AOCAF 48 Everything Thread (Atlantian Oceania Only)

by **Ko-oren** » Sun Sep 06, 2015 2:35 am

Dragonflies do it again

The Union of Ko-oren made it to its first semifinals in its current form. Overall, the Ko-orenite team are off to their second consecutive semis. Last time, it was 95X, Vilita & Turori, Audioslavia and Ko-oren in that order from top to bottom. This time, 95X went out to Farfadillis in the second round already on penalties, Audioslavia lost 4-3 to Osarius and Vilita & Turori lost to Farfadillis on penalties.

Ko-oren will take on Osarius, a scary foe in international football but luckily it seems their dominance is mainly when the World Cup is at stake rather than the AOCAF. The other semifinal is Krytenia versus Farfadillis. If you want to compare the two semis, the former is probably more of a 'established giants' facing off while the latter is easily the more interesting one: old newbies Krytenia are taking the world by storm once again, and Farfadillis have slain giant after giant in the knockouts.

Does that mean that Ko-oren versus Osarius will be boring? No. The Firebirds will play a defensive attack kind of play, possession based, while the Dragonflies should fall back into their parking the bus and lulling opponents to sleep type of strategy. Possession rates will most likely favour Osarius, but if there is any team against which possession rates don't decide a thing, it's us. We will be under a lot of pressure from the Firebirds. They will capitalise on mistakes and win the ball back as soon as they lose it. And that is good... but also exposing yourself to our opportunistic attack. Our front three (two wingers and a central striker) should create some difficult situations for Monteforte in absence of defenders who have marched off to win the ball back somewhere, but failed. That's not the only thing, they also have a very young squad. Basically, in possession, Osarius have a deadly team, but they have their weaknesses. Ko-oren have a highly mature team, defensively aware, but lacks a playmaker.

If funny coincidences also have a say, we'd suggest that the final be a Group A rematch between Ko-oren and Krytenia in an ok all-K final.

by **Osarius** » Sun Sep 06, 2015 10:15 am

It's far too early to draw any meaningful conclusions from the reign of Azarai Robinson so far, but the former Osarius and Firewood City fullback has started well. Six wins from six games, including a hard-fought win over an experienced Audioslavia side, have silenced most critics the former Tjelberg Forening manager had faced when appointed the new Osarius boss. "It was always going to be difficult following Jermain [Lewis]," Robinson acknowledges, "but we've had a nice run, and it feels like the fans are really getting behind us. Really supporting what we're doing. A win over the Bulls is a major plus, and now there's a good chance of winning a trophy."

Unlike the comfortable win over Cosumar, and the relatively routine dismissal of Greater Watford, the Firebirds were made to work very hard for their latest victory. After finding themselves two goals down after half an hour, it looked like the relative inexperience of Robinson's side was going to be a deciding factor -- and yet another win for Osarius' north-eastern AO neighbours; their fourth in eight meetings -- but on the stroke of half-time, Sido Pudoremu caught the 'Slav defence napping and halved the deficit. "Sido's back in the team after his knock in the groups, and he's as sharp as ever. He did well getting that goal, and I think it was a crucial one for us. The game was running away from us before that." Robinson admitted after the game.

In the second half, however, despite a bright start, Osarius found themselves under the cosh yet again. Robinson had other plans, though. After nearly an hour, the gaffer made the decision to sacrifice both of his talented wingers Darik Samuels and Jerome Monroe, to switch to a 4-4-2 diamond formation. "We were losing the midfield battle, and I didn't want to lose symmetry, so I made the call." Robinson explained. The introduction of Ashley Saunders saw the revival of the 'Utica connection' with Alan Drummond that had served well against Weimania and Cosumar, while Zoe Barnes came in to dictate play from the base of the diamond, freeing up the dynamic duo of Mitchell and Mancini.

The impact was near-immediate, as Drummond released Saunders in the box three minutes later for an equaliser. Barnes' presence became a problem for the Bulls, as she operated in the space in front of the Osarian back four, providing protection as well as direction. On seventy-two minutes, her incisive pass found Pudoremu's run in behind the Audioslavia defence, and for the first time on the night, Osarius led. "Sido is quick, and when he sees the gap, you almost expect him to get to the ball first, and have a shot." Barnes explained. "So when I saw the gap, I thought I'd try it. If he sees, great. If not, we'll try again."

As the game entered the last ten minutes, Osarius were beginning to wane again. The workrate in midfield was absurdly high, and Gavin Mitchell was beginning to show signs of struggle. Robinson obliged the Directus midfielder by replacing him with the steely Miguel Gomez, who took on a role at chief ball-winner instead of his normal deep-lying, defensive midfield role. "It was good to play a little less restricted than usual." Gomez said after the game. "It wasn't for long, but I had a lot more to do." Gomez played a crucial role in Osarius' fourth goal, making the tackle that halted an Audioslavian downfield sweep. Barnes in turn released Saunders, who squared for Pudoremu to complete his hat-trick.

