Copa Rushmori XXVII (27) Everything Thread

[Pasarga]

Copa Rushmori XXVII

Are you using words as weapons ?

Cutoff for Eastfield Lodge Quarterfinals.

Eastfield Lodge 3–4 Nephara
Valladares 2–1 Anglatia

Semifinal fixture
Nephara v Valladares @ Lodger City Memorial Stadium, New Lodger City

[Polar Islandstates]

ICly, this RP is taking place after the Copa has finished.


Valhallans didn't really go in for the flaming longboat thing anymore. It was getting too expensive.

So instead, as Dima Petersen stood watching Sol Kirkkegaard being interred into the frozen earth from the back of the entourage he was surrounded by plenty of ceremonial torches being held aloft proudly. It was the done thing these days for those who chose to be buried rather than the more traditional cremation method. The smoke stung the eyes of those stood around as the official marked the occasion with rites, which gave them all a pleasingly valid excuse to be crying. It did rather raise the question of whether the torch tradition was quite suitable for a forest cemetery, but this wasn't a question anybody chose to give voice to. Instead, there was a pleasing hush over the assembled throng, with bird call in the distance, and a rustling in the undergrowth somewhat nearer that indicated the healthy presence of wildlife.

It was a beautiful spot. Petersen hadn't been to Svalbard in years; since his ejection from Astograth he'd spent most of his time flying between his two houses in St Paul and Brinemouth, Nephara, but he had resolved to take a few days to look around the countryside whilst he was up. Longyearbyen was standing a sombre vigil when he arrived by plane the day before, one of many former colleagues and players of Kirkkegaard's who'd flown in, and there was a peculiar hushed sense in the air as the people went about their business.

Petersen wasn't really listening to what the official was saying, but that didn't matter. He'd done plenty of listening in the service, where friend after family member had stood up to say glowing things about the man they all had in common. He'd performed different roles in their lives, of course; player, hero, father, grandfather, friend, community leader, manager, president... but they all had much the same things to say about him. If you hadn't known him before you arrived, you felt like you knew him afterwards. Petersen had heard so many tales of what a gentleman he was, how kind, how loving, and how fierce and passionate when the time was necessary. He was an innovator, and sometimes that required persuasion.

So, instead of listening to these final words of solemnity, Petersen was letting his mind wander, taking in the faces of those assembled and fully appreciating the surroundings.

There were plenty who'd made the trip from abroad. There were plenty of WCC people he didn't recognise, many from Apox, Legalese and Aguazul - the nations whose delegates had served as the vice-presidents under Kirkkegaard's leadership. There were representatives from New Montreal States, who Kirkkegaard had gone on to manage after leaving the Terns. And there were plenty of familiar faces from those who Petersen had had interactions with in the past - Tobias Möller, now the manager of the Pasargan national team, was there, as were Karsten Eiger and Jeremy Jaffacake from Audioslavia. Jaffacake was even managing to look upset. And then there were the Wightlings; MV Cabell and Marriner Friend-Forsaken were being flanked by the slightly shady looking Argon Skewes and Climo Coss, who kept looking over their shoulders and at the flaming torches, whilst Isabella de Llanura's ankle monitor kept beeping intermittently and disturbing the serenity, much to the annoyance of some of the Astograthian congregation. Naturally, theirs was the largest foreign contingent there, and included dignitaries of Astograthian football like Dei Ormache, Eneko Gandiaga, Edorta Urrustoy and Estebe Bularte. Kirkkegaard had been there at the very beginning. And, on the Ides of March all those years ago, so had Astograth.

There were Vilitans, Nepharim, Eurans, Mytanars, Cotdelapomais, Eastfielders, Citiz, Krytenians, Osarians... Truly, the international community had turned up in force. Petersen even thought he saw a few Sargossan flag cufflinks amongst the assembly.

