World Cup 87 - RP Thread

[Alasdair I Frosticus]

OOC - basic suggestion from Drawkland, but this one entirely my own work (with reference to the Drawkland Factbook).

And so, on to the second round, that traditional graveyard of Holy Empire ambitions; because while most people remembered the Empire had won four World Cups, few remembered that they had also been knocked out at the second stage around 20 times, by far a record among World Cup nations. And this time... well, the 2-1 victory over Vdara had been enough to secure qualification out of the group stage, but those pesky fillies of Cassadaigua had by far the better goal difference and finished first. So it was second place for the Holy Empire, and the reward was... Starblaydia. Simeone groaned; Juan Tzimisces - all of him - groaned. Well, at least the hosts had a second round blockbuster for the ages, even if the five-time and four-time champions had both seen better days... Meanwhile, in an obscure and hitherto little-known region of Drawkland...


Thrungor the Mighty, scourge of Ellzidanet, Lord of the Ash, marched across the Valley of Shadows at the head of the skeleton hordes of Karg to lay siege to the world-tree of Elstrund. The districts of Fankees and Inken had faced his wrath, and now 'twas the turn of those who would defy him by withdrawing into the great untamed wilderness at the heart of Ellzidanian territory. His grey hair flowed over his shoulders, matching his grey eyes and alabaster skin. 'Thrungor the Grey' some called him, but not to his face; not if they wanted to live. To those who felt the flail of the skeleton hordes, he was but Thrungor the Mighty.

For who would defy Thrungor? The other peoples of Drawkland dared not set foot in Ellzidanet when he was at large; it was said that even Ellzidan turned a blind eye to the troubles of her land when Thrungor walked upon Sonnel.

And yet Thrungor - Thrungor the unconquerable - was troubled in his soul. He had heard of a new force in the Ellzidanian lands, one who had given heart to the defenders of Elstrund. How could this be? How could any stand before Thrungor?

He ordered the skeleton hordes forward, through the untamed wilderness. "Advance" he cried. "Leave none alive! Destroy the tree of Elstrund, so that I might come into my rightful throne!"

To Thrungor's amazement, a single figure came through from the wilderness, wearing armour of gold and red, and wielding a two-handed sword. The skeleton hordes were powerless against his blade. No matter how many rushed the figure in armour, he swept all before him. Eventually the figure of mystery stood there on a hill of bones, the skeleton hordes of Karg defeated for the first time.

"Who art thou?" called out Thrungor.

"I am he who some call Tzimisces" said the figure, and Thrungor was sore amazed, for he too knew the legends.... he too had heard the prophecy - and now he knew his time had come, that for the first time in the life of Thrungor the Mighty he would face defeat.

"I challenge thee" said Thrungor.

"Aye" said Tzimisces. "For so it is written, and so it must be."

"Thou art the challenged party" said Thrungor. "The choice of weapon is thine."

"I choose the penalty kick" said Tzimisces; and for the first time in his life of savagery and plunder, Thrungor felt fear.

A goal was built from the bones of the defeated skeleton hordes there and then, in a clearing in the wilderness. Thrungor and Tzimsces each took turns to kick a skull towards the goal, with the other great warrior acting as keeper of the goal. The first warrior to kick the skull into the goal five times would achieve the victory.

Thrungor went first, and scored first; but Tzimisces also scored.

Thrungor kicked another skull penalty; but Tzimisces also scored.

Thrungor kicked a third skull penalty; but Tzimisces also scored.

Thrungor kicked a fourth skull penalty; but Tzimisces also scored.

And thus it was that Thrungor kicked his fifth penalty - over the cross bar of bones; and Tzimisces then scored.

"You have vanquished me, O Tzimisces" said Thrungor. "For so it is written, and so it has come to pass."

"Aye; and now you must pay the soul-price" said Tzimisces.

Thrungor bowed his head in defeat.

"I banish thee from the valley of Elstrund; I banish thee from the Ellzidanian lands; I banish thee from Drawkland; I banish thee from Sonnel."

"The soul-price is fair" said Thrungor, and turned away. A portal flashed open, and he left Sonnel forever.

Thus it was that the world-tree of Elstrund was saved, and thus it was that the sacred ritual of the penalty kick became the favoured form of duel in in Ellzidanet.

Thus it was written, and so it came to pass.

[Pasarga]

Griffiths sat in the window seat of the plane that was taking him and the rest of the Wanderers back to Rushmore. However it was not back to the dual islands, it was over to Taeshan as the cohosts had decided on an extremely uncommon format where teams were forced to switch their locations based on where they finished in the groups and had advanced. Luckily it was not just his team that was having to make the long trip from Ethane to Taeshan and have a game in just a few days time, their opponents were also having to suffer from the same fate and at least neither time would have the advantage of being more rested than the other Meriadoc thought to himself. It was a bit like going home though, go back to ones own region for the duration of the knockout rounds, assuming that the squad was able to find a way against a top ten in the world and contender for the title in Baker Park in the Round of Sixteen. It seemed a bit unfair to Griffiths that he had managed to get his side to win a group after having been bested by the Dragonflies and yet their reward for that effort was a contest against one of the better teams left in the competition.

However Griffiths had heard about what transpired in the match between the hosts and Ko-oren and had been completely baffled by the decision to allow that goal and the result stand in earnest. After all the nice things that the Torgos Tribune had written about Ko-oren after the last matchday, that they had succumbed to such ugly gamesmanship in order to get a more favorable tie in the second round was absolutely wretched. It confirmed in a lot of Pasargans minds that their stance on those who play ultra defensive football was right, that they were cheats and were not actually playing the beautiful game but disgracing it. It was not an opinion that Griffiths entirely shared, he knew how his homeland liked to play the game and they were quite similar to that of the Audioslavia and Ko-orens of the world. However even Griffiths had to admit that what happened between Ethane and Ko-oren was something that he had to consider disgraceful and he could only hope that it would come back to bite them in the rear and they were subject of an upset, which were occurring with a relatively high level of frequency in this World Cup.

The game against Squornshelous went exactly as he had planned for it to go, which reinforced his confidence after it had been somewhat shaken by the defeat to Ko-oren. He knew that Squornshelous believed in the Bettian style of football, which was to say that they were an all out attacking team, much like the folks from Quebec were. Studying the game film had shown that they favored a wide 4-3-3 that looked to overwhelm the middle of the park and the overpower the defensive line that was supposed to make the defenders make mistakes. To counter this, Griffiths deciding that he had to play all of his best defenders, meaning that captain Deli Ács and Tabor Csikós were both relegated to the bench instead of starting in their usual fullback positions, where Rozalia Sebeôk and Anita Szarka filled in respectively. Mária Vöröss was also sacrificed in the middle like the previous game, but instead of going with Kuruc for double defensive midfielders, Márió Szölösi was given the starting nod to keep an attacking flair but also someone who could work from box to box when called upon.

The Squornshelous crashed upon the wall of the Wanderers' defense and was repelled like a sea wall breaking a storm surge, there was no way through for the Squornshelous attack. Not much had been made of the Wanderers' defense through the first two matches of the group stage but Griffiths held his faith that the unit had enough talent in it to keep the team in games until the attack found a way to flourish. While it had failed to do so against Ko-oren, that was by no fault of the defense and they had done their job in keeping the opponents to two goals or less, which had been the goal. Griffiths believed that if the side could keep their goals against average to under two a game, their offensive talent was good enough to have them win the majority of their matches. Unlike the match against Ko-oren, the Squornshelous defense was nowhere near as good as a collective and it came as no surprise when Erik Földessy broke the deadlock in the forty-second minute, before Boriska Nagy sealed the game in the seventy-third minute after coming on a second half substitute for Elek Salai. That was that, the Wanderers had went out and played as he had wanted and gotten the result, no they were off to the knockouts.

The team was returning home though, to the home of Rushmore where Griffiths was expecting a much large fan showing of support than having been in Esportiva and Ethane. While Ethane had been nice enough, there were not many of the Wanderers faithful in the crowds, it having been a huge trip and a costly one at that. The inverse was true for Taeshan, as tickets were expected to be far cheaper given the size of their stadiums and the crazy amount of capacity that their stadiums were known for. It would be the fan support that the team would need to take them that next level up to where they would need to be to compete with a team the quality of Baker Park. They were coming off a shock loss to Geektopia, part of the pair of results that had seen the title holders ousted from the tournament at the group stage with Banija also losing their game, sending Geektopia to the top and Baker Park as the Wanderers' foes. For an offensive side, they were relatively good on the defense side as well, only allowing a pair of goals in the group stages, which was quite a feat given that Banija was in the group. Griffiths knew this was going to be a mighty challenge but one that he believed that his side was ready to take head on.

[Tikariot]

OOC Disclaimer: Soundtrack: After Forever - Mea Culpa

A distant rumble disturbs the serenity of the old, dilapidated graveyard. Looking up, the stars are still silent obsevers of the scene, but with the dense foliage of the trees surrounding the clearing obscuring the majority of the night sky, one can only imagine what lurks beyond. Gingerly, almost reluctantly moving forward between the fallen and cracked tombstones, the camera is following the faint, flickering glow of torches leading deeper into the graveyard. Much of the pathways is nothing more than roots and tall grasses, with low-hanging branches doing their best to obstruct progress. Old, crumbling mausoleums loom to the sides of the path like dark sentinels of a long forgotten past rising from the damp earth, the remnants of wooden crosses litter the ground, splintered, rotten, becoming one with the ground, tall stone crosses stand guard, many of them headless, their tops fallen to the ground, shattered.

The Shadow: Sometimes the past glories are not as shiny as they seem, but not more than the crumbling husks of what once was.

Another rumble, now sounding louder and closer than before, replaces The Shadow's low, morose voice. A breeze rustles through the leaves, making the Spanish moss sway, almost giving it the appearance of actively moving and reaching out for any lost traveler daring to disturb the peace of the dead. Then suddenly a crumbling wall obstructs the path, yet the glow of another torch can be seen beyond. The loud hoot of an owl close by makes the cameraman jump and swivel around, but there is nothing but the dark shapes of the graveyard. But while the sounds have not changed, they suddenly seem louder, closer, somehow amplified as if everything is closing in. As the breeze grows stronger, the shadows suddenly seem to come alive with the leaves and branches of the trees moving, the Spanish moss almost looking like wraiths trying to capture the insolent intruder. The cameraman scrambles backwards until his back is against the cracked wall.

The Shadow: Sometimes the ghosts of the past return, but not always to rekindle the glory and inspire the present, no, sometimes it is to haunt, to remind of past failures or as a solemn memento of what greatness laid in the past and is now a burden, weighing down expectations.

Scrambling over the wall in a desperate attempt to escape the increasingly oppressive atmosphere of the graveyard, the cameraman shakes loose bug chunks of stone, almost losing his footing in the process. Tumbling to the ground on the other side, he keeps the camera on the wall as if expecting someone, or something, to follow him, but it all remains quiet as the wind dies down again, the sounds of the bayou returning to their usual level. Slowly he gets back to his feet and turns around and he gives yet another start. The outline of a church comes into view, a pitch black silhouette against the canopy of stars, looming over everything. Edging closer, the stone façade is showing cracks, missing pieces littering the ground as far as the shine of the torch mounted in the doorway reaches. The tall wooden doors of the church have long rotted away, their remnants scattered about and only the hinges remaining in the dark, forbidding looking stone. As ominous as it feels, the flicker of torches from the inside urges the cameraman to step across the threshold. The scene unfolding is one of both beauty and destructions. The pews are mostly broken down and in shambles, dust and dirt covering whatever is still standing. Statues of angels and saints are toppled over and broken, any valuables long stripped away. Some of the high roof has caved in and allows the pale light of the moon to filter through, casting an eerie glow onto the crumbling altar. Many of the once beautiful stained glass windows are cracked and broken, some with tree branches and vines growing through them.

The Shadow: And then there were 16. The stories of David and Goliath continue to be written, with changing protagonists.

The camera swivels around and shows the hooded figure of The Shadow standing high up in the pulpit, the moonlight making him look like an unholy apparition. The thunder now sounds closer than ever and the wind has picked up, moving the branches, which hit the outside of the church and its windows.

The Shadow: Vilita, Turori, Drawkland, Audioslavia and most shockingly Banija. Oh how the mighty have fallen, fallen from grace far earlier than anybody would ever have expected. Is it the dawn of a new age? Who knows? One thing is for sure, though, things might never be what they were again.

A mighty thunderclap interrupts him, followed by a loud, low rumble that shakes the church to its foundations. As the clouds that accompany the thunder move in front of the moon, the inside of the church suddenly is plunged into darkness, only the few torches fighting to keep the blackness at bay. The wind is now audible and a bolt of lightning sends its ghastly white light across the inside of the church, briefly outlining The Shadow, making the following darkness feel even more complete.

The Shadow: While their numbers have dwindled, the Davids are still there, Geektopia, Poafmersia, Tikariot, whoever would have dared to predict these three to still be standing after the group stage prior to the qualifying stage kicking off, would have been called a dreamer, a utopian, a fool. Now he would be called a visionary, a prophet. Drawkland, Astograth, even the mighty Nephara have not been able to withstand the force of the Dark Tide, which now is ready to stare its next adversary into the eye: Farfadillis.

In this moment the heavens open up and a torrential downpour begins to drench the church and its surroundings, extinguishing some of the remaining torches, thunder roaring, lightning painting its jagged, blinding light across the night sky. The wind that also has continued to pick up is now whipping the rain against the windows and through the holes in the roof, water quickly accumulating on the cracked tiles that make up the church's floor. The frequency of lightning also is continuing to increase, making The Shadow's dark silhouette appear to be moving in slow motion in the storm's strobe effect.

The Shadow: They all did not think that we would be a real, viable threat to their established structures. They sowed the wind, now they are reaping the storm!

The Shadow's voice rises during the last words, not only to compete with the increasing noise of the raging thunderstorm. Suddenly a lightning bolt strokes, hitting the pulpit with a deafening crack. In the light of the continued lightning activity the camera shows the pulpit in pieces, smouldering, empty. Then, clearly surprising the cameraman, The Shadow's voice comes from behind him.

The Shadow: The Dark Tide is ready, Farfadillis...

The cameraman wheels around only to see The Shadow's silhouette in the broken entrance to the church, silhouetted against the flickering torch behind him.

[Kelssek]

“…Ó Tuathail can really get around a defender but Tiones stopped that run. Kelssek get the first corner of the match though.”

There was pushing, jostling, and a well-timed move that got Phillip Lozic a free header. There was no way Mako Canopii was getting to it. The crowd gasped as the ball struck the post and was immediately lumped upfield up by Inbekira Ajhabekk.

