Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Goal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Paolo Rossi shouted excitedly, "Dejan, what a world-class strike!"
"In the 8th minute of the first half, Dejan once again smashed a world-class strike past Dortmund's goal. The West Germans thought they could launch a counterattack, but they never expected this place to be Stalingrad!"
"Müller, who had been entrusted with great hopes, scored a decent free kick and gave them room to dream. But Dejan quickly stepped up. This super talent once again proved how wise Rivera had been to recommend him. Even Rijkaard or Gullit would not have been more talented than him."
"Here, we can also see the weakness of the West Germans. When Hals proposed establishing diplomatic relations with West Germany, he demanded that East Germany not be recognized. Yet the Soviet Union established relations with both East and West Germany at the same time, and the West Germans only dared to pretend not to see it. Their style was perfectly reflected on the pitch. Facing the stronger Italian side, they once again showed their cowardly side!"
After scoring, Dejan Lu was immediately surrounded and embraced by his teammates.
"That goal was fucking beautiful!!!"
Roberto Mancini looked as though he had taken drugs, his face flushed red as he shook Dejan Lu by the shoulders.
Even just watching it had fired him up—a chipped shot from forty meters out!
Dossena gave a thumbs-up as well.
He had previously thought Dejan Lu preferred getting into the box. He had not expected him to be just as ferocious from outside it.
He had been more than twenty meters away just now, yet he could still feel the force packed into that strike.
Boskov excitedly pumped his fists repeatedly on the touchline.
A brilliant goal in a match was a huge blow to the opponent's morale. You could not judge it merely as one goal; many times, it was the key turning point of the game.
Westfalenstadion fell silent again, while the Dortmund players wore blank expressions. That was the best possible illustration.
The old Yugoslav manager knew very well that there would no longer be any suspense in this match.
Müller?
Very good.
But nowhere near as good as my player!
Only a few months into the season, Boskov had repeatedly revised his understanding and assessment of Dejan Lu.
Now, Dejan Lu was already the team's unquestioned core.
This young man's arrival was as vital as the engine of a fighter jet.
If they could return to last year's Cup Winners' Cup final, he believed Barcelona would definitely not have had the last laugh if Dejan Lu had been there.
The past was gone, but this year, he had much more confidence against any opponent.
After the restart, Dejan Lu was still full of desire to push forward.
Every run he made drew enormous boos from Westfalenstadion.
This Dortmund side was still quite attack-minded. At a time when 4-4-2 formations dominated football, they had lined up in a 3-5-2.
But that also left their back line without enough protection.
Müller would never take part in defending. After losing possession, McLeod immediately ran into the penalty area.
He knew very well that the team had only one core: Müller.
Frank Mill wanted to delay things with a foul, but Pari, who had the ball, gave him no chance. As soon as he carried it beyond the arc, he poked it forward with the tip of his boot.
The ball rolled a long way along the grass.
Oh no!
Kroht, who had been marking Dejan Lu, saw his opponent stop and immediately stopped with him.
Outside of the foot?
That guy had actually controlled the ball with the outside of his foot. Kroht had rushed in just now, only to see Dejan Lu knock the ball from his left instep to his right foot, then drag it around and turn with his right.
Another Maradona turn!
The whole time, he looked like a Joker, shifting his balance back and forth on the spot. He had not even managed to stick out a foot and cause his opponent the slightest obstruction.
By the time he started chasing back, he was already a step too late.
Even as he constantly used his shoulder to pressure Dejan Lu, Dejan Lu still charged forward steadily with the ball.
He tried to tug at him with his hand, but he did not dare make too obvious a move.
Dejan Lu staggered, yet somehow burst even farther ahead. Kroht could only follow behind him by one body length.
Bang—
Before Kroht's teammates could come over to cover, Dejan Lu, having carried the ball to the edge of the penalty area, drew back and fired again. The long shot skimmed over the crossbar and went out.
