Zachary could clearly hear the cheering from the stands in the Ullevaal Stadion hitting a thunderous crescendo when he marched onto the playing field together with the other players and match officials that afternoon. On looking around, he found the stadium's atmosphere already boiling hot with wild and crazy fans dancing and singing. It was simply madness — but a madness which roused him. He could feel his heart beating faster in anticipation of the final.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlen!"
The llifluous voice of Kjell Roar, the comntator, sounded abruptly. The sound from the stadium's speakers was so loud that it smothered out all the cheering that had been underscoring the entire stadium.
"Let take this opportunity to welco you all to the finals of the 2013 Norwegian Football Cup," the voice continued. "I'm excited since Rosenborg Ballklub is about to face off against Molde Fotballklubb in what will be the climax of the Norwegian football season. I'm sure all of you are aware that the match-winner will earn the title of Norwegian Champions, while the loser will — well, only go ho crying. Will it be team Rosenborg who'll co out on top, or will it be team Molde that will have the last laugh? We shall have an answer before sunset today."
"But first things first, introductions," the comntator continued in a booming voice. "I'm Kjell Roar, your faithful comntator for this match, and here with are two pundits. One is Sigurd Rushfeldt, a forr Rosenborg player who was a prolific goalscorer during his ti. For those not in the know, Sigurd didn't just play for Rosenborg but also for several other teams around Europe, including Birmingham City and Austria Wien. It's a pleasure to have you here for this match, Sigurd."
"Thank you, Kjell," Sigurd Rushfeldt, the first pundit, replied. "It's also a pleasure to be here and provide the on-pitch analysis for such a great match between two great teams in Norwegian football. Thanks for having , Kjell."
"You're welco, Sigurd," Kjell Roar replied politely. "Moving on, our second pundit for today is none other than Ulrich M?ller, a player who spent his entire senior career at Molde. It's a pleasure to have you here, Ulrich!"
"Thank you," Ulrich M?ller, the second pundit, replied. "I'm also glad to be here. Thank you for inviting , Kjell."
"You're welco." Kjell Roar replied with a chuckle. "Okay, that marks the end of the introductions. So, without wasting ti, let's take you to the action on the field."
"The teams have just completed their customary handshake, and the players are ready to take their positions on the field of play. But, we'll have to delay the discussions about the upcoming match because of a small award ceremony right before kick-off. Word going around is that Zachary Bemba, Rosenborg's young number-33, will be receiving his golden boot and MVP award for the 2013 Tippeligaen right before kick-off. So, let's put our hands together to welco the one and only, Zachary Bemba, to the podium."
Zachary could feel another wave of thunderous cheers sweeping across the entire stadium after the announcent. The crowd's thrill even rose further, to the point of insanity, when he walked up to the makeshift podium to receive his two accolades from the Norsk Toppfotball official.
Those cheers caused his spirits to soar higher and provoked a toothy grin. When he finally held both the golden boot and bronze statuette within his hands, he felt like he was walking on clouds. He was ecstatic since he'd just won two prestigious football awards in his first season as a pro footballer.
Nonetheless, Zachary didn't let the excitent disrupt his focus on the upcoming match. Instead, he shut out everything until his mind was as clear and calm as a pool of water. After that, he handed his golden boot and bronze statuette to one of Rosenborg's coaching assistants for safekeeping before returning to his position on the pitch to wait for the kick-off whistle.
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*FWEEEEEEE*
Coach Ole Gunnar Solskjaer could feel his heart racing with a mixture of both anxiety and anticipation when the referee blew the whistle at exactly 2:00 PM that afternoon. He understood that he could only have sothing to show for the season and soothe the anguish of the Molde fans by winning the Norwegian Cup final. Otherwise, he would have to bear the sha of finishing sixth in the dostic league and even face the possibility of losing his job. Things were tough, and even the fact that he was a Molde legend couldn't help his case.
