Campionato Esportiva XIV - Everything Thread

[Racao]

It was almost bedtime, and Soja had much on his mind. Racao had reached the quarterfinals of the Campionato Esportiva as an unranked nation with only one World Cup campaign's worth of footballing nation. That was reason enough to be excited; they had upset three ranked nations in the process, although one of them was sixty-second ranked Southern Sunrise Islands, who had, in turn, knocked out seeds The Sarian and Northern Sunrise Islands from competition. He was thankful that his side had managed to produce some of the best football that they had ever produced, and of course, they had been aided a bit by luck in having a good Round of 16 draw.

The game itself was, for Soja, a mark of technical excellence - not just mere proficiency, something he had striven for all of his life. Excellence in football, not proficiency, not mediocrity. Racao started out the game confident - they had a good run, and they knew that they could continue their run. They were happy - excited even - about their chances of making it on to the next competition, and they played well enough to make their dreams come true.

Southern Sunrise Islands started out strong, but as to who started out strong exactly is unknown - their players had no names on their shirts, and no one knew exactly who were playing in this tournament. Opponents of this nature had wreaked havoc on higher-ranked teams before - take the case of Lymantatia and the Giant Bird, folklore in the annals of football by now. However, a win for the Southern Sunrise Islands wouldn't be an upset on paper - the two teams were both in pot four for the group stage of the tournament.

Whoever started out strong made an immediate run for the goal marker - but the midfield wouldn't let him through. Indeed, they blocked his progress through their lines like a net catches a fallen trampoliner or tightrope walker. The midfield was nice and taut - they wouldn't let anything through. If they did, by a sheer chance, the defense and goalkeeper, Sakoto, would (hopefully) block all shots from the opposition. At least he did for most of the group stage and the Round of 16 - three clean sheets in four rounds, helped as much by the midfield and defense as by his good goalkeeping skills.

Almost immediately after the failed attack on Racao's goal, Racao attempted to strike back through a counter-attack. Mosa sent the ball flying along the side, hopefully to be caught by Ryan Arivelo or Aristotle Ipirina. Ipirina got the ball, but he was repulsed by a Sunrisian defender of unknown name, age, or pretty much anything. Back to the midfield the ball went, where Racao had the clear advantage in terms of strengths and weaknesses. Normal footballing filler - one could say - went on during this period, the monotony of pass, dribble, run, block, interception, continued.

Around forty minutes into the game - with Racao holding an advantage but unable to capitalize on it, due to some good goalkeeping as well as bad luck - one of the decisive moments that made the game took place. Albert Manasoa gained possession of the ball from the Sunrisian midfield and immediately capitalized on a weak spot in their defensive structure by sending an incisive pass right to Ryan Arivelo. After some juggling and dribbling at the front of the pitch - including some passing between Arivelo, Ravalomanana, and Ipirina - it was time to strike. Arivelo passed to Ravalomanana, right in front of the Sunrisian defenders; Ravalomanana sent the ball forward in a shot towards the goal, towards the right, but Arivelo came charging out of nowhere to surprise the goalkeeper. The score was one-nil in favor of Racao.

Soja was ecstatic, along with the rest of the Racaoan team. Their team was ahead after the first half. It was a good sign for their team, and they went onto the pitch in a new, excited mood. It was time to play now for the win and not just for the sake of playing, which some had accused the Racaoan team of doing during the World Cup that they last played. A shock came from the Sunrisian team as they sent a series of short passes through the Racaoan midfield in the way that Nephara had done, successfully, during the team's loss to the number-one side. Racao seemed likely on a collision course with a one-all draw but Sakoto held out for a lucky save that diverted the course of the ball away from the goal; disaster averted.

More footballing interlude continued as Racao continued with their smart possession and aggression - not attacking just for the sake of it, but attempting to exploit weaknesses. Earlier, the side had attempted to attack more when they had the ball, but it hadn't worked, as opportunistic teams managed to defeat the Lemurs time and time again. Soja learned from his earlier losses and sent his team on a more precise style of play rather than one that emphasized shots - all the better if one managed to land in. Racao continued to hold possession and wait for the right moment.