Quite a few Dortmund fans breathed a sigh of relief.
At this point, they sadly realized that the match was not unfolding as they had imagined.
They had wanted to see their team battle their opponents fiercely. Both sides were contenders for the top two places in the league, yet from the very first minute, Sampdoria had completely crushed them.
Beckenbauer shook his head in the stands.
The two teams looked as though they did not belong to the same era.
The biggest issue was the vastly different performances of the two teams' playmakers.
"New Beckenbauer" had scored a goal, but most of the time he could only serve as a tool connecting the front and back lines. There was no spark to him at all.
In contrast, Sampdoria's Number Seven was clearly the core on the pitch even though he played out wide—the creative core and the attacking core alike.
Whenever he had the ball, he always made the right choice. That was not a matter of technique, but of Football IQ and the ability to read the game.
And then there was his dazzling technique.
He reminded Beckenbauer of an old rival—Johan Cruyff!
Lüsch quickly discovered a problem: the player in front of him had switched!!!
Michael Lusch looked at Lombardo in confusion, gesturing as he asked, "Aren't you a wide player too? Why do you... keep listening to him?"
Lombardo, who understood what he meant, rubbed his forehead and rolled his eyes irritably. You and Beckenbauer are both players too, so why aren't you the Football Emperor?
Did he think Lombardo did not want to be the team's core?
What an idiot!
After the attack failed, Lombardo dropped back and switched positions with Dejan Lu once again.
Actually, playing this way was very comfortable for him, because he was a player equally adept on both flanks.
Constantly switching positions put even more pressure on defenders and allowed him to perform better out wide.
After Dossena won the ball, he again played a direct pass toward the left. Dejan Lu, receiving it, knocked it with the outside of his foot and charged into the box. Kutowski could only turn and chase after a single exchange.
"Don't let him shoot!" Zorc shouted.
He sprinted back quickly.
But Dejan Lu had no intention of going deep into the box. Just as he reached the top corner of the penalty area, he twisted his body and curled the ball away with his right foot.
Fuck!
Deibel knew things were bad the moment he saw it.
He had positioned himself centrally to guard against Dejan Lu squaring it into the middle, but fearing Dejan Lu would go down the flank, his feet had been ready to dive left. This shot toward the far corner was the most uncomfortable kind for him.
He needed to relax his legs and unload his weight before he could dive.
His second burst was quick, and he completed the adjustment almost instantly. Even then, Deibel still held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe he could save it.
The ball was right in front of him, but his fingertips felt nothing at all.
It was over. He had not touched it.
The moment he turned his head, the ball smashed into the junction of the post and crossbar before bouncing viciously into the net.
The top corner—the absolute top corner!
He was going crazy!
Paolo Rossi was going crazy too.
The retired old striker screamed and shouted in the broadcast booth.
He had never expected an Italian team to dominate the powerful West Germans like this.
"Dejan, Dejan Dejan Dejan Dejan..."
The impoverished Latin languages could not provide him with any phrase capable of expressing his excitement.
What a rush!
And people said Germany was getting stronger and stronger?
Eight years ago, Italy could beat West Germany in the World Cup semifinal. Eight years later, Italian teams still would not give the West Germans any chance.
"You all right, mate?"
Pezzotti supported Boskov and asked.
When he reached the touchline and noticed that something seemed off with Boskov, he hurriedly steadied him.
Boskov tensed his arm, gently pushed Pezzotti away, and steadied himself as he said, "I'm fine. I couldn't be better. I was just a little too excited just now."
"Then shouldn't we do something else first?"
Pezzotti pointed toward the stands as a reminder.
The Dortmund fans were too fanatical. If this truly turned into a massacre, there might be trouble off the pitch.
They should have the players ease off a little. They were going to win this match anyway.
"Right, a substitution! Take Dejan off immediately!"
Having just regained his balance, Boskov immediately turned around and crooked a finger at the bench.
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