The Firebirds would relax in the next five minutes, feeling confident that they had all-but won. Audioslavia however, were not content to settle for a quarter final defeat -- not even to Osarius -- and punished that naivety with a third goal in the eighty-sixth minute, setting up a nervy finish to a thoroughly entertaining game. Monteforte's scrambling save on the goal-line in the third minute of injury time was greeted with a palpable sigh of relief from the Osarian support, barely drowning out the frustrated counterpart from Audioslavian section. Jorge Santana, whose mistake had led to the chance, was the first to thank the 'keeper once the ball was clear. He would follow that up with a crushing embrace seconds later, when the final whistle blew and confirmed the Firebirds' place in the semi finals.

by **Farfadillis** » Sun Sep 06, 2015 6:13 pm

The match against Vilita and Turori was something else. Truth be told, if there's one better team that we'd always face with full confidence, it would be them. Don't ask me why, but we just seem to play better when we face them. This time it would not be different.

We played well. Really well. I know they took us to extra time but, to be honest, I thought it was pretty unfair. But you know what? Even taking into account it detrimented our chances for the following match, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Everything played out like a movie. It felt like someone had written the script.

Of course, I had to sit this one out. Tôr ended up recovering from the minor injury he had had the previous game. I wasn't too fussed, though. I had loved the playing time I got against 95X, but it had been more than enough. Plus there was no doubt that a 70% fit Rübéãn was better than a 100% fit me. As you'd expect, Pekarik was right in his decision. Tôr was one of the best players that game.

The first half probably wouldn't interest you. It was a bunch of chances both sides failed to turn into goals. I shifted in my seat nervously throughout it, and that was pretty much it. No injuries, no questionable decisions. There weren't even cards handed out. Not exactly a boring half - ok, by Farf standards it was, but by international ones? A pretty exciting game, I'd argue.

The second half was a lot more exciting. Pekarik made no substitutions because why would he? Everyone was having a fine game. Fuego's finishing had been a bit sketchy, maybe. If I'm honest, up until then he hadn't had the best of tournaments. But even he was playing pretty well. Likewise, the Viliturorians fielded the same team for the second half.

We scored eleven minutes into it. Terán, who had had a great tournament, looked unstoppable whenever he got his feet on the ball. In one such case, he tore apart the Eel-Cat defense in three seconds.

Mêndêlöíndçêl, unsurprisingly, recovered the ball and passed it to Mâás. Mâás dribbled past their left midfielder and passed it to Terán. Alex calmly turned around, nutmegged one of their players and headed towards the edge of the box with the ball under so much control you could've mistakenly assumed it was glued to his right foot. As he approached the defenders, he feinted going to the left and instead sent a through pass to the right. A very precise one. Fôx, who was sprinting towards empty space, elegantly controlled it. He then faced Milake one-on-one and, again elegantly, placed it in the top corner. One-nil up, and it just felt right. Things were the way they were meant to be. Farfadillis beating the filthy Vilitans (and the Turorians too because why not?).

After that, we played the best I'd ever seen us play. We dominated one of the best teams of the Multiverse, if only rather briefly. Sure, there were some close shaves... namely two shots that hit the crossbar, but overall we were the better team throughout the game. Terán was uncontrollable, Kâí too and their player on the right flank just couldn't match Tôr's vigorous spirit and, more importantly, his game-breaking pace. Alas, we didn't capitalize on any of those things, and it bit us back in the ass. With just five minutes to go. That hurt. Pekarik's arms-behind-the-head reaction probably represented the entire nation's.

A silly mistake by Röènôùjýâ, who had had a great match, actually, ended up with Ylimaiina facing Tzâín one-on-one, dribbling him, and scoring with an empty goal at his mercy. It was like a bucket of cold water. After that, Pekarik replaced Delafuente, who was having yet another super-average match, with Wínrôuge, who was probably even putting in enough pressure to fight for the starting place. He definitely wasn't doing enough to replace Alex, though. That much I'm sure of. Nothing happened after that, though, and that meant yet another one of our matches would be dragged out for at least thirty more minutes.

I don't know why, but it seemed like our Polarian manager didn't like substituting his players. Even after the toll that the previous match had taken on us, he'd refused to make a second substitution by the time extra time came. Steffan could've probably had better foresight, and avoided Fuego's injury, I believe. However, poor José injured himself chasing a through pass from Fôx, and that meant we had to send in, ideally, another striker. Nobody doubted, not even for a second, who that striker would be.

Almost an entire career in the V-League. Countless awards. Arguably the most influential player of the most influential team in Vilita and Turori. Top scorer pretty much every other season. Farf legend. Pekarik would've been burnt at the stake had he chosen Nofzaleiné instead of Dandalleion. Pekarik doesn't like being burnt at the stake, so he replaced the injured Faroleran with the old Ferdullaelan.

However, with most of his pace gone, there was little Dandalleion could do. They started to get a hang of Terán and Wínrôuge was a bit too focused on being the hero to help him out. To make matters worse, the extra exhaustion from the 95X started to weigh heavily on our shoulders. The Viliturorians started to slowly take control of the game, but Bârr and Tzâín kept the goal shut. Pekarik made another substitution in light of us being dominated. Fôx, tired as usual, was replaced by Iñaki. We all cheered him on while he walked to his seat. He'd performed superbly. We'd blown all three subs, and so had them.