The right moment came seventy-eight minutes into the game; Mosa had encroached ever-more-steadily into the Sunrisian's half of the pitch; the midfield continued to maintain a good formation; the strikers positioned themselves to receive a good pass, setting them up for the goal. Mosa sent the ball to Ipirina on the far right, who had a nice angle on the ball. He touched it in such a way that it landed in the far left corner of the goal, unreachable by the Sunrisian goalkeeper. It was another goal for Racao - two to nil.

Interlude continued. Racao could not find the right place or the time to strike at the Southern Sunrise Islands' goal again - but it didn't matter. They had won, and they were through to the quarterfinals. The team was ecstatic; Soja was ecstatic but also concerned. What worked against Southern Sunrise Islands and Albaie and Boring Paradise might not work against Free Republics because they might not have possession as much - or the opportunities to be opportunistic. Soja decided to emphasize a strategy to deflect Free Republics - they are attacking, he knew, and they would head straight for the goal if they had the ball, so Soja decided to instruct his team: wait for Free Republics to make a mistake. Pounce. Make the most of the limited possession that you will have.

It might work; Omerica held them to a draw only a couple of days, and seeds have been falling like flies in this tournament of upsets. It might not work; Nephara disassembled Polkopia like they were spare machinery. All Soja knew is that his team would play their best, and they would try to take the lessons they had learned against Nephara and other higher-ranked teams into play in this next matchup. Soja desperately hoped his team would win, and he knew that they could if they gave it their all.

He silently wished the team good luck and went to bed.

[Brenecia]

Ursula Rankin licked her lips in anticipation.
It wasn't an attractive habit. Rankin herself was hardly an attractive person, a blunt speaker and with the unfortunate tendency of laughing at her own (rare) jokes. Fortunately, that didn't really matter right now - she was good at what counted, and that was scoring goals.
The Patriots could do with a few goals right now. Apox were high-class opposition, infinitely superior on paper and they'd come close a few times. Even now, a through-ball from Ibrox, Aurora's shot scorching Urquhart's palms as she tipped it over. Apox had 58% possession and 7 shots on target to Brenecia's 2. Thirty minutes to go.
Rankin was watching Sasha Bale. She could feel the nervousness radiating from her. Something needed to change in the attack, and Maddon - who had played all but five minutes of the Campionato so far - was tiring and starting to show her frustration. She'd already made a hash of a great chance, her feet tangling as she scuffed a shot wide from twelve yards.
In theory, the idea would be to shift Cullen into the centre-forward position she played for her club and bring on the quick but guileless Swain. There was just one problem. Swain had the pace of a gazelle, but the intellect and technical ability of a rhinocerous. Cullen had had the better of Fowey so far, but could Swain really keep up the service?
And so the numbers flashed up on the fourth official's board. Out would come number 9, Sheila Maddon, a lethal Premiership goalscorer. In would come number 15, Ursula Rankin, who'd never scored outside the third tier of Apox.
Did Alan Eustathios just smirk when he saw that?
Bastard. He won't be smiling soon.
Rankin raced onto the pitch, Fife (on for the brilliant-but-exhausted Blackslate) by her side. She had a mission. Kilbane, waiting patiently at the site of a free kick, waited until Rankin took her place at the far post before smashing the ball into the mixer.
Duguid and Etezadi both went for it, but Etezadi was stronger, heading it out. Rankin sighed - so much for that, then - but there was no time for self-pity. The ball had fallen to St. Cleer, weighing up her significant passing options on the counterattack, with Brenecia scattered all over the pitch. She picked out a pass to McKenna that was almost perfect... but Collingwood bravely dived in and hooked the ball clear. If that hadn't been clean, surely it would have been a red card.
McKenna came off soon after, though she'd done well. Another cap for young Alpha Gandhi, so lethal in front of goal. Rankin knew that only too well, and there was no small degree of envy involved. Same position, same club, even a similar style... but Gandhi had overshadowed her at every turn.
Fife wasn't doing as well as Blackslate in central midfield - and not clicking as well with Kilbane. The flow of the game shifted further in favour of the white and red shirts. Urquhart continued to throw herself further and further towards a Player of the Match award.
And then... the breakthrough happened. But not the breakthrough people expected.
A sustained period of Apoxian dominance, barely held in check by Duguid and Faulkner in the heart of defence. Collingwood and Given had been rock-solid throughout, but they were tiring now from their extensive running (Given especially, having started every game so far), and cracks were starting to appear. Aurora finally got the better of Given despite a lazy attempt to hack at the winger's legs as she passed, and a dangerous cross was whipped in low. Gandhi raced onto it, Duguid desperately trying to put him off, both swung at the ball and between their efforts it came off the post. Faulkner magnificently twisted his entire body to hoof it away.
Out, as it happened, to Catherine Purrington in attacking midfield. It wasn't as though she was going to be tracking back.
Thatcher raced down the left, Rankin went straight forward. Purrington shifted her considerable weight to loft the ball with her infinitely-favoured left foot, high over St. Cleer and behind a stranded Treloquithack. Thatcher ghosted in to find the ball, and flashed the ball across goal, aimed meticulously for the far post.
Rankin hadn't even touched the ball until now. And she'd only get the one shot at it. But as she turned on the afterburners and stretched a leg out just narrowly ahead of actual first-tier player Shahzad to stab it past that smirking prick Eustathios... well, sometimes one shot's enough.
The Apox national football team would get to learn that the hard way. And Rankin herself? Surely, this was her triumphant arrival on the big stage.
Watch out, Alpha. Your star can't rise alone forever.

