I tracked down countless videos of the players my teammates had mentioned.
I also asked the manager and coaching staff, confirming the strengths of each player.
The important thing was that just making up my mind didn't mean I could replicate it straight away.
So the advice Coach Matos gave me was:
"Don't rush. Just make each thing your own, one at a time."
As he said it, he emphasized finding my own style first.
He gave examples of all kinds of different players — apparently these were his personal favorites.
A target man like Didier Drogba.
A poacher in the mold of Filippo Inzaghi.
One-shot, one-kill Gabriel Batistuta.
False nine Totti.
Complete striker Robert Lewandowski.
Build on the type that suits me best, and absorb the strengths of other outstanding players from there.
And the fastest way to gain that experience was through matches.
My style is definitely more…
Closer to target man. It covers a lot of the areas I'm confident in.
Using a strong physical foundation to win the battle with opposition defenders.
Holding that ground while either going for goal directly or creating chances for teammates — that was the primary role.
Poacher isn't bad either.
The goal-hunting "poacher" wasn't a huge stretch from me either.
Breaking the offside trap or making penetrating runs into space.
But compared to a target man it required better pace, higher work rate, sharper first touch, and enough dribbling to beat at least one player.
Both types had elements I could do and elements I was still lacking.
Either way, they were a little more accessible than the other styles.
Regardless.
I understood what the coach was telling me. I'd approached things the same way in American football.
Even the quarterback — the showpiece position of American football — broke down into roughly three types.
The pocket passer, who controlled the game through throwing.
The scrambler, who used quick feet to improvise.
And last — the dual-threat, combining both, which was the type I had pursued when I was competing as a quarterback.
Even within that there were further divisions, so finding your own style wasn't easy.
You figure it out by trying all kinds of things.
Right — lean into my strengths and work through it one by one.
Thud!!
A physical battle inside the penalty box in an internal practice match.
I won the contest against Dalot and Lete through sheer strength and laid waste inside the box.
Fernandes was in pain even though he was the one who had gone in with the tackle.
I'd scored and was standing tall in front of the goal when:
"Nice, good. Better to bulldoze them with force than to try some clumsy dribble."
Coach Matos, acting as referee, ruffled my hair and praised me.
"Was that alright? Does it remind you of any particular player?"
Almost seventeen now.
Not an age to just be young and carefree anymore. Not the time to think slowly and move slowly.
I had to close the gap with the other players in a short space of time. So once I'd thought it through, I had to start immediately.
I looked at the coach. Coach Matos stroked his chin and said:
"I can see it right away. It suits you and it's the best choice for our team too."
The name of the first player I needed to learn from.
It was Didier Drogba.
※
2017. 12. 19
Practice match against Porto U-20.
Ruizang won the ball in the center and transitioned to a counter.
Driving with quick dribbling to near the arc, he played it to me in a tight space.
A defender behind me trying to push me away with hands and chest.
I grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn left.
Tweet!!
"Jino, inside the box try to hold your ground with your body as much as possible. Using your hands is a skill too."
Coach Matos, acting as referee, called a foul.
"Understood."
"And the easier option is to lay it off immediately. Give it back to Ruizang and make the run — how much simpler is that?"
"Yes."
"Don't forget that even though Drogba was physical, he was also very intelligent and technically gifted."
"Understood."
"Right, let's go again—"
Just as the coach was about to put the whistle to his mouth again.
He caught eyes with a defender wearing a shredded jersey.
"What happened to your shirt?"
"No idea. Someone let a wild animal loose. Hah…"
"Take it as part of the training."
※
2017. 12. 26
Absent from this week's match against Gil Vicente.
No particular reason. Ferreira's finishing was simply too sharp — he registered a hat-trick.
Even against a bottom-of-the-table side, his goal-scoring instinct was at its peak and he played the full ninety minutes.
With that match, we entered the European winter break.
The squad's key players were scheduled to return in time for the league resuming on January 7th, and regardless of that, several reserve team players were sweating it out with Coach Matos.
"Hey Jino! When you break the line, vary it. Curves over straight lines. Don't worry about getting tangled up with the defender's body — just drive through. Even in the second division, people are starting to figure you out."
"Yes!"
"You're getting caught out because they know what's coming. If they already know, they won't fall for it easily. Even two defenders is a lot to deal with, so space — you have to create space no matter what."
"Yes!"
."Quick feet! Quick feet! Keep moving! Movement without the ball is more important! That's it! Give and go! Okay! That was good just now!"
"Yes!"
."Don't overlap your runs! Jino, what happens when you drop deep from there? Better to hold your back to the defender and go short with a one-two."
"Yes!"
Boom!!
"Offside! In that situation you have to watch the opposition line pushing up. Don't just think about what you're going to do — move according to the situation."
At this point he was practically my personal coach.
Coach Matos's shouts were directed almost exclusively at me, but I never once pulled a face.
The sense of achievement from learning something new today, and the excitement of wanting to apply it in a match, came first.
"Good work."
When the day's work was done, the coach went back to being his easygoing self.
He put his hand on my shoulder and joked around, calling me "Seo-gba" instead of "Drog-ba" — honestly, quite embarrassing.
"Jino, come sit here."
"Yes."
I sat down on the bench alongside Coach Matos.
"About ten days now, right?"
"Well… oh, Drogba?"
"Ha ha. Yeah."
"Yes. It's not specifically Drogba so much as the movement a striker should have."
"Exactly. So are you starting to get a feel for it?"
"Training is still just training. With teammates you can't really go at it fully either."
