking him now!

Wood did not hesitate to pass the football over.

Piqué saw him pass to Mitchell, and he suddenly pounced. He had already seen through the tall guy. He knew that this man was close to collapse. As long as he put in a little more force at his back, he would drop the ball.

Mitchell's stamina had truly been exhausted. He only had two things in mind right now: to trap the ball, and not to lose it. As for where and who the opponent was and what they were going to do to him—he did not consider those things at all. His oxygen-deprived brain simplified his thinking, and anything superfluous was stripped away.

Piqué rushed ahead and decided to speed up, bypassing Mitchell from the side. He wanted to suddenly circle to the front to defend, intercept Mitchell's ball, and then seize the opportunity to counterattack Nottingham Forest!

It was a good idea, but—

After picking up the ball with his back to the goal, Mitchell used his heel to fix its position while he jumped up. He stepped on the ball, turned around, and pulled the ball, all at the same time. With Piqué as his axis, he turned 180 degrees, and evaded Piqué's defense together with the ball! Piqué going around to the front had, instead, brought about Mitchell's beautiful bypass!

"Wow! What a fantastic bypass!" the commentator could not help but call out. "A Marseille Turn!"

It was, indeed, visually stunning for a player with a height of 2.02 meters to produce such a move, as elegant as the waltz.

At that moment, Mitchell tossed the boss's warning that he was "not allowed to play with fancy footwork" to the breezes. When the football came at him, more than two years of hard training allowed his body to automatically make the most suitable choice—he used neither a header nor his chest. He simply relied on his own footwork to deal with it.

After being bypassed by Mitchell, Piqué was a little dazed and even forgot to head back to defend. He stood, stupefied, in the same spot. When he had pounced, he had not expected the other man to take advantage of it and bypass him. He still did not know how his opponent had done it.

Thanks to the help of Busquets, Puyol had been concentrating on Agbonlahor and the other forward. He did not expect Piqué, who had played so well the whole game, to be bypassed so easily and to be caught off guard.

Fortunately, Busquets was so focused that he rushed up to defend when Mitchell got past Piqué.

On the outside of the penalty area, Mitchell suddenly made a quick stop. After he pulled away from Busquets, he swung his leg to shoot!

Busquets reached his leg out to stop him, but did not realize that Mitchell was feinting!

Mitchell simply dodged and got away from Busquets, entering the penalty area!

"He bypassed two people in one breath! My God. What are we seeing? The 2.02-meter-tall player is willfully showing off his footwork in front of Barcelona's defensive line! Is he possessed by Ibrahimović's spirit? The world is going crazy!"

Busquets, whom Mitchell had flashed past, could hardly believe his eyes. He slipped to the ground and turned back to look at Mitchell in amazement. But, by this time, he could only see his back.

At that very moment, this Mitchell and the Mitchell that Guardiola had understood were completely different players. He was not making use of his height and header advantage, but instead was displaying his stunning footwork! Guardiola, who watched the scene from off of the pitch, suddenly felt like a failure as he sat in his chair—there was so much more about the kid that he did not know! Who exactly is this guy?!

Mitchell himself seemed to have entered a mysterious state in which he forgot himself. Perhaps he was overtired, and his physical instincts consequentially dominated his consciousness. Whenever an opponent was directly in front of him, his legs would automatically make the necessary movements, leading him all the way forward. He did not know the faces of the opponents that appeared in front of him. He only knew that he had to get around them!

"Son, bypass him! Bypass him!" Mitchell's father roared with excitement as he watched the scene from the stands.

Busquets, trying to block, did not succeed in seizing the ball, but he at least bought some time for Puyol and the other defenders.

Seeing how Mitchell had bypassed two players on his own and had entered the penalty area, Puyol and the rest of Barcelona's defenders came up to encircle him. They dropped their original defensive target and came charging aggressively at Mitchell, their new mark.

Mitchell did not even lift his head. After he entered the penalty area, he lifted his leg to shoot again!

Puyol took a big step forward to block him from in front, intending to stop the other player's shot with his body.

It was actually a feint; Mitchell hooked the football back with his left foot. The experienced Puyol had already anticipated this move, so he did not make one of his own. He just locked down his position.

However, he did not realize that Mitchell was not done hooking the ball. He used his right foot to switch it back to its original position again. With two consecutive hooks of the ball, he finally opened a crack in their defense. Mitchell continued to drill inward! Puyol, on the other hand, was stuck in place, because the changes in his center of gravity had happened too quickly.

"Three players!" the commentator roared excitedly.

Having broken through Puyol's defense, Mitchell only had Valdés in front of him. He once again lifted his leg to seize the opportunity to shoot.

