"De Bruyne with a sudden strike from distance!"
"So close... Süle's reactions are razor-sharp; he uses his massive frame to block the shot!"
"The rebound is picked up by Polanski, who clears it long into the opposition half!"
The ball spiraled down toward Roberto Firmino. The Brazilian gritted his teeth, holding off Junior Malanda, and cushioned a header to a teammate by his side. However, Luiz Gustavo's experience shone through. He stepped in the moment Anthony Modeste attempted to trap the ball, forcing an error and sending the ball out of play for a throw-in.
Shortly after, two sharp whistles signaled the end of the first half.
David Qin glanced back at the goal with a hint of regret. He was hungry to score in consecutive matches, but the Bundesliga was proving to be far more demanding than he had imagined. Furthermore, Eintracht Frankfurt, their previous opponent, lacked the overall cohesion and individual quality that Hoffenheim possessed.
As the team filed back into the dressing room, Dieter Hecking clapped his hands, a smile playing on his lips. "Excellent work in the first half. No major errors. In the second half, keep the defense stable as a priority, but don't hesitate to look for individual breakthroughs and those defense-splitting passes."
Now in his fifties, Hecking was a man of caution, but he wasn't the type to stifle his players' natural instincts for the sake of rigid tactics. To ask players like De Bruyne and David to focus solely on defending would be a criminal waste of talent. Their energy belonged in the final third.
This was the fundamental difference between Hecking and Mourinho.
"David," Hecking said, his voice earnest. "If the opportunity arises, take more control of the ball. I don't mean you should be greedy, but use your technique to draw in defenders and pin them back."
As the saying goes: matches are the fastest way to improve. No matter how hard you train, it means nothing if you can't translate that work onto the pitch. He knew David was a tireless worker, and he wanted the boy to see the fruits of his labor manifest in real results. Of course, this was all predicated on the fact that David possessed the kind of talent that truly moved him.
"Got it, Boss," David replied, following the instruction readily. Previously, he had been worried about being perceived as a ball-hog and hadn't dared to fully showcase his footwork.
"One more thing." Hecking turned to Luiz Gustavo. "In the second half, shift your position slightly to the left. Keep an eye on the space behind David."
Since he had decided to let David play with more freedom, it was only right to provide him with a "bodyguard." It would prevent a potential turnover from triggering a catastrophic chain reaction. Choosing Gustavo was a calculated move; the Brazilian was past his absolute physical peak and, unlike the younger Ricardo Rodríguez, didn't have the ego that prevented him from playing a supporting role.
The break ended, and the players returned to the pitch.
Tweet!
The second half began right on time. Having adjusted during the interval, Hoffenheim abandoned their conservative approach and went on the offensive. Everything flowed through Firmino. Utilizing their numerical advantage in midfield, they began to penetrate the attacking third.
After establishing control over the tempo, they utilized the depth of their left-back's overlapping runs to swarm Sebastian Jung. The pressure eventually cracked the right flank.
"Ádám Szalai cuts into the box! Naldo chooses to challenge directly!"
"A brilliant piece of skill!"
"A cut-back finds Firmino!"
Amidst the cheers of the Hoffenheim faithful, Firmino received the ball and dragged it half a yard to his side, evading Malanda's press. Then, just as Gustavo lunged toward him, he threaded a perfectly weighted diagonal ball.
Firmino knew his fellow Brazilian all too well. Back when he first arrived at Hoffenheim, it was Gustavo who had helped him integrate into the team.
Zip! The ball hissed across the grass, skidding toward the right side of the six-yard box. The home crowd rose in anticipation. Anthony Modeste was already in position; he muscled Robin Knoche aside and hammered a shot toward the near post!
Diego Benaglio went down as fast as humanly possible, but even his veteran reflexes couldn't keep the ball out.
Roar!
The Rhein-Neckar-Arena erupted instantly, a sea of deep blue flags waving frantically in the air.
"Early in the second half, Hoffenheim finds the equalizer!"
"I hate to say it, but the blame for this goal lies squarely on the right-back's shoulders!"
"Sebastian Jung, who joined the Wolves from Frankfurt for 2.4 million euros this summer, is clearly struggling to adapt!"
"He's been a liability throughout the pre-season and these first three Bundesliga rounds. I suspect the club's biggest regret right now is not signing a top-tier right-back during the summer window!"
Many shared the commentator's sentiment, none more so than Dieter Hecking on the bench. Last season, their starting fullback Christian Träsch was a quintessential defensive utility man—good enough to be Michael Ballack's backup in the national team. But luck hadn't been on his side. A severe ankle injury during national team training in May had sidelined him for three months, and just as he neared a return, he tore a shoulder muscle in pre-season.
"We must buy a fullback in the winter window!" Hecking thought, his brow furrowed. His goals for the season went far beyond merely qualifying for the Champions League; Wolfsburg couldn't afford such a glaring weakness.
On the pitch, the Hoffenheim players finished their celebrations and trotted back to their half, laughing and joking. The Wolfsburg squad had already taken their positions. Their faces showed little sign of dejection. As professionals who had played countless matches since childhood, they weren't the type to lose their fighting spirit just because they conceded a goal.
Nevertheless, Benaglio was still worried about David. This was, after all, only the boy's second Bundesliga appearance. "David, don't let the goal rattle you. Don't abandon the tactical plan to drop back and help. Remember what the Boss told you."
"Don't worry," David nodded. With Gustavo covering his back, he felt a profound sense of security. He truly trusted the Brazilian's veteran presence.
The match restarted with a whistle. Sensing blood, Hoffenheim began to target Jung relentlessly, determined to tear the flank wide open. Wolfsburg had no choice but to drop Caligiuri back, forming a three-man defensive pocket aided by Naldo to stabilize the right side.
The LED clock ticked upward. By the 66th minute, Sejad Salihović played a wall-pass with Firmino before immediately finding Andreas Beck out wide. Beck pushed the ball past a struggling Jung, looked up to survey his options, and whipped in a cross.
Snap! The ball soared toward Modeste as the Hoffenheim fans watched with bated breath. Just as they rose to cheer what seemed like a certain goal, a pair of white gloves flashed through the air. Benaglio punched the ball clear with both fists, sending it screaming out of the box.
"Brilliant! Benaglio! The captain stands tall in the clutch!"
"The second ball is claimed by Gustavo! He muscles Firmino aside and lofts a pass toward the left side of the midfield!"
"Wait—is that a mistake? It looks like he's put far too much power behind it!"
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