“Set piece play could be the way for Kelssek to get a chance at maybe stealing this against the five-time world champions. If they’re going to get an upset, it’s moments like that they’ll have to take advantage of.”

Good thing they didn’t listen to the commentator.

“the ball’s been taken away by Vinter... Fair challenge says the referee!... Ó Tuathail can cross here...”

It seemed like Colm had overhit it at first, but he’d spotted what the Vilitan defence hadn’t, James McDonald rushing in two steps behind Brayden Custworth but, crucially, a step ahead of Lohani Riiyaaw. Jirak Trikala had recovered and was coming in fast, though, and James strained to get the shot away before he lost his balance. He just about managed it, tumbling to the left as the ball went towards the near post. This time there was only the crack of the ball hitting the post on almost the exact same spot as 6 minutes ago. It was as if the fans were just too stunned to react.

“...oh, and that clearance hasn’t gone into touch. Tiones has kept it in... Milasso and Tarala arriving in the Kelssek box...”

Damien Halliger was ready for the header but the aerial contest wasn’t a clean one. The ball glanced off the side of Halliger’s head and fell to a completely unmarked Kudii Davasarii, who’d made the late darting run into space while the backline was fixated on the pair of Vilitan forwards. Kai Poirier just made himself as big as possible and prayed the ball would hit him. There was nothing Damien Halliger could do and he was as stunned as everyone else to see the ball drift molecules wide of the far post.

“That’s a shocking miss from Davasarii!... But this is more like it from Vilita. That early scare has jolted them into life. It’s feeling like a matter of time now.”

It was a matter of survival. Kai Poirier pulled off a diving save to deny Milaaso, and Kelssek’s players threw themselves in front of shots to rack up nine blocks by the 45th minute. Half time was a relief. And then, well, sometimes you need a bit of luck.

“That corner’s dealt with, but the danger’s still there... Wylten...! It’s in!! It’s Kelssek who have the lead!”

“It’s taken a deflection but it’s a great strike, from the edge of the penalty box and through a forest of legs. He’s maybe even looking for that. The goalkeeper sees it late, and it’s not just a good shot but a really smart play as well. That’s some real quality from the Hondo FC forward.”

Vilita immediately pushed back. It was back to survival mode.

“...they’re just happy to scramble that one away. Hang on, is Thamior Liadon going to get on the end of that? He does! And Canopii is out to challenge… but it’s a composed finish by the full-back! Kelssek are up two-nil! Never in their wildest dreams could they have expected this!”

Running on adrenaline.

“And it’s bundled in by Limu Katarakhna!... Don’t go away just yet, this could be a wild finish! Vilita have pulled a goal back with six minutes and stoppage time to go!”

Sheer desperation.

“And the referee blows the final whistle!! They’ve done it, they’ve beaten Vilita! Kelssek are into the knockout stages!”

KELSSEK – 2 Wylten (51’), Liadon (79’)
Poirier, Liadon, Halliger, Lozic, Vinter, Blueman (Demetriev 66’), Lapierre, Ó Tuathail, McDonald (Dionne 72’), Wylten (Taleb 78’), Custworth.
VILITA – 1 Katarakhna (84’)
Venue: The Dome, Knightspurs (attendance 91,344)

[Farfadillis]

"Now, here's the next question from the audience." The interviewer carefully opened another envelope. "Tohomás, seven years old. Another Faroleran! Tohomás says he looks up to you and wants to be like you when you're older. You're his ídolo. Now, interestingly, Tohomás apparently seems wholly uninterested in how you got where you are. He just wants to know who your ídolo was."

Emiliano chuckled. "That is an interesting question. Makes me wonder who my ídola's ídolo was. My guess would be Elaine Ashdown, but it's really anyone's guess."

"Huh, I think most of us expected Wçêíl or Êns as an answer. Maybe Wínrôuge."

Emiliano chuckled again. "Yeah, I was a bit of a weird one, I guess. I loved those three, of course, but it was Meier I was obsessed with. Early on in my career, I tried to take after her, although eventually I realized I just had a different skillset."

"What differences do you see between you and her?"

"Well, for starters, she was completely ambidextrous. I swear I tried to take after her in that regard but..." He scratched his head, a bit ashamed. "I guess this is as good as my right foot can get." This was met by some fake laughter from the interviewer. "But I'm also considerably faster than her, so I've got that going for me. It does mean that a few years ago I had to rethink my playstyle, though. I kept trying to be Scheherazade, but I'm just Emiliano, if that makes sense. I feel like when I fully realized that, my career truly took off."

"That's some great insight, Emi. I'm sure we're all wondering, though, and please don't take this the wrong way, but what did you see in Meier? She was a great footballer, no doubt, but she was never the best Farf around."

"No need to go shitting on my childhood like that..." He replied with a smirk. "But, honestly? I think it was just how little of a fuck she gave. She passed up on the Cormorants, then recent world champions, to become the first woman to play for la Vherderoja. She then managed to hang onto a starting spot for almost a decade. She didn't give a fuck that most people didn't even consider her a Farf, either! She just absorbed all the criticism. Hell, she even kept playing in Nephara, and never really moved here. She got heavily criticized for that too. So, yeah, I guess I always liked how little she cared about the haters." He stared at the ceiling, thinking his answer through. "Well, I guess she was the only Faroleran attacking player around back then. So yeah, I guess xenophobia played a part, too."

"Do you feel like you've managed to imitate her in that regard?"

He smiled. "No, not at all. Well, somewhat... I guess. I definitely feel like I'm more impervious to criticism, if you will, than some of my teammates. But I don't think I'd be able to put up with abuse as easily as she did. I hope I don't get to find out, either."

"Do you feel like any of your teammates have an easier time crumbling to pressure?"

"Oh, for sure. Röémün's a big sissy, for one." Emiliano was sometimes not, it turns out, a great teammate. "Alxíkí takes the cake, though. I remember last World Cup he told us that his revolutionary cult club thing had come to the hotel to threaten him over his performances. He looked pale as a ghost! I almost thought they'd killed him already." The interviewer smiled awkwardly.

"I see, well, moving o—"

"Oh and also I don't get Çí Xôrí. Pam hands him the slightest criticism and that's him underperforming for the next five matches."

The interviewer coughed forcefully. "Moving on, Boludangas, 15, wants to know what you think is your biggest strength."

"Ah, besides my pace, surely? Cause any dimwit could tell that's my biggest strength."

"... Besides your pace, sure."

"I'm great at killing off games. If you ask me, that's an undervalued skill nowadays. But it's an art! There's nothing sweeter than watching the faces of the opposing team when you've just personally crushed their hopes."

Ӿ Ӿ Ӿ Ӿ Ӿ

The match had started out well enough. Fifteen minutes in, Faragó had buried a great chance Çí Xôrí had created for him. Two minutes later, the Çídh brothers had combined perfectly to score a second goal. They had looked like the better team throughout the first half, and Chromatika had even scored in their game, so they were through, short of a disaster.

Obviously, this meant nothing for Pam Scott. She knew just how stupid her players could get in instances like this. Hell: she'd watched Banija make a comeback in ten minutes... in a semifinal. Putting seven past them in the process. She was, suffice to say, taking nothing for granted.

So it was not quite a surprise when the Reapers came out all guns blazing in the second half and the Farves found themselves either unable or unwilling to contain them. They were still getting quality chances, sure, but scoring two or three more would be of no use: putting themselves at risk of conceding three, though? That would be a disaster. She'd taken up meditation recently, but it was not quite enough to stop her from immediately subbing out Ûsêtêrnìx after he let Huitema-Omeasoo sneak past him to score the Reapers' first goal. Lsôs did not improve the team, unsurprisingly.

When Yi scored with an honestly mesmerizing volley from the edge of the box, Pam could already tell what was about to happen. Two-two and one goal would knock them out, as would two goals from Turori. The minutes went by, and the team didn't seem to react. She wasn't getting any closer to figuring them out, it would seem. Her Baker Park teams would never have had trouble taking care of business under these circumstances.

The minutes disappeared one by one, as did most of her fingernails. Five minutes of injury time? She was too nervous to protest. Five minutes. That's how long they had to hang on to progress to the next round. The Quebecois tried and tried to get past the defense. As an attacking team, they started overcommitting more than usual. For some reason, her players had apparently forgotten how to be deadly on the counter, all of a sudden! For the first time, in forever, she started cursing at them. "Complete a fucking pass, Ígnîgo!" and "Goddammit, Sürgân!" were heard more than once, as the midfield was proving very subpar towards the end.

In the ninety-third minute, Huitema-Omeasoo found enough space to try to curl it towards the far post. Ibrelaná managed to barely get to it. Fortunately, Exihosahar got to the rebound first. Not wanting to complicate things, he just up and punted it, not aiming anywhere in particular. Except "away", of course.

The ball flew across the pitch. With Pam splitting hairs, Gallegas managed to head away Exihosahar's clearance. The ball flew over the goalkeeper's head. "Wait what the fuck?!" Pam asked herself, as she watched Okello quickly sprinting back, trying to make up for his massive blunder. Okello and Raeff were trying to get to the ball before Emiliano, but the Faroleran was a man on a mission. He left the two biting the dust, got to the ball first, then calmly "walked it in". As the rest of the team ran after him, Pam just sat down and asked Rob for a bottle of water. She really, really needed it.

[Squornshelous]

Coincidence, Part 12
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

The halftime whistle had gone, and advertisements had taken over the projected screen at the Ministry of Sport. The Red-and-Black had conceded the match's first goal just a few minutes prior, but were putting together a decent performance despite that. Having already exceeded the expectations of most by earning two points in their first two matches, they would either find a way to break through the Pasarga defense, or they wouldn't. Sweyn Petrov's mind was on other things.

Arriving at the double doors of his office, he swung them wide, then gestured to his guest to enter. Minister of Security Rakel Shevchuk proceeded through. She was a tall woman, with long brown hair worn loose. Her navy pantsuit was impeccably tailored, and the way she carried herself exuded absolute confidence. She sat down in one of the two leather armchairs, crossing one leg over the other, and looked expectantly at Petrov as he seated himself behind the desk.

"Do I get to find out what I'm doing here now, Petrov?"

"I must admit, viewing the match was not my primary reason for inviting you tonight. I have important news to share."

"I'm listening."

"Significant changes in our government are taking place tonight. Several ministers, including the High Minister will be replaced, and the Emperor will abdicate in favor of a successor of his choosing."

"Of his choosing, or yours?"

"The difference at this point, is academic. As we speak, High Minister Fedotenko is being taken into custody. He will be put on trial for misconduct and incompetence in high office, and found guilty. Those loyal to him will be removed. The Imperial Residence will be occupied by loyal troops, and the Emperor will announce the changes to the nation tomorrow morning. Nearly all the pieces have already fallen into place, but the fate and future leadership of the Ministry of Security is still to be determined."

"Thank you, that's the final piece of a puzzle I've been working on for a month."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry to deny you the satisfaction of a shocked response, but this makes perfect sense. We've been tracking an unexplained escalation of dissident activity over the past few weeks, and had no explanation as to the reason why. If they've caught wind of your plans, timing their big push to coincide with your transition of power would only be logical."

Petrov felt off balance, he had been prepared for surprise, or even outrage on Shevchuk's part, but not the sudden introduction of new information. "Dissidents, I'm afraid I don't quite follow you Minister Shevchuk. Our preparations have been quite confidential until this moment."

"No operation is airtight. That you've been able to keep it from me is impressive, but preventing any leaks of information is a practical impossibility. Somewhere along the line, a NewCon sympathizer found out, and now they're trying to take advantage of the disorganization your coup will cause."

"I assure you Minister Shevchuk, there will be very little to take advantage of, particularly with your cooperation. We feel it would be most advantageous for you to . . ."

"I know that you wouldn't be telling me a word of this if you felt there was anything I could do to stop you. I don't care to test that assessment, and I don't care about your power play, or who gets to sit in the big chair. You want to be Emperor? Fine. What I do care about is the safety and security of this nation. You want my continued support, show that you do too. We have an opportunity to crush NewCon once and for all tonight, give me resources, and free reign to do what I need to do."

"Minister Shevchuk, I believe we have an accord."

[Taeshan]

Let's get down to business

[Ethane]

You've made it into paradise!. Welcome to Ethane (obviously joking). Welcome to the World Cup knockout rounds!

Cutoff for Round of 16

[Commonwealth of Baker Park]

Taborn--'We're not losing'
by Oliver Stanley
The Post Chief Soccer Correspondent

BPNT midfielder Lorenzo Taborn made clear his intentions ahead of the match against Pasarga in the Round of 16 here in Taeshan.
"We're going to go out and do our thing. We're gonna play the way our fans know and love. We're not losing this game."

The player from MTK Kingsville is generally known for his vocal leadership in the dressing room, but he tends to leave it behind the closed doors; his public statement is a departure from the usual modus operandi of the national team squad, who keep their emotional thoughts to themselves. Taborn said he felt the need to speak out in light of the importance of the upcoming contest.
"I'm damned sick of all of this whispering about how we aren't tough enough, we're not quite good enough to win the World Cup, that we are slipping in ranks because we've peaked too soon. I ain't hearin' none of that anymore."

The first ever meeting between the Wanderers and Bees will determine one of the last eight survivors, who will face off against the winner between Chromatika and Nephara. The Commonwealth have never beaten the Cormorants and have battled the Anomalies in the AOCAF, yet have just the win in the semi-final there and another draw in the seven previous encounters.

There is also the stark historical precedent that BP have not dropped the last group stage match in a World Cup then won in the subsequent knockout round match. That will have to change if the the side are to make a run to the title in a relatively wide open field with the departure of Banija from the tournament.

The team will break out the 'lucky' uniforms worn in the AOCAF--white shirts and black shorts--and will revert to the lineup that won 4-0 over Savorjarna.

lineup:

Johnston; Bartok, Onikambe, Jordan; Rizzo, Westmoreland, Taborn, Ngoba; Bozeman (C); Simmons, Wadsworth

[Valanora]

If there was one thing that the Vanorians knew about facing off against Siovanija & Teusland, it was that Thorsten Kramer was their best player and was one of the best players in the footballing world at the moment. The key to containing their opponents was to keep Kramer from single handedly defeating you, make the rest of the team rise to that level. That was not to say that they did not have good players in the rest of the squad, but it was a lot like how people viewed the Marauders, if you could isolate and take out the best player, you had a much better chance of defeating the team. It was why the Marauders constantly saw teams send a double team on Hawk, sometimes even a triple team if on a corner or from ultra conservative defensive teams. Kramer had more or less willed the Siovanija and Tuesland into the Finals after a very shocking first leg defeat in Atlantian Oceania, getting the team over the hump in the second leg with some dramatic late heroics that had the Vanorians southeastern neighbors advance into the Finals by the virtue of the away goals rule. That performance alone showcased heavily the talent and impact the player could have on a match and why it was imperative for the Marauders to try and contain him if they were going to get a victory.

