Man of the Match, the Double-Double Goal

Man of the Match, the Double-Double Goal

"Higgins's clearance hit Evans on the head and changed direction! Oh—the ball's in!!"

In the commentary box, Sky Sports' live commentator once again raised both hands excitedly, throwing himself into the emotion. "Maël's goal! A thunderbolt! A thunderbolt from inside the box! What dazzling talent! He's completed a Brace in this match, and he's got an assist too! He created three goals all by himself!"

"Four-one! Preston had just seen a glimmer of hope of equalizing, only for Maël to kick them right back where they started! Gareth Speed must be laughing himself silly. Who knows who picked up such a capable helper for him from Arsenal!"

It had to be said, there was a bit of luck in that goal.

But the football pitch was full of chance and coincidence. No matter what, Maël had spotted the opportunity and seized it firmly!

A seventeen-year-old youngster had taken control of the match. Anyone who saw it would feel their blood surge with excitement and envy. "Oh!"

On the pitch, Maël was enveloped in soaring shouts, bathed in the fans' almost pilgrimage-like gazes, as he sprinted toward the Corner Flag Area.

He roared and slid out on his knees, feeling the softness of the Grass beneath them as he let himself go completely.

The moment he scored, his body had guided him here, and it had given him inexhaustible strength, as if some power and stamina had exploded from within his potential.

That was what celebration was like. It was the most exhilarating moment carved into people's bones.

"Come on!"

Gilbert rushed up, leaping high and smashing his chest into Maël's to vent his emotions. "Brace! Woo-hoo! Brother, you were incredible!"

The other teammates arrived quickly too, either high-fiving Maël or hugging him.

Behind their celebrating group were the Preston players with heads lowered and hands on hips. They seemed to be in a different world from the Sheffield United players, one of ice and one of fire.

This happened often on a football pitch: one side's sorrow set off the other side's joy.

"Who was marking him?" a Preston player spread his hands with a bitter look.

"No idea. Anyway, your back line's always been as rotten as ever," a forward came back and complained with a shrug.

"Do you lot have no responsibility at all?" a defender snapped back.

Infighting broke out among them. It was true—clearly, they had just scored a goal that rallied them, clearly, they had just lifted their spirits, yet it had vanished like a dream, a flash in the pan.

From heaven straight down to hell! On the sideline, Landers still wanted to say something, but a sense of powerlessness surged into his heart. In the end, he sighed and returned to the coaching bench.

"Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap...!"

In the sixtieth minute, Maël, who had been in brilliant form today, was substituted off by Mark Yates, and warm applause rang out across the whole stadium.

Maël's performance had completely conquered this stadium. The fans were not stingy with their praise, and quite a few gave him a thumbs-up.

Maël raised both hands high and clapped, smiling as he acknowledged the fans.

He had to admit, this feeling was really good—everyone standing for you, seeing you off the pitch.

His home debut at Bramall Lane had been close to perfect. He had played at his highest level and produced numbers even he had not expected.

2 goals, 1 assist!

A simple calculation of the bonus made it 6,500 pounds, plus the 3,000 pounds for winning—nearly ten thousand!

Outstanding service indeed.

"I'm a little jealous of you."

Gareth Speed greeted him on the sideline, his eyes full of appreciation. "Keep it up, kid. Your future is definitely in the Premier League, in the Champions League, in the World Cup."

It was a statement that sounded a little exaggerated right now, but he did not care. He only hoped to express how highly he thought of Maël.

"I hope so." Maël smiled and shared the customary hug with him. After sitting down on the bench, he was surrounded by Joelson again.

Joelson sat beside him, his face brimming with surprise and excitement. Several times he opened his mouth as if to say something, but he still could not organize his words.

"Mr. Joelson."

Maël looked at him and said sincerely, "Thank you for bringing me to this pitch and giving me the chance to enjoy all this."

"Do you remember what you said before? I can give you my answer now. During my loan spell, I'll definitely give everything to the club."

"Good, good, good!" Joelson said "good" three times in a row. He was already so excited he had lost all sense of direction.

"Beep, beep, beep!"

The referee blew the whistle to end the match. In the end, Gareth Speed's first match in charge ended with Sheffield United thrashing Preston four-one!

It was a perfect debut, for everyone.

After Maël exchanged a few words with the players coming off the pitch, he headed toward the dressing room, ready to shower and change.

"Hey! Maël!"

A voice rang out behind him. He turned around and saw a staff member wearing a work badge. Seeing him look back, the man hurriedly smiled and said, "You're the Man of the Match for this game. You need to do an interview."

Man of the Match. Maël smiled faintly and gladly accepted the interview invitation.

Led by the staff member, he went to the Advertising Board at the side of the pitch, where he was surrounded by seven or eight cameras and several microphones were thrust near his mouth.

From being ignored by everyone to having a little fame, he had only needed two matches.

A staff member handed a small Crystal Cup to him. The words "EFL Championship Man of the Match" were engraved on it, and it was exquisitely designed.

Maël played with the Crystal Cup, his heart surging. This was only the first time. In the future, he would definitely have countless more.

He wanted to win every award, step by step, from Man of the Match to Monthly Best, from Monthly Best to Season Best! Then he would collect all those trophies and build a Hall of Fame of his own! Surely, whenever he looked back on it in the future, the surging emotion of the moment he won would come flooding back. It would definitely be a wonderful memory.

"How do you feel?" asked a reporter holding a microphone with the Sky Sports logo.

"Very good."

Maël raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and smiled. "First times are always wonderful. Whether it's a first goal or a Bramall Lane debut, they leave a deep impression.

"And when the two happen together, it's something you never forget."

The Sky Sports reporter nodded and stepped back with a smile. A BBC reporter immediately pushed a microphone forward. "Four rounds into the season, you've already recorded 2 goals and 3 assists, and in such limited playing time at that.

"Do you have any goals for this season? Or rather, any expectations for your personal numbers?"

Maël thought for a moment, then lifted his head and looked around at the fans in the stands, his expression intoxicated. "I hope we win more games. The feeling of winning is addictive.

"As for myself, I'll set a small goal first. I hope to get 10 league goals and 10 league assists."

As soon as he said that, quite a few reporters looked surprised. Double-Double numbers—what a bold claim. Young people really did dare to talk big.

Looking at Maël's serious face, one reporter pressed, "Not a bad goal, but have you considered that your strong start is because people don't know enough about you yet?

"If every team studies you thoroughly, then scoring and assisting easily in the Championship won't be possible."

"I know."

Maël nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled. "But have you ever considered that I won't just stay where I am forever? I'm definitely going to improve."

With that, he raised the Crystal Cup in his hand and squeezed his way out past the crowd of reporters. "Thank you. You'll see."

Quite a few reporters turned to watch him from behind. It was the figure of someone high-spirited and flushed with youthful arrogance, making people feel as if he could do anything.