And then there were the players of the Terns squads Kirkkegaard had been manager of. From the very first squad, almost all had turned up. Hansen, Bielsen, van Jendrisen, van Sorensen, Skye... even Aaron Hogg had emerged from his Sibir hideaway to make a public appearance... all the way through up to the squad Petersen had been in - Kirkkegaard's last. Petersen had had the chance to catch up with many of them before the ceremony, and he hoped to catch the rest of them afterwards: Finnibaturinn, Elmsvikur, Hemjann-Bezelhov, Ljungberg, Juul, Irndtor, Hauge, Baek... they'd all turned up for one man.

Except possibly for that scruffy looking guy in the distance with the apparent supermodel on his arm, standing next to the guy dressed as a pirate. Petersen wasn't sure what they were doing there, but the Wightlings in particular seemed to want to have nothing to do with them.

Nonetheless, for Sol, they all stood in silence.

It was a moving day. A sad day. And yet, a cause for celebration. A day to smile in remembrance of the good times he brought them. A day to appreciate how lucky they were to have such a consummate professional in place to lead the Terns in those early days. Someone who lead them so well, and who instilled in them the atmosphere of winning. Schwartz had carried that on, and then so had Rasmussen in turn, but they owed it all to Kirkkegaard when all was said and done. He'd led from the front, he'd been there from the very start. He was irreplaceable. He'd always be the first.

He understood that football, and international football in particular, wasn't just about football. Back when he was cracking skulls for RSK Longyearbyen Town and FC Torshavn, or representing Svalbard in the Valhallan Shield, he realised it was about the badge on the front of the shirt most of all. However good your feet were, what people would care about most - even if they didn't realise it at the time - was the group you were representing. You were an ambassador. You were a leader. You were recognised as such, and you have a role to play accordingly. As a player, and as a manager, Kirkkegaard never let his teams forget that. Football brings people together, and he was skilled enough to keep them together off the pitch as well. He'd fly into you to win the ball and then shake your hands in the clubhouse afterwards. He was a skilled diplomat, a real people person, and would have made a fine politician had the mood taken him. Instead, WCC President for nine cycles was more than enough, and he retired a happy man. A loved man. A respected man.

And, for all that, the crowd of people standing in revered silence as his body was lowered into the ground was a testament to that. Surely, there can be greater mark of respect for Kirkkegaard than that - for this man, who lived with as much force as he could, died a legend of Polarian football, and a hero of Longyearbyen.

A pioneer.

A leader.

A gentleman.

Sol Kirkkegaard.

[Nephara]