Didrik Gjedrem had carefully considered his options to do so, there were very few true destroyers that were developed in the Vanorian way of playing the game, despite the national team system relying on an out and out destroyer to really work the way it did. For years now, anyone who really seemed capable of playing that sort of pivotal role in the middle was often sent to one of the more physically demanding leagues in order those traits in order to better to get into the mold the national team needed. Fortunately, there was one such player that really fit the bill and it was Jakob Larsen, a tall player who had developed his game in Eura's Gold League. There was also Gideon Riemann on the bench, if the older legs of Larsen needing freshening up, but this was the man tasked with containing Kramer for the match. Larsen was tall, lanky, but strong as heck with a good amount of pace to make up for any mistakes in judgement. Didrik was now asking him to try and mark one of the best players in all of the world and the best player in all of their opponents' entire footballing history out of the match, it was a tall ask but one that had to be filled out for that chance at victory and progression.

Their opponents looked up for the occasion as the two sides lined up and waited for the whistle to get underway, Didrik knew that this was the farthest that their neighbors had ever gotten in the tournament and now they were playing with house money. The pressure to perform and to meet or exceed expectations was not the same as that had been placed upon him and the Marauders, their opponents still had a legacy to write while that of the Marauders was known far and wide by anyone with a remote interest in the international game. In a way that probably meant that they were able to play more loose and with nothing really to lose if they were not able to overcome the Marauders, he could hardly blame them for that attitude. His side though, his side looked as confident as he had ever seen them after having a very good group stage following a rather impressive Qualifying campaign as well. There were few words that had to have been said in the pre game meeting, it was more about keeping the team calm and focused on the task at hand rather than thinking too far ahead of too far back. The focus had to be on the match in front of them.

At eleven minutes into the forray, Didrik knew that his team was focused and not thinking about what might still be down the line for this squad. Veliz had gotten a clear from Gundersen and had paired up with Larsen for a series of one-twos to advance up the wing before shifting a pass into Hawk at the top of the box. The attacking midfielder pushed it into the box on a cheeky first touch through Jager's legs and Saxstrom dashed onto it, rounding Heuser and slotting home the short angle shot with the calmness one would expect of a striker of her experience and caliber. Fourteen minutes later and it was the lad who was plying his trade in Siovanija and Tuesland that would get on the scoresheet, on a magnificent individual effort, collecting a cleared header from Matheo Dybvik just inside his own half. Chesting it down, he turned and accelerated off his mark as Maksimov was caught offguard by the striker's combination of strength and pace. He glided across the field like a gazelle over the plains and as he entered the area, he feigned round the keeper before carefully lofting a shot over Heuser who tried to relexively kicksave but was unable to, the Marauders doubling their lead. Tauscher had been able to get past the defensive line and put in a solid low effort to the near post just before the halftime whistle, yet Julius Miljeteig was able to dive down and push it around the post to keep a first half clean sheet.

"That is what I want to see from you all, you are doing a great job out there keeping the press on them and not giving them an inch. Larsen, keep doing what you are doing, Kramer has been completely marked out of the affair and if you can keep it up, this match is our and we are all one step closer to that goal I know you all want as much as me. Go out there and finish this match, earn that kit that you are all wearing and all the legacy that comes with it." Didrik was energetic and emphatic, he could taste the victory after such a brilliant first half display. He had never been able to bring the Rockers to the pinnacle of club football, having coming agonizingly close a few times, but ultimately coming up short. He had been able to take the Marauders to the top of the Eagles' Cup and this was his first World Cup with the team, he wanted that success so dearly.

The second half was not as clean as the first half had been, the Goldhorns were trying their hardest to try and get back into the match and match the intensity that the Marauders had brought to the match. Kramer was dropping back more to try and get involved but Larsen was not allowing him an inch once in possession, keeping to his assignment like his life depended on it. Laborious Hawk was able to dispossess Bahr and shot the ball quickly out to the wing, Indra Söderström was quick to get onto the loose ball and advance down the sideline and towards the byline, allowing the full force of the Marauders attack to come forward. A high driven cross moved through the air at a pace and Larsen rose high to flick it onto the far post, where Veliz was there to easily redirect the ball into the back of the net. Three to nothing with just twenty-two minutes to go, Didrik knew that this game had been secured with as good as the defense was playing this World Cup. Tensions were set a bit higher when Kramer hit the crossbar from an effort just outside the box having finally shaken free of Larsen for a play, but Ilev was the first to the ball and calmly slot the rebound home with eleven minutes to play. Yet the Marauders clamped down and did what they did best when seeing out a match, keeping the ball from their desperate opposition and the Marauders were through to the Quarterfinals.

Didrik had already gotten the score from the other match and he knew who they were going to be playing against in that huge match. It was going to be Kelssek, a match more fit for the World Cup of Hockey than the World Cup traditionally, but he knew that Kelssek had been building up a very talented football team over the years. Most Vanorians knew of Kelssek because of their cartographers being the main source of maps of the Eternal Empire outside of the Empire itself, as well as there being some other race of elves there, as well as a handful of their players playing in the Premiership. They usually played a traditional four four two, it was going to be interesting to see how they could cope with the Marauders three in the middle of the park. Veliz and Söderström were going to have their work cut out for them but if they were able to contend with what Audioslavia and Siovanija & Tuesland could throw at them, then Didrik had great confidence that they could do the same with Kelssek. If that was true, they would be one step closer to what had been a very elusive goal that the side had been chasing for soo long.

[PotatoFarmers]

Previous RP [Chapter 4 Part 7]

RP Series: Getting to the top
Chapter 4: Can we finally get a different ending?
Part 8: Another comeback

They say that it takes hard work to mount a comeback. Adnan would tell you it is about not giving up, and finding the correct recipe that will be used to defeat the opponents in the most unexpected manner. And once again, it would require the players to know how that particular playbook should be played out, and that the players execute the change in an efficient manner.

Lauren Cheney and the team from Brenecia were certainly brimming with confidence when they came on the pitch. They know what happened when the Red Panjias defeated Audioslavia, a team that executed a similar gameplan to them. They have watched that match, and know that Poafmersia would want to open the scoring from the onset to ensure that the pressure is kept on the opposition team. And so Brenecia decided to play the game with us, cautiously keeping the ball and the posession so as to soak up the early damage before going on the counterattack. And it took 8 minutes for Shakira Handris to notice that.

"Just keep the ball to yourselves, we can take it easy this time," he said to Hansel and Pete. A similar messaged was passed down to the midfielders, and slowly, Poafmersia was playing it slow and nice, keeping the posession and waiting for a nice build-up to push for the goal.

Although Adnan was quite surprised that the players went off the agreed playbook, Katiri was feeling quite the opposite. As the game really slowed down to just random passing of the ball, the coach spoke to his assistant.
"Did you give permission to Shakira to change the playbook of attack strong first, score and then retreat?"
"No, Adnan. I think this might be what they were attempting to do the last time against Valanora, though they couldn't do it because Valanora scored a goal too early on."

Afraid that such a plan would backfire if Brenecia found the first blood, Adnan kept close attention to the match. But Shakira wasn't an idiot - he knows very well that if Brenecia were to score and sit deep, it would take a miracle to score against them. So the players slowly started pressing higher once again, while conserving the energy for a big counter-attack. And yet, history repeated itself once again.

Lauren Cheney took hold of a mistake by Aubrey Mayer, took the ball, ran past Simone Gori, and then went straight for a powerful shot into the right side of the goal. Bounced it on the post, and it got past the line before Sandi Jaliaha could push it out. But the goal line technology prevailed, and Brenecia got 1-0 up. Fustrated, Shakira told the team to take it easy and slowly push, and before the restart, he went over to the technical box for a quick chat with Adnan.
"Sorry for trying something different, coach. However, maybe we could try the alternate Plan B that you had proposed?"
"No time to apologise, just move on with the game. When the trigger shows up, you guys can proceed."
"Noted."

And so, Poafmersia sat behind. Careful not to let Brenecia take a second goal, but yet, the team showed no signs of trying to attack. An absolutely puzzling situation, considering that the team was already 1-0 down. It continued all the way straight into the end of the first half, and it was time for the half-time talk. It was discussing about Plan B, discussing about how to ensure that the counter-attack could come when the team needed it, and to ensure that the opposition wouldn't suspect anything about it.

The plan looked like something Poafmersia never done before - playing out long balls to waste time.

Of course, the plan was reliant on one thing - that Lauren Cheney to take the bait, and think that Poafmersia are just passively taking the hits and then just wasting time with all the long balls. Poafmersia hoped that the Brenecia would let down their guard, and then all the team had to do was to hit back real hard and pull the game back into something they are more familiar with. But nothing of that sort was coming, probably because Brelk-Xeral warned the team not to do just that. With nothing working out, Adnan made 2 changes. First, it was replacing Gori with Alex Hoboson, another attack-oriented centerback who would synergise quite perfectly with Hollis Stepehenson. Then, it was bringing on the striker who did really well in the qualifiers - Iulianus Innocenti, replacing Pete Carisa, who was largely marked and kept silent by Roscommon throughout the game.

The tempo of the game became slightly different. Poafmersia would revert to getting even faster. Iulianus had lots of energy in him - much more than Pete Carisa could provide, and started to distract the Brenecian defence. The centerbacks were also moving even higher, and forced the Brenecian side to retreat slightly behind in order to prevent themselves from running up and down. And then in the 72nd minute, Hansel Tang struck. Pulling off a brilliant coordinated plan with Aubrey Mayer, she leaped into the sky to head the ball straight into goal, putting it out of range of Wright. 1-1.

Now it was Brenecia's turn to panic. Adnan decided to nail it in by calling on the team to put in their 110%. The pacy workhorse, Nero Wood, came on for Gisiik Moonar, the wizard. The emphasis now was on trying to keep up with the pace, and avoid over-extending themselves. The team didn't have to score - the team were very well happy to pull the game into extra time if Brenecia was willing to play it out, and the players were just looking for a brilliant opportunity to snatch another goal. The full details of the actual plan was now set into motion. It was just time to see whether the defence could hold it out.

In the 84th minute, Pace and White led another attempt. Dargis and Nero wasn't able to deal with the threat efficiently, and now the two of them were going to make their way past the defenders. Mitchel was there, so was Alex. Determined not to concede a goal, the two of them ran after Pace and White, while Hollis was scanning the vincinity so as to prevent Lauren or anyone else from getting a chance to sneak in. Alas, White could use his ball skilss and sneak the ball to Pace, who out ran Alex Hoboson. It looked like he was about to score, but Sandi Jaliaha managed to get his hands on the ball, catch it, and quickly made a long range clearance. Now with the ball going from end-to-end, the players were running, but it was the captain who reached the ball first. Taking the ball, he slowly ran down towards goal. He entered the box. Wright was clearly after him, his eagle-eyes glued on Shakira's each and every movement. Shakira knows that making the ball past Wright would be difficult, and the defenders were coming through. But in the corner of his eyes, he saw a signal by Iulianus - the youngster was in position, ready to run out anytime to take the ball. Shakira knew there was nothing to lose, and everything to win.

He closed his eyes and made the side pass.

---

The discussion among Poafmersian commentators was that the gameplan was a tactical gamble by Adnan. While it produced the results, it doesn't always work, and Adnan was literally gambling the opposition messing up, or his team being able to find a goal through the set piece. Normally, it wouldn't have worked. This time, although it did, many of these commentaors felt that this should be an one-off gambit and not be reused every again. The risks were simply too high. But Adnan refused to agree with the commentators, arguing that he never made a risky gamble in the first place. "Our team merely took the safer route, and went for a safer approach. It may not be something that you would see commonly for a side that is already losing, but we had to make do with our current circumstances."

But the next game is against The Holy Empire. 2 attempts, and not a single point obtained. Surely the team would learn from this game, and try to do something unusual and different. Maybe not reserving the energy. But they could take reference from Trolleborg and what happened last year during the qualifiers.

Poafmersia 2
Hansel Tang 72' (assist by Mayer)
Iulianus Innocenti 87' (assist by Handris)

Brenecia 1
Lauren Cheney 34'

Lineup for Poafmersia (3-4-3): Sandi Jaliaha; Mitchel Rosales, Hollis Stephenson, Simone Gori; Dargis Walshor, Gisiik Moonar, Daas Taisg, Aubrey Mayer; Hansel Tang, Shakira Handris (c), Pete Carisa
Substitutes: Alex Hoboson (Gori 56'), Iulianus Innocenti (Carisa 64'), Nero Wood (Moonar 79')

[Ko-oren]

Parties in the streets! Calls for an impromptu national holiday! The Dragonflies have done it! The curse that hung over our heads ever since World Cup 66, leading to eight consective lost Rounds of 16, seems to have lifted. In quite possibly the best match ever played by our national team, Geektopia fought but came up short against not just a shutdown defence, but also a stellar attack. The score after 90 minutes read 4-0 - arguably, a bit bloated, but after years - if not decades - of suffering, we'll take it. For the players, it'll be hard to concentrate on the quarterfinal (it still feels weird to say that) with the well wishes and congratulations coming in from friends, family, teammates, and everyone else, and suddenly we're all reminded that the tournament (contrary to popular belief) continues after the second round. There is, in fact a quarterfinal. Several questions directed at Farfadillis (our next opponent) press members seems to indicate that there are even more rounds after that, titled 'semifinal' and 'final'. Alas, fans of gridiron football, rugby league, rugby union, baseball, ice hockey, basketball, or cricket will know that very well. In fact, the football World Cup final is the only one that the Green and Blue has never been represented in. Before we dream too big, we have to focus on the task at hand.

As in, we'd love to focus on the future, but right now, we're coming right out of the biggest game we've ever played (a title previously held by the AOCAF final we won), so let's do that some justice.

A disappointing group stage, results-wise: just one win, albeit a vital one, and two draws. Now Ko-oren has drawn the ire of much of the football community with the actions in the last minute of the Ethane game, with Pasarga retracting all praise it had previously piled on, and looking at it in retrospect: maybe they had a point. On the other hand, without that own goal, we would've played Baker Park and while Pasarga has kicked them out of the tournament (1-0), it's safe to say that a good result against the Commonwealth is not guaranteed. A good result versus Geektopia is also not guaranteed (given they closed out the group stage with a 1-0 win over Baker Park) but looking at rankings and statistics and playing it very safe based on those is pretty much a national pastime. People said we didn't deserve to get to the Round of 16 based on Theshendan's actions - but we did, and we were rewarded with a 4-0 win to get into our first ever quarterfinal.

