At first, Tang Long hadn't dared hope he'd get to come on as a substitute in this Serie A match.
Not after what Chivu had told him at the youth academy.
Not after third-choice goalkeeper Berni had teased him on the team bus.
And not after considering his own ability—the system had rated him at only Serie C level.
Tang Long had come to the first team purely hoping to watch the match for free, up close at Stadio Giuseppe Meazza.
"My top priority today is to get a feel for the pace of a Serie A match. This is Serie A—the pace is completely different from our youth team. And, of course, it'd be nice if I could catch the first-team manager Mancini's eye and become a familiar face."
With that attitude, Tang Long had settled onto the bench, completely at ease.
"Hello, everyone!"
"Coming up is our live broadcast of the 11th round of the 2014–2015 Serie A season, with Inter Milan hosting Genoa."
"First, let's take a quick look at the starting lineups for both teams."
"Oh?"
"Inter have changed their formation. They've fielded just one striker, Palacio!"
The match unfolded much as third-choice goalkeeper Berni had predicted.
Mancini had learned from the previous round's humiliating 3–0 away defeat to Sampdoria.
At home, he'd played it safe, sticking to counterattacks.
Star striker Icardi was on the bench with an injury.
Up front was the lone striker, the aging, skinny 33-year-old Palacio.
The midfield and defense were packed with workhorses and enforcers.
Mancini's plan was straightforward and practical.
He'd shore up the defense, nick a goal against Genoa, then hang on until the final whistle.
He was aiming for a 1–0 win!
But Mancini's careful plan didn't seem to be working!
With Inter Milan not pressing forward, Genoa took control of the ball.
In the 15th minute, the away side took the initiative and launched a dangerous attack.
Inter sent a long ball forward, but Genoa midfielder Kucka, a towering presence, leapt high and headed it back.
"Mine!"
Former AC Milan player Gilardino outmuscled Juan Jesus and flicked the ball toward the wing.
Santana took possession!
"This winger, Santana, is known for his speed!"
"Don't let the name fool you—once he gets going, he's every bit as fast as a Lamborghini!"
"Santana's off—what a powerful touch to push the ball forward!"
"He's beaten Inter's left-back, Jonathan!"
"Santana crosses from the wing—"
A red figure appeared like a ghost inside the penalty area.
It was Gilardino!
He judged the ball's trajectory perfectly and, from the two-meter gap between Inter's center-backs, powered a header into the net!
"Haha, I love this feeling!"
Gilardino stuck out his tongue and celebrated wildly with his teammates.
For a moment, he felt as if he were still wearing Milan's red-and-black stripes, playing in the Milan derby!
Inter's substitutes sat on the bench, stunned.
It was only the 15th minute, at home, and they were already down a goal?
"We're done, we're done, we're done! We miscalculated, the boss miscalculated..."
Berni covered his mouth with the towel in his hand and leaned toward Tang Long, speaking in a low voice.
"See? We didn't manage to sit back and defend. Now we can't do that anymore—we have to push forward."
Amid the piercing whistles raining down over Stadio Giuseppe Meazza,
Mancini, dressed in a suit and tie, was drenched in sweat!
The broadcast camera lingered on him, with pointed intent.
The veins bulging on Mancini's forehead were there for everyone to see.
He felt a hundred eyes watching him, ready to pounce.
"Get your heads in the game! There's still plenty of time, and this is our home ground! Show some fight, and be bolder with your moves!" Mancini clapped hard, trying to fire up his players.
But the players on the pitch looked a little confused.
Weren't you the one who told us to sit back?
How were they supposed to show some fight while sitting back?
Trailing by a goal at home, Inter had no choice but to push forward.
They were playing a 3-6-1 formation, and their two wide midfielders, Jonathan and Nagatomo Yuto, began moving up the pitch!
They tried to use the width of the field to move the ball around and stretch the opposition.
But Genoa, having caught Inter off guard with an early goal, played it pragmatically.
"You want to go toe-to-toe with us? Heh. Sorry, not interested!"
Manager Gasperini waved his hand, and the whole team dropped back!
In an instant,
the two teams switched their attacking and defensive shapes.
Inter attacked; Genoa defended!
The unexpected early goal had caught Inter off guard, and their players looked increasingly anxious.
They struggled to work the ball into the opposition's penalty area with short passes.
Bang, bang, bang!
In midfield, Guarin could only keep blasting shots high over the bar!
Their lone striker, Palacio, was hopping mad!
"What are you all rushing for? Watch my runs! Stop taking wild shots!"
Their siege came to nothing, and the first half ended.
Inter Milan were trailing Genoa 1–0 at home.
The home team's locker room.
Bang!
Mancini kicked the door open and strode inside.
He threw his suit onto the floor.
"What kind of damn football was that? If you lot had been playing for me seven years ago, when I managed Inter, I'd have sold every one of you and made Moratti bring in a whole new team! Crap! You all played like crap!"
Mancini kicked a water bottle across the room, and the spray splashed right into Tang Long's face, where he sat at the far end.
Without a word, Berni handed Tang Long a towel.
The locker room was dead silent. Only Mancini's yelling echoed through it.
"Does Mancini always lose his temper like this?" Tang Long asked in a low voice.
"Heh, don't be fooled by how scholarly he looks in front of the media. Everyone in the locker room knows he's got a fierce temper. He's like Ferguson—Mancini has a hairdryer too!"
As soon as Berni finished speaking, Mancini launched into a lament, his voice as mournful as if he were singing an Italian opera.
"My God, they tore through our defense in just a few passes. I could've put our third-choice goalkeeper out there, and he still wouldn't have let Kucka get a free header like that. He was completely unmarked!"
Pfft!
Berni couldn't stop himself from laughing!
Mancini paused and looked toward the corner of the locker room.
"Who's laughing? Who—" Mancini turned to Tang Long. "Was that you?"
Tang Long hurriedly waved his hands. "It wasn't me!"
Mancini glared at Tang Long, then aimed the hairdryer squarely at Guarin.
"Guarin!"
Guarin was drinking water. He jolted and choked.
"Here!"
Mancini: "What the hell were you shooting at? You're playing football, not basketball! You kept shooting from outside the box—did you think you were taking three-pointers?"
Guarin: "Huh? I just didn't think there were any passing options. The opposition dropped so deep, and the box was packed with players."
Mancini: "Be patient. More patient. You get plenty of chances on the ball, so pass it out to the wings more often. Find our two wing-backs. Stop taking long shots!"
Guarin was Colombian, and he had a temper of his own.
Especially when he heard Mancini compare his long-range shots on the pitch to three-pointers on a basketball court.
He was deeply offended!
"What the hell," he muttered. "Mazzarri always encouraged me to shoot from distance. I scored nine goals last season..."
"What did you say?!"
Mancini froze.
His whole body was trembling!
His face twisted with rage!
Even the other players in the locker room stared wide-eyed at Guarin.
Everyone knew.
Guarin had said the wrong thing!
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