Legacy, man. Legacy was fucking rough.
There was this story, you know, that her terrifying father, Rook, used to tell her. He wasn't around all that often. He wasn't, if Nevaeh Cathar was honest, much of a father. But when he was around, there was this story he used to tell her, one she didn't like to forget.
"So, Navs. There's these three guys on a train, right? There's two people - a man and a woman - and a Brenecian. Heading from the Vale to Sabrefell."
It had been a weird match so far. Nephara had gone out looking to get that early goal and found it. Leona Rafford, somewhat surprisingly, rifling a shot inside Korbin Harvey's near post. Then they'd sat back, waited, absorbed the Lodge's counterattacks...
"Lots of tunnels and that, you know. Trains and shit. I dunno. Anyway. They go through this tunnel."
... and then, on the break, Dragan Stavanger burst through and belted one past Harvey. 2-0 at the break. Same scoreline as in the World Cup just gone. Gideon Fletcher was confident and powerful between the sticks, anticipating his third straight clean sheet and further evidence he should keep his spot.
"Train hits the tunnel and it's like, boom, everything's dark. All the lights out and shit. Can't see a bloody thing."
Then, in the second half, Glen Soria scored. Twice. He hadn't been marked as a particular threat, hadn't really done anything in the first half, but the second... his touch was suddenly gold.
"But there's this sort of... kissing sound. And then a really loud, hard- a proper punch, yeah?"
And then Luisa fucking Halliwell gets thrown on and scores off Asif's cross, sidefooting home with her first touch of the entire fucking tournament.
"Train comes out the tunnel and all the lights're on again- well, not the lights, but outside or whatever. The sun."
So now it was the 76th minute and officially time to panic, except proper Nepharim don't panic, they're too busy winning. Ursula Rowan and Cathar herself wait, pensive, on the sidelines. Waiting to come on. And then it happens - Nephara are bending, but they cannot afford to break.
Andrea Bereveskos rifles in a dangerous free kick, hooked into danger. Stavanger beats Rehman, the ball is flicked on into danger.
And then the second ball is won by none other than Dietrich Frostmarris, effortlessly holding Siddique back and almost casually smashing the ball home with his right boot.
"The two Nepharim are sitting there like nothing's happened. Brenecian guy's on the floor, nose is broken."
It changes nothing - Rowan and Cathar are still on for Tarashaj and Hawke. Jeurissen is already on for Lohengrin who took a bad-looking knock near the start of the half which is really bad for everything, but Jeurissen's quality, whatever. They can do this. They can do this. The crowd's happy to see Cathar. It was meant to be the story of Tregajorran and Hawke dominating this Copa but instead Cathar and Stavanger have been stealing the show. That's what Cathar is - a thief of goals, a thief of the spotlight, a thief of hope. That's what she's gotta be today. Kill the dream, Navs. Kill the fucking dream.
"Brenecian guy's thinking; 'hey, that guy must've tried to kiss that chick who tried to deck him and missed and decked me.' But in like, that stupid accent. With a broken nose. Heh."
Rafford, looking bored, finally throws it in to Bereveskos, immediately to Rowan, who's really impressed. Rowan looks up, looks across, runs, slips Bereveskos through down the right, Siddique swears and follows him, Bereveskos is faster, Bereveskos is faster.
"And the woman, right, she's thinking: 'the Brenecian must've tried to kiss me, must've kissed the Nepharim guy by accident, who decked him.'"
Stavanger rams his way into the penalty area, he's already jostling with Rehman, with... that other guy, getting stuck in, the oth- yeah, Bacon's got half an eye to the side but to the wrong side, and all those tapes her father made her watch of his great goals, always for the national team, there was always Keith Rowland, the tower, occupying space.
"And the man's thinking to himself: 'this is fuckin' great. The next tunnel that shows up, I'll make the kissing sound and smash that Brenecian prick again.'"
And Rook Cathar - and Nevaeh Cathar - had to play off him. Saunter at first. Disinterested. And then the cross comes in and you RUN and you tear past the holding midfielder and so you're there for when Bacon is caught in no-man's land and Stavanger holds off Rehman to flick the ball on to what is seemingly fucking nowhere but it's not nowhere for long, not with Cathar who the commentators will point out is 'somehow unmarked' as if to undercut the value of her timing homing in on it with purpose, eyes flick up to her target - the bottom corner - eyes flick down to the ball, she pulls back her thunderous left boot in one smooth motion appended to the run...
"So there's one of those things to this story, y'know. A conclusion or a ... a moral, that thing, yeah? A moral. Like a fuckin' parable. 'Cause, Navs, you gotta remember, in life..."
"Always make the most of your chances," she whispered as she smashed the ball home.

[Trans-Dniesters]

ПРИДНЕСТРОВСКАЯ ЦЕНТРАЛЬНАЯ НОВОСТИ АГЕНЦИЯ
PRIDNESTROVSKAYA TSENTRALNAYA NOVOSTI AGENTSIYA
PRIDNESTROVIAN CENTRAL NEWS AGENCY

PRIDNESTROVIA ADVANCES TO SEMIFINALS OF 27TH COPA RUSHMORI ON PENALTIES AFTER THRILLING ENCOUNTER AGAINST TAESHAN
By Gustav Tyumenov


Aleksey Kardashenko of the Pridnestrovian national football team celebrates his goal against Taeshan in extra time as Pridnestrovia secured their first ever semifinals appearance in the Copa Rushmori after emerging victorious in a penalty shootout.

