The Greatest of all Time-Novel

Coach Johansen's smile faded, his brows snapping together into a frown when he saw Jo Inge, the Rosenborg midfielder, foul Zachary once again. The two players had been at each other's necks, trying to outmuscle and outmaneuver one another since the 15th minute of the game. The two of them had turned the game into a physical battle of fouling and pitting body-against-body as they fought for dominance in the midfield. But most times, it was Jo Inge doing the fouling while Zachary was on the receiving end.

Jo Inge's fouling was so skillful and stealthy that he managed to get away with fouls more times than he did not. He would only pull on Zachary's shirt or kick his calf when the referee's eyes were elsewhere. Thanks to that, he hadn't even incurred a yellow card—even after playing a rough dirty game for more than 40 minutes.

Coach Johansen felt a flash of irritation compounded by a pang of distress coursing through him as he continued following the proceedings on the field of play. He'd already noticed that Zachary was beginning to become uncomfortable due to the constant harassment from the Molde man.

The African prodigy was no longer unleashing his signature defense-splitting passes, and Rosenborg's dominance in the middle was slowly slipping away. Even worse, his touches on the ball had continued to reduce steadily as the match progressed. The situation on the pitch had already started to worry the coach even though his team was still leading 1:0 against Coach Ole Gunnar Solskjaer's side in the 43rd minute.

"I think it's quite easy to solve Zachary's predicament without even making a substitution," Trond Henriksen, his assistant, commented from beside him.

"Oh," Coach Johansen said. "What is your suggestion, then?" He queried after a moment, his eyes never leaving the field of play.

"We need to get Zachary to start reacting dramatically to Jo Inge's fouling," the assistant head coach said, half-smiling. "It's hard to convince the referee that there's foul play if Zachary doesn't go to the ground. For instance, he didn't go down even when Jo Inge was almost tearing off his shirt a few minutes ago."

"That may work," Coach Johansen said, a smile outlining his face. "You can go ahead and instruct Zachary on how to go about it during the half-time break. Maybe, we can get a few set-pieces out of Jo Inge and extend our lead."

"Okay, I'll make sure he understands how to handle Jo Inge before he gets back on the pitch for the second half," Coach Henriksen said, grinning. "But are we going to stick to the 4-2-3-1 formation during the second half? I'm worried about our habit of starting slow during the second half. So, maybe a highly defensive shape would be better for us."

"We'll stay with the 4-2-3-1," Coach Johansen said, his tone firm. "Changing to another formation during the second half isn't a long-term solution to our second-half difficulties. Instead, we should be honing the winning mentality of our players to do away with the problem for good. It's just that simple."

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A soft smile outlined Olav Brusveen's face as he followed the happenings on the pitch with rapt attention befitting the professional TV2-Sporten journalist that he was. He didn't wish to miss any newsworthy details that might occur at any moment of the game between the two Norwegian football giants. That was especially so since Zachary, the new darling and golden goose of the Norwegian press, was partaking in the game that day.

By his side stood the members of his camera crew, following the game through the lenses of their cameras. They, too, knew how important the game was and went about their duties without a need for supervision. They were possibly capturing each and every moment of the action on the field—without even resting for a single second.

"Did you get a close-up of Zachary's facial reaction after that tackle?" He asked one of the members of his camera crew, his gaze never leaving the field of play.

"Of course, we did," one of the cameramen replied, his eyes still following the game through the lenses of his humongous Nikon camera.

"Excellent," Olav said, grinning. "We've got ourselves a good number of images for our blog tomorrow. Keep up the good work."

He was in a jolly mood as he'd already obtained more than enough discussion points that could potentially turn into trending headlines the following day. For instance, the on-pitch rivalry between Zachary Bemba, the young Rosenborg prodigy, and Jo Inge Berget, the Molde midfielder, was one such point. It could elicit a good reaction from the masses and foster a trending online debate to fuel its popularity. But that was depending on how it was dressed and presented to the public. The more details he could add to the story, the more popular it would get. So, he kept his eyes focused on the field of play as the time for the half-time break slowly drew near.

But Olav abruptly stood up from his seat when the clock on the stadium's big screen indicated that it was the 45th minute. On the pitch, Zachary had just received a pass from Mike Jensen, one of Rosenborg's defensive midfielders. For the first time in like a quarter and hour, he managed to skip past Jo Inge, his bodyguard, with a deft couple of touches.

Jo Inge tried to pull at his shirt and stop him from stepping further away from him—into Molde's half. But Zachary seemed to have already gotten used to the midfielder's bothersome fouls. So, he shrugged Jo Inge's arm away with a handoff—before stepping out of the center circle and racing towards Molde's box like the wind.

But just after he'd moved a couple of yards, two of Molde's defensive players closed him down and barred his path towards their box. And to make matters worse, Jo Inge, the relentless Molde midfielder, had also retraced his steps and managed to catch up with Zachary once more. For a moment, the three players in blue had Zachary surrounded close to the middle of the pitch.

Olav thought Zachary would do the usual and unleash a lofted pass towards the wing or kick the ball back to his defense to escape the predicament. But he did quite the opposite of what most people in the stadium expected.

In some magical fashion, he started dancing his way in and out of the three Molde players—his body going left and then going right, with the ball glued to his boot. His movements were artistic, fast, but above all, unpredictable as he slalomed his way through the confused group of players.

Olav couldn't even understand the entire process. One minute Zachary was amid the group of players, and the next, he was slipping out as seamlessly as a fish navigating the calm waters of a lake.

And without any pause, he then continued racing across the field like a bullet train on the rails.

The cheers of the Rosenborg fans resounded across the entire stadium like thunder, slowly growing to a crescendo as Zachary raced across the middle third. In a matter of seconds, he skipped past a couple of challenges before finally stepping into the final third with only the Molde defensive line between him and Molde's box.

Olav watched with undivided attention as Zachary smiled softly before setting loose a teasing through-pass into space, just behind the Molde center-backs. At first glance, it wasn't anything special—but a simple ball that could be unleashed by a five-year-old.

But Zachary had managed to time his release with perfection, making that simple through-ball the ideal weapon to beat the Molde defense. He made the whole process look so easy as he set loose Nicki Nielsen, the Rosenborg number-9, behind the defensive line.

"Did you capture all that?" Olav asked his camera crew, his eyes still locked on the field of play. He watched Nicki connect with Zachary's defense-splitting pass before racing towards the goal like the wind. And without any surprise, the on-form Rosenborg striker fired home from the edge of the box, chipping the ball over the keeper to score Rosenborg's second goal.

"Did you capture all that?" Olav inquired once again as the Rosenborg players headed to the corner flag to celebrate their second goal. But that time around, he had to yell to make himself heard over the cheers of the passionate fans that'd long reached a climax. Rosenborg was already two goals ahead in one of their toughest fixtures of the season. The fans were almost going mad in the stands as they sang the popular Rosenborg chants.

"Of course, we did," A female member of his camera crew finally yelled back after a few seconds. "Second by second of everything, including facial expressions, footwork, reactions of opponents—we have captured it all. So, don't worry. We're professionals, after all." She grinned.

"Great," Olav said, beaming as quiet contentment spread through him. "Thanks for your hard work. But don't stop and keep on filming. The more images we have, the better stories we can develop for tomorrow's news after editing. I've got a feeling that this match might be a defining moment for both Zachary and Rosenborg. So, please don't miss anything." He added before returning his attention to the pitch where the Rosenborg players had just finished their celebrations.

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