Deschamps, 43, stood on the sidelines, gazing with deep affection... A bad sign, a prelude to collapse.
The decline swept uncontrollably across the entire Velodrome Stadium, each Marseille player seemingly trapped in a quagmire, stunned by Arsenal's lightning-fast opening attack.
This kind of situation isn't uncommon in football, no matter how strong a team is... It can all unravel from a small change, leading to instant defeat.
And what usually follows is a high-scoring loss, a massacre! No!
In an instant, Deschamps snapped out of it, a few traces of anxiety appearing on his face. He had to reverse the decline on the field.
This big shot from his playing days, the locker room leader in his coaching career, had matured earlier than others due to the loss of loved ones in his youth, possessing an extraordinary desire for control over everything.
He feared everything around him suddenly drifting away, feared suddenly losing something important, he hated everything spinning out of control.
"Attack!"
He chose the other extreme, wanting the players to build confidence through successful organized attacks, "Find your rhythm, if you lose the ball, press like crazy on the spot, create some trouble for them too!"
Retreating at this point was definitely not an option, the players would only become more chaotic, and Arsenal would use continuous attacks to completely break them down.
He could only try attacking, hoping they could find their rhythm that way.
Deschamps knew this was a bold decision, a decision with an element of risk, he originally had more conservative options.
For example, making slight adjustments in various positions, making some unexpected small changes.
But in his Judgment of Situation, minor adjustments would definitely not work at this time!
Only by first stabilizing the situation with a tough, major change could he slowly discover where the problems were, and then make some subtle small adjustments.
Everything was in chaos, problems everywhere, how could he distinguish them and know how to adjust? On the other side, Wenger stood relaxed, raising his hands and cheering a few times, dispelling the excited emotions within him.
He didn't have anything to adjust. Since the players were already fired up at this point, he would let them play as they wanted, just emphasizing defense at halftime.
"Beep!"
The referee quickly blew the whistle for the third kickoff, Marseille players kicking off from the center circle for the second time in the match.
"Charge, charge, charge!"
"Look to the right!"
"Double-team him!"
"He's coming, seal the line!"
Arsenal's players shouted as they charged forward, their momentum very strong, seemingly unwilling to give Marseille players any chance to breathe.
They wanted to end the suspense of the game in the first half. If they scored another goal, this game would likely become a purely enjoyable one for them.
"The game has only been going on for 15 minutes, viewers who just turned on their TV screens may be surprised how Arsenal has already taken a two-goal lead.
"They are indeed playing very crazy today. This brand-new style appeared on them at the beginning of the season, and now, it seems to be deeply imprinted on every player.
"Will there be more goals in the first half? This question may make Marseille fans uneasy and Arsenal fans look forward to it."
On the field, Marseille's players tried to attack into the opponent's half. They chose a very simple method, using long passes to lob the ball into Arsenal's backfield.
This did ease their pressure to some extent. After Arteta's arrival, Arsenal's midfield interception ability had improved significantly.
In addition, Rosický and Alexandre Song, who partnered with him today, both had tough playing styles. It was obviously an unwise decision to fight them head-on in midfield.
It was better to lob the ball up first, whether they got it or not, first push forward and move the battle line forward.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
As the football spent more time in the sky, the rhythm seemed to slow down a lot, and Marseille seemed to get the result they wanted.
But how could Arsenal's players not see their intentions? If you looked closely, you could see that every time the Marseille team attacked, very few Arsenal players returned to defend, most of them were still pressing in Marseille's backfield.
This was risking conceding a goal, but also striving to give Marseille a fatal blow as soon as they got the ball! A desperate style of play!
But it was more like betting on Marseille's life!
Having scored 2 goals at the start of the game, they had the confidence to do so. They could withstand the consequences of conceding 1 goal, but if they scored 1 goal, Marseille would probably not be able to withstand it.
"Marseille has a chance to attack on the wing! González is dribbling the ball on the wing, Rémy is waiting in the center!
"A Cross! The landing point isn't good, Szczęsny plucks the ball directly from the air!
