and was sprinting down the field in full force. All that was left between me and the goal was a defender and the goal keeper. I used a few leg overs and feinted left, sensing my defender had committed to that angle I moved right. I had beat him and was getting ready to strike at the keeper when said defender clattered me from behind, leading immediately to a penalty.
As usual whenever a foul of such nature is committed, the culprit acts like he is wronged, yet the evidence was clear to see, he had brought me down to prevent me from getting a shot off. I calmly placed the ball on the spot, preparing to take the penalty. Most people think penalties are easy. I know so because time after time I have heard people comment on how they are the luckiest shots in the game. “An aberration to the free flowing sport of football….It’s one man versus another with a goal post as wide as the side of a barn. How could anyone miss?” But miss they do and quite often too. Penalty taking involves skill, technique and precision and at this level of play, whoever is behind the post is usually pretty damn good. It’s all about timing, trying to destabilize the goalie, getting him to commit to your bluff. I have seen all types of penalty takers ever since I started watching football. Some are cheeky, some are ruthless. Frank Lampard of Chelsea for instance plays the ball only to one side, but his shot is so powerful, most keepers have no hope of catching it. But then there are keepers who are simply so large and their wingspan pretty much covers the length of the goal post or at least most of it. Beating such guys is complex; a lot of calculation goes into trying to place the ball where it negates their strength.
My heart was beating fast as I went through a dozen scenarios on what I wanted to do with the ball. Finally I settled on steering my shot towards the far right corner. If the keeper were to try, he’d have to get his whole length to parry my shot away. It had become customary for me to take a deep breath and exhale before converting penalty kicks. Something about the routine calmed my frayed nerves. I am able to block out all the distractions and solely focus on the task at hand. I moved, I shot and thankfully the ball did as commanded. 2-1, I had put my team up one and couldn’t have felt any better then and there. I immediately streaked to the far corner; shouting out God knows what, pumped beyond belief. If the game had ended that way, I’d probably have been the happiest man in Milan that night. Unfortunately with a game that big, nothing is ever guaranteed.
There were about twenty minutes left. We were up one. A lot of teams would revert to cautionary tactics at this point. Juventus was simply an outfit far too dangerous in the attack to keep playing free flowing football with. But we were not other teams, neither were we scared of them. We prided ourselves on playing entertaining football, winning whilst having fun at it.
To retreat and simply wait on our opponents barrage otherwise known as ‘parking the bus’ in defense would be viewed as cowardly by our fans. So we continued, dashing forward when the need presented itself and trying our best to keep Juventus from venturing into our goal area.
Sometimes despite one’s very best effort, it just isn’t good enough. We kept Milan at bay, but only for so long. They pressed and pressed, and kept throwing all they had at us. I give my teammates a lot of credit for they defended valiantly that day. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough. Kanewa was the recipient of a through ball, beating two defenders to calmly place the ball in the net with 15 minutes to go. Their fans erupted in a deafening roar. Ours could only stare on in shock, their silence just as profound as the reaction of their counterparts. We felt like we had just watched our magnificently built sand castle just get washed away by a surging wave.
Our mojo as some would call it, immediately went out the door. It’s hard to get your spirits up after you’ve played so hard, only to concede a goal by a momentary lapse of judgment. But yet, our woes were about to be compounded. Approximately 5 minutes after their equalizer, we were called for a hand ball foul in our penalty area and Juventus was awarded a penalty.
Despite our furious protests, the referee refused to budge. The decision had been made and the penalty was to be taken. I couldn’t even look at Kanewa as he walked up to the spot. From the crowd’s reaction, I knew he had scored.
Words cannot begin to describe the emotions that were spreading through my body, and from the looks on my teammates faces, it wasn’t alien to just me. We had been up for most of the match, only to see our fortunes change hands in the span of five minutes. With such short time left, it would be a Herculean task scoring again or at least ending this game on a respectable note. Despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm, we were professionals and we knew what was at stake. In football one never gives up until the final minute and the ref blows his whistle for stoppage. I have seen some miraculous last gasp efforts that would put even the staunchest of pessimists to shame. Miracles occur often in this wonderful game that I call a job, and maybe Milan was due for one I thought to myself.
And so we set upon the unenviable task of trying to score on Juventus whilst doing our best to keep them at bay. Not exactly the position we had envisioned ourselves to be at this stage of the game but such were the circumstances we had found ourselves in. They had really good defenders but that wasn’t what made them so tough to score on. It was the fact that they were simply too good at holding on to the ball, passing and spreading it amongst themselves, dominating possession and preventing the other team from getting chances. They were so methodical in the way they played, quick precise passes, moving together in one hypnotic rhythm, like a wave slowly but surely advancing on all fronts till it reached the shore.
These guys could pass the ball for hours with the other team barely getting a chance. I had never seen anything like it in all my years of playing and I must admit, whilst mesmerizing from afar, up close it was nauseating. To run around chasing the ball, unsure of getting it, but nonetheless committing yourself to retrieving it because it’s all you can do to launch one last salvo.
I have stated in the past that football can be quite unpredictable; you can never truly plan the outcome of a game. Such an occurrence was about to gift us with an outcome that many on Juventus’ side would be bitter about till today.
Juventus had the ball, with about a minute to go. They decided they would go on one last offensive. Why they thought this was a good idea is beyond me? I suppose when you are quite confident in your offensive prowess you don’t need to worry about being cautious. They were on the edge of our box when Kanewa was brought down by my teammate.
I thought it was a fair tackle, he did go after the ball, but because of the position and how Kanewa fell, it looked like it should have been a foul. His teammates were temporarily stunned, hoping the referee would call it in their favor but instead play was allowed to continue. Whilst they were trying to argue what had just happened, we launched a quick counter attack. I raced down the field as another teammate of mine sped down the flanks with the ball. I knew he was going to cross it to the middle; I just didn’t want to mistime it. There were only a few seconds left and we would never get a chance like this again.
Most of Milan’s players were still behind, by now realizing they weren’t getting the call, sprinting back to try and prevent our attack. There was only one guy trying to cover me, my eyes lit up seeing my advantage.
It was too little too late for Juventus, my teammate swiftly launched the ball with a perfect cross, guiding it onto my head which in turn directed it onto the net.
GOAL!
Mass hysteria enveloped the arena at the unbelievable sequence that just took place. I can’t begin to sum up what was going through my mind but I do recall taking off my jersey and streaking into the stands, mobbed by a sea of adoring fans. That was one of the most important goals I had ever scored in my career. It kept us firmly in the title race with Juventus, but more importantly we didn’t lose the psychological battle.
We had been second fiddle to them for a while now; it was beginning to take its toll on our psyche. This result proved we could play with them and despite the dubious non-call at the end;
we had played them well that day. Our season and title aspirations would come down to our next game against them…the ‘decider’. Whichever team won that game most likely would win the league. I suspected our next encounter would be a fierce battle, the stakes would be high and everyone on that pitch would be putting their best on the line. I loved it! Quite frankly I didn’t want it any other way.
When it came to the Ballon D’or, Kanewa and I were neck and neck. It could go either way, depending on how our individual seasons turned out. Come mid-season he was leading me by five goals in domestic competition but I had a higher tally in European and international competition.
Most likely the prestigious award would go to the one whose team won more trophies that year. As much as the footballer of the year was an individual award, it was still the height most players aimed for and I was hungry to reach it again.
No one really knows what the voters use to select the Ballon D’Or winner, but it is widely rumored that candidates and their respective teams have to excel in their domestic leagues and competitions. Considering we were tied with Juventus in Italy and also alive in European