His Hands in His Pockets

His Hands in His Pockets

Clap! After high-fiving his teammates and running onto the pitch, Tang Ye felt pressure for the rare occasion.

But Tang Ye's pressure did not come from worrying that he would fail to perform well. It was because he was being brought on a little too early.

From Tang Ye's experience in training, if he came on during the first half, he would be absolutely exhausted in the second.

The kind of exhaustion that left him gasping for breath was torture to Tang Ye. "Run! Don't walk!"

Tang Ye had only just started toward his attacking midfield position when Merent's voice came from behind him.

"I know, I know!"

To prove himself, Tang Ye immediately ran toward the visiting player on the ball, much to Merent's satisfaction.

Sure enough, players who refused to listen just needed more scolding.

There had never been players with exceptionally strong discipline in this world. The more coaches scolded their players, the more disciplined players there would be.

"Tang Ye is on. He put in a very stunning performance in the last friendly, but because he did not get much time on the pitch, many fans may only remember that trivela."

"Today, Tang Ye has come on in the first half. With so much playing time, we should be able to see more of his strengths."

That was true, but after Tang Ye came on, Wang Chao secretly switched to the betting page and placed another bet on a draw.

That way, he could avoid losing too much money later! In his first few minutes on the field, Tang Ye pressed very actively. On one occasion, he had even nearly stolen the ball from an opponent, but five minutes later, Tang Ye suddenly stopped running.

The camera found Tang Ye. The number 99 from the reserves had both hands on his backside as he began strolling around the pitch.

"Lazy pig, run!"

Merent shouted, but just before he did, Tang Ye had dropped back to support Amrabat. After receiving the ball, Tang Ye started driving forward.

Tang Ye was not fast, giving Sparta Rotterdam's defenders an opportunity.

Of course, Utrecht were not stupid either. Seeing a player rush toward Tang Ye with the ball, Zaka immediately dropped back and signaled for Tang Ye to pass it to him.

Tang Ye never refused when someone wanted to take that troublesome ball off him.

Clap! He passed to Zaka, and Tang Ye went from running to walking, slowly making his way upfield while observing the situation.

Running was tiring, but watching with his eyes was easy. Tang Ye loved easy work!

While strolling, Tang Ye spotted an opening ahead. He slipped around the visiting defender and suddenly accelerated into it.

!!!

"Pass it, pass it!"

Merent urged. Zaka reacted quickly, using the inside of his foot to thread a through ball toward Tang Ye.

On camera, Tang Ye brought the ball under control. He was now less than five meters from the top of the arc, but unfortunately, Utrecht did not have a tall enough striker to occupy space in the box.

"Give it to me!"

Kallon on the right raised his hand for the ball. Tang Ye glanced right and instantly judged the situation there.

It was not a good time to pass.

So he looked left instead and decisively whipped it with the outside of his foot!

"Tang Ye, an outside-of-the-foot pass out wide, another trivela!"

Wang Chao had just shouted it when he realized something was wrong. Tang Ye's pass was not aimed at any of the players on the left. Instead, it curled in a C-shaped arc toward the left byline.

"Fuck, damn it, it went straight out!"

Wang Chao shouted in frustration. It seemed there had not been a single thing wrong with his decision to place another bet on a draw after Tang Ye came on.

However, just as the ball reached the left post and was almost out of bounds, a player emerged from the left.

It was Utrecht's left-back, Trupe!

With a bang, Trupe headed the ball into the net.

"Wha... what the fuck?"

Bro, were you seriously trying to make that pass? Only the sounds from the stadium remained in the livestream. Wang Chao did not say a word—not because his stream had frozen, but because he genuinely had nothing to say. The camera turned to Trupe, who had scored, and the Curaçaoan defender immediately rushed toward Tang Ye.

"What the fuck was that pass? What the fuck was that pass!"

"Holy fucking shit, 2-0! Utrecht 2-0 Sparta Rotterdam!"

Beep, beep-beep!

The referee blew the whistle for the end of the first half, and both teams slowly began walking toward the tunnel.

As the side in the lead, Utrecht's players on the pitch all wore smiles on their faces—except Tang Ye.

Because he was already starting to struggle.

"Tom!"

"Tom!"

"Tom!"

More than a thousand Utrecht fans in the stadium shouted Tang Ye's name.

For these Dutch fans, the character "Tang" was a little difficult to pronounce, but they could find an English substitute.

"Hey, Tang, the fans are waving at you. Why aren't you reacting?"

Zaka patted Tang Ye on the back, reminding his teammate.

"What should I do now?"

Tang Ye scratched his head.

"Wave! Wave at them!"

"Oh, oh, okay, okay."

Tang Ye took a few breaths, then raised his right hand.

"Wowww!"

"Tom!"

"Tom!"

"Bang bang bang bang!"

Utrecht's reserve friendlies did not require tickets. Those who came to watch were either diehard Utrecht supporters from the city or from nearby towns.

They were all fans of Utrecht's first team, so naturally they were delighted to see such a talent emerge from the reserves.

"I can guarantee it!"

A bearded middle-aged man in the stands pounded his chest. "I guarantee this Asian kid will join the first team before he turns eighteen! This is exactly the kind of midfielder Utrecht need!"

The second half began. During halftime, Tang Ye had asked Merent to substitute him, only to be scolded by his wonderful coach, exactly as expected.

In the second half, Tang Ye continued strolling around, but after that first-half pass, the visitors stepped up their marking on him by a level.

So while Tang Ye appeared to be strolling around the pitch, Sparta Rotterdam still had to assign a player to mark him.

That was pretty uncomfortable!

The match entered the seventieth minute, and Tang Ye was now gasping heavily.

The exhaustion in the first half had been mental fatigue. The exhaustion in the second half was physical fatigue. This was real exhaustion!

Just as he was catching his breath, Tang Ye's eyes suddenly lit up because he had spotted another opening—an opening in the penalty area.

His instincts told Tang Ye there was a chance for a goal there, so he clapped his hands, shoved both hands into his pockets, and swayed his way toward the visitors' penalty area.

"Tang Ye, what's going on? He's heading straight into the box."

"Mm, is that walking or running? It looks like walking, because Tang Ye has his hands in his pockets."

"Wow, Tang Ye doesn't seem to be wearing football shorts. Those have pockets!"

"Never mind that. Amrabat, play a through ball!"

"Tang Ye, up against the defender, adjusts, pulls the ball under his feet, the defender is fooled, Tang Ye, a low shot!"

"It's in!"

"Holy shit, Tang Ye scores! 3-0, the seventy-ninth minute, 3-0! 3-0!"

Fucking awesome!

Tang Ye, you're my fucking dad, closer than my real dad.

Young Master Tang is paying for foot massages tonight!

Merent, a famous coach!

Give us a pen... holy shit, he scored directly, Tang Ye!

"Chinese people helping Chinese people! A goal from Tang Ye! 3-0, cash it in!"