"He throws it directly to André Santos. With Vermaelen absent, he's Arsenal's preferred choice for initiating plays and advancing the ball from the back! André Santos wants to pass the ball to Maël, but Benoît is blocking the passing lane, not wanting him to pass to Arteta in the center!"
At the edge of the penalty area, Arteta receives the ball and moves it to the left, keeping an eye on Benoît's movements, trying to draw him out to pass the ball to Maël.
"Thump, thump, thump!" But at this moment, Maël suddenly chooses to start towards the baseline, wanting to cut behind the defender.
"Bang." Arteta doesn't hesitate, using the instep of his right foot to push the middle of the ball, sending a through ball.
Azpilicueta turns to follow, having been wary of this and very focused.
He also believes that with his agility and explosiveness, he can clear the ball out of bounds or for a throw-in before Maël gets there.
The race between the two unfolds on the wing, with both almost glued together as they chase after the ball.
After running a few steps, Maël realizes he might not get to the ball first and wants to seek physical contact, leaning his body to the side.
"Whoosh!"
Azpilicueta, feeling the force from his body, suddenly stops and changes direction, bypassing him from the outside to chase the ball.
This completely exceeds Maël's expectations. He staggers slightly, and after regaining his balance, he trails behind by two positions, but fortunately, he can still put pressure on Azpilicueta.
Azpilicueta arrives at the ball first, looking at the ball about to roll towards the baseline, his eyes filled with astonishment and hesitation.
He had just completed a beautiful circling dodge and quickly caught up with the ball from another direction, thinking this would make Maël give up the fight for possession, but he didn't expect the opponent to still be following behind.
He didn't lose his balance?
He suddenly feels that his moves against those strong forwards are not working at all.
Now, the ball in front of him is undoubtedly a hot potato. Turning with the ball might lead to being dispossessed; kicking it out directly for a corner would make him look too cowardly; shielding the ball out of bounds for a goal kick is almost impossible.
"Bang, bang!"
Azpilicueta ultimately chooses to trust his footwork, using his right heel to flick the ball behind him, and then using the outside of his left foot to complete a change of direction as he turns.
McGeady Spin! A signature move to get rid of pressure with his back to the opponent!
"Slap!"
But Maël's foot, which he extends afterward, makes everything awkward. After a beautiful turn, Azpilicueta realizes he has just turned in a circle, and nothing else.
Maël steals the ball, having anticipated that Azpilicueta might turn, and was prepared.
"Bang!!"
He then sweeps a cross into the center without looking, not because he's making a wild pass, but mainly because a dizzy feeling rises in his mind, causing his eyes to uncontrollably scatter and his ears to ring.
What's going on? An upgrade to Judgment of Situation? Maël guesses why. He can feel his brain changing, as if many things are crushed and then reassembled.
He quickly squats down to pretend to tie his shoelaces, almost falling forward several times, but he disguises it as his rear foot being unstable.
[Skill: Judgment lv4]
[Proficiency: (1/5000)]
[Effect: After a lot of research and training, you seem to understand everything on the field, and have a strong ability to judge and make decisions in any situation, often making the right decision in a very short time!]
Judgment!
At first glance, it seems like an ordinary word, but upon closer inspection, it is definitely the most important mental ability.
Judgment! It is to make a firm decision in an instant after judging the situation!
It must be the best choice, the most correct choice, in that situation!
The importance of this ability on the field is self-evident. The football field is ever-changing, and no one can predict what will happen next.
With the ability to make instant judgments, Maël's way of playing will become more reasonable, even perfect.
He can better use all his advantages, maximize strengths and avoid weaknesses, and become a more mature player!
After all the negative feelings subside, Maël stands up again and takes two small jumping steps, seeing the opposing goalkeeper preparing to take a goal kick.
The teammate should have gotten to that spot, but unfortunately didn't hit it.
"Bang!"
After the goalkeeper kicked the goal kick, Maël turned and ran back a few steps, positioning himself at the offside line.
Azpilicueta looked at him with panicked eyes. Maël had brought him almost suffocating pressure, and now he didn't dare to leave his position even half a step.