[Nephara]

The remarkable thing about Michael Kellard's five-goal killing spree, a modern record for a Nepharim, was that he very nearly didn't play at all.
He was, after all, fresh off serving his suspension for his senseless red card - and for Riether, the temptation was very much there to make an example of him. Specifically, by shoving him onto the bench.
But ultimately, that plan was shelved - after all, Kellard had a good, long, enforced rest under his belt, and was the kind of player who thrived under pressure and in the heat of the moment. The best thing anyone could do for him was let him off the leash.
And off the leash he most certainly went.
To that stage, Kellard had a modest tally of eleven goals from twenty-six matches. Not bad, but not exactly world-beating, which was why adding nearly half again that sum to his tally against a genuinely decent opponent was probably not what anyone expected. Still, he wasn't quite in good form from the get-go - his first contribution to the match was a crunching late challenge on T'voni. A talking-to from the referee as the Polkopian fans demanded a yellow card - all that saved him was, in all likelihood, that it was the second minute.
Still, when there was a goal scored, it did at least involve him. Cawdor's cross, flicked onto the back post. Bottlegreen was there. But just five minutes later, Krenkov put a powerful strike past Ballard from just outside the box.
And, well, that was just about the last good thing that happened to the Slashers that game. Kellard made it 2-1 with a flying header from Christener's cross, then stabbed home after a nearly perfect through-ball from Ashdown. Ashdown again provided the assist for the fourth, her free kick glanced into the net off Belfast's head - 4-1 within within 39 minutes. A finishing touch was put on the scoreline when Gawain, trying to put some gloss on an underwhelming campaign personally, smashed the fifth past Opotov in first-half stoppage time.
Was that enough? The Nepharim seemed to think so. Take the foot off the gas, relax a bit, bring on some substitutes.
Kellard disagreed. He had two - he wanted more. And God, he smelt blood.
6-1 in the 50th minute. He took Cawdor's ball on the chest, swivelled and shot, dragging an ugly, slow ball past the sprawling Opotov. Hattrick. Rakeruth's cross was easy work for him, too, rising high over a shellshocked Belov and in, and only a blatant offside kept him from his fifth. Polkopia managed one of the most meaningless goals in football history in the 68th minute, Vsevolod Bilan with a mazy run before lofting the ball past Ballard, but 7-2 wasn't quite good enough. It needed one more to match the Nepharim record for a highest-scoring match.
And there it was. A long ball over the top from another substitute, the debutant Kirsten Cliving. Belov looked on helplessly as Kellard span away from him and smashed home.
Eight-two. Five goals. Job fucking done.
Have that, haters.

