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Chapter 234: The Crowning Match 5
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 14:36:12 +0000 UTCConceding a goal within five minutes of the restart was the last thing Arsenal needed.
And for Mertesacker, it was a nightmare. His lack of agility — that slow turning speed — was being brutally exposed.
Eto’o wasn’t even the same explosive player he’d been in his prime, but even at this stage of his career, his quick shifts of direction were more than enough to torment Mertesacker.
On the touchline, Wenger’s face tightened. He turned abruptly and shouted, “Mustafi! Warm up!”
Mustafi sprang up, excitement flashing across his face as he jogged to the sideline to start his warm-up.
Pat Rice approached, lowering his voice. “You’re thinking of taking Mertesacker off?”
Wenger nodded. “His turning’s killing us. Against a forward like Eto’o, it’s too risky. Mustafi’s lighter on his feet; he’ll cope better.”
Pat frowned slightly. “You could have Koscielny mark Eto’o. Per’s still our best in the air.”
Wenger shook his head firmly. “That would overload Koscielny. He’s already got to keep an eye on Schürrle and Hazard. If we stretch him any more, we’ll collapse down that side. Mustafi’s safer. And for aerial duels—” he gestured toward the pitch “—we’ve got Kai.”
Pat nodded. He knew Wenger was right.
Kai had proven himself in the air, especially in those Champions League battles with Cristiano Ronaldo. Despite not being the tallest, his timing and leaping ability were exceptional — and he had the stamina to keep doing it.
All Arsenal needed was for him to drop back on set pieces; for open-play crosses, Mustafi and Koscielny could manage. After all, aerial play was never Eto’o’s strongest weapon.
But Mustafi’s warm-up didn’t go unnoticed. Mertesacker, glancing toward the sideline, felt his stomach tighten. He knew exactly what it meant.
Wenger’s patience was running out.
His mind raced as he tried to refocus, but nerves began to creep in.
Meanwhile, Mourinho caught sight of the movement on Arsenal’s bench. His expression sharpened, and he immediately stepped forward, yelling from the technical area, “Go for another one! Push now!”
He knew exactly what Wenger was doing — and exactly which player was vulnerable.
Before the substitution could happen, Chelsea had to strike again.
Arsenal, trying to regain composure, pushed their formation forward.
Kai received the ball near the centre circle, turned his body slightly, and fed it to Cazorla.
Cazorla spun and played it quickly to Rosický.
Without hesitation, Rosicky unleashed a long-range strike — powerful but too central.
Čech caught it cleanly and instantly launched a booming kick upfield.
“Rosicky’s shot—straight at the keeper! And Čech wastes no time — Chelsea are breaking!” called Martin Taylor on Sky Sports.
The long ball soared toward Matic, away from Kai’s reach.
Matic rose, leaning back slightly, and flicked a header straight into Schürrle’s path.
Schürrle brought it down smoothly and cut diagonally across midfield. Before Vermaelen or Koscielny could close him down, he slipped a pass through to Eto’o.
Eto’o took it in stride and drove straight at Mertesacker.
Both Kai and Wenger’s instincts flared at once — this looks bad.
Mertesacker’s legs felt heavy. After being beaten twice already, doubt had crept in.
Eto’o, calm and confident, shifted the ball sideways, probing. Mertesacker shuffled to block the angle.
Then, suddenly — Eto’o exploded forward.
Mertesacker tried to pivot and follow, but a moment later, the striker stopped dead.
Mertesacker’s big frame couldn’t react in time — his boots skidded, and he stumbled awkwardly, taking two unsteady steps forward.
Eto’o darted into the open space, leaving him completely stranded.
Desperation kicked in. Mertesacker reached out instinctively and tugged at Eto’o’s arm.
The striker felt the pull and theatrically threw himself forward.
BEEP!
The Howard Webb's whistle pierced through the noise.
Mertesacker froze, hands immediately raised, panic flashing across his face.
Kai hurried over, trying to appeal. “Ref, that was just a normal challenge!”
But the Chelsea players swarmed in.
“That’s a foul! Penalty and a red card for being the last man, ref!” shouted Terry, waving an arm.
The Arsenal fans inside the Emirates were holding their breath.
After a brief commotion, the referee pointed to the spot — and held up a yellow card for Mertesacker.
“Chelsea has a penalty! And once again, Arsenal’s weak point has been exposed — Mertesacker’s having a nightmare out there,” said Martin Taylor.
Alan Smith added, “You can feel the tension around the stadium. That early goal shook Arsenal, and now this could really change the momentum of the match.”
Kai tried to argue with the referee, hands gesturing in disbelief, but the official’s decision stood firm. There was no changing it now.
Eto’o placed the ball on the spot.
Kai and his teammates stood just outside the box, waiting, every muscle tight with anticipation.
The atmosphere in the Emirates turned heavy — almost suffocating. The once-roaring crowd had fallen into nervous silence.
Beep!
Eto’o began his run-up.
He struck low to the left — Szczęsny went the other way.
The net rippled.
Kai had already started to rush in, but when he saw the ball cross the line, he stopped and looked up at the sky in frustration, swinging his foot through empty air.
“Eto’o again! That’s a brace for the veteran striker! The African Lion has put Chelsea ahead — and you have to say, this title race is now wide open!” shouted Martin Taylor.
Alan Smith followed, “Arsenal led early, but Chelsea has turned it around. Can Wenger’s men respond here at the Emirates?”
In the stands, Arsenal fans buried their faces in their hands, disbelief etched across every expression.
Mertesacker stood rooted in place, guilt written all over him. His mistakes had cost two goals — and possibly the match.
Then came the substitution.
Mustafi was already waiting on the sideline. Mertesacker didn’t need to look; he knew his time was up. He dropped his head, looking utterly defeated.
“Hey! Wait up!”
Mertesacker turned to see Kai jogging toward him.
“Go on, have a go at me,” Mertesacker muttered, his voice low and drained. “I deserve it.”
Kai frowned. “What? You think I came to scold you? I’m here to back you up.”
Mertesacker blinked, caught off guard. “You’re comforting me by telling me you’re comforting me?”
Kai waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t overthink it. Just watch from the bench. We’re not out of this yet — and if we turn this around, you’re buying dinner.”
He grinned, raising a fist. “And trust me, it’s gonna cost you.”
A small smile crept onto Mertesacker’s face. Gratitude flickered in his tired eyes.
He slapped Mustafi’s hand as the younger defender came on.
“It’s yours now.”
Mustafi nodded firmly. “Got it.”
As Mertesacker walked off, he passed Wenger, who turned and said quietly, “Don’t blame yourself, Per. That’s on me. I set up for Torres, not Eto’o. If I’d known, you’d have had support sooner. Watch now — your teammates will pull you through.”
Those words hit Mertesacker harder than any criticism could. He nodded, sat down, and fixed his gaze on the pitch.
Come on, lads… he thought. Make this right.
Back on the field, Mustafi took position.
Kai turned to Vermaelen and called out, “Captain! You gonna say something or what?”
Vermaelen threw up his hands. “You’re a captain too, you do it!”
Kai rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath and shouted across the pitch.
“Listen up! It’s just one goal! One! We can get it back — play our game, step by step! Don’t rush it! Mark tight, move the ball, make your runs — we’ve drilled this a hundred times!”
He looked around at his teammates, voice rising above the noise.
“Get your legs moving! The game’s not over — we’ve still got time!”
His words steadied them. The tension eased, replaced by focus.
It was only the 55th minute.
There was still a fight to be had.