His offensive ability was now useless; just limiting Maël was good enough.
The first half of the match progressed steadily for a while, passing the 30-minute mark, and the offensive and defensive rhythm of the two teams sped up again.
This was bound to happen. Marseille wanted to push their offensive line forward to force Arsenal back, but Arsenal wouldn't budge, so there was nothing they could do.
Let's have a back-and-forth offensive and defensive battle, and see whose defense can't withstand the pressure and concedes a goal first! In the 34th minute of the match, Marseille forward André Ayew got past Jenkinson, who was playing in the rotation today, and suddenly rushed into the penalty area, creating a threatening opportunity.
"Oh!" The Marseille fans, who had been silent for a long time, finally saw hope, and some of them stood up from their seats.
Ayew wanted to advance further, but Koscielny stared fiercely at the ball under his feet, giving him great pressure.
"Bang!"
Helpless, he could only choose to play a ground cross with extremely fast ball speed, sweeping towards the goal.
Ayew looked towards the center with anticipation, as anyone who touched this ball could create an opportunity.
After his own forward Rémy missed the ball, the anticipation in his eyes did not diminish. Mertesacker was very tall, and it was possible for him to score an own goal due to clumsiness.
"Let it go!" But Mertesacker shouted, not only did he not intend to kick the ball, but he also reminded André Santos behind him not to kick it.
Unexpectedly, André Santos had a more comprehensive Observation. After discovering that there was no one around, he not only did not clear the football, but also stopped the ball, turned around, took it down, and dribbled it towards the midfield.
Ayew's hope was shattered, and he had to bitterly return to defense. He spat in frustration.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang!"
In the 38th minute of the match, Arteta and Rosický played two beautiful one-two passes in the center, and the latter immediately went straight into Marseille's dangerous area in the middle.
Marseille's three defenders and two midfielders slowly retreated as if facing a formidable enemy, while guarding against other players suddenly rushing forward.
Maël, who was originally standing near the offside line, ran back two steps when he Judged that Rosický had no one to support him and was likely to passively choose to break through.
"Rosický!!"
He shouted, and the other party breathed a sigh of relief, passing the ball horizontally.
Maël stepped forward to receive the ball. Azpilicueta was always waiting for a chance to steal, so he couldn't be careless.
After taking a look at the situation in the middle, he found that Van Persie's position was not bad, and Rosický was also looking for a second running opportunity.
"Bang!" He knocked the ball to Van Persie's right foot, which was obviously farther away from the defending player, making it easy to knock the ball back.
"Deng deng deng!"
Maël had no intention of standing still. After passing the ball, he started directly towards the ribs.
"Bang, bang!"
Everything was as he expected. Van Persie flicked the ball back to Rosický, who keenly spotted his run and played a through ball straight into the ribs! The cooperation was successful! Continuous one-touch passing! Continuous third-man runs!
Beautiful passing and movement!
When Maël entered the penalty area, many Marseille defenders had not yet turned around, let alone defended.
"Bang!"
He swept the ball towards the far post, and Walcott, who had been immersed for a long time, came up to easily score, pushing the ball into the net.
Three to zero! Arsenal scored another goal! "Yeah!" The players' ears heard nothing else, only each other's cheers and praises. They had just completed a perfect team cooperation goal like a mechanized passing and running machine.
A shuang game is coming! "Ah!"
Walcott looked ecstatic and ran towards Maël, who had sent him the pass. The others seemed to have found their organization and ran towards Maël to celebrate together.
This goal belonged to all of them, and everyone had a sense of participation!
In the background of Marseille players looking at each other, the Arsenal players wearing red and white jerseys went towards one position, and the scene was very spectacular.
"Three already!"
"Keep going!"
Maël watched them retreat subconsciously, and retreated all the way to the left corner flag area with a smile. Everyone was still high-fiving and hugging each other in the same old place.
Under the complete silence of the Marseille fans, they briefly celebrated before heading back to their own half together, moving as a unit, looking very united.