Theshendan played a perfect game with six saves to his name, with Munarring and Pott playing near-flawless games to snuff out a lot of Geektopian attacks before they could get dangerous. Nobody had an answer to Breukelaar's intercepting passes for the full 90 minutes, launching counterattack after counterattack, pushing Janoreirinthen and Batchelor towards goal, leading to chance after chance. Batchelor scored the 1-0 on a long shot after five minutes, trying his luck and getting a feel for the pitch, the ball, and the opponents. Turns out, his instinct was exactly what it should be. Vaugrenard headed home the 2-0 on a Batchelor cross a quarter of an hour after that. It was three to nil at the break as Erisia snuck the ball into the goal from a scrimmage. A corner kick landed on the five metre line and pretty much just stuck in place between a flurry of defenders and attackers. Erisia was the first to the loose ball, sending it high into the roof of the goal, as a few players involved didn't even know the ball had gotten out yet. In the second half, a free kick was sent high into the box with just Erisia able to get his head on to it. He only directed the ball slightly further towards the far corner, but that was enough. The ball sailed into the top corner, and at 4-0, Geektopia certainly didn't throw in the towel, but their spirits were broken.

With four goals in one game, the team recorded its largest win since the 5-0 over Legalese (it definitely seems like the team scores more and more goals lately) and all the unlucky moments and goals we should have had in the previous eight attempts at a World Cup knockout match more or less came out at the same time. Sure, it was gratuitous to run up the score to 4-0, but you never know and we've been eliminated before when we looked like we could finally get into that damned quarterfinal.

At this point, there's really not much else to say. We now know what the definition of insanity is. We also know it doesn't have to apply to us. Farfadillis is also a team we've not yet faced in a knockout match, so we're going in with a clean slate. These are your new Dragonflies. And all it took was an intentional own goal.

Fans in Finisterre, watching on a big screen in downtown Santa Teresa. Branvon CD and Miradela GD fans, finally united in support, cheering on Batchelor's 1-0.


Fans in Katashi, a scene that feels far removed from the rumours of independence and the growth of the Yoshima Independence Party in the city, making noise for the 2-0.


Supporters that followed the team to The Pit, Ethane, during the half time break.

[Banija]

"Not good enough". Defending champions limp out of the World Cup with 2-0 loss to already eliminated Savojarna


Banijan players react to the final whistle being blown against them to confirm their elimination

ISLE OF LOWE, ETHANE- A lot of people thought the question was this. Would Banija fans need to get tickets and fly to Taeshan? Or would they be able to get boat tickets, sail back to the Ethane mainland, and be able to buy Round of 16 tickets in Ethane? Neither was true. Banijan fans would indeed need to buy plane tickets, but they'd need to buy them for the first flight back home. Shockingly, for the second time in three tournaments, the defending champions were knocked out in the group stage, as we fell, 2-0, to an already eliminated Savojarna.

We're not going to do a straight up match report. Watching the game was enough, wasn't it? So much pain. You probably knew everything was going to go wrong when, in just the 7th minute, we were able to earn a penalty. Good sign, right? Ilman Jawara is nearly automatic from the penalty spot- it seems like he hits those shots like Amadou Secka hits free throws. But when Jinja City FC goalkeeper Pakanen went right, got a big hand on it, and pushed it away, the roar from the Savojarna fans just meant a pit would sink into the stomach of Banijan fans.

It would be Poulsen who would turn on the panic mode for fans of the Kadongo Kamu. A 39th minute strike from him would make the score 1-0 in favor of Savojarna, and all of a sudden we could no longer play to maintain the score. We had to go out and get a goal. Fortunately, we had a ton of time, right? Incorrect. Wave after wave of Banijan attack was sent back by a rock solid Savojarna defense, with Pakanen starring in net. Banijan-Savojar dual-national Sergey Nweke came onto the pitch, and a brilliant counter-attack saw him chip Tantoh in the 72nd minute, effectively burying the game. 2-0 to Savojarna.

Marcus Waters, the manager, was upset, although he said of course that he would continue on. "This is a bitter pill to swallow." He told the press. "There's nothing to say that makes it easier. And no excuses, either- we need to do a lot better than this. But full credit to Mikaela Rangren. She got her players together, put together a gameplan, and executed it to perfection. All I know is, there's a lot to analyze- but we plan on being back."

Banija's players were pretty much very tight lipped. It's the most despondent we've seen this team in a while. Monotone answers. Banija's pundits, however, were anything but. Assefa Yitebarke, the former national team striker, said this. "It's tough to play as defending champions. It's a different mentality to be the hunter. We rose so fast in this sport, we were able to keep that hunter mentality for a long time. But that goes away. I'm not suggesting arrogance or anything like that- that's not this team's M.O. But the pressure of being defending champions can get to you. We're not used to it. We're not prepared for it. And we folded under it. If you've been watching, this did not come from nowhere- it's been a long time coming."

Another retired former player, Abate Brehanu, agreed with Yitebarke. "This has been coming from a mile away. Look at the first half of Qualifying. We were 9-0. But the performances were slowing. We were more tentative. Played more with a fear of losing than a drive to win.. Which will doom any team. And it started to unravel in the second half of qualifying. Fortunately, we had done enough in the first half of qualifying to basically be assured of a spot in the Finals, but it started coming apart long before today. A bad loss traded for an excellent win. Consistently doing that. Loss in New Lusitania. A truly shocking loss in Ranoria, of all places, right after smoking Vdara by 7 goals to 3. That should've set the alarm bells off. We couldn't handle the pressure."

And that, of course, is the last bit of separation. We've climbed so far- but one rung left. The elite, ancient nations of this game- the Audioslavias, Eura(I guess, until this Finals), Valanoras, Starblaydias, etc... They've always dealt with that pressure. They've won so much, playing with that pressure is simply normal. And we couldn't handle it. We played well in the AOCAFs, yes, but we've never won that tournament- we're still the hunters there. It will be a challenge to right the ship for this national team after this devastating loss.

It will be interesting. What does the future look like? Banija's top S-FPL teams are getting more and more international. We didn't enter any youth tournaments last cycle. Marcus Waters said he's going to take a 'hard look' at the roster, and look for more opportunities to get young players involved. Expect the Banijans to finally return to the U21 World Cup as well, with Di Bradini Cup 50 looming. Let's keep that talent pipeline pumping.

An era seems to be ending. But what an era it was. Cycles 83-87. Three World Cup semifinal appearances. Three medals, two bronze(83 & 85) and one world title(86). A number of Banijan World Cup streaks ending today. These include

Banijan World Cup streaks ended
- Consecutive World Cup quarterfinal appearances(4, 83-86)
- First World Cup shutout loss since World Cup 82(28 consecutive World Cup Finals matches without a shutout loss)
- Fewest ever goals at a World Cup Finals(previous is 4 at World Cup 82)

[Pasarga]

Pressure and motivation come in many various forms and of differing levels. When one considers the World Cup finals, you would expect both to be extremely high when applied to that of the players and managers that are taking part in the competition. It is one of if not the largest and most prestigious tournament in all of the sporting world, bar the absolute insanity that is the two different Olympiads. The prestige is so high for this competition, that merely making the Finals is seen as an achievement and anyone who manages to make it into the knockout rounds of any particular cycle's tournament is most definitely one of the best teams in the world at that time. There is much glory and prestige to be won in the competition and that makes every single encounter in the tournament one with high stakes that the pressure that is put on the teams has to be outstanding and yet still the motivation to go out there and compete has to be equally as high. That is why it is then quite folly to give your opponents any added extra motivation or to add any undue pressure unto yourself or your teammates, which was unfortunately what happened to Baker Park.

Shortly before the match between Pasarga and Baker Park, one of the players from the latter dared to make a public call that he and his team were not going to lose. It was all the pep talk that Griffiths needed for his team before the two sides took to the field in Taeshan, with some twenty thousand plus Pasargans having made their way from the dual islands to Taeshan to take in the encounter live. It was far from a home game but Griffiths could feel the extra boost from having a noticeable crowd presence in the stadium, the echoes of cheering as the Wanderers made good plays and the songs that were so often sung in the Stade de Torgos being sung here in Taeshan. It was a majestic and wonderful feeling and the most beautiful music to the manager's ears in between taking down notes and giving shouts to his players as he observed areas that needed some immediate tactical changes. Márió Szölösi was doing his best to try and stay more in the center of the Park, but his natural attacking instincts were having him get caught a little forward more than Griffiths would like for this tactic to work. He could not fault the midfielder though, against most competition he would be urging him forward, but for right now he needed to stay more centralized.

A nil nil at the half was far from the worst spot to be in, the Wanderers were having their fair share of possession but were having a tough time in breaking past the Baker Park defense. Likewise, when their foes were in possession, they were finding it difficult to break down the solid unit that the Wanderers' back four was, with the changes to the fullbacks seemingly paying off in spades. Yet they needed more, they needed to start producing chances and not being content to play this tug-of-war game with their foes. And Griffiths was ready for the half time talk, having the very words of Lorenzo Taborn written on the white board for the entire team to see. "We're going to go out and do our thing. We're gonna play the way our fans know and love. We're not losing this game."

"Look at that all of you, look at what they think of us and how much they do not respect who we are and where we have come from to get here. They do not care about how talented all of you are, they do not care about the history that the Wanderers have, they do not care about any of it but themselves. They respect us so little that they think they are already through into the Quarterfinals and booking their hotels for that match. They are dead wrong to care so little about you and what you have accomplished, having gotten here when it all seemed unlikely. You have proven time and time again that you are a team worthy of respect, that you wear those kits with pride and do the teams that came before you proud. Now we need to show them that they needed to fear us, to respect us, to respect you. Go out there and show them what Wanderers' football is all about, take from them everything that they think belongs to them."

It was the most intense that Griffiths had been with the team, never feeling like that sort of intensity was what was needed, but they were in the Round of Sixteen of the World Cup and holding one of the better sides to a stalemate. If there was ever a chance to burst through the barriers that had been in front of him and the team the last few years, this was it. Baker Park had presented them an opportunity and they were going to take it since it was offered so freely. And so it was in the sixty-second minute that Elek Salai cut in off the left wing and took a shot just off the corner of the box that exploded off his foot and into the corner of the goal, tucking right inside the near post. There was a mighty roar from the Pasargan supporters in the crowd and Griffiths could only soak in the feeling of vindication. It was with pride as he watched as the side continued to battle, continued to keep Baker Park from getting any good attacks on goal. It was a complete surreal feeling as the final whistle blew and the Wanderers had won, progressing forward into the Quarterfinals. Six months ago his job was seemingly in jeopardy and now he had taken the side farther than it had been in quite some time, it was such a wonderful feeling. It didn't matter who they faced in the next round, this team was playing for him and the shirt and Griffiths felt like they could take on anyone in the world.

Little did he know how true that was going to be, as a text on his phone read that they would be facing the world's second best team and Rushmori powerhouse Nephara in the quarters. He would see it eventually and start formalizing a tactic, but he was too caught up in this feeling of vindication and jubilation to care at the moment.

[Nephara]

Chromatika 0 - 1 Nephara
(4-2-3-1) 1 - Provost; 2 - Stride, 5 - Thorn (c), 6 - Clevinger, 3 - Muscadin; 15 - Horvath (4 - Shone 64'), 8 - Cromwell; 7 - Koerner, 21 - Moxham (14 - Fletcher 78'), 11 - Considine (13 - Belgrade 78'); 10 - Lovelace
Goal: Moxham 57'

They almost, almost got one of the most beautifully direct goals in the history of the World Cup.
Thorben had just drilled a snapshot volley high and wide. So provost's goal-kick was touch one, floated beautifully down the right wing. Anselm Koerner, faced back towards goal, headed it down and back to his rightback for touch two; Stride looked up and clipped in a cross that took everyone by surprise but was just a little overhit, and Lovelace, having to bolt forward to get to it, could only direct the header too close to Mia Ria, who couldn't catch but was able to punch it confidently aside.
It had been a half of almosts. A free kick from Mora almost snuck in the top corner, five minutes in. Henri de Aea almost turned a cross from Koerner into his own net, his desperate block instead caroming into the foot of the post. Lothaire Cromwell had almost been sent off for a stretched, driving challenge that crunched Armageddon at the ankle, forcing the Chromatik captain to limp off with not even half an hour played; Olimpia Vidal had almost reasserted the existence of karma when the free kick played her clear on the edge of the box and she forced a magnificent fingertip save from Nea Provost.
But it had to fall for someone eventually. It might not have been a game going clearly one side or the other, but it was undeniably not going to end a goalless stalemate to penalties. So everyone, bar the optimistic few neutrals going for the under-2.5 goal bet, felt a faint sense of relief to see the ball whistle into a net, as it happened past Ria, after a deft passing move ended with a disguised, outside-of-the-boot pass from Considine letting Konrad Lovelace drift past de Aea, take one touch to get the ball on his good foot, and...

"... and Lovelace slots home! But-- but the flag's gonna go up, and, well, that's the end of--"
"He's still celebrating."
"That's the end of that, really, uh, referee's calling him back..."
"He doesn't care, he's out in the stands. Fans mobbing him. Oh, there's a kiss on the Godhead's brow, he really doesn't give a shit. I'm sorry, Konrad."
"This is heartbreaking."
"Oh. Oh, he's noticed now. I think a fan's actually had to point it out to him."
"Replay will show... yeah, close but fair. He just slipped that little bit past Anderson's shoulder before Considine got the pass through."
"Been a weird World Cup for Lovelace. First nearly caving Bedigax's face in, a goal against Drawkland and now this, as he sheepishly climbs back over the advertising hoardings... well, at least he's having a laugh about it now..."