"Oh? If you've been holding back, Lete's going to be furious."
"No, that's not what I meant."
"Alright. You're starting against Braga next. Give it a proper go."
"Sorry? Starting?"
The word "starting" made me speechless for a moment. I'd thought the chance would come eventually, but to hear it today.
And Braga, of all opponents — one of the strongest clubs after Portugal's big three.
Even if it was an under-23 side, these were players I'd be facing again on a bigger stage someday.
"Channel Drogba. Not keen on it? Want me to mention it to the coach?"
"No, I'm fine!"
"Confident?"
"Yes!"
"Good. Take that confidence straight into the match. We'll make this style yours and then move on to the next. One thing mastered well enough is plenty anyway."
※Training, and more training. Winter break or not, Fábio and I were always punching in at the training ground.
It wasn't anything special we were doing. On the pitch there were barely three of us — Fábio and me, plus goalkeeper Mbaiye.
Some 1v1, some free kick practice, some actual fighting.
Less structured than regular training, which made it more fun somehow.
In those moments we also shared things we wouldn't normally say out loud.
You might think, with me and Mbaiye around, it would be about the difficulties of being a foreigner.
But not once did anyone talk about life being hard, or being lonely, or any of that tired stuff.
Whenever the three of us were together, the only things we brought up were football worries.
Mbaiye, backup goalkeeper in the U-18, stressed about getting game time.
Me, naturally, felt the urgency of a late starter as a footballer.
And Fábio — who you wouldn't expect it from — worried about his own uncertain future.
Such a slight frame. Clearly a weakness as a player, no question.
But of all the players I'd played alongside, none handled the ball better than Fábio.
In the U-18 he was already operating on a completely different level, and technically in the reserve team there was nothing to suggest he was behind anyone.
It was with that Fábio that I was about to share a starting lineup for the first time.
"Hey, Jino."
"Hoo—!"
"Are you nervous? Or scared? That's not like you."
Boom!!
"Ah… missed."
"Your head's floating like that, the ball floats too."
"Enough — go do your own thing."
"I could hit that better with my right foot."
Right before the Braga match, he kept chattering away throughout shooting practice.
"This tiny little guy, honestly."
"… Done talking? Wasn't it just yesterday you were saying football is played with the heart, not the height?"
Fábio loved that line.
I'd just said it thinking of Lionel Messi, off the top of my head.
"You idiot. Are you Messi?"
"Hm?"
"No. Thinking out loud."
"… So what I'm saying is — don't be nervous. I'll deliver it right to your feet."
"I get it, so leave me alone for a bit. Let me practice."
"It's fine, it's fine. You just have to shoot in front of goal — why practice? Don't you trust me?"
The confidence is something else. And the ability matches the mouth.
First touch, pressing resistance, passing, shooting. A player with the full range of qualities a midfielder needs.
Even when we bickered, on the pitch Fábio was always the best support I could ask for.
After some individual work, Fábio reappeared.
Without giving him a chance to say anything, I pointed a finger toward the far end of the pitch.
"The midfield battle is going to be fierce from the start. Number 22 over there is who you'll need to shake."
Braga's defensive midfielder just stepping onto the grass for the warm-up.
It was Mamadou Loum, from Senegal — I'd already seen him on video.
188cm, solid build. Behind him, another prospect made his entrance.
"You worry about yourself. Built like a wall — you're going to go flying again."
The player warming up alongside Mamadou. The one who would be going head-to-head with Fábio in the middle today.
Braga's all-purpose midfielder — his name was Miguel Crespo.
"Those two are something, but the real ace for Braga is him."
Taller than me but built as slight as Fábio, the player showed off his individual skills.
He toyed with the ball at will using the sole of his foot, then followed up with a shot.
Both of the previous players were impressive, but this one was a notch above.
Braga's finest talent — Francisco Trincão.
Current Portugal U-19 international and Braga's right winger set to feature in next year's U-20 World Cup.
Sharp first touch that lets him build attacks cleanly. On top of that, pace-based dribbling with real penetration.
Setting all that aside, the most eye-catching quality was the left foot we'd just seen.
His shooting was good enough that when things got tight he could pull out a strike of his own.
"Only a year older than me but incredibly good. His footwork is excellent — don't go rushing in carelessly."
"Does he trouble you?"
As I asked, I caught Trincão's gaze from across the pitch.
Fábio met his eyes and hesitated.
"Hmm…"
"I thought you were the best in your age group, but looks like you're not all that after all."
"Shut up. Why would I be behind him? You'd have to see."
"Sounds to me like you're saying he's better than you."
"He's not — he's a year older."
"Sure, sure. I saw that look on your face."
"God, enough. Let's go in."
Got to pay back the teasing.
And.
After finishing the warm-up, I took off my jersey to change my sweat-soaked inner shirt.
Trincão and the Braga players who had been looking over were visibly murmuring.
They seemed taken aback by a physique that clearly didn't belong to someone this age.
"Hey, they're all tensed up."
"Never mind that. I need to play well at football."
Smack!
Out of nowhere, Fábio slapped me on the back.
"Ow! Again — why?"
"You've got this. So just show them what you can do."
"…"
"Go and absolutely destroy them. There's no one here who can beat you in a straight fight."
Fábio put his weight behind me as I went out to start. Of course, he meant destroy them on the football pitch.
"Fábio."
"Yeah."
"You worry about yourself. Don't get knocked around."
I kicked Fábio in the backside as I shot back at him.
Right — just do what I can do.
That's all it takes.