On the other side, Marseille was at its breaking point, the long-suppressed discontent finally about to erupt.
This wasn't just the suppressed emotions of this match, but also the result of the collectivism that Deschamps had always advocated.
"Some people's defending is just beyond me, standing there like an idiot, like a wooden stake!"
Jérémy was the first to speak out, hands on his hips, full of dissatisfaction, his words directed at someone, "To dribble past a cone, you have to go around it, but to get past you, you just need to go in a straight line!"
Many people looked at him with complicated expressions, knowing he was referring to his central defensive partner, Diawara.
Diawara was responsible for the goal just now. First, he failed to contain Van Persie, allowing him to pass back, and then he allowed Maël to cut into the space on his side of the box to Cross.
Diawara also exploded, waving his hands. He believed Jérémy was being racist, targeting his skin color, "Say that again!"
He walked straight towards Jérémy, adopting a confrontational stance.
"Get out of here!" Jérémy saw Diawara coming and angrily pushed him away.
This time, Diawara directly clenched his fist and charged forward. Fortunately, Azpilicueta held him back tightly, preventing him from throwing that punch.
This was a rare sight. Infighting on the football field is common, but physical altercations of this intensity are rare.
"Oh! Oh!"
Deschamps, already under immense pressure on the sidelines, was enraged by this scene and stood up roaring, "You two get off the field! Get off! Do you have brains?"
He turned to the bench, impulsively telling all the defenders to warm up, making it clear he would replace both of them.
Soon, an assistant coach got up to advise him, and Deschamps muttered a few words before slowly calming down.
He is definitely a man of great composure, but a fiery temper is also one of his characteristics. The team is already in a difficult situation, and instead of working together to find a solution, they are infighting.
Who could tolerate that? In the end, Deschamps scolded both of them and substituted Diawara, replacing him with another substitute defender.
After being substituted, Diawara was overwhelmed by various emotions and began to sob, pursing his lips and lowering his head.
Deschamps noticed this. He wanted to say something, but after glancing at the team, which could easily descend into chaos again, he remained standing still.
"What to do?"
No matter how experienced, how steady, how mature he was, this thought kept repeating in his mind, over and over again, until his brain became a mess.
Deschamps soon realized he didn't need to think, because Arsenal's threatening attack was coming again.
In the 41st minute of the match, just as he was anxiously biting his nails, he saw Arteta intercepting the team's pass from the backfield to the midfield again.
"Bang!"
Then, he sent a through ball behind Azpilicueta, the ball Speed was very fast, but it was a bit close to the defender's body.
"Cha!" Azpilicueta subconsciously stretched out his foot to touch it, but because his legs were too short, he didn't block the ball. Instead, he changed its direction and touched it towards the baseline.
Fortunately, Arteta's pass was a bit presumptuous. After flexibly twisting his body, he was still ahead of Maël in terms of position.
However, like last time, this ball rolling towards the baseline, whether he could catch it or not, was a hot potato.
Azpilicueta glanced back and saw that Maël was about three body lengths away from him. Maybe he could choose to pass the ball back to the goalkeeper in the middle? He came to the ball, turned his body to the right, and was about to lift his foot to clear it when he realized Maël was already in front of him.
So fast? Azpilicueta still underestimated Maël's Speed in off-ball movement. He realized a confrontation seemed inevitable.
The devil is coming! "Bang!" A sound like a great bell rang out. No one outside could hear it, but Azpilicueta himself could. It was the sound of his flesh rolling and his internal organs trembling.
He instantly flew uncontrollably out of bounds, bouncing three or four meters. Even though his Coordination was excellent, he still fell to the side.
It was like dropping a wallet on the ground, doing a bent-over row to pick up the wallet while training core Strength.
That wasn't the end of it. Because the Strength was too disparate after picking up the wallet, his body was still pushing him forward.
Azpilicueta wanted to reverse this awkward situation, but to no avail. Instead, it caused him to curl up his body, his feet lifted into the air, making an obscene posture.
He knew he looked ridiculous, and he knew this would become a gif meme tomorrow.