TROUBALOUSE, PASARGA - The Pridnestrovian national football team qualified for their first ever semifinal in the Copa Rushmori after goals from Wilfried Halberstam and Aleksey Kardashenko allowed Pridnestrovia to take Taeshan to a penalty shootout, and the Red Army edged the Purple Knights in this contest after Miles Snavely ended up missing the first penalty in the shootout, a miss which allowed Pridnestrovia the opportunity to perform an upset over the veteran Taeshanis and progress to the semifinals, where the Red Army will be facing Eura.

To say that things didn't start well for Pridnestrovia would be an understatement as they were immediately fighting with their backs to the ball in terms of trying to keep Taeshan away from their goal or at the very least stop the Purple Knights from scoring the opening goal. This was the sort of contest in which whoever scored first could very well end up being the winner. In this case, Taeshan did end up scoring the opener when Miles Snavely was allowed access to acres of space by Pridnestrovia's three defenders, and after Snavely allowed Yuri Tymoshenko to make a slide tackle (which didn't make any contact with either the ball or the Taeshani), the Cenial United striker carefully measured his strike before letting loose, watching the ball twist away from the grasp of Ferdinand Abbing before running off to celebrate amid a sea of purple.

Pridnestrovia attempted to get back on level terms with the Purple Knights, but this was acknowledged to be a dangerous tactic which would definitely open up the Pridnestrovian defense and potentially allow Taeshan the chance to score the second goal to kill of the game before half an hour had even passed. Taeshan did indeed almost score again just a minute after their opener but a timely and properly executed challenge by Oleg Budny on Landon van Neymar disrupted what would have been an excellent one-on-one opportunity between van Neymar and Ferdinand Abbing. But Pridnestrovia's efforts to score their equalizer did almost pay off as well as just a few minutes after Taeshan's own chance of killing the game was swept away, Boyan Radev found the crossbar a cruel mistress as his chip over Xavier Troubadour ended up meeting the woodwork after a cleverly executed counterattack by the Red Army.

There was no lack for chances starting from the second half between the two sides, but in the end it was Pridnestrovia who profited from their chances when Wilfried Halberstam chested down the ball after a diagonal pass from Valentin Funar opened up the Purple Knights' defense, and Halberstam was able to squeeze into the space provided to him and slam home Pridnestrovia's equalizer and reignite hopes of Pridnestrovia advancing to the semifinals. Indeed, the Red Army could have settled the question in regular time after Vladislav Bogomolov won Pridnestrovia a free kick in a dangerous position just five minutes from the end of the ninety minutes. Wilfried Halberstam passed it off to Valentin Funar, who cut inside and attempted to slip the ball through to Boyan Radev. The ball did find the Marinos Thimpodopoulos striker; however, Radev's finishing betrayed him and the best he could do was fire into the side netting.

With extra time now being a reality, Pridnestrovian manager Werner Ceausescu elected to use his fourth substitution immediately by bringing in Peter Schermer in place of Demyan Wasylyk. Schermer immediately made an impact in the game and it was due to Landon van Neymar winning the ball from him that Pridnestrovia once again found themselves trailing the Purple Knights after van Neyma lobbed the ball over Ferdinand Abbing and into the back of the net. Peter Schermer did manage to make amends for himself and his team when he was able to steal the ball from Tavon Greenshire and initiate the counterattack in which he would assist Aleksey Kardashenko in scoring Pridnestrovia's second equalizer from just inside the penalty box with a controlled strike into the bottom left corner by the defender with four minutes to go in extra time.

For the second time in an international football tournament, Pridnestrovia faced a penalty shootout to determine if they would advance or not. And like the first time that Pridnestrovia faced a penalty shootout, they emerged victorious again, but only after Miles Snavely completely fluffed his lines and sent his penalty (the first by Taeshan and the first penalty in the shootout overall) into orbit to the mild bemusement of Ferdinand Abbing. It was the only time which Abbing had a moment to smile until after Valentin Funar had slotted in his penalty, the fifth for Pridnestrovia and the one which eventually won them both the shootout and the quarterfinal. Pridnestrovia will now face Eura, the third-best team in Rushmore according to the official rankings, in the first semifinal after Eura eliminated hosts Pasarga in a five-goal thriller. The other semifinal in Eastfield Lodge will consist of Valladares and Nephara.


