From Arsenal to the Ball God

"Didn’t get the ball! Ma’el staggers a few steps and continues dribbling forward! Ward is out of position! The attack is favorable!

"Now only Bassong is defending; he might find it hard to stop Ma’el... shaking, changing direction and accelerating again! More acceleration! Oh... Bassong is about to be beaten!

"He’s opting for a last-ditch tackle attempt! Ma’el is down, a side-tackle from behind, plus it’s the last defender’s tackle—how will the referee judge this?!"

"..."

On the field, Ma’el rolls over, feeling a sharp pain in his shin, clutching his leg and rolling twice on the ground.

Seeing Bassong’s disdainful face beside him, a few sparks of anger rise in his chest; he endures the pain and hurries toward him.

In this match, he’s been fouled similarly four or five times; basically, every time he gets the ball, he’s knocked to the ground.

It’s unprecedented; he has never encountered such a team in the Championship!

"Damn it!"

He steps forward, grabs Bassong’s shirt, and shoves hard, "Prepare to get lost! Next time on the field, you’ll see what kind of football I’ll play with you!"

Bassong stumbles back two steps, trying to stabilize his position, just as the referee comes in.

"Beep beep!"

The main referee quickly steps between the two to block them, then faces Bassong, reaching for his back pocket, a Ruby Card quickly appears in his hand.

Red card!

"What?!" Bassong looks incredulous; he thought the referee’s judgment was always mild, not expecting such a harsh decision.

"Off!" The referee’s attitude is firm, glancing back at Ma’el, hesitates, and gives just a few warnings.

Ma’el nods at the referee, touches his shin, and turns to leave.

He doesn’t fear defenders treating him like this but at this critical stage, he can’t afford an injury; one injury and the championship becomes challenging, and remaining unbeaten becomes near impossible.

He can feel that this team is fast becoming reliant on him.

If he were to leave Arsenal, it would be akin to Zidane leaving the France team.

"....."

"The Wolves players surround the referee; I can hear the overwhelming boos from Molineux Stadium within the broadcast booth. They can’t accept playing with ten men against a full-strength Arsenal!

"I’ve said it repeatedly, the referee cannot continuously give defenders chances, which leads to increasingly aggressive actions!

"Showing a red card now seems like a reminder to other Wolves defenders, but actually, it’s too late... playing with ten men, they probably can’t focus on the match!

"This isn’t the right timing; the referee continues to make blunders!"

"..."

"Ma’el has been taken down again; both teams’ players are tangled up, someone’s made a move! The match is indeed out of control!

"Zubal, who fouled, gets a yellow card; Knightley, Van Persie, and Ma’el also receive yellow cards in succession!

"I have a hunch this won’t be the last time in this match!"

"..."

"Ma’el’s cross! Walcott follows up in the middle, a volley!

"Goal in!! Arsenal takes a one-nil lead!

"In the 41st minute, they finally broke through the Wolves defense, scoring one goal!

"With Wolves playing ten men defending fully, this goal might very well kill the match! It’s hard for Wolves to launch an offensive!

"Wait? What’s happening, why are all the players crowding together, is no one celebrating?

"Ah... we see the replay; after Ma’el’s pass, he was taken down by Stilman, this might be another red card worthy move, theyve been quite rough today!

"Yellow card! Wenger is unhappy, surrounding the fourth official demanding an explanation!

"Ma’el got up and ran toward Stilman, but was pulled apart by teammates, he’s having a tough game today."

"..."

"The second half is about to begin, ah! We see Ma’el has been substituted; Chamberlain has stepped onto the field, Wenger dares not risk the core player’s safety over a steady victory!

"Benayoun is warming up, Van Persie might also be coming off! Leading by a goal, they shouldn’t struggle to secure victory!"

On the field, Ma’el has reached the bench, exchanging high-fives with substitute players with a frustrated face, then finds a seat.

It’s a pity not to hit 35 goals in this match, but he understands Wenger’s intentions and isn’t too disappointed.

"It’s okay, Ma’el." Rosicky beside him, guessing what he’s thinking, said, "There’s still six rounds after this one, you definitely can do it.

"You shouldn’t even consider whether you can achieve 35 goals.

"But rather think about whether you can hit 38 goals... sounds a bit far-fetched, but everyone knows you might actually do it.

"You’re the special one, so you should have special goals."

Ma’el listened, a slight smile forming, "Why not believe I can hit 40 goals?"

Rosicky turned and gave a bright smile: "If that truly is your goal, I think you can achieve it."

Ma’el glanced at him, sensing he seriously meant it, feeling much better.

"Snap!"

He reached out his hand, shook Rosicky’s, "I also believe you’ll win your first league title in England this season."

"Let’s do it together." Rosicky turned his gaze to the pitch, but the smile on his face remained.