[The Sarian]

Cutoff.

[The Sarian]

Quarter Final Results:

Racao 3–1 Free Republics @ The Matterhorn
Nephara 1–1 Omerica (2–1 AET) @ Beckwith Memorial Stadium
Fhulghamous Peninsula 1–2 Brenecia @ Moody Brooke
Buyan 2–0 Gregoryisgodistan @ Poseidon's Palace

Semi Final Fixtures:

Racao vs. Nephara
Brenecia vs. Buyan

[Nephara]

Diandra Ballard was ready.
God, she hated this part of the match - of any match, no matter the stakes. Holding an ugly 1-0 lead in the 87th minute as the Omericans attacked very literally with the wind at their backs. The drizzle throughout the match had started to get heavier. The Omericans had nothing to lose and everything to gain by hurling themselves forward.
But she was ready.
The ball skimmed across the grass, water splashing out in its wake and soaking Stockinger's socks. She'd had a great game so far, even if there was a touch of history between her and Omerica - Stockinger had attempted one of the worst dives in the history of football against them some years ago. She'd made up for that since, with a stellar performance to shut down Jean-Baptiste Couard throughout the game, and now she made it first to the ball to hack it clear.
Only as far as Kai Eko, who had been one of the strongest Omerican players on the pitch, dominant in midfield. Kai picked out a pass down his left, to Neama - behind the fresh legs of Rosewood, who chased obediently after it. But the left winger managed not to flash it dangerously across goal for the lethal finisher Rosenkraents, but cut it back.
Ballard shifted, wary of any new threat, but christ, the rain-
- and running into focus from thirty yards out came Moana, goalshy playmaker Moana, with a blazing run that outpaced the weary Murdoch.
One touch it took him to smash it powerfully into the bottom corner. One touch to save Omerica's semifinal hopes.

They needed something special. And by God, by hell or high water, one way or another, Brendan Rivers would provide.
Bottlegreen had done good work, but she'd been extensively used throughout the campaign and was finally starting to tire. So Rivers, as so often, came to the role of super-sub, 70 minutes in.
He'd bulldozed Charpentier enough that the poor man had been brought off in the 95th, the young Martin Pall brought on. He was trying, bravely, but didn't have the muscle to compete. In the rain, it was all about physicality - and Rivers had that in spades.
He'd already lashed in a great cross that Kellard really, really should have converted, and pelted Intan's goal with a couple of decent strikes. But this, here, was a properly decent chance.
Kellard had been shoved to the ground, fairly blatantly, outside the box. Both sides were exhausted, and it was raining increasingly heavily - all technique was pretty much out of the question. Ashdown trotted forward to take it, and everyone took a nice little breather.
Rivers planted himself on the far post. Another substitute, de Vrikt, latched onto his shoulder, then looked up with a slightly nervous expression. He'd evidently been asked to mark the right winger and only really now realised that the winger in question was a 6', triangular-physiqued beast. Rivers grinned.
Ashdown took a few steps back - the free kick was maybe a little too close for her tastes - crossed herself, and chipped the ball over the wall.
It wasn't perfect. Hard to be perfect in the rain. But it was still promising, still something to work with.
Intan came for it, a little too far, flapping at it. Rivers did his best to sink his teeth into it, but it was ugly - he twisted his body, leaned back and didn't head the ball so much as let it deflect in off his forehead. De Vrikt hurled himself at the ball and missed, and Mason stretched valiantly to try and attempt a goalline clearance...
... but it wasn't enough. Dully, anticlimactically, the ball thudded into the net.
But they all counted. Rivers tore off his shirt, hurling it into the corner flag as the Omericans slumped, defeated, but they had a lot to be proud of. They'd fought hard, earned a lot of fans and almost edged the Cormorants in the end.
But they hadn't. And that was what mattered in the end.