The second half was at risk of being defined by caution. Ten minutes in after the restart, neither goalkeeper had added to their brace of saves.
Chimera Moxham knew it couldn't last. The tension had to break, the dam had to burst. She glanced up, trotted forward, made herself available for Vivica Muscadin... and was turned down, the leftback instead turning inside for Cromwell. To Horvath, to Stride, stroking the ball around the park...
God, Moxham missed the days where she had the engine to just make the game revolve around her. There was plenty of conversation for the best attacking midfielder in Nepharan history, but it boiled down to four people - Ashdown, Gosforth, Locke and Moxham. And, realistically, Moxham and Ashdown were a tier above. And, realistically, Ashdown had won a World Cup. Moxham had not. This was her final chance, and she knew, deep down, she was lucky to be getting it. Strauss had tried to move past her for a reason, and even now, Ramsey was building the team with her as a focal point because she could no longer just run everywhere on her own. Not for 90 minutes, not while retaining her edge in the final third. So here she was, gritting her teeth.
Stride clipped in a cross. Ria caught it. White shirts sighed with relief; green, with frustration.
Moxham knew then and there that she was going to need to say fuck it and go hell for leather regardless. She couldn't sit here waiting for things to happen, because they wouldn't - the more athletic Zuniga would breathe down her neck, she wouldn't be seen as open, and that would be it.
Players might not have been looking to her, but she knew the fans still were.
She didn't need to take long for her chance. Lovelace lingered around the edge of the box, played through by Cromwell, but de Aea was blocking the way. Moxham turned on the afterburners, hustling in behind him, praying he'd have the wits to slide the ball left and let her do the rest.
it wasn't quite so neat. He back-heeled, instead, and Moxham had to clumsily get the ball under control as she leaned back in towards goal. Zuniga still blocked the way, and de Aea stepped inside as well, and she should probably have just hit it back to Lovelace...
... fuck that. She had the ball and she wasn't about to let go.
She chopped the ball back inside just before it slid out of play, then feinted back outside. Zuniga bought it, de Aea stood firm, and Moxham tapped the ball cheekily between his feet. Too late, he closed the gates, but she was already breaking between the two Chromatiks, Anderson was sliding in for the block, Ria making herself big, she knew there wasn't a second touch.
She took one anyway, killing the ball dead. Anderson slid into irrelevance. Ria dithered. Moxham allowed herself the slightest of grins before driving the ball high into the top corner, and the moment she heard that beautiful *thunk* of the leather striking the back of the net, she turned to face her companions.
You'd best believe they were looking at her now.

"... Ahh, fuck it."
[boop boop ... boop boop ... boop boop ... boop boop]
"Come on, pick up, pick up..."
[boop boop ... ] "You've reached a private number. Either you know me, or you'd better turn back now."
"Son of a bitch. C'mon."
[boop boop ... boop b--] Ugh, fucking-- yes, hello. Hi. It's ... it's three fucking AM, whoever the hell you are. You've--"
"Yana?"
"... Ro. What the fuck. It's three AM."
"I forgot."
"Yeah, well, that's not the greatest comfort in the world right now." (sigh) "What's up."
"I've just been thinking about us. It's hard not to. Eve of matches like these."
(yawn) "Mmmm oh, yeah, I guess that... that is tomorrow, huh. Look, not to be abrupt, but I've got kind of-- an early morning's, coming up. Have to sleep again soon, okay."
"... What have you got on."
"Uh?"
"I mean, what can you seriously have on, you aren't with us. It's the off-season."
"Yeah, it's weird. Actually having time off. So I've got an important regimen, you know, breakfast in bed, gonna watch trashy television, gotta--"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, okay. I get it. I'll hang up."
"Hey, no. Wait. I wasn't actually trying to run you off, it's... truth be told, it's weird. Lonely, even. Right now, a break's a break, great. I'm run off my feet most of the time, all I gotta do now is keep eating right, hit the weights a couple hours a night and not publically disgrace myself. But it's good because it is a break. On its own, it's... nothing, isn't it? So if retirement, if this is all it is..."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Yeah, fine. ... You still writing that book?"
"These Annals. Yes.
"Sure, the book. Well... keep on at it. Hey, maybe I'll even get to read it someday. Who gets it after you're gone?
"Lothaire. He's a good lad. Takes it seriously."
"Yeah? Good."
"... I should let you sleep, hey."
"Mmm. Pro'lly. But... it's been good to hear your voice. Was that all you needed, too?
"Think so. Miss you."
"Just don't fucking lose tomorrow, hey. ... Love you, too."
"Yeah. Hey, wait, I never said I--"
[beep beep beep beep ...]

Roxelana Thorn watched the touchline, hands on her hips, as two white shirts representing over two hundred goals of international experience waited patiently for their chance to come on.
Also representing seventy years of age. Did it matter? The Chromatiks could bring on Keira Andisori, top goalscorer in their history and one of the most proficient marksmen of the Premiership era, and Kaytlyn Victoriane, the Cycle 71 Galactico. Combined with the injury-enforced Zuniga earlier, that was all three not far past the hour, and it added further years to an already creaking Chromatik age profile, but a goal down in the round of sixteen you had to take risks.
Tawny Shone came on at the same time, cracking her knuckles meaningfully. Rashica Horvath, coming off, was of the 'quiet, efficient' school of holding midfielders, but nobody ever forgot Shone was in a game. Still, the substitutions symbolised fairly starkly: Chromatiks the hunter, Cormorants the hunted. One side that could live with 1-0, the other, well, obviously could not.
It didn't become wholly one-dimensional; indeed, the first shot on target after the substitutions came from Anselm Koerner, a scorching low strike well saved by Ria's foot at her near post. And Lovelace still threatened on the break, once chesting down a high through-ball over the top from Moxham - a beautiful first-touch effort, at that - and forcing another sharp save from Ria, though he could arguably have done better. But the Chromatiks kept pounding at the door. Time wasn't on their side, but momentum was. They stretched and poked at the Nepharan back six, looking for a gap, but this was what all those hours drilling in training were for. Clevinger pushed out, Thorn covered. Thorn pushed out, Stride dipped inside. Clevinger and Muscadin got strung out to the left, Shone slipped into the back line to cover. Attack after attack died somewhere along the line, and Thorn knew they were getting to the Chromatiks when they started taking frustrated shots from distance, just to test Provost.
Still. They only needed one slip. One perfect pass from Andisori; one perfect run from Victoriane. One gap slightly too far between Stride and Thorn.
And the former Galactico, at one time the greatest player in the world, was through on goal.
Provost came out quickly, stood high, but a veteran like Victoriane wasn't about to be rushed into an error. She picked her spot, high - and Provost managed desperately to slap the ball with its palms on her way crashing into a somersault, keeping it from its path into the top right... but the ball still bounced inexorably towards the open goal. Thorn had been running, now she sprinted, but... Thorn realised, she realised, she wouldn't-- there was no way she could make it. In her earlier days, pace had been a major asset of hers, but now...
... and Reniira Clevinger raced past her, angled her body perfectly, enough to chest the ball out of harm's way before momentum sent her crashing into the ground and twisting into the net as the ball drove out for a corner.
Oh, Thorn could kiss the beautiful blue bitch on the spot! But there was no time for anyone - Vidal was already throwing the ball out for Mora to take the corner, and Thorn had to haul the burly half-satyr to her feet, Provost desperately organised the last defence - "Come on, lads! This is it, one more clearance for me!"
Mora took it short, before the Nepharan defence had completely set. Lovelace was racing back into the box, but so was Ria. The ball came to Conrad. One last chance. She drove in a cross, high, high, high...
"KEEPER!!" Provost leapt like a salmon to claim it, two strong hands, falling hard onto the pitch with a grunt but keeping the ball under her like an egg. Not letting it slip. Not letting it slip. Praying for the final whistle to come.
She had six seconds before she had to release the ball. Gingerly, she got to her feet. Five. Four. Really? Were they going to make her--
Fweet! Fweet! Fweeeeeeeeet...

[Savojarna]

OOC apologies for being a bit late on this one - I'd missed the time before I had to leave for two days, but didn't want to let the already written text go to waste

The Last Hurrah?

Savojar team hotel, Ethane

“You are listening to SR 1 News, it is now 15 o’clock.
Politics: KPS, KPS-I, and AP stand shortly before a deal for a new grand coalition. For the first time in Savojar history, the Chairman might not be a member of the biggest party as KPS-I leader Nejström is heralded as candidate.
Economy: NAK Andersson promises new investments into its computer entertainment section, potentially releasing a new handheld console system. The Cooperative Council will vote on the suggestion tomorrow.
Sports: Savojarna lost again last night in the World Cup, 1-3 to Geektopia. Chances are the Northlights will return without a point for the first time ever; criticism arises around Mikaela Rangren”.

Coach Rangren angrily shut off the radio. The newspapers in front of her weren’t doing much to lift her mood either.

SavojarSports: “Time to say goodbye: Geektopia sink Northlights”
Framfarir: “No hope, no luck, no defence - We’re going home”
Dagbladet: “Ethane hopes blow up in Savojarna’s face”
Pawlogradskaja: “Mikaela, what is your next move?”

The Savojar press could be fickle, and Mikaela Rangren knew it all too much. The problem that really got to her heart was that this time, they kind of had a point. Nine games and just one win wasn’t bad, it was nearly unprecedented. One more loss or draw - which was all too likely against Banija - and she’d be the coach that led Savojarna to two World Cups, but also the coach that presided over the nation’s worst ten-game-streak ever. With the video of the Geektopia match on screen, she was making notes. The 4-4-2 didn’t quite work as intended, leaving too much space in the middle. Nobody had yet been able to properly replace Joonas Andersson, she thought: Otso Ilkkanen was too unreliable, and Maersk a different type of player. That calming rock at the back, that player that would always be there to save the day, that man was now missing and she hadn’t found a way to plug the hole. Perhaps Adrian Klaebo could take that role one day, but she had opted to not put him into her first 23, and that may now be backfiring. Victor Loeseth came close, but was a more offensive player. Still, it was worth a try.

On her notepad, she scribbled another constellation. Back to the 4-2-3-1, yes, but how? Arrows and names melted into each other as she looked at her strikers. Jacobsen had played well against Baker Park, but ran himself into a corner against their strong defenders. Nweke could fight back and was the man to make space, a proper tank, but he was not tracing back as much as she’d have liked. Smolov? She shook her head. It had to be Jacobsen. No time for experiments against the reigning champions. Poulsen would start over Rika, she decided; he was in better form. On the back, Zirkova and Forsberg seemed to work better than any alternative, and Milla Viipuri had played well. She scribbled the names down and darted back to the midfield.

Her thoughts wandered as Mikaela stared at the sheet. In her head the radio voice boomed. “Criticism arises”. “Time to go”. It was a message about the team failing to qualify, but she felt like it was aimed at her. Was her time over? Had six years at the helm of the national team simply exhausted her abilities to change things up? Was it maybe time to pass the reins on to someone else? But who would they hire? Perhaps they’d sign away Patrik Alexandersson from Partisan. Or try to get their hands on that mad tactician Helgi Laurison from Libertas? She pushed the thought aside. The game against Banija would have to decide.

---

The Marianne Detreux Stadium, Ethane

Sergey Nweke’s heart started pounding as he heard the Banijan National Anthem before the game, and it never stopped. It did, however, shoot through the roof when he came onto the pitch after 64 minutes. Something else also never stopped, and it was the constant trash talk of the Banijan defenders. He’d been called a traitor, he’d been called useless, he’d been called too weak for the Banijan team. It motivated him. It gave him the fire to rush down the pitch when Zirkova won a ball, sent it long to Jashkin, and the winger passed through the gap to find Sergey. He shouldered off one defender and side-stepped the next, before chipping the ball over the goalkeeper and scoring the second goal.

As a half-Banijan and citizen of Banija, can you celebrate when you just scored a goal that ends Banija’s World Cup campaign?

Sergey’s heart said no. Not in front of a stand full of Banijan fans, at least. Turning away from the goal, he stood at the end line, looking into a wall of disappointed or angry fans clad in green, orange and white. One hand at his lips and one on his heart, he’d make for a picture that would become iconic for Savojar football fans. His teammates clearly didn’t have any such qualms as Misha Jashkin fell around his neck, almost dragging Sergey to the ground; now, the striker also allowed himself some joy, high-fiving his teammates and returning to their side of the pitch with a big smile on his face.

As the whistle blew, the Savojars left the pitch with a bittersweet ending. In their third attempt, they once again failed to get past the group stage of the World Cup, sure; but they also managed to beat the reigning World Champions, managed to pick up Savojarna’s first ever World Cup victory, and solidified their standing as one of the 32 best teams in the world. Probably she wasn’t quite meant to quit, Mikaela Rangren thought - it is time to look forward to the next campaign.

[Farfadillis]

RP I'm referencing here (which is not necessary to understand this RP).

A very mundane compilation of World Cup moments plays out in the background of a rather mundane intro to a TV show. After a few seconds, the screen flashes "The World Cup's Most Important Matches". That's apparently the title of the TV show I'm about to describe.

"Farfadillis is an oddity. Starting its WCC trajectory in cycle sixty, the island has produced many great players in the fifty* or so years since. Few teams have had their success in football ever since they made their debút, and even fewer have been better since they really got going. Furthermore, they've been very consistent: since their first World Cup appearance, only The Holy Empire have made it to the knock-out stages more times and, if we count from World Cup 69 onwards, when the team's current qualification streak began, Farfadillis is at the top."

As the narrator speaks, the screen flashes through a compilation of the best Farf players to date, in chronological order. Once it gets to Faragó rue Cazade, the screen changes abruptly to scenes of explosions, fires and, you know, civil wars things.

"Farfadillis is, however, an extremely unstable place. Civil war, genocide, statelessness, revolution. Farfadillis has gone through all those phases, sometimes more than once. There are many ethnicities living on the island, and no two seem to get along particularly well. Furthermore, the 'national' team's success almost seems inversely proportional to its stability."

The screen snaps back to the team's celebrations after the World Cup 84 triumph, superposing them with various headlines about the state of affairs at the time. None of the headlines are pleasant.

"Today, we will be exploring this duality by delving into one specific match. In our opinion, this match was the most important in the team's history, for reasons that should become readily apparent. And no, it's not a final. This game was, arguably, much bigger than that."

The World Cup 77 logo appears.

"Let's go back to twenty** years ago. World Cup 77 is, nowadays, mostly remembered for Vilita kickstarting their golden age and most of the San José Guayabal team being murdered, literally, after losing the World Cup final."

Very tasteless footage is shown as the narrator says this: most notably, the Vilitans celebrating their third World Cup win. Very graphic reimaginations of the SJG murders are shown, too.

"But we won't be focusing on any of that. We will, instead, be focusing on one aspect about this World Cup that gets swept under the rug most of the time: how it directly led both to prolonged success for la Vherderoja and unimaginable suffering for Farfadillis at large. To that effect, we will be focusing on the quarterfinals. Specifically, we will be focusing on the match between Farfadillis and Schottia."

Footage of Eoin Killanen scoring a penalty against Nephara is shown, followed by more footage of Schottia at World Cup 77.

"Schottia had a fantastic team at the time, though most of the multiverse was none the wiser: going into the quarterfinals, they had scored four wins out of four. They had beaten the Nepharans. Furthermore, they'd played a part in eliminating Electrum. At the time, this did not seem like much of an achievement, but that Electrum side would win World Cup 78. Schottia were a solid team, who were looking more solid by the day, but nobody had yet realized they were the real deal. Soria Luna, Martel-Burns, Conjure, Coultan, Killanen and many more were already in the squad, if not starting or at their peak. Most of this team would go on to steamroll everyone for three cycles on end, topping the Sosimo Lissón metric charts, winning World Cup 79 in the process. At the time, however, Schottia were the underdogs."

