Football singularity

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[Date: 15 February 2020 | Time: 15:29 EST | Location: Rakim's Crib, Hahnwald, Cologne]

The late-winter dusk had already settled over Hahnwald, yet Rakim's living room lights were dimmed to a gentle amber glow. Zeus lay without a care on a section of the white Velvet couch, letting his winter pelt soak the place in its fur. Rakim sat next to him, his hand kneading the top of his head as his gaze remained locked on his 140-inch smart TV.

He was dressed in light grey TitnaFit Jogger bottoms and a tank top after having just completed a workout. Rakim angled the remote to unmute the pre-match commentary just as the Stadion An der Alten Försterei, home of Union Berlin, finished the pre-match proceedings. Zeus's ears flicked at the sudden noise, but the German shepherd didn't budge from his throne of cushions.

"Tell me again why the two have to watch the match in my house?" Rakim asked for what felt like the 20th time as he looked at the two intruders who had made themselves comfortable on his couch.

Diaby, dressed in a pair of ripped designer jeans and a black T with SZA on the front, merely waved his hand as if he were shooing a fly. "Sush, the start whistle just blew," Was all the Frenchman said as he pulled out a second phone from his cross bag.

Rakim opened his mouth for a comeback, but the whistle from referee Daniel Schlager rang through the surround system speakers in the living room as Volland locked the ball back in the TV. The chant of "Eisern Union!" rumbled so loudly that all people in the living room felt as if they were in attendance.

"Anyway, he has maxed out his ignorance stat. What's your excuse, as far as I know, your family are die-hard Leverkusen fans. Shouldn't you be spending time with them instead of disturbing my peace?" Rakim suddenly asked as he eyed his blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend, who had helped himself to his snack cupboard.

Wirtz—still munching on a fist-sized handful of salt pretzels shot Rakim an innocent look, the kind puppies give their master after shitting the bed. " Because," he said between crunches, "Mum can't handle my commentary. She says I'm too dramatic." He wiggled three fingers in mock jazz hands. "You, on the other hand, claim to be Florida strong. Figured I'd test the theory."

Rakim huffed. "Just shut up and watch the crumbs. The cleaning lady gives me the most disappointed look when she finds something dirty." Zeus punctuated the exchange with a deep yawn, head settling on Rakim's thigh like a sandbag.

The opening minutes tick by with cautious probing, with Leverkusen mostly holding possession. Union Berlin was content to sit back in their 3-4-2-1 shape, waiting for a chance to counterattack. Their team kept things calm with short passes, trying to get into the rhythm early.

Sigh, Rakim fished out his phone and decided to check his social media, something he hadn't done in a while. Something he hadn't done in a while and quickly remembered why. He sometimes felt like the apps would put topics in their feeds that evoked a response. In my case, it was a mixture of things, but worst of all was Twitter as despite it being regulated people just didn't give a fuck.

His thumb flicked through his feed for a few restless seconds, trying to ignore Trump's latest Twitter debacle. The man had made it his mission to create his own media exposure since the American media had been coming for his head like the BBC. Before I could lose myself in Dululu land, a ripple of shouts from the living room snapped him back to the match.

Leon Bailey had picked up the ball on the left flank, darted inside, and curled a teasing cross toward Kai Havertz at the near post—only for Subotić to stick out a boot and divert it away. "Bro, that was filthy—Bailey' had that man doing the stanky leg," Diaby laughed, barely looking up from his phone before tossing it onto the cushion beside him.

"I would have gone for the shot, though," Rakim quipped from the side as he nuzzled Zeus's ear. "You couldn't pay me enough money to be a traditional winger, especially after he had his marker doing the YOU!"

Wirtz glanced up from his phone with a smoking smile. "That's because your ego is the size of Texas."

"Boy, what do you know about Texas?" Rakim quickly shot back, not denying his friend's word in the slightest. "Football is a game of goals. If you can score a lot, if you're better at creating them, then master that, and if all else fails, make a living stopping the first two guys."

"MY BOY SHUT UP," Diaby suddenly said from the side before Wirtz could even figure out how to respond. "It's not that deep, just let us watch the match in peace without you turning into one of the corner shop uncles."

Union Berlin broke! A quick turnover in midfield from Trimmel sent Bülter racing down the flank. He cut inside and slipped the ball through to Anthony Ujah—no, Anderson—who'd ghosted in behind Tah. The striker remained composed, his first touch feather-soft as he pierced into the box.

Hrádecký had no chance to react as the striker sent a sharp shot past the keeper's outstretched leg at the near post. "Gah! How did he sneak past (S) Bender?" Wirtz yelped, almost spilling pretzels across the carpet.

"Midfield is still sleeping, they aren't tracking runners, man," Diaby observed, leaning forward. "And Berlin, that's all they know how to do,"

Rakim exhaled and sat up. "I knew it was bad luck to have you guys watching the game here."

Leverkusen, now chasing the game, pushed men forward using the flanks to the fullest. Despite the flanks not being the speediest set-up, it worked to their advantage against a team that liked to sit back. Both Kain and Leon were good at static play, able to explode into motion at a moment's notice.

Rakim and Diaby could do the same, but both preferred to take opponents on when they were in motion. It was simply easier to bait an opponent into mistakes they couldn't quickly recover from. Like most problems in the world, it was an energy problem; they simply couldn't be bothered to expend that much energy.

Kai was different, though, since he is one of the most balanced players to come out of Germany since Thomas Muller. Able to excel in every attacking position, doing exactly what the team required of them. 35th minute, it was in such a moment at the edge of the final that the German international demanded the ball from Amiri.

He let the pass sit at his feet for a heartbeat, and then he shifted onto his right, nimbly slipping past Lenz. Exploding a couple of steps, he looked and let fly, sending an arcing cross into the box. The strike was low and wicked, whipping across the face of the goal just in behind the line of defence.

Gikiewicz, expecting more height as he charged from his line, hesitated to lunge in headfirst. That hesitation allowed Volland, who had lunged in feet-first to connect with the ball, redirecting it past him. The leather thumped against the inside of the post and trickled over the line.

"YES!" Wirtz whooped, jerking a fist in the air as a new roar filled the living room. "That was a thing of beauty!" The roar from the TV still reverberated through the room as Volland raced away in celebration. Zeus lifted his head and cocked an ear, momentarily drawn from his nap, before settling back down.

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To Be Continued...