[Brenecia]

THE ROZELLE OBSERVER
Brenecian Momentum Picks Up Steam With Decisive Win Over Colonists
by Karla Dunne

The Colonists had done well to get this far, beating powerful Nova Anglicana, but the fairytale ended despite fierce resistance against Sasha Bale's new-look Patriots.

Bale gambled as early on as team selection, with Gerry Duffy not yet fully fit, the captain Faulkner missing through suspension and controversial rests for Naphtali Thatcher (impressive enough to have played every minute of every game so far) and Cathy Blackslate, who looked exhausted after the match against Apox. Collingwood, Colback, Pendragon and Charing all picked up starts in their stead. The Peninsula picked their usual starting XI, unburdened by the expectation of having to go further - their side, largely consisting of free agents bound together through team spirit, had already exceeded most expectations by getting to this point.

The Patriots almost had a dream start, Charing's pass seeing Sheila Maddon racing clear of Singerstein (who was excellent for the entire rest of the match) before firing straight at the venerable Rashidunnin Ali in goal. But the Peninsula also tested Urquhart early on, a curling drive from Suzuki (one of the few professionals in the squad) palmed away by Urquhart. Still, the Patriots had the better of the early stages, Charing's freshness adding spark to what was, on both sides, a fairly jaded midfield. It was Charing who almost scored first, as well - but her long shot skimmed off the outside of the upright in the 19th minute, Ali well beaten.

The Patriots continued to press throughout the first half, Pendragon another player whose fresh legs were making the difference, and she nearly snuck a ball inside Ali's near post. Ali looked especially vulnerable from crosses, though at 36 could be forgiven for not being the quickest off his line. Still, in first-half stoppage time, the Peninsula again gave a sharp reminder that they were not to be underestimated. Rluwiee centreforward Pelucci, finding a long ball from Moskowitz, chested it down and scuffed a shot on goal which Urquhart did well to palm onto the ground before falling gratefully onto the ball. Mephistopheles, overzealous in his attempt to claim the rebound, went sliding in - his studs raking Urquhart's face.

After the interval, it was deemed that Urquhart was unable to proceed (though the medical team clarified after the match that it was due to the bleeding, not any significant impact to the head or concussion). As a result, South Rathia goalkeeper Sheila Cannon stepped forward to make her debut. The Patriots seemed determined to avenge their number 1, going into the second half aiming for nothing short of revenge. Within just twenty-six seconds of the restart, the Patriots were ahead. Cullen found Purrington's expertly lofted pass and returned the favour with a neat cutback, a one-two of impressive range and accuracy that cut the Colonists' back four to ribbons. It was the finish that was remarkable, of course - Purrington, forced to shoot quickly and without a right foot to speak of, managed to cut it past Ali with the outside of her left boot on a first-touch volley.

The Patriots needed a second, though - to stamp their authority on the game. They got it just nine minutes later, as a long period of Brenecian possession barely kept at bay by alert defending was finally cracked open, Pendragon rolling the ball quietly back to the D and Diandra Kilbane ghosting into position and smashing the ball past Ali. Brenecia looked set for another top-four finish and continued to stamp their mark on the game throughout, though Singerstein was likely responsible for saving another goal or two.

But a postscript was put on this, a note of caution, in the 86th minute - when the Peninsula's continued efforts finally told, Pelucci striking crisply home past Cannon (who otherwise did well without staking a claim to overtaking Urquhart). While Brenecia deserved their win, defensive lapses like that will be punished every time against the next opponents, Buyan - and, one suspects, with far fewer opportunities for the Patriots themselves to lead. Urquhart and Given both have playing experience in Buyan from prior to the Buyan FA's decision to pull out of international club tournaments, and they should know better than anyone the strength of the defending champions. Urquhart herself will make her return, as will Faulkner, Blackslate and Thatcher - though Collingwood's outstanding performance against Apox means Duffy likely faces a fight to return to his starting role. But there's no denying that this might just be one step too far for the Patriots.