The show switches to footage of the Farf team of the time.

"Farfadillis were the favorites. It was the team's sixth quarterfinal appearance; the fourth in five editions. They were, however, yet to reach the semifinals, despite featuring players of the caliber of Fôrté Wínrôuge and Täjó Çíânflöné, two-time Galáctico. La Vherderoja were desperate to break the quarterfinals barrier once and for all. They had had a lot of trouble even getting to the quarterfinals, but most people thought of them as favorites, even if only because the Schottic were thankful to be there, and overall unprepared."

Images of the Rulandese Revolutionary Army are shown next.

"Back home, the Farves did not have more urgent matters to attend to, specifically because the RRÂ had recently signed an armistice with the Farf government. However, tensions ran high, very high, and anything could light the fuse. Even a football match."

The screen once again switches back to more mundane matters: specifically, Farfadillis' first goal.

"Ten minutes in, a great individual play from Rübéãn Tôr gives Farfadillis the lead. It is arguably the most important goal in the Rulandese winger's career, even surpassing his goal in the AOCAF Cup 43 final. Although he is far from the team's best player, he will go on to be the player of the match."

Different chances fail to materialize, but it's clear from the replays that the game was an exciting one.

"Farfadillis are under control throughout the first half, but it is not surprising. It is the second half the one that worries every Farf fan: they know, from experience, that the team can go to great lengths in order to collapse in the dying minutes of the game. Memories of the games against San José Guayabal, Nephara and even United Gordonopia (just twenty-eight*** years before this) are very fresh. Tíbürçìó Çötàvíê, the team's manager, shouts at his players from the sidelines. He mixes up the names, uses foul language, and even seems to try to be as personal as possible with his attacks. He will later on be diagnosed with dementia."

A replay of Jê Çìró curling the ball is next. A beautiful goal.

"In the middle of Çötàvíê's verbal abuse, Farfadillis score a second goal. There are only twenty-five minutes left on the clock. There's a very good chance this goal settles things. Indeed, it will settle things. Çìró's goal will soon become arguably the most important in the island's history. Very soon: it will only be a matter of seconds."

The show plays shoddy footage of Çötàvíê's celebration, followed by Çìró's in high definition.

"Çötàvíê goes on to rally half his team with just two words: Rülândéá t'Índèpèndênsé, which means 'Ruland must become independent'. Everyone on the pitch can hear him. It is not, at this point, the Rulandese revolutionaries' warcry, but it soon will be. The cameras don't catch Çötàvíê's 'celebration', which is why we have to show you cellphone footage. However, prompted by his manager, Jê Çìró shouts the same thing into the camera as he celebrates. The Rulandese players run towards him and hug him, while the others look jubilant, but confused."

Killanen puts the ball past Metz next.

"Schottia pull one back, courtesy of Eoin Killanen, a familiar face to the Farves: he is, at the time, arguably the best player in the Farf Fretiball Ligá. But it's too little, too late for Schottia. Farfadillis manage to resist the onslaught, even if only barely. They'll never get the credit for it, but this Farf team has managed to best one of the greatest teams in the history of the World Cup. They have, also, finally broken the quarterfinals curse. They will, in a few days, begin the semifinals curse, but they don't know that."

The Farves are shown celebrating maniacally.

"What they also don't know is that they will get something else for their heroic efforts: genocide."

[CENSORED]

"Çìró's celebration ends the armistice. Riots in Ruland reach record numbers. Hundreds of thousands, even millions by some estimates, begin to overthrow social order. The government, however, does not want civil war. They act decisively: in a matter of a week, the Rulandese genocide is approved by the Federal Council. Most of Ruland is bombed to the ground. For many of the players, this means the death of family and friends. A full third of the Rulandese population eventually perishes as a direct result. The national team's loss to San José Guayabal the day before becomes but an afterthought."

A compilation of various scenes from various documentaries made in an effort to promote foreign aid to Ruland appears.

"Society itself will not collapse for another eight years, but that goal by Jê Çìró marks a turning point in Farf history. Farfadillis has, to date, not seen better days than the day of this game. The Rulandese genocide will send shockwaves through Farf society. Revolutionary movements, ethno-nationalistic and not, will pop up throughout the nation. Terrorism will run rampant. It will all come to a head, eventually."

A young Xíxì Êns is shown dribbling past four players.

"A generation of players forged by tragedy eventually makes their way to the national team. These players are just as talented as their predecessors, but are much more vicious: they play like their lives depend on it. Led by Xíxì Êns, they will be the ones to finally taste eternal glory, to write a page in the history books of the sport."

Footage of the World Cup 84 run is shown in detail, followed by scenes from present-day Farfadillis.

"But a silver lining is, at the end of the day, only a silver lining. Farfadillis may have one of the best teams in the multiverse, but they are still, undeniably, one of the last places where you'd want to live. This duality continues to this day, and it seems optimistic to think there will be an end to it any time soon. For now, the Farves will have to continue to find solace in football."

*: or 25, or 100. Or whatever would be the equivalent for UICA/IFCF time.
**: or 10, or 40. Or whatever would be the equivalent for UICA/IFCF time.
***: or 14, or 56. Or whatever would be the equivalent for UICA/IFCF time.

[Alasdair I Frosticus]

OOC - this needs a little bit of explanation. This is a collaborative RP with Quebec, who's setting up Asher Lundrigan to write a book called In Search of Forever Past - which will be an IC parody of Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu. The set-up comes from me writing an RP that's a parody of Dostoevsky (specifically, the opening chapter of The Idiot). So a meta-parody of The Idiot is setting up the broader framework of an in-universe parody of Proust; making this quite possibly the most literary collaborative RP in the history of NSSports. Whether it works or not is another matter; but it's necessary to know where this is heading since it doesn't quite work as a stand-alone RP.
------------------------------------------------------------

The 3-1 victory over Starblaydia had been one of the more complete performances by the Holy Empire in recent World Cups. For all of the problems putting away the weaker teams in qualifying, despite the need to qualify via the playoffs, and despite finishing second in the first round group, for once everything had clicked. Even the goalkeeping had been close to multiverse-class for once, with goalkeeping Juan Tzimisces saving a penalty that might have given Starblaydia a 2-1 lead just before halftime. And so on to the quarterfinals.... Poafmersia would obviously not be pushovers, but at least the obstacle of the second round - that graveyard of Holy Empire squads - had been safely negotiated. It was just after the match that Tzimisces was made aware of a security camera recording of a train journey in the Royal Kingdom of Quebec at around the time of World Cup 89 (or perhaps World Cup 90?); it wasn't clear which member of the team it related to, but it seemed to be of some potential consequence to the latter nation...


Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning, a train on the Montreal and Quebec monorail was approaching the latter city at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the carriage windows.

Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from abroad; but the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with insignificant persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at the different stations nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and most of them had sleepy eyes and a shivering expression, while their complexions generally appeared to have taken on the colour of the fog outside.

When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages found themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were rather poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently anxious to start a conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular moment, they were both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have wondered at the strange chance which had set them down opposite to one another in a third-class carriage of the Royal Kingdom of Quebec Monorail Company.

One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with black curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat, and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into an impudent, ironical smile; but his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of the ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomy was its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribably emaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort of passionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his impudent, sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur—or rather astrachan—overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Quebec November night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless gold and red mantle with a large cape to it—the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months in warmer climes—was by no means adapted to the long cold journey through Quebec, from Montreal to the capital.

The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, of indeterminate age, slightly above the middle height, dark of complexion; his eyes were large and blue, and had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression which some people affirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of a professional footballer. His face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that; refined, but quite colourless, except for the circumstance that at this moment it was blue with cold. He held a bundle made up of an old faded silk handkerchief that apparently contained all his travelling wardrobe, and wore thick shoes and gaiters, his whole appearance being very un-Quebecois.

His black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing better to do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the discomforts of others which the common classes so often show:

“Cold?”

“Very,” said his neighbour, readily, “and this is a thaw, too. Fancy if it had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold in your country. I’ve grown quite out of the way of it.”

“What, been abroad, I suppose?”

“Yes, straight from the Holy Empire.”

“Wheugh! my goodness!” The black-haired young fellow whistled, and then laughed.

The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the man in the cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour’s questions was surprising. He seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence or inappropriateness in the fact of such questions being put to him. Replying to them, he made known to the inquirer that he certainly had been long absent from Quebec, more than four years; that he was indeed from abroad, and travelled regularly - though was often seen in countries that had an affinity for football; that he had suffered from some strange nervous malady that indeed compelled him to play football at any opportunity. His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and more than ever, when to the question, “whether he had been cured?” the patient replied:

“No, they did not cure me.”

“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we believe in those fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual, sarcastically.

“Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!” exclaimed another passenger, a shabbily dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and possessed a red nose and a very blotchy face. “Gospel truth! All they do is to get hold of our good Quebecois money free, gratis, and for nothing.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong in my particular instance,” said the patient from the Holy Empire, quietly. “Of course I can’t argue the matter, because I know only my own case; but my doctor - shaman is perhaps a better named - gave me money to pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his own expense, while there, for nearly two years.”

“Why? Was there no one else to pay for you?” asked the black-haired one.

“No—Mr. Nelson-Ryong, who had been supporting me there, died a couple of years ago. I wrote to General Duhamel's wife at the time, but she did not answer my letter. And so eventually I came back.”

“And where have you come to?”

“That is—where am I going to stay? I—I really don’t quite know yet, I—”

Both the listeners laughed again.

“I suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?” asked the first.

“I bet anything it is!” exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, with extreme satisfaction, “and that he has precious little in the luggage van!—though of course poverty is no crime—we must remember that!”

It appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The foreign fellow hastened to admit the fact with wonderful readiness.

“Your bundle has some importance, however,” continued the clerk, when they had laughed their fill (it was observable that the subject of their mirth joined in the laughter when he saw them laughing); “for though I dare say it is not stuffed full of gold—judge from your costume and gaiters—still—if you can add to your possessions such a valuable property as a friendship with General Duhamel's wife, then your bundle becomes a significant object at once. That is, of course, if you really are a friend of Mrs Duhamel, and have not made a little error through—well, absence of mind, which is very common to human beings; or, say—through a too luxuriant fancy?”

“Oh, you are right again,” said the traveller, “for I really am almost wrong when I say she and I are friends. She is hardly a friend at all; so little, in fact, that I was not in the least surprised to have no answer to my letter. I expected as much.”

“H’m! you spent your postage for nothing, then. H’m! you are candid, however—and that is commendable. H’m! Mrs. Duhamel—oh yes! a most eminent person. I know her. As for Mr. Nelson-Ryong, who supported your treatment, I know him too—at least, if it was Fabrice of that name? A fine fellow he was—and had a property of four thousand souls in his day.”

“Yes, Fabrice Nelson-Ryong —that was his name,” and the fellow looked earnestly and with curiosity at the all-knowing gentleman with the red nose.

This sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class. They are people who know everyone—that is, they know where a man is employed, what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what money his wife had, who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc. These men generally have about a hundred pounds a year to live on, and they spend their whole time and talents in the amassing of this style of knowledge, which they reduce—or raise—to the standard of a science.

During the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man had become very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted, and evidently longed for the end of the journey. He was very absent; he would appear to listen—and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden, evidently with no idea of what he was laughing about.

“Excuse me,” said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with the bundle, rather suddenly; “whom have I the honour to be talking to?”

“Juan Tzimisces” replied the latter, with perfect readiness.

“Juan Tzimisces? H’m! I don’t know, I’m sure! I may say I have never heard of such a person,” said the clerk, thoughtfully. “At least, the name, I admit, is historical. Perhaps one heard in the annals of football? One hears so little of a Tzimisces family nowadays.”

“Of course not,” replied Tzimisces; “there are none, except myself. I believe I am the last and only one.”

“And did you learn science and all that, with your... did you refer to a shaman?” asked the black-haired passenger.

“Oh yes—I did learn a little, but—”

“I’ve never learned anything whatever,” said the other.

“Oh, but I learned very little, you know!” added Tzimisces, as though excusing himself. “They could not teach me very much on account of my compulsion to play football.”

“Do you know the Lundrigans?” asked his questioner, abruptly.

“No, I don’t—not at all! I hardly know anyone in Quebec. Why, is that your name?”

“Yes, I am Lundrigan, Asher Lundrigan.”

“Asher Lundrigan? dear me—then aren't you that writer...” began the clerk, with a very perceptible increase of civility in his tone.

“Yes—indeed,” interrupted Lundrigan, impatiently, and with scant courtesy. I may remark that he had not once taken any notice of the blotchy-faced passenger, and had hitherto addressed all his remarks direct to Tzimisces.

“Dear me—is it possible?” observed the clerk, while his face assumed an expression of great deference and servility—if not of absolute alarm: “what, that very same Asher Lundrigan whose wife has so recently fallen into a coma after giving birth to their daughter?”

“And how do you know that?” asked Lundrigan, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to look at the other. “However, it’s true enough. My wife is still ill,” continued Lundrigan to Tzimisces, “but I sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train and came away temporarily; my wife is being cared for by friends, and it is my hope that I now will be able to write a book that will assure my place in Quebec literature. I but lack a theme.”

“A theme?” said the clerk, as though trying to think out something.

“Come, you know nothing about these things” said Lundrigan, impatiently.

“And supposing I do know something?” observed the other, triumphantly.

“Bosh! there are plenty of themes. And what an impertinent beast you are!” he added angrily.

At this the train reached the station. Juan Tzimisces rose and stretched out his hand courteously, while he said with some cordiality: “I believe that I might have a theme for you. It is one that I have often discussed with my shaman. It is a theme of self-pilgrimage, in my case as explored through football. Is this perhaps of interest?”

“Self-pilgrimage you say? And what is the name of your shaman?"

"Isabel Jurado" replied Tzimisces.

"Isabel? Are you a great hand with the ladies? Let’s know that first?” asked Rogojin.

“Oh no, oh no!” said Tzimisces; “I couldn’t, you know—my obsession with football... Well, there was a girl called Margaret; but alas we are no longer on speaking terms....”

“H’m! well—here, you fellow—you can come along with me now if you like!” cried Lundrigan to Tzimisces, and so they all left the carriage.

It was damp and wet. Lundgrian and Tzimisces asked the way of passers-by, and finding that they were a couple of miles or so from their destination, they determined to take a taxi.

