Chapter 58: Youth May Fade, But Legends Never End
Although Manchester United were two goals behind, their momentum far outstripped Arsenal's.
Seeing that Manchester United — the side that often jolts Arsenal fans awake in the middle of the night — it had come back into the wind.
Arsène Wenger didn't hesitate for a second. He strode out of the technical area, his gaze sweeping over Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and Theo Walcott, pausing briefly, then flicking to the bench.
At the far end of the bench sat a blond old-timer, his body almost leaning out past the dugout roof, watching the match with relish.
He was no longer young, but he had once been like the dark-haired boy on the pitch, his boots burning hot underfoot.
Wenger would never forget the surprise that man had given him in another Manchester derby (against Liverpool).
Right now Xia Qi was United's defensive focal point; Arsenal needed a single wide attacker with explosive breaking power.
Walcott and Oxlade-Chamberlain were excellent at getting to the byline, but when it came to cutting inside, they always seemed a touch off.
That is also why neither of them could become a truly great winger like Arjen Robben.
Andrei Arshavin was different. At his peak, Robben and Franck Ribéry paled beside him — but now, did he still have fuel in the tank?
"Andrei…"
Arshavin had thought his role on the bench was to show up for the cameras so the big money boys back home might open their wallets and take him back to the Russian league.
So he hadn't been paying much attention to the touchline; instead, he was looking toward the pitch.
He had arrived full of hope long ago and now would return with empty hands — it left a bitter taste.
Especially seeing Xia Qi and Robin van Persie turn a football match into what felt like a basketball game — that so resembled him and Fernando Torres.
No — that kid was more brutal than I ever was!
Not only five goals to four, but he did it in nine minutes.
How long did it take me to score a haul like that?
Getting old, he only remembered Torres's rage…
The fighting people love fighting,
and Arshavin was lost in the thought.
He fantasized that he could light up this Manchester derby again.
"Andrei…"
"Andrei…"
"ANDREI ARSHAVIN!"
"Boss?"
"Boss!"
When the coach calls at that moment it means only one thing; Arshavin's eyes went wet.
To take part in this fight was an honor.
He cried out, "I can do it, Boss! I promise you won't regret it."
Before Wenger could finish the tactical briefing, Arshavin hurriedly added, "I'll give Xia cover, be his outlet, draw defenders' attention."
"No — you can do even better. Trust Xia Qi's football IQ. If you can break through, he'll create chances for you.
Don't be like Podolski, where roles are too separate and you get left out."
"Understood, Boss! If I get a chance, I'll shoot, finish them off."
"Heh… you're not young anymore, so stay up front and don't defend — let Xia Qi and Podolski drop back, OK?"
On the 65th minute the tsar of the fighting nation, Andrei Arshavin, came on for Aaron Ramsey.
Sir Alex Ferguson wasn't surprised to see Wenger make a substitution, but when Arshavin stepped on the pitch he became oddly unsettled.
He glanced over at Wenger four times in a single minute.
Wenger's face was always so focused; looking four times told Ferguson nothing.
He grew more irritable and strode to the touchline shouting to his players: "Run! Opportunities are made by running!"
On the pitch,
the teams had traded two or three quick phases of attack and defence since Arshavin came on.
But neither side could penetrate the other's penalty area.
The midfield had become the main battleground — Xia Qi and Wayne Rooney dropping back had turned it into a grinder.
Both liked to defend with muscle; collisions were a matter of course.
Ashley Young no longer dared to attempt a tank-style run against Xia Qi.
He'd realized people aren't the same.
Unless it's this contract year, he'd try to avoid confronting Xia Qi directly.
Time slipped by amid fierce scrapping.
On the 75th minute Antonio Valencia faked to deceive Mikel Arteta, then darted to the byline and delivered a cross.
Robin van Persie controlled the ball with his foot inside the box, adjusted slightly and shot — but couldn't get full power behind it.
It was as if the van Persie who trapped the ball had become a different man.
Vito Mannone caught the ball cleanly; quick to react, he leapt up and played it fast.
United's three lines were pushed high, and Arsenal struck on the break — precisely the situation Xia Qi loved and what Arsenal fans most wanted.
Santi Cazorla fed the ball directly to Xia Qi at the near post.
United defenders sprinted back desperately.
Xia Qi floored the accelerator and galloped clear. He met Michael Carrick en route; Xia Qi tapped the ball, pivoted and ran into the center.
No fancy tricks, no "devouring" — he used speed to shake off defenders, charging up to face Patrice Evra and Rio Ferdinand.
He looked at the goal; as the defenders shifted, he suddenly twisted his ankle sideways and slipped a diagonal pass into the left channel of the box.
Andrei Arshavin received the ball and didn't play it to Ferdinand at the far post to combine with Xia Qi.
Instead he lifted his leg to shoot.
Rafael quickly shifted to block the shooting lane.
But Arshavin shifted the ball one touch to the middle and then clipped it past Rafael.
How could that be!
Even with Jonny Evans screening in front of the keeper,
Arshavin had created an angle for a shot.
Rio Ferdinand had no choice but to abandon Xia Qi and move into the center, preparing to defend with Evans.
On the touchline Sir Alex's face changed drastically; he yelled: "Watch out! Xia Qi!"
Damn!
Those little bastards never learn!
How could Evra be left alone to mark Xia Qi?
Ferguson's eyes were sharp; the ball indeed returned to Xia Qi's feet.
How could Xia Qi be shy?
He instantly swivelled and fired his leg.
Evra closed in immediately — he could not give Xia Qi space to shoot.
Ferdinand scrambled back, and goalkeeper David de Gea quickly adjusted on the line.
Everyone believed that after a series of dazzling passes, Arsenal were only one shot away.
But Ferdinand suddenly saw a pale silhouette roll past his side.
He startled — this wasn't a shot!
He turned his head,
and saw Arshavin spread his arms to block Evans behind him, cushion the rolling ball with his foot, then spin quickly and strike the ball powerfully with his right.
The ball arced and flew toward goal.
De Gea had moved slightly out of position; by the time he recovered to dive, it was too late.
The ball found the net with surgical precision.
"Xia Qi!"
"A shot! No — a pass!"
"Andrei Arshavin!"
"Goal!"
"Youth may fade, but legends never fall!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, do you remember the blond freckled boy who used to play basketball in the derby with the Golden Boy Torres?"
"Four years on, that freckled, red-faced blond is back. Although he's no longer young, he remains that boy who scored as if drinking water."
On the touchline Ferguson booted a water bottle away in frustration.
Arsenal's substitutes all leapt to their feet and gave the farmer's punch.
Travelling Arsenal fans broke into the Tsar's song — the chant they made up for that blond youngster four years earlier, now sung for a man who had become an older gentleman.
But the lyric's boy would never change — no matter how time passed, you — Andrei Arshavin — will forever be the boy in our hearts!
After the goal Arshavin sprinted to Xia Qi and hugged him tightly.
"Promise me you'll get Arsenal at least one trophy. I'll bless you from afar. I love Arsenal. I love you…"
(END CHAPTER)
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