The three Marseille defenders and two midfielders retreated cautiously, keeping an eye out for any sudden forward surges by other players.
Ma’el, initially positioned near the offside line, noticed that Rosicky had no one nearby. Realizing he might have to force a breakthrough, he took two steps back.
"Rosicky!!"
He called out, and the opponent breathed a sigh of relief, passing the ball over with a side foot.
Ma’el moved forward to receive the ball, while Azpilicueta waited eagerly for a chance to intercept. He couldn’t afford to be careless.
After glancing at the situation in the center, he saw that Van Persie was well-positioned, and Rosicky was looking for a second run.
"Bang!" He tapped the ball towards Van Persie’s right foot, as his foot was clearly further from the defensive player, making it easy to pass the ball back.
"Dun dun dun!"
Ma’el had no intention of staying put. After passing, he dashed straight to the flank position.
"Bang... bang!"
Everything went as he expected. Van Persie cushioned the ball back to Rosicky, who keenly noted his run and made another through ball into the flank!
The cooperation succeeded!
Continuous one-touch passing!
Third-man runs in succession!
A picture-perfect pass-and-move!
When Ma’el charged into the penalty area, many Marseille defenders hadn’t even turned around, let alone defended.
"Bang!"
He swept the ball towards the far post, where Walcott, having waited patiently, easily tapped it into the net.
Three-nil!
Arsenal scores another goal!
"Yeah.....!" There was nothing in the players’ ears but cheers and praises for each other. They had just completed a perfect team-play goal like a chanized pass-and-run machine.
The exhilarating match is unfolding!
"Ah!"
Walcott, face full of joy, ran towards Ma’el, who had assisted the pass, and others seed to find their cohesion, sprinting to Ma’el for the celebration.
This goal belonged to all of them, giving everyone a sense of participation!
With the Marseille players looking at each other in disbelief, Arsenal players in red and white jerseys ran towards a single spot, making for a spectacular scene.
"It’s three!"
"Keep it up!"
Ma’el watched them instinctively retreat, laughing as he exited to the left corner flag, where everyone was in the usual spot high-fiving and hugging.
In the silence of the entire Marseille fan base, they celebrated simply and walked back to their half together, collectively showing great unity.
On the other hand, Marseille was already at its wits’ end; the long-repressed dissatisfaction was about to erupt.
This wasn’t just the frustration of this match; it was a product of the collectivism that Deschamps had always promoted.
"Does anybody know how to defend? Standing there like an idiot, like a wooden post!"
Jeremy expressed his discontent first, hands on his hips, hinting sarcastically, "You have to dodge the slalom poles, but to pass you, all they need is a straight line!"
Many looked at him with complicated expressions, realizing he was referring to his center-back partner Diawara.
Diawara was indeed responsible for that goal. He failed to hold Van Persie, allowing the pass back, and let Ma’el slip into his sector with a flank cross.
Diawara responded with anger, accusing Jeremy of racist remarks targeting his skin color, "Say that again!"
He walked straight up to Jeremy, ready for a confrontation.
"Get lost!" Jeremy shouted at Diawara as he approached, angrily pushing him away.
Diawara, clenching his fists, charged forward, but fortunately, Azpilicueta held him back tightly, preventing him from unleashing a punch.
This was a rare scene; internal strife is common on the football field, but reaching the level of physical confrontation is rare.
"Oh! Oh!"
Deschamps, already under high tension, rose furiously from the sidelines, yelling, "Both of you, get off! Get off! Did you bring your brains?"
He turned to look at the substitutes’ bench, impulsively commanding all defenders to warm up, indicating his intention to substitute them both.
Soon, an assistant coach stood up to advise him, and after muttering a few words, Deschamps gradually cald down.
He could be considered tough-minded, but his bad temper was also a characteristic. The team was already in a dire situation, and instead of finding a solution, they were quarreling internally.
Who can endure that?
Deschamps eventually reprimanded both, substituting Diawara with another defender.
After being substituted, Diawara, overwheld by a mix of emotions, lowered his head and sobbed.
Noticing this, Deschamps initially intended to say sothing but chose to stand still, given the potential chaos the team might plunge into again.
"What to do?"
No matter how experienced, steady, or mature he was, this thought kept repeating in Deschamps’s mind, ultimately turning his brain into a tangled ss.
...
Deschamps quickly realized he didn’t need to think, as Arsenal’s threatening attack resurfaced.
In the 41st minute of the match, just as he agonized and bit his nails, he saw Arteta intercepting a ball intended for the midfield from the back line.
"Bang!"
He then delivered a fast through pass behind Azpilicueta, dangerously close to the defenders.
"Screech!" Azpilicueta instinctively reached out with his foot but couldn’t stop the ball due to his short reach, inadvertently redirecting it toward the baseline.
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