This time, whether he was shooting for real or still faking it, Valdés had to make a defensive move. He fell to the ground as he lept in the direction that Mitchell might have shot. Alves made a slide tackle at Mitchell from the back; even if he committed a foul, he could not allow the kid to score so easily after tricking three Barcelona defenders!

Don't even think of scoring such a beautiful goal against Barcelona!

It was almost as if Mitchell had eyes in the back of his head. Without looking back, he pulled the ball to the right and jumped with it. He tricked Valdés and dodged Alves' slide tackle.

Although he evaded Alves, he also missed his first opportunity to shoot.

Alves tried to get up and grab the ball. But Mitchell tilted himself, and his 2.02-meter-tall body pressed against him. At that moment, he lifted his leg once again to shoot—the fourth time he had done so!

But it was not a feint.

"Mitchell! Mitchell! Mitchell!" From the moment he had burst into the penalty area, the commentator had kept shouting Mitchell's name, each time louder than the last. If he hadn't kept yelling louder, he would not have been able to hear the words he himself was shouting, even with a soundproofed headpiece on—the entire City Ground stadium was like an erupting volcano with the continuous thunderous cheers coming in, each wave louder than the previous.

"Mitchell! Mitchell—Goooooooooal! A beautiful goal from the ground! A brilliant goal! A magnificent goal! A tall player, more than two meters tall, using his long legs to play with the Barcelona defenders as much as he likes! He single-handedly overturned Barcelona's entire rear defensive line! It's a miracle! Who would have thought that this tall player could have such delicate skill in footwork! Hey, Mr. Tony Twain, has he really been playing as a center back for the last seven years?" The English commentator had almost gone mad. On the other side, the Catalan commentator was completely silent.

"Even Messi couldn't guarantee his control of the ball on such a bumpy pitch, but the 2.02-meter-tall kid did it! He leveled Barcelona's penalty area like a giant! The football was like a meek little sheep under his feet. It was like he was playing on a flat field! The City Ground stadium, which has made Barcelona's skillful players suffer so much, was like the lawn in the back garden of his own home, and he drew a wonderful painting on it with his two long legs!

"Listen to the cheers in the City Ground stadium—!"

"Aaron! Aaron! Aaron Mitchell! If you don't know the name of Nottingham Forest's number 9 yet, you're already outdated!"

This was the cry of the Nottingham Forest fans, and became the only voice in the City Ground stadium for a period of time.

Tony Twain held his head in his hands in the midst of the crowd. He could hardly believe his eyes. He had known that Mitchell's footwork skills were much better than his ability to shoot and to deal with physical confrontations. But he had not expected them to be this good—he had not expected that he would be able to keep the ball firmly under his feet on such rough and bumpy terrain, which had to make it difficult to control the ball, bypass four players, break away from the goalkeeper, and finally send the ball into the empty goal.

Was this something an average striker could do?

Was it just plain, dumb luck? Nevertheless, good fortune only favored people who were prepared.

Amid the unified cheers of the fans throughout the entire stadium, he seemed to see the ascent of tomorrow's new star player.

Meanwhile, his opponent, Guardiola, sat paralyzed in his chair. He did not even have the strength to say reproachfully, "Who is this kid?"

If he really were to lose the game, he would have to admit that he had no idea that Tony Twain would boldly deploy a new player in the game, and that he had known nothing about the new player. It had been the main reason for their failure in this match.

He had thought, since the new player was of a great height, that he would probably not be good at his bounce and header. But Mitchell's header from outside the penalty area had been like a slap in the face. Next, he had recognized that this player was outstanding in his height, jumping, and headers. That should have meant that his footwork skills were terrible. According to the general principle, this analysis was immaculate and unassailable.

But he had been wrong again...

When the football entered the goal, it was as if Mitchell had woken up from a dream. He looked at the football sitting quietly inside the net and turned around to look at the Barcelona players lying on the ground in disorder. He still could not believe his eyes.

I scored the goal?

How did it get in?

It looks like... I bypassed all of them?

Ah! I'm done for! The boss will definitely must scold me! He said I wasn't allowed to show off my footwork skills... How could I forget!

The somewhat-panicked Mitchell was startled by the huge cheers coming from behind him. He looked back at the grandstand, where countless arms were waving and everyone was roaring his name.

"Aaron! Aaron! Aaron Mitchell! Aaron Mitchell! If you don't know his name, you're outdated!"

He could not find the boss among the spectators because all he could see was arms and excited faces. He did not know if Twain was in the cheering crowd.

He pulled his eyes away from the stands, and, when he turned his gaze to the field again, he saw his teammates rushing toward him excitedly with their arms wide open.

Then he was knocked to the ground. His ears were filled with hoarse shouts.

They were shouting, "Aaron, you b*stard! You stole all of the limelight!"