He felt tense as he watched his players kick off the final against Rosenborg on the back foot. The performance of his players in the first fifteen minutes of gaplay couldn't soothe his jittery nerves in the slightest. He would even occasionally shudder despite himself, especially when the resourceful Rosenborg attackers unleashed dangerous shots towards Molde's goal. However, as an experienced coach, he soon forced himself to remain composed and continue watching the ga despite the circumstances on the field of play.
But, focusing on the ga let him witness in great detail how Rosenborg kept suppressing his team as if his players were a bunch of nobodies. In just a couple of minutes, he couldn't take it anymore. So, he rose from the bench like an angry mother hen and started giving so tough love to his players from the sidelines.
"Lads," he yelled at the top of his voice, pacing the entire length of the technical area. "What the f*ck are you doing on the pitch? We already agreed that you have to close down the spaces in the middle as quickly as possible whenever we're without possession. But what have you been doing ever since the start of the match? Even a bunch of old ladies can play better football than you. Aren't you ashad? And can't you be a little bit more proactive and play like people who wish to win the final?" He punctuated his words with a rhythmic clapping of his hands, probably to motivate his players.
"Emmanuel and Magne!" The Molde coach continued roaring out words at the pace of a machine gun as he waved his hands up in the air. "Make sure that you mark Zachary, and don't allow him even an inch of space in the middle. Guard him tightly and stop him from unleashing those troubleso lofted passes behind our defensive line. And above all, everyone else should stay focused and work hard to win possession back as soon as possible. Use counter-pressing tactics, if need be. But don't let Rosenborg play us like we're nonexistent." He concluded his little speech with another thunderous clap before settling back down on the bench.
However, his face couldn't help but morph into a frown a few minutes later. His words seed to have fallen on deaf ears, and his players couldn't just grow into the ga quickly enough. They were like a group of toddlers playing in a laid-back manner. They didn't possess any bit of class or character to the point of failing to sustain even the slightest pressure on Rosenborg's defense for almost the entire first half. Anyone, including the fans, could tell that they were in a sorry state — a fact that caused Coach Ole Gunnar Solskjaer an imnse amount of headache.
However, just as he was despairing, his team got an opportunity to counterattack in the 40th minute. It was one of those rare chances that ca out of the blue.
Nicki Nielsen, Rosenborg's center-forward, had just unleashed a missile on goal after receiving a well-tid pass from Zachary Bemba. However, the lucky stars of Rosenborg seed not to be well-aligned that day, and ?rjan Nyland, the Molde keeper, managed to snatch the ball out of the air to make an incredible save. And without any dilly-dallying, the keeper kicked the ball high and far—towards Fredrik Gulbrandsen, the Molde center-forward on the other side of the pitch. With that lightning-fast long pass from the keeper, a rare Molde counterattack was then on.
Coach Ole abruptly rose from his seat as his heart raced with anticipation. He watched with bated breath as Fredrik Gulbrandsen, his center-forward, controlled the ball with his chest at the border of the final third. And without losing a mont, the striker deftly stepped past Yerry Mina, Rosenborg's center-back, and was soon off towards Rosenborg's goal like a whirlwind. He moved fast enough to rush through Rosenborg's defense in a matter of seconds. And soon, the long-awaited mont of truth ca for team Molde as the striker faced off against the last two defenders between him and Rosenborg's goal.
Coach Ole felt strained with nervous tension as he watched the striker do the unexpected. He didn't just try to dribble past the last two defenders as most clinical forwards would do — but unleashed a long-range shot from the edge of the 18-yard box after ending his run. Was he crazy or blindly self-confident? Coach Ole would know the answer in a few seconds.
He unconsciously balled his fists as he watched the shot squeeze past the two Rosenborg defenders in the box and then grazed off the post before homing into the back of the net.
"What a counter!"
Coach Ole shouted excitedly and punched the air repeatedly the next mont. He could hardly believe that his team, which had been struggling from the very first minute, had drawn first blood after a rare counterattacking opportunity. From the keeper to the striker, it was just a single long-range pass — and boom, the ball was in the back of the net before the Rosenborg players could react.
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