Still, with Bale at the helm and presiding over a return to quick, youthful, attacking, free-flowing football, Brenecian fans are starting to dream again.

[The Sarian]

Cutoff.

[The Sarian]

Semi Final Results:

Racao 0–3 Nephara @ Liberation Arena
Brenecia 1–0 Buyan @ Gorgona Arena

[Nephara]

Theresa Riether stalked in front of the tactics board. Arms behind back, hands still clutching a whiteboard marker. The names on it were the usual suspects, and there were a lot of up arrows.
Diandra Ballard in goal, as always - a colossus, as ever. Belfast and Kruse as the centre-halves, Stockinger on the left and Christener on the right. Murdoch had taken a badly-timed knock against Racao - so it would be Rainsford anchoring the midfield, Ashdown and Gawain ahead of her, Cawdor on the left wing and Bottlegreen on the right. And the centre-forward, Michael Kellard, had six goals so far - five, admittedly, in one game. Another five in the final wouldn't hurt Nephara's chances.
"Alright, lads and lasses," Riether barked, and the murmurs around the dressing room fell gradually silent. "I'd like to start by reminding you all that I'm proud of you."
The room stared back at her. Outright praise was rare from Riether.
"You've proven yourself to me twice over so far this campaign." The manager held up two fingers to illustrate. "One, that you're capable of overcoming opponents through superior force, skill and tactics. We breezed through Racao the second time. We destroyed Polkopia, even if we shouldn't've conceded. Make no mistake, we can do the same to Brenecia. But it's the second thing that's more impressive.
"You can win ugly. The group stages were ugly. Things weren't going our way, and yet at every step you did enough. A goal against Racao was enough - the first time. Putting down the Paradise, Albaie and, hell, most of all Omerica when things were looking rough for us. And it might well come to that."
Riether took a few purposeful strides around the room, looking over her charges. "When Brenecia started to win pretty, the first time, they forgot how to win ugly. Hell, last World Cup, they forgot how to win at all. This side's a little different. This is the side that managed to stay in the game against Apox and Buyan. Tight at the back - a fucking nightmare to deal with in goal - and now that they've finally learned how to control a fucking midfield..." Riether shook her head. "A lot depends on how the midfield battle goes. Might be we can fight it out, play through them. Might be we'll have to hit it long, rely on the wings and overlapping fullbacks - ours are better than theirs. Mix it up at first, keep 'em guessing. And Tanith, they won't be used to your passing range - with all respect to you, Logan, that's a real edge she's got that they won't be expecting."
Murdoch nodded, accepting. That was the good thing about this side, one of many - no fragile egos to be found here.
"But apart from that, it's just hit hard, hit fast, hit decisively. And keep it tight at the back. If we play our normal game, we'll beat them - they won't have the chance to try anything special."
A brisk knock on the door. An assistant referee - signalling it was time to start. "Right, then," said Portia Thrift, cracking her knuckles. "Time to go out there and get started."

[Brenecia]