[Kelssek]

Got my first real football

They knew Rachel Schanke was going to be the major threat. Knowing this is one thing, doing something about it is quite a different matter. With three Kelssek players flailing in her wake, she found the roof of the net within five minutes.

Played it on a plastic pitch

Urban legend has it that Kelssek players are averse to going to ground, not because of any sense of honour or sportsmanship, just that natural grass is at a premium in that climate and most kids kick their first footballs on cheap and maintenace-free artificial turf. Getting layers of skin taken off your legs every time you take a tumble encourages players to stay on your feet. Or maybe Colm Ó Tuathail is a good athlete who can keep his balance under a challenge, allowing him to get the crucial shot away. With the team in danger of slipping into accepting their fate, it was just the response that Kelssek needed.

Rubber pellets went everywhere

With a frenzied half-hour in the record books the score was 2-2. Matt Lister was supposed to be the target man, but Seamus Wylten was the one who chested down the cross and played him through to score the equalizer. This kind of madness wasn’t how World Cup knockout matches were supposed to go.

Gabriel Lapierre plays a deeper position in the national team than he usually does for his club. Can you blame an guy for wanting to get forward? Yes, in fact, everyone would have after the way that left Joseline Fourtin exposed, if Rosenblatt had put her shot the other side of the goalpost.

It was the cycle of forty-six...

These players were all born after the start of football being taken seriously as an important sport, which most will say is when Kelssek hosted World Cup 46. Except Thamior Liadon obviously, but that’s a different thing. Sure, Kelssek had to start again in ranking terms, but for these players, they didn’t have to plug away amid the sense of being less important than other sports, the way the first generation did. The bumbling of Football Kelssek aside, when the national team came back, it was taken seriously from the beginning.

Now we’re on the rise again
Writing names that’ll last forever
These are the best days of our lives

KELSSEK 3 – Ó Tuathail (12’), Lister (25’), Taleb (78’)
Poirier, Liadon, Fourtin, Halliger, Douglass (Vinter 83’), Demetriev, Lapierre, Ó Tuathail, McDonald (Taleb 70’), Lister, Wylten (Maçon-Petrault 64’).
CASSADAIGUA 2 – Schanke (4’), Graham (15’)

Mood swings up in Kelssek camp as quarterfinal test awaits

Less than the sum of its parts. Not ready for the top level. A mediocrity mentality. Second class and second rate. After the loss against Starblaydia, this was the unquestioned consensus about Kelssek’s football team.

How much can change in just nine days. After wins against Vilita and Cassadaigua, Kelssek fans are now convinced they are an unstoppable team of destiny. They face a quarterfinal against Valanora, against whom the current generation has faced five straight defeats in the last five cycles, with two of them coming earlier this season in the qualifiers. This troubling fact can barely dent the exuberance.

But maybe this time really is different. By beating the second-highest ranked team left in the tournament, Kelssek has equalled the best performance of the first generation, who reached the quarterfinals twice. They’ve also managed to figure out a way to beat an elite team playing three at the back.

Kelssek manager Andrea Crowe gave little hints of what her strategy will be. “There’s not really any secret. The strengths and weaknesses of each formation are well-known. We’ll have to make the most of our advantage on the flanks, and we need our best players to be our best players.”

Against Vilita, smart crossing and a winger joining the forward line helped get one of Kelssek’s goals. Here the development of players like James McDonald and Andrey Yusupov has been crucial, bringing quality on the right wing to match the combination of Thamior Liadon and Colm Ó Tuathail on the left. That said, Crowe has also been known to spring a tactical surprise of putting in Shaheen Taleb wide as an inside forward.

Projected lineup: Poirier, Liadon, Lozic, Halliger, Douglass, Demetriev, Lapierre, Ó Tuathail, McDonald, Taleb, Wylten.
Doubtful: Lister (calf), Champetier (ankle)
Out: none

[Chromatika]

World Cup Proper, Round of 16: Chromatika 0-1 Nephara
CMT: None; NPH: Moxham '59
Starting XI: Ria; Xiao - de Aea - Anderson - Ilya; Thorben - Armageddon (C) - Conrad; Hauser; Vidal - Sierra.
Substitutes: Zuniga -> Armageddon ('54), Victoriane -> Thorben ('62), Andisori, K. -> Sierra ('81)

---

By: Jordan Lawless, Chief Correspondent

Five Things: A Look Ahead after Chromatika's 0-1 Defeat Against Nephara

There isn't much more to be said about the match - a tightly contested affair in which Chromatika had a handful of chances but the Cormorants ultimately proved their class - but after the first cycle back in the Round of Sixteen since World Cup 80, what is next for the state of Chromatik football? Let us see.

1. Chromatik Football is in Good Hands.
The Chromatik Football Federation (CFF) has recently announced that it has renewed the contract with Richard Valens and Tim Landers. The Krytenian Valens and Delaclav Landers were originally signed before World Cup 86 for AOCAF 51, with the initial goal of making it to the Round of Sixteen in three cycles. Now that they've accomplished the feat after two, it is understandable why they'd be signed on for a longer stint. Now, the Krytenian/Delaclav duo will be on the helm of the Anomalies through the landmark edition of World Cup 90, meaning that they'll have ten years to work their magic. It's a well deserved outcome, and one that should allay any semblance of rumors to the contrary.

2. A Change of the Guard is Coming.
Few players that have likely played their last game as an Anomalies starter, if at all: Keira Andisori (for what it seems like the tenth time, but she will be thirty-eight next time around, and has a career outside of football waiting for her), Mia Ria, Kaytlyn Victoriane, Rowena Sierra, Retta Conrad. Valence Ilya and Cierra Anderson are possibilities. The good news is that there are plenty of players waiting to take over - Vasiliy Marten Kuznetsov, Giles Ken, Ferret Tioux or Juxon Fillar, Nina Pomeroy, and the like. With the fact that Haley Hauser and Kateryna Zuniga may even supplant their counterparts - Hauser more likely than Zuniga, as Armageddon is the Captain - there are plenty of youth waiting their turn. The biggest questions? We'll address keeper in a separate post, and the other one would be who's going to take over at Right Winger.

3. The Battle to be the #1 Keeper Should be Interesting.
On one hand, Ferret Tioux has more experience, plays in the EuraLeague, and has been a part of the lineup for a longer period of time. On the other, Juxon Fillar is a multiple-time CCFA champion, on a hot streak, and the staring keeper for Cazadores Cathair. Yes, that Cathair. Who should be the keeper with Mia Ria stepping down? Should be one of the more intriguing storylines of the next cycle.

4. The Chromatik Youth System is Working.
One of the things that Valens and Landers have been doing is really working the Chromatik youth system. With the Sporting World Cup for U-18, The Di Bradini Cup for U-21, and the AOCAF for U-25, potential players are getting vetted with plenty of attention before they hit the senior levels. It's working, too, with the likes of Kuznetsov, Hauser, Fillar, and the like making it through to make an immediate impact as soon as they hit the senior levels.

5. There is Hope.
Let's be clear - it's been a grind since returning to the World Cup after missing one. There was some progress between 83 and 84, but then came the disaster of World Cup 85. Now, two cycles after that, the Anomalies have made it to the Round of Sixteen for the first time since World Cup 80. Next up? Consistency in reaching the Round of Sixteen, maybe making it to the Quarterfinals and beyond. Definitely, there is hope regarding the future, and that... counts for a lot.

[Ethane]

Will you be moving on up the KPB rankings, or is this the end of the road for you this World Cup?

Quarterfinals Cutoff - Ethanian Half

[Taeshan]

Yes it is, Hard.

Cutoff

[Ko-oren]

In a match that was largely seen as a bonus fixture between the Dragonflies of Ko-oren and the Vherderoja of Farfadillis, it's proven once again that those with nothing to lose often win it all. The curse was broken (or at least temporarily lifted) versus Geektopia, and the massive burden of finally winning that #!@$%#@!$ round of 16 fell off the shoulders of the players on the field - and coach Juliasterinthen. The head coach, member of some of the national teams that lost us our first few Rounds of 16 was in charge when the Green and Blue finally, finally, finally saw a victory in the most cursed round in multiversal sports. Liberated and unburdened the team managed to look ahead to the next challenge. Possibly without all of the preparation they had hoped to do before facing such a formidable foe, the Dragonflies simply sat back to parry all of the Farves' attacks. Increasingly desperate to get a goal (and maybe already looking ahead to the semifinal) the Vherderoja were unlucky on a few attempts. In between those, they took more risks than necessary, lost possession, and gave Erisia the ball in many a counterattack. The score after 90 minutes read 0-0, but that could've been 3-3 instead if it wasn't for Gallegas' poor vision on crosses, picking out Theshendan rather than either of the Çídh family members. Not that they were free from blame: the rare one-on-ones they got ended up in the side netting. On the other side, Erisia was crowded by defenders as soon as he touched the ball, while Vaugrenard often had acres of space to work with but none of the pace or control needed to trouble Ibrelaná.

Farfadillis, a hyper-offensive team, only have their scoring ability to rely on and when that fails, often turns to frustration. Ko-oren, on the other hand, have all the faith in their defence and are comfortable with low scoring affairs - after all, how many games have we won 1-0 with the goal coming to us well into the 80th minute? It's hard to faze this team (especially if we're still en route to a clean sheet). Extra time loomed, and it's clear that the Vherderoja expected to be done before then - with a 4-0 win, or a 6-5 win, or just any affair featuring any beaten goalkeeper. It wasn't the case that the Dragonflies showed no nerves at all - of course, any professional getting to this stage is affected by the weight of the affair and the shine of the Cup - and when extra time kicked off, both teams visibly realised that it could be all over for them in 30 minutes' time. Extra time therefore was very hard to watch, neither team really wanting to go to penalties (most of our current squad have never been involved in a penalty series at a level higher than the domestic Ko-orenite Cup) but neither team ready to take a risk and giving up a goal if it went south. Rue Cazade tried to break the deadlock and went on adventures, and Wìjìnì who came on for Gallegas (completely gassed after 105 minutes) wanted to join in as well, but a Ko-orenite side that had been conserving energy all night long wasn't to be taken advantage of. Just before the penalties, Longchambon came on for Breukelaar, and De Villepin came on for Aiamara, so Ko-oren briefly played with three defenders and five midfielders - which hadn't happened since, well, ever. The reason is obvious: in case of a long penalty series, you better have experienced goalscorers on the field rather than the 22-year olds. Repelling a last attack in the odd configuration made the referee see it was time to make an end to an atrocious 30 minutes of football.

And now it was time for soccer's last wanted feature. A short discussion on the sidelines yielded a list of five primary kickers: Vaugrenard, followed by Erisia, who both played the full 120 minutes but had more to show, then De Villepin and Longchambon, and lastly Janoreirinthen. Batchelor could lead the rest of the squad if it came to a sixth spot kick. For the Farves, it was the Çídhs first, followed by Wìjìnì, then Rue Cazade, and Ûsêtêrnìx in fifth.

Vaugrenard lines up, aimed for the lower left, while Ibrelaná dove the other way. 1-0.

Edmün Çídh sent it straight down the middle, while Theshendan went for the right. 1-1.

Erisia beat Ibrelaná to the right side, the ball sliding under the goalkeeper... but too far to the right, and the ball came back off the post. 1-1.

Röémün Çídh blasted the ball against the crossbar while Theshendan only looked on. 1-1.

De Villepin, brought on as somewhat of a PK specialist, saw his weak shot stopped by Ibrelaná, continuing the miss parade. 1-1.

Wìjìnì added a fourth straight miss with a decent kick that was repelled by Theshendan in the upper left corner. 1-1.

Longchambon saw the situation get dire, and went for a no-nonsense shot down the middle, the ball hitting the back of the net even before Ibrelaná hit the ground on a dive. 2-1.

Rue Cazade hoped to continue his good play from the end of extra time, and hoped to deceive Theshendan. He stuttered on his run up, planted one foot, and sent the other straight into the ground. The resulting kick was easily collected half a metre from the goal line. 2-1.

Janoreirinthen had some time to catch his breath before realising all the pressure was on him now. A win and the semifinals weren't just a dream anymore... He took the ball, put it down, and from that moment, only looked at the lower left corner. And that's... exactly where he put the ball. Ibrelaná didn't expect him to be that transparent, and waited upright for a different clue, which never came, and he stared the ball into the lower corner. 3-1. Ûsêtêrnìx didn't even have to take his kick anymore.

Reality kicked in about a second later, with Janoreirinthen standing still on the penalty spot for what felt like aeons. Ko-oren won!

For now, we're off to The Pit again, the site of probably our most anticipated victory, with a chance to knock out Valanora. We say 'with a chance', but even if we play as free and unfettered as we did against Farfadillis, we'll need all the luck of the world (or a master stroke by Juliasterinthen) to get a win. About a year ago, we never thought to win a knockout game in the World Cup, and look at us now! Talking about reaching the final - without it being a completely unrealistic scenario!

The Elves will bring a different energy to the Farves. Even just the jersey will instill fear - when it's World Cup season and you see the crossed sabres, the deep blue, and see names like 'Hawk', you know things are getting serious. A highly technical side is a huge challenge for the defensive 5-3-2 - though the Dragonflies will get chances against an understaffed 3-(wo)manelf back line. Hopefully the weight of five titles (or rather, the weight of expectations of adding a sixth) plays on them, which just about could make matters a bit more equal. As the designated away team, Ko-oren will play in the alternate yellow jersey. We should see a mostly open match, with very few fouls, and our eleven tacticians hopefully matching the opposing eleven technicians. Win or loss: there's a first for anything. If Valanora wins, they'll be the first team to get two knockout wins over us (WC 83 Ro16 was the first). If we win, Valanora will be the first team that we got our Ro16 revenge over (Farfadillis somehow never played us in the Round of 16 before).

Controversy around the final group stage match follows the team around, but not as much as we had expected. As a 'nasty' defensive team, that even employs 'underhanded' tactics, the deck easily stacks against us. There's beauty in defence, is what we want to say.

