Slomka had made his adjustnt.
After the restart Mateo could see it imdiately - the two Hannover central midfielders had dropped their defensive line, sitting deeper now, not pressing as high as they had in the opening ten minutes. The intention was clear: deny the space behind them that Huntelaar had exploited twice. Make Schalke build through the wings rather than through the centre.
It was the correct response. It was also the kind of adjustnt that had a cost.
Dropping the midfield line deeper created distance between Hannover's defensive block and their forwards. The forwards were now isolated - Abdellaoue pressing with less support behind him, the gap between Hannover's lines wider than it had been. Hannover were trading one problem for another, which was the nature of defending when the opponent's midfield was operating this cleanly.
Mateo settled into the new shape and let Schalke find the ball.
For the next few minutes the match was genuinely contested. Hannover went back to their flanks, their most reliable weapon and Schalke's wide defenders absorbed the pressure. Pliatsikas tracked Kornan tightly on the right. Annan doubled back to help on the left. It was functional, patient, the kind of phase that wasn't exciting to watch but was necessary, both teams finding the edges of the new equilibrium.
Then in the seventeenth minute, Kornan tried Schalke's right one more ti. He drove at Pliatsikas, cut inside, found the angle he wanted-
Pliatsikas ca through him cleanly from the side, got enough of the ball to redirect it, and gathered possession as it spun away.
He looked up. Mateo had already moved.
Pliatsikas played it to him and continued his run forward.
Mateo received it on the turn, ball at his feet, Hannover's defensive block ahead of him. The overlay spread across the pitch - amber on the wings, amber through the centre toward Huntelaar who was making a near run. Then a red line appeared to his left, threading toward a gap that existed right now but wouldn't for more than a second as the Hannover shape contracted.
He drove forward.
Rausch, Hannover's defensive midfielder, read the movent and ca in imdiately - not a asured press, a lunge. He'd been burned twice already and had decided that getting there first mattered more than getting there correctly. He went for the ball at full extension, studs slightly high.
Mateo's right ankle flicked the ball sideways a fraction of a second before contact. He felt Rausch's boot brush his shin - close enough to matter, not close enough to bring him down. He hopped over the follow-through, landed cleanly, and kept going.
The Hannover midfield was montarily behind him.
Four Schalke players ahead: Farfán inside-left, Annan wide left, Pliatsikas wide right, Huntelaar central pushing the back line. Hannover's two centre-backs had split - Schulz tracking Huntelaar's central run, Cherundolo holding position to cover the space.
Mateo carried the ball to the edge of the penalty area. Cherundolo ca out to et him.
The overlay showed red to his left - Farfán, arriving at the edge of the D, unmarked for exactly as long as it took Cherundolo to read the pass and adjust. He looked right, toward Pliatsikas on the far side. His body angled that way, right shoulder opening, left foot planting.
Cherundolo shifted half a step right.
Mateo's left foot ca through the ball, not the direction his body had sold and played it firmly to the left, arriving at Farfán's feet at the top of the penalty arc.
Farfán didn't take a touch.
His right foot t the ball as it reached him and drove through it - firm contact, low and across the goalkeeper, aid for the far post. Zieler dived right. The ball went left.
SWISH!
3–0.
20th minute.
The celebrations were brief. Farfán pumped his fist once, received Huntelaar's arm around his shoulders for two seconds, and jogged back. Mateo was already moving into position for the restart.
On the Schalke bench, House was talking again.
"Three goals in twenty minutes. Each one originating from the sa source - Silva, the eighteen-year-old starting his first senior match, who has now directly contributed to all three." A beat. "Three assists in twenty minutes. Two different finishing scenarios. Three different passing techniques. He is not repeating himself."
Magath on the touchline had his arms folded and his expression carefully blank, which was what his face did when he was satisfied and had decided not to let anyone see it.
[3–0. Soone tell this is real.]
[20 minutes. Three assists. On debut. In a cup match, yes, but STILL.]
[Farfán's shot - watched the replay. He hit it before it had stopped moving. First ti. Perfect placent.]
Across the pitch, Mirko Slomka had stopped giving instructions. He was standing with his arms at his sides watching the replays on the big screen - specifically the last goal, Mateo's body selling the right pass, the ball going left, Farfán arriving at exactly the right mont.
He had been a professional footballer and coach for thirty years.
He knew what he was looking at.
He turned to his assistant. "Tell the back four to stay tight. Don't let them build through the middle at all - force everything to the wings."
"We tried that in the first ten minutes."
"Try it differently," Slomka said. He walked back to his technical area. He didn't have a solution yet, but managing without a solution was most of what coaching was.
Fweet—!
Hannover kicked off for the third ti from their centre circle.
The AWD Arena, which had been raucous before the match, was functioning on reduced power, a crowd that was still present, still supporting, but carrying the specific weight of watching your team concede three before the Halfti and not yet knowing if the story changes.
Mateo tracked back to his position as Hannover pushed forward.
The match was twenty minutes old. There were seventy left. He felt the bar running in the background of his attention - every minute of football counting, not just the ones with the ball at his feet. He felt Farfán's position a few tres to his left without checking.
The overlay was already mapping the next sequence.
Plz Drop So Power Stones.
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