It was as if the wallet he picked up belonged to someone else, and he was fleeing to escape the pursuit.
That wasn't even the worst part. More importantly, he was about to crash into the photographers on the rubber track.
"Crash!" Azpilicueta knocked over several photographers and recording equipment, sending a group of people crashing to the ground.
A full seven or eight meters!
After falling, Azpilicueta didn't want to get up anymore, but several kind photographers kept helping him up.
Azpilicueta got up with a helpless expression, just in time to see the Marseille fans holding their heads, staring at the center with horrified eyes.
"Bang!"
"Swish!"
Two crisp sounds rang out from behind him, followed by the shouts of the Arsenal away fans in the distant stands: "Yeah!!"
He painfully closed his eyes, glanced at the photographer next to him, and really wanted to say, can I lie down for a while longer?
Turning his head, he saw Van Persie pointing at Maël all the way as he rushed towards the corner flag, which should be another Van Persie-Maël cross from the wing.
Shifting his gaze horizontally, he saw Deschamps with a very complicated expression, with both concern for him, dissatisfaction with him, and a hint of bewilderment from the inside out.
Deschamps: "..."
Azpilicueta: "..."
Zero to four.
Still zero to four in the first half, this must be the most lopsided first-half score in this Champions League season! What could he do? "Beep! Beep—!" The referee then blew the whistle to end the first half, and the Marseille players finally breathed a sigh of relief, as if the sky had cleared up a bit.
But thinking about having to sit in jail for another half, their faces darkened again.
Deschamps walked into the locker room with his head down, not knowing what he was thinking, or simply wanting to escape the stadium as soon as possible?
"Bang! Bang!"
As Maël walked into the player tunnel, he soon heard the sound of things being smashed from the Marseille team's locker room. After sighing at Deschamps's bad temper, he smiled slightly.
This impression should be deep enough.
45 minutes, he completed 1 goal and 2 assists! In the 54th minute of the second half, Deschamps stood on the sidelines and saw Azpilicueta get a yellow card for tackling Maël, and called Djimi Traoré, a former Liverpool player, to his side.
This was a center-back who had experienced the Miracle of Istanbul and had a lot of defensive experience. Sending him up, he hoped he could hold on.
"After you go up, play as a full-back, don't go forward to attack, just stick to Maël for me."
Deschamps patted Djimi's shoulder, entrusting him with a heavy responsibility like entrusting an orphan, "I'm counting on you!"
"Don't worry, boss."
Djimi Traoré glanced at the time, thinking that Maël shouldn't have much stamina left now, and he should be able to hold on, confidently saying, "I have my advantages."
The substitution board was then raised, and Djimi Traoré came on to applause from Deschamps, and Azpilicueta, who had been in jail for most of the game, finally came down.
Two minutes later, Arsenal launched a quick counterattack, and Djimi Traoré was obviously not yet adapted to the rhythm, lagging behind at the back.
"Bang!"
Arteta must have suffered from him in the Premier League, seizing the opportunity to kick a long pass behind him, wanting to bully this veteran.
"Deng deng deng!"
Maël quickly cut behind him, and Djimi Traoré was overtaken and eaten raw without even turning around.
Vulnerable! "Pa!" The football hit Maël's thigh, and he used his thigh to flick the ball in front of him, and a one-on-one opportunity with a very good situation appeared.
"Oh!" The Arsenal fans looked forward to the arrival of the 5th goal, and a burst of cheers had already sounded in advance.
The Clermont family in the Marseille fan area lit up, ready to welcome their nephew's 4th goal contribution, and the eldest sister covered Ava's mouth in advance.
"Bang!"
Under the spotlight, Maël waited for the Marseille goalkeeper Mandanda to attack, then dribbled the ball horizontally to the right. Not to mention Mandanda's burst, even if he had wings, it would be difficult to save.
After dribbling past the goalkeeper, he pushed the ball into the net with an easy shot! The 2nd goal! 2 goals and 2 assists! Five to zero! "Aahh!!" The Arsenal fans in the away fan area went crazy, and the Clermont family of five in the Marseille fan area started performing again. If they had 'performance' proficiency, it would probably be lv2 already.