Pridnestrovian national football team manager Werner Ceausescu: Any victory is still a victory no matter the manner it was gained

Pridnestrovian national football team manager Werner Ceausescu: "It doesn't matter how we managed to win in this game, what matters is that we won it and we made history by qualifying for the Copa Rushmori semifinals for the first time in our nation's history. I can't say that we really deserved it after we put in a half-hearted performance in the first half but the boys know what's at stake and they did their best come the second half and extra time. In the end, this is a game in which someone had to win, and because Miles Snavely missed his penalty, we were the winners. It is a win by any other name."

PRIDNESTROVIA
GK: 13 Abbing
RB: 14 Tymoshenko █ (Kardashenko - 84')
CB: 3 Vasilyev
LB: 4 Budny (Nochevski - 69')
RM: 20 Polzin (Larionov - 85')
RDM: 10 Wasylyk (Schermer - 91')
CDM: 7 Funar
LDM: 8 Bogomolov
LM: 6 Pajari
RS: 9 Radev
LS: 23 Halberstam

TAESHAN
GK: 1 Troubadour
RB: 5 Kaiba (Cancun - 74')
RCB: 4 Lafitte
LCB: 3 Chesnut
LB: 2 Turniquette (Halifax - 65')
CDM: 6 En. Petersheim
RM: 11 Vader
CAM: 10 Fuegahita (Greenshire - 80')
LM: 16 Jewsbury
RS: 7 van Neymar
LS: 8 Snavely

MATCH STATS
Possession
Taeshan: 52%
Pridnestrovia: 48%
Shots
Taeshan: 15 (7 on target)
Pridnestrovia: 13 (7 on target)
Corners
Taeshan: 5
Pridnestrovia: 6
Fouls
Taeshan: 16
Pridnestrovia: 17

[Eastfield Lodge]

Copa Rushmori XXVII

Cutoff for Pasarga Semi-Finals.

Eura 1-0 Pridenestrovia @ Taltron Park, Torgos

Third Place Playoff:
Pridenestrovia vs loser of Nephara/Valladares @ Lodger City Memorial Stadium, New Lodger City

Grand Final:
Eura vs winner of Nephara/Valladares @ Stade de Torgos, Torgos (presumably)

[Pasarga]

Copa Rushmori XXVII

Cutoff for Eastfield Lodge Semifinals.

Valladares 2–0 Nephara

Third Placed Playoff:
Pridenestrovia vs Nephara @ Lodger City Memorial Stadium, New Lodger City

Final
Eura vs Valladares @ Stade de Torgos, Torgos

[Eastfield Lodge]

Copa Rushmori XXVII

The Lion's Heart - a heart full of courage, it's what you need to win.

Cutoff for the Third Place Playoff.

@ Lodger City Memorial Stadium, New Lodger City

Pridenestrovia 0–0 Nephara (0–0 AET) (5–6 pen)

Congrats to Nephara for a debut Copa Rushmori podium finish, commiserations to Pridenestrovia for suffering in the cruel lottery of penalties

[Eura]

In spite of all the fire and ash the terrain of the Euran northern frontier did retain some of its natural touch. In areas it may have been scorched clean, replaced by blackened stone, but even then the occasional greenery would be visible. Moving south revealed an either greater variety of surviving fauna, as one moved further away from the site of the onslaught of artillery barrages and airstrikes using incendiary weapons. First Section's slow and agonising retreat had reached this point. Every one of them became aware of this once they started to see the occasional lizard or rat scurrying about in the heath. On the other hand, this did not mean that the war had ceased beyond a certain arbitrary point to the south. In fact part of the reason they had come to a stop for the first time in twelve hours was because they had reached the target that their late Sameban captive had identified for them. When the nervous conscript had spilled the beans, he gave the impression this was a small facility. At most it would be home to a dozen or so guards of another supply chain point. He couldn't have been more wrong. An old but large and sturdy industrial building had been taken over by a Sameban command and control post, home to what looked like a regimental headquarters and hundreds of men. None of them were happy about this revelation, especially not the wounded Stein. 'Firebase! He said it was a firebase! Looks more like a bloody fortress to me.'
'So what shall we do? Attack in a single file line to make things quick?' Bray's sarcasm was especially not welcome in that moment. What was usually annoying now became chillingly prescient, and that made it harder to hear. This place was a death trap.