Ask Bale a month ago how she'd feel about her expectations. The knockout rounds would be fine, she'd've said. So would most Brenecians out on the street.
But somehow, the Patriots - with a managerial switch and missing many of their key players - had fought their way to the final. It hadn't necessarily been pretty - every knockout match had been won by a one-goal margin - but they'd done it. That was what mattered in the end.
"Alright, people, listen up!" Fiona Sylver barked - and when Sylver spoke, people listened. "Gaffer needs a word before you go out there and win the bloody trophy!"
They listened - all twenty-three of them, from the Puritan Naphtali Thatcher to the promiscuous Catherine Purrington. They'd all come together for the greater good - victory. They'd been hungry for success throughout, and they didn't want the party to end here. Not at the hands of the hated Nepharim.
Bale cleared her throat, and began with less conviction than she'd hoped to express. "Right, then. Don't think there's anything that needs to be asked about the squad selection..." Maddon up front, Cullen, Purrington and Thatcher behind. Blackslate and Kilbane holding down the midfield. Centre-halves Faulkner and Duguid who'd finally formed the understanding they needed to keep out top defences, with Given and, winning his place through his recent performances, Collingwood, as the fullbacks. And in goal, of course, was Geneva Urquhart, who'd done so much to get them this far.
Bale tried to keep herself focused. Team talks weren't her strength. "You've done so well to get this far," she started, a little disappointed at how much like a helicopter parent handing out participation awards she sounded. She recovered quickly; "But that's not enough! It's never enough to just be happy with the past. The press, some of the people, they seem obsessed with trying to reclaim former glories... but no Brenecian side has ever reached a final before. You have. And nobody thought you could. Thought we could.
"They thought, in the pre-season friendly, that Nephara would crush us. They didn't - we held them, with a new formation and new personnel, and managed a win on penalties. They thought Apox would account for us, and we beat them with a clean sheet to show for it! They thought Buyan would bury us, but they... they didn't, did they? We're here now, damn it, and it's time people stopped writing us off!"
She let that all sink in. She wasn't generally one to show emotion, and the hope was that this added some gravitas to the statement. The players nodded - determined, all of them, not to fall at the last hurdle.
"I'm not changing the tactics. They worked against Nephara before, and Apox and Buyan after that, and they'll work here. Teams like Nephara expect you to have to change your game to get a result against them - it's just arrogance. Don't let them fool you. We're going out there hard and fast, dominating the centre and releasing balls through the wings - Isa, Naphi, you've already done so much, but we need more. The Nepharim defence doesn't look as good as it's cracked up to be, and that's no secret. We will score. And from there, well... Gen, you've been the keeper of the tournament to this point, no doubt."
"I've had good help," Urquhart said simply.
"Right. And you'll have good help today. Orson, you'll have your hands on that bloody trophy by the end of the day - so keep that in mind. Aside from that, just... just keep your heads up. This one's for the taking."
A knock on the door - polite, but staccato. Bale nodded. "That's your cue. There's just one match to go, people, and a trophy waiting for you. Go out there and take the damn thing."

[Racao]

Soja was satisfied - maybe even ecstatic - about his side's semifinal run. Not only had they beaten one of the top sides in the world - the Free Republics, ranked number ten in the world and former World Cup finalists, but they had done it convincingly, by a scoreline of three to one. Three goals against one of the best sides in the world! That was simply amazing for Soja's team - not only was it exciting, but it was surprising - maybe as surprising as a Racaoan making it to the moon. No one would have ever expected for this side - unranked, and only number two hundred and forty four in the world - to make it to the semifinals of one of the sporting world's major international tournaments.

Racao's team took Soja's advice to heart as they were playing Free Republics - take the offensive, use your advantages when you have them. As such, Racao took the ball early - surprisingly - and made a foray into Free Republics' side of the pitch. When you're a top ten side, you have a good defense; the good defense immediately pounced and sent the ball to Free Republics' stellar offense, with star striker - and team captain - Kyle Bolton leading the charge.

Bolton must have not eaten his breakfast, for his play was looking a little sloppy on the pitch as Free Republics started to overextend their offense. Justin Rabelomasina seized the opportunity to defend and stole the ball out of Bolton's grasp. Free Republics was overextended - their players spread across the field, and a big hole opened in Free Republics' line. Rabelomasina passed to Mosa, who passed to Ravalomanana - who found an open goal waiting to be scored in, just begging for it. Racao had secured a foothold - but Free Republics still remained confident that this was just a fluke, that this would not be the status quo for the entire game.