Maël didn't celebrate wildly this time. He saw the fans of his hometown team glaring at him, as if they wouldn't tolerate him anymore because of his identity if they disagreed.
However, with nowhere to vent his excitement, he threw a set of combination punches in place, moving Rooney's celebration action to this stadium.
"Hurry up and thank me!" Van Persie ran over and said something inexplicable.
Maël looked at him in confusion, but fortunately, the other party then explained: "Djimi used to be a very strong defender, but it was us predecessors who made him old, so you young people can be so relaxed."
"Haha."
Maël burst out laughing, finding Van Persie's jokes even worse, and retorted, "What does it have to do with you old guys? It's just that I'm young."
They then erupted in laughter again. It truly was a beautiful afternoon. The photographers by the field aimed their cameras at them, capturing many memorable photos of this moment.
Only Deschamps remained dejected on the sidelines. This resolute middle-aged man, who hailed from the Basque Region and jokingly called himself a Basque pig, seemed much older, as if he had come to terms with many things.
In the 71st minute, Djimi Traoré, provoked by Maël's performance, lost his cool and fouled Walcott, who was already in a One-on-One situation, inside the penalty area.
"Beep!"
The referee pointed to the penalty spot, awarding a penalty and, incidentally, sending off the veteran, who had been on the field for less than 20 minutes, with a red card.
Deschamps pouted, spread his hands, and contorted his face, turning his back, no longer wanting to look at the field.
Until this moment, he had been in a dazed state, just like his team.
The usually highly competitive Deschamps even had the thought that 'the red card might be a good thing,' at least if they conceded another goal, it would be more excusable.
Djimi Traoré quickly walked off, looking defeated. He didn't speak to Deschamps and went straight into the locker room.
"Bang!"
Van Persie then converted the penalty, completing his Hat-trick and extending the score to six-nil! A massacre!
Deschamps felt an extreme sense of sadness, not just because of the score, but also because he felt that everything had slipped out of his control.
In this match, they hadn't executed any tactics. Both offensively and defensively, the team had performed terribly!
This didn't look like a team that had achieved success, not like a team led by a top coach! He blamed himself, so much so that he couldn't think of anything else, completely lost in his sorrow.
"Beep beep!"
In the 76th minute, the substitution board was raised, and Maël, Van Persie, and Walcott were all substituted off together.
It seemed that Wenger saw Deschamps couldn't take it anymore and was preparing to ease up, also to protect his key players.
In the 91st minute, Arteta was still excitedly dribbling forward, weaving past two Marseille players who no longer wanted to play, and sending a pass into the penalty area.
Arshavin followed up, sealing the deal and hammering the ball into the right side of the goal.
Seven-nil! Seven Up!
Arteta completed a Hat-trick of assists!
"Clap clap clap..." The stunned Arsenal fans applauded. If they cheered any louder, they feared they wouldn't be able to return to England.
Then, an even louder wave of applause erupted. The remaining one or two thousand Marseille fans in the stadium were actually applauding Wenger's team, shedding their identities as Marseille fans.
They were purely applauding a strong team led by a Frenchman... They were convinced.
"Clap clap...!"
The Clermont family also had the opportunity to release their emotions at this moment, clapping their hands intensely, each taking a deep breath.
They had been holding it in all game!
Thank you, kind and generous Marseille fans! On the sidelines, Wenger heard the applause and pretended to scratch his forehead to cover his eyes, feeling a bit ashamed. He didn't know how to face his good friend Deschamps.
He knew this wasn't Marseille's true strength, but the opponent clearly hadn't taken effective measures after conceding goals. Deschamps was still inexperienced in some aspects, such as dealing with collapsing situations.
Thinking of this, Wenger shook his head again. When a team collapses like this, it seems no one can turn things around.
They could only learn from the experience and avoid such situations in future matches.
"Beep! Beep! Beep—!"
The referee then blew three long whistles, and in the complete silence of the stadium, the match ended.
The score: seven-nil.
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