Weather conditions overhead meant that the group were able to observe the base from as close as a kilometer away, as it would be impossible for any sentries to spot them camping out. Constant vigilance was still important above all else but at least it meant they could take their time to observe the enemy. There was almost universal agreement among the rank and file that it would be madness to attack it. They were outnumbered heavily and had very little heavy weaponry. Monty, Kat and Rowan for their part as non-military personnel agreed that it would be wise to avoid picking this particular fight. Private Green even suggested going around it at night in two groups to minimise the chances of detection and then continue south. He presented the plan to Lieutenant Brown but was met with stony silence. The officer simply continued to keep a watchful eye on the base with his binoculars. Green waited for a while before Mack decided to say what everyone was thinking in more blunt terms. 'Sir, attacking that thing would be fucking lunacy, and we can't exactly wait things out here, so lets do what Green says and go around. We can't be more than a few days from Kemperville or somewhere. The Sammies will skip the towns so we can just ride it out there.'
'You think this sort of thing is their strength?' Mack was taken aback by what appeared to be a pretty daft question. 'Lieutenant, in a place like this, anything with a bit of tarpaulin and a toilet bowl would be a castle. That? That's a kingdom.'
'If you say so.' Brown chuckled and walked away to his kit back, leaving a trail of confusion in his wake. Had the boss gone mad? Was he not telling them something? Were they all dead already, and this was just some terrifying version of purgatory?

A flare illuminated the sky above them, prompting the entire group to throw themselves to the ground instinctively. A few moments passed, then a few more. The pitter patter of light rain and the hiss of the flare gave way to the rumbling of engines and heavy loaded trucks. A convoy passed down a semi-operational road about four hundred metres away, heading towards the makeshift Sameban camp. It was noticeable that they were carrying heavy goods, namely ammunition and food, and were even then followed by two or three gas tankers. 'How do you devour a whale?' asked Brown of his subbordinates. All he got was blank stares. 'Fine then. I'll tell you. You don't try to take it on alone, its too big, even for the biggest fish. The only option is to take little bites at it all over, bit by bit, until it loses the ability to stop you before it recognises whats going on. That's the deep lying defensive strategy central command issued us with specifically for this scenario. Isolated units like us are to interrupt the supply chain of an advancing Sameban Army in hundreds of locations in an unplanned, unpredictable manner, causing critical delays and stoppages. Enough of us do that, and they'll come to a halt completely.' The metaphor explained things a bit but few really wanted to come to terms with what this meant. Kat was brave enough at least. 'We need to be one of the little fish? Nibbling away?'
'Yes, except that we've been assigned a rather big chunk.'
'So we need to take one hell of a bite?'
'Exactly. Gear up, all of you. I want to draw up a plan of action at eleven hundred hours. Keep quiet and keep low, even in this weather we are not invisible. That means you too, civvies.' Monty sat calmly on a mossy rock, raincoat pulled over his head as Kat came over to sit next to him. Both of them had come far to survive all of this, but there could be no guarantees that they would make it all the way. Monty was still pessimistic, and now Kat had begun to realise that either many of them were going home at some point, or none at all.

[Pasarga]

Copa Rushmori XXVII

Who will be able to say It's My Turn after this match?

Cutoff for The Final

@ Stade de Torgos, Torgos

Valladares 0–1 Eura

Congrats to Eura on capturing the regional title and commiserations to Valladares who come so close to retaining their title but falling at the last hurdle.