Unfortunately for Free Republics, it was. Despite a Kyle Bolton equalizer - which softened some of Free Republics's fears - Racao used an opportunistic strategy to take advantage of the frequent lapses in Free Republics tactics, when everyone would move up to support the offense. Using a good midfield strategy of penetration, Soja's team went right through the guts of the Free Republics team, so to speak. Ipirina and Arivelo both scored goals - Ipirina off a good, long pass from the defense, Arivelo off an angled pass from Mosa. By defeating Free Republics, Racao continued their dream.

Their dreams might have crashed against Nephara - not only did Nephara win again, but they also won in a more convicing fashion than before, three to nil. Knowing what had worked against Racao in the group stage - and what happened - helped Nephara to find a way to defeat Racao again, although they did not have the liberty of treating Racao as a free win for their side. Racao still played competitively in the game - just not competitively enough.

Nephara ran ramrod through Racao's midfield - using the model that they had used in the group stage game to score their early goal, with short, precise passes, Nephara ran the ball through the midfield and defense with hardly a stroke of opposition. At times, Racao played with some of the brilliance that they had used to defeat Free Republics - and with some of the luck as well. After a nice pass from Nephara through the midfield, Masibo Andrianajaka managed to catch it on his feet, and angled the ball towards teammate Mosa - who angled the ball towards the striking team. Ipirina shot, but it was about a meter wide of the goal. For Nephara, catastrophe averted; for Racao, chance gone.

Nephara continued to dominate throughout the rest of the game, suffering brief heart attacks but never succumbing to the pressure. Indeed, they kept the pressure fully on Racao - pressing on Racao's vital pulse at all times, keeping Racao's midfield bottled up, not allowing them to have any more chances to strike at Nephara's goal. Nephara would advance to the final, with a final score of three to nil, sending Racao to the third place match against a dangerous opponent - number two in the rankings, Buyan.

Yet Soja still had hope for his players. Racao had upset Free Republics - number five in the rankings - and Free Republics were only a little behind Buyan. Soja also had confidence in his players - he knew his players could use teamwork, share the ball, and be opportunistic with the ball. He had given his team the same advice he gave them on the eve of the Free Republics match - use your opportunities wisely, don't waste them, be smart with the ball when you have it - you might not have it often. With that advice, Racao had defeated Free Republics; with that advice, Soja hopes, Racao would defeat Buyan. Win or no, however, Soja was extremely satisfied with the progress that his team had made in this tournament.

Soja was also satisfied with his players' progression in foreign leagues - rumor had it that stars Mosa and Chris Rakotomaharo had transferred to Cenian giants Tir Snake Strike after the implosion of Racao's domestic league. In reality, Racao never actually had a domestic league - money was never enough to pay the stars what they deserved, and league attendances weren't all that great for the rugby league. It was no surprise, then, that the owners of the clubs decided to sell off most of their good players and spend whatever transfer fees they earned developing youth football and other sports in Racao - money desperately needed.

In addition to the sale of Mosa and Rakotomaharo, rumored sales also abound to the newly developing - and cash-rich - Gelderlish league, in New Gelderland in Rushmore. Rumor has it that Felix Manendry will go to Lexington Victory, Masibo Andrianajaka will go to Vaduz Portcullis, Justin Rabelomasina will go to Royal Queenstown, and Mark Velonirina will go to Arrowhead Point. It's conceivable that in the next few seasons, Racaoans will continue to move to Gelderlish and Cenian leagues, and tempting offers come from Polaaskan in the next season.

He hoped his players would continue to develop their careers abroad - and maybe make a better appearance at the next Campionato Esportiva. Whatever their showing here, though, Soja was proud of the Racaoan national team. Very proud.

[The Sarian]

Belated cutoff!

My apologies for the nine hour delay, it turns out knowing the date isn't my strongest point...

[The Sarian]

Third Place Playoff
Racao 1–0 Buyan

Final
Nephara 0–0 Brenecia (1–2 AET)

Congratulations and commiserations to Neph for coming both first and second and thank you to everyone who took part and made this tournament a great joy to host.