[Nephara]

Pasarga 0 - 1 Nephara
(4-2-3-1) 1 - Provost; 18 - Rostock, 5 - Thorn (c), 6 - Clevinger, 3 - Muscadin (22 - Lind 59'); 15 - Horvath, 17 - Mueller; 7 - Koerner (23 - Mrdja 19'), 21 - Moxham, 13 - Belgrade; 10 - Lovelace (9 - Bastable 70')
Goal: Lovelace 63'

There was belief.
Triffid Ramsey could see it from every one of her charges as they left the tunnel. No more doubts, like there'd been on her arrival. The faces were largely the same as those who had struggled to beat Garbelia, who had dropped points to Kandorith and Graintfjall, players struggling to find out where their next points were coming from. How un-Nepharan, she'd thought. But then she realised; it was still inside them, somewhere. She just had to draw it out.
It was out in the open now. This was the swagger she wanted to see.
Despite having the literal archetypal Nephar figure be her father, well, he was always just her papi. Everything he was was just ... what he was, who he was, and she knew him far too well with all his faults and flaws. No, she had to outsource her idea of the typical Nephar from someone she met in Schottia.
Jade Irwin was her model. Tall, lean, arrogant. A Crisisbless United reject who had never let that get her down, never stopped pushing her career as hard as it would go. Never the fastest or strongest, or honestly the hardest-working defensively, Irwin made it her job to humiliate defences with passes nobody but their targets could see coming. She'd emerged in Schottia back when the SPL was a backwater, and rode her way to the top with Cornellians, the same team Ramsey herself was that. She was the first SPL player to receive Cormorants caps, finally bringing her infectious confidence and nerveless cool to her country.
And sure. She only made eight caps, and didn't score. But to Ramsey, Irwin was beyond a model of her nation, but a model for life in general. Approach every obstacle in the world like a hurdle you could mantle with ease. Make good company with the best, knowing that's where you belong. And make sure everyone knows it, too.
... But you did have to actually win, of course. Lose and it was just Dunning-Kruger, you know?

"... new signing Ilia Mueller to answer the questions of our fans on Twii.tur!"
"Hi, yeah. That's me. I am."
(Mueller forces a wooden smile, as the interface pops up different twiis)
[@afctofficial what s ... ur favurite goal]
"Mm. Well, this one time I was in the box and I felt Nathan fucking Ellis breathing down my neck, so I tried to push him aside and accidentally full karate-chopped him in the throat before shooting past, uhm, I guess it must've been Gavaris. Yeah, even got away with it too, somehow. No way that should've counted."
[@afctofficial how does it feel to abandon your hometown club, the greatest club of all, Parrhesia United? does it feel good to chase the money, traitor?]
(snort) "If you knew how much money it was, you wouldn't bother asking."
[@afctofficial does she ever smile???]
"Uhm. Yeah, of course I smile. Stupid question, isn't it? People smile. I'm smiling right now, aren't I."
[@afctofficial omg finally !!!! weve needed a player like her for ages -- ask her if shes expecting a call from @dstrauss21 any time soon ??]
"Mm. Well, see, it depends."
(offstage:) "Depends on what?"
"Depends if she's any fucking sense."

The Wanderers had entered the cycle as a side between generations, struggling to move past the days where Alexander Jager could simply fire them clear, and with Gersten and Acs, one of the best wingers and arguably the best leftback of their generation, drawing to the end. How things could change in a year. The Wanderers had clawed their way to the quarterfinals with swagger and solidity combined, knocking out co-hosts Ethane and the powerhouse of Baker Park in the process. They worked to a strong, disciplined blueprint, attacking in numbers and defending in waves, and as the sides returned to the tunnel after the first half Pasarga had commanded two-thirds of the ball.
Part of this, naturally, was that the Cormorants were letting them. One psychotic match against Drawkland aside, the Cormorants had set their stall through caution and solidity. To keep the side fresh, Ramsey had made a handful of rotations. Considine and Stride went down through choice, Cromwell by necessity through an accumulation of cautions, and Anselm Koerner went down with an injury early in the game.
Perhaps it was that freshness which made the difference. The Cormorants approached the second half like they had the first, but the Wanderers simply couldn't bring together the same intensity as they had. And perhaps it was telling that the goal came off the counter.
Dele Acs was in dangerous space for everyone involved. Combining well with Csapo, they opened up space for him to slip by Rostock and hammer in a peach of a cross. It sailed well over the centre-halves and Nagy, but made it to where Julia Mueller was racing in towards the back stick. The Zozi striker took one touch to trap it before firing low, forceful, and goalbound.
Nea Provost had other ideas. She'd had to be ready for the cross, shift at the last moment to Mueller and then, without a wasted step, take a pace to the right and drive and with an iron wrist barely claw the shot away from goal. The play turned farcical for a moment, with Nagy and Clevinger both going for the ball and air-swinging into each other, leaving Provost to drag the ball out from under their feet, go forward a couple paces with the ball still at her feet and then hammer the ball down the right. Fresh young Mrdja was there. Acs was still in retreat.
It sailed beautifully into the path of Mrdja's stride and from there it was 2v3, Lovelace and Szoeloessy both in the chase, Mrdja more than willing to take on Meier. Another world-class defender... but not one with the pace to stop Mrdja simply outrunning him. Galambos stood tall and defiant, and Mrdja tried to slot the ball low past him. He stuck out a boot to deflect it, but the ball spat out to no-man's land.
Perhaps Meier or Szoeloessy get the ball two or three years ago, but today, it was Konrad Lovelace who had the empty net to bulge.

"Hey."
"What."
"Hey, Kurtis."
"Yeah, what?"
"... Is it weird for you? Being sidelined all of a sudden?"
"It's not weird. Is it weird for me? Yeah, no shit it's weird for me. I'm the better striker, I always will be the better striker, and you'd better believe I'll go down a lot more remembered. That's just a fact, and I know you know it too."
"Ah. Right."
"But. You'll let me finish?"
"Of course."
"But you had a better year, and right now with you up front it's working. And you'd damn well better think you're the better striker out of the two of us."
"I know that isn't the case historically-"
"Fuck history, man, that's just numbers. You've got to learn to let that shit go. Only thing could get me mad at you, Konrad, is if you stop believing you deserve your place. The very fucking moment that happens, you go to the boss, you tell her you're--"
"Aren't you overreacting?"
"I've scored like seventy international goals, I can't overreact, everything I do's just reactin'. So you go to Triff, to the gaffer, you tell her, 'I'm slipping, oh fuck,' then you go out and you check out of the hotel and you talk to some journo in the morning 'cause that's it, that is you done at the top level. Your mentality can't slip for a fucking second. There is zero doubt that can be let in."
"... I see."
"You know what I do, Konrad? I fuckin' cultivate. This headspace, this is a garden of shit that lets me score more goals. I prune. I don't remember shit about gravity or whatever, from school. Couldn't tell you the first thing about division on paper. But you know what was the most important thing to go?"
"What?"
"Doubt. And that's what I-- well, what I thought I saw in you, earlier. You knew you were gonna score against the Chromes, even when you were offside. You knew you were gonna score against Astograth even when you thought that 'keeper's head was the ball."
"Sure, fine. No doubt. Forget I fucking asked, before all this weird shit about pruning."
"Hey, deep down you know I'm right. Point is... you waited long enough in my shadow to take the chance, man. Just... you'd better fucking know if your grip ever gets loose, I'm ripping that shit off you."
"Sure. ... And, hey. It was the same with you."
"I know it, brother. What did you think it was pushed me so hard?"

Ramsey trusted Catherine Sedgwick's instincts.
It was why Sedgwick was here. She was an undeniably good tactician but could rarely express the extent of her ideas on the board; she had a keen eye for ability and a quiet authority, bolstered by 14 caps, but never raised her voice. While she'd had a highly successful management career in her own life, she completed Ramsey.
But only so long as Ramsey let Sedgwick complete her. So when Sedgwick said "I'm gonna get Kurtis to warm up," Ramsey just asked, "Konrad or Chi?"
The sacrificial lamb turned out to be Konrad, the goalscorer. There was a moment of incredulity on his face before he managed to tamp it out and clap as he made his way towards the sidelines. Bastable, the implacable battering-ram of a forward, strode grimly on.
Ten minutes later, though, Ramsey wondered if he was the right choice. Bastable was a better striker than Latona Basilisk in every metric but one: pace. But pace might have been precisely what they needed to further stretch the Pasargan defence. It was becoming an increasingly scrappy match, but once or twice there was a pass that didn't quite make it to their striker that, well, with a bit more speed...
Well, Bastable wasn't worrying. Nephara were in the lead, and he trusted the lads at the back to keep it that way. Of course he wanted to get on the scoresheet, but as driven as he was, he was one of those strikers who would gladly take zero goals in seven games if they were on a march to the World Cup.
It did help that he'd already scored 14 in finals, of course - six in the last World Cup alone. There was little else left to prove.
And there was an electricity in the air. Like his moment would come, and so it did. Just, not in the way anyone expected.
Pasarga got a second wind with ten minutes to play, thanks in large part to the injection of Jan Gersten and Elek Salai, the past and the future sharing a pitch. The Cormorants weren't immune to being stretched by pace themselves, as Gersten found by drilling an inch-perfect diagonal ball that split Rostock and Thorn, letting Salai, drifting wide, into space. Rostock tried to cover, but Csapo dashed inside, and a forward pass from Salai found him. He cut the ball across the face of goal but Thorn slid in to block before Nagy could be presented with her tap-in.
Still, as green shirts flooded into the box and Csapo bounded off eagerly to take the corner, the Pasargan fans started to stand, the Nepharim bit their nails. Bastable hustled into position. Every man - well, everyone except Belgrade, who was too weedy to be much use in the box and of far more value threatening a counter the other end - took up position, Provost micro-managing their positions...
The whistle blew. Csapo drove in the corner. To the-- to the edge of the box, where Gersten was, was nobody marking him?? The Bastion man fired, flawless, unerring, on goal...
Kurtis Bastable had made a career out of hitting balls. The target, right now, was secondary; the mechanics were the same. His body shifted, his leg raised, his mountainous thigh pulsed, and his boot caught the meat of the ball sending it right back the way it came, scorching through the air on its way to the halfway line.
It seemed academic that, while Belgrade nipped away with it, she was suffocated by a lack of support and dispossessed in the end by Csikos. As Bastable hustled and huffed back to his position, he knew that he'd done his part.

[Ko-oren]

Part 4: Sorthern Northland

Lastly, let's look at the other team that has been around for a very, very long time. We just discussed ASMV (and the surrounding territories), a nation of inspiring culture, exotic and foreign but always with a familiar twist, who disappeared from the World Cup with a whisper. Then there is Sorthern Northland, culture unknown, who disappeared from the World Cup with a bang.

Sorthern Northland: The Football Team
The SNFA employed a somewhat offensive 4-4-2. Its team included players like goalkeeper Sonia Fuentes, who "is the next big young thing in goalkeeping. Hopefully," which, given the later events, is more heartwrenching than what I was in for while reading a World Cup 57 roster. She had been part of the trophy-winning team of the 56th World Cup, as a 20-year old, having seen her country win the 55th edition as an aspiring talent, presumably at 17 years old and hoping for a spot on a loaded roster ready to string together World Cup trophies. You read that right - the nation won back-to-back World Cup between 55 and 56, leading a whole generation of Ko-orenites (just coming out of their metaphorical cocoon and looking at the multiverse with wonder, on a mission to win the trophy ourselves at some point) to think that this was what a championship team looked like and we were ready to see them compete for a long time to come. At World Cup 57 they were eliminated in the second round (the second round! Of course! We can only assume there's something in the water in NWAO at this point). In World Cup 58, well, they were not there.

Sorthern Northland: The Country
A league full of names like 'Corcaigh', 'Hightop Hill', 'Castrograd SC' gives us a little insight in the background of this country. English is spoken, as is Russian, as well as a language that sounds suspiciously like our own southwestern Mawr language, of Celtic origin. Adding the odd 'Juahzhou', 'Rode Ster Amsterdam', and 'Marx-Stadt' suggests that the country was as much of a linguistic patchwork as our own - maybe even more, given further clubs in the lower divisions named 'Görmekköyspor' and 'Révolutionnaire', the latter reminding us of a certain Euran club. The club names correspond with our idea of related personal names on their national team.

Sorthern Northland: The End
Later communications speak of a war for Beningrad - hey, that just happens to be one of the names we found in old football league communiqués. Rebels (in the words of the government, of course they're rebels) threatened to take over the city as a small group of insurgents and their tanks came within a stone's throw. Krytenia then scored the 2-0, the final nail in the coffin, to send Sorthern Northland home from World Cup 57. It was the Krytenians all along!

Captain Jared Butler's memoires, one of few remaining documents, speak of his personal doubts in serving his country. He was on the government's side, but understood the point the Rebels wanted to make. Hopefully we can piece together the words and actions of both sides to make sense of the event that was about to happen. Beningrad was largely in ashes already. Rebel tanks bore down on the few remaining buildings, one of which held the Taoiseach, who had amassed power and ultimately leadership over the country and held on to that through his - now failing - military.

The next few moments cannot have been recorded anywhere. If they were, they cannot have survived what happens next. And yet, it is what must have happened.

“The launch codes. I want them activated.”

[inaudible]

“Yes General, I'm commanding you to activate the launch codes.”

"You'll kill us all... everyone... Everything"

“Look out there. Look out the window [at the ruins of a city], go on. Do it. They've already murdered Sorthern Northland. Destroyed it. There's nothing left now to save, she's taking her last few breaths. Put her, put us all out of this misery.”

The sound of footsteps. The rebels entered the building.

The sound of... nothing, followed by a button press. The Taoiseach only looked sternly at the general in charge of the launch codes. The glare did its work, or maybe it was the sound of the rebels coming ever closer, step by step, story by story.

The sound of... nothing, again.

And then everything started making noise at once. Very, very briefly.

And then the sound of nothing once more.

Sorthern Northland is dead. Long live Sorthern Northland.

Days before that, both sides involved in the conflict announced a ceasefire for the duration of the World Cup. And yet, streets were silent as noone dared venture out.

"The World Cups used to be a time of celebration..."

As the final whistle of the first group stage match sounded, the explosions started just seconds later.

The conflict went back a few months, during which just about every population centre saw conflicts, leaving millions homeless and destitute. And yet, neither the government forces, nor the rebels, yielded. Nothing, apparently, was a good enough reason to stop fighting. First, there were protests.

Under years of tyrannical rule, the people finally had enough of 'corruption, oppression, political murders by secret police'. Deaths in custody. Staged accidents. Killing protesters. And despite all that, it all started with an egg.

It's unclear whether anyone made it out. Refugees reportedly entered ASMV in the weeks leading up to the nuclear detonations. None were left alive within the country, that much is clear. It's hard to say what happened to nationals abroad: for the few dozen present in Ko-oren, they were granted special rights to stay and settle on our archipelago - and when their passports had to be renewed, they were simply given Ko-orenite passports. Silent immigration.

Researchers of the Greencaster Technical University and the Aevanna Ecologiske Universitet still detect heightened radiation levels whenever the wind blows in from the south. Tourism is out of the question - even establishing a research station on the ground is reportedly impossible. Flying over the area for measurements in the atmosphere is possible, and has been done several times, with strict precautions. It might be decades before we can finally find out what exactly happened in those final moments.