When we had to switch sides of the pitch, the players on the pitch tried to make the most out of it and get a bit of a rest by taking their sweet time. It was evident some of our players could barely move their legs. Mata and Röènôùjýâ had made a big impact with their constant attacks and, believe it or not, their defensive input. However, fifteen more minutes of that seemed like madness. Tôr, who had probably ran twice as much as anyone else on the pitch bar those two, had a look in his face that just screamed 'Kill me!' The only thought that comforted us was that we had probably tired our opponents a good bit.

The second half had a mostly dominant Vilita & Turori side looking for a goal, and a mostly helpless Farfadillis side constantly looking for the slightest opportunity to score on a deadly counter (equivalent of parking the bus to us). It looked like the game was set to go to penalties, or at least I liked to believe that. Until Tôr capped off his performance with a great assist to... you guessed, it Dandalleion.

He got the ball from Bârr, who'd stripped Ylimaiina from it, and proceeded to make an amazing run across the pitch. He dribbled one and reached the half-way line. Then he dribbled another and started making his way towards their defensive line. He dribbled another, and then connected a through pass to Dandalleion. With exquisite control and an evidently clear mind, Dandalleion faced Milake one-on-one. He dribbled the Vilitan goalkeeper and, with barely enough space, slotted home before losing balance and falling to the ground. A poetic way to win the match. The joy on Friekder's face was one of the most satisfying things I've experienced. For a moment, he could once again be Farfadillis' ace. I think that was what he wanted to experience once more when he un-retired. It's hard to let go, evidently.

With four minutes to go, we managed to hang onto the result. It somehow became more of a duty than the match itself. To make the game end on such a high note for Dandalleion. Our opponents did not surrender, though, and we sure had a hard time. But in the end, nothing came of their fighting spirit, and now the hosts awaited us. 'El fútbol da revancha' I repeated to myself. I wanted to believe.

by **Krytenia** » Mon Sep 07, 2015 3:58 pm

Losing in the semi-finals could be an all time low.

SEMI-FINAL SCORES
Ko-oren 1-3 Osarius
Krytenia 0–2 Farfadillis

THIRD PLACE PLAYOFF (Cygnus Stadium, Bromham)
Ko-oren vs Krytenia

FORTY-EIGHTH AOCAF CUP FINAL (Isserson Olympic Stadium, Emberton)
Osarius vs Farfadillis

by **Farfadillis** » Tue Sep 08, 2015 12:14 pm

Facing a stadium filled with people that desperately want you to lose was another experience that AOCAF Cup gave me. It was a very different atmosphere. Some of my teammates had already experienced that against Yttribia in World Cup 71, when they succeeded at knocking them out. Overall an exciting atmosphere I can only imagine football creating. I looked to my left and noticed Ascensión looking pretty nervous. He was rubbing his hands, fistbumping, eating his nails occasionally, moving his left leg without noticing.

“Hey, Ekvin, you look pretty nervous.” I remarked. “Why is that?”

He pointed at one of the Krytenian players. “There, see the one wearing number nine?”

“Yeah, what's with him?”

“That's Ronnie...” He paused “van Rijn of Avenida Victoria. I'm his teammate.”

“Ah, nice. That could help us.”

“Uh... yeah, maybe. But that's not what I'm talking about.”

“What is it then?”

“You see... our board seems to be particularly obsessed with Ronnie. He's by far our best player, nobody doubts that, but they might be overdoing it.”

“Overdoing it?”

“Yeah, overdoing it. For this upcoming season, they've decided to change his name in the Farf register office and, most shockingly, our club name.”

“What!?”

“Exactly what you heard. They wanted to change his name to Ronnie van Rijn of Avenida Victoria. However, at the same time, they wanted to change our name to Avenida Victoria of Ronnie van Rijn. Problem is, once you change both, it turns out neither are mentioning each other's name.”

“Now you're just confusing me.”

“Ok, let me explain. They wanted Ronnie's name to include our club's name. But, at the same time, they wanted the club name to include Ronnie's name. However, they ended up finding a pretty big problem: they entered a chain of name-changing that would've made the names endless.”

“So they didn't change any names!”

“Actually, no, they did. They changed his name to

in Base 36.”

“Ok, hold on, how the fuck did you say that so fast?”

“That number is 0.ronnievanrijnofavenidavictoriaofronnievanrijnofavenidavictoria... you get the idea. So, problem solved.”

“Again, how the fuck did you say that so fast!?”

“So, after that, they changed the club's name to

in Base 36.”

“Ok, this is insane. Please stop.”

“I know, that's what I told them! Changing Avenida Victoria's name is altering an integral part of its history!”

“That's not what I was talking about.”

“Ah, right, you were asking me why I was nervous!”

“I... uh. Yeah, I guess. But I guess you've already made it pretty cle-”

“Because we're in a semifinal.”

“...”

I'll be honest, I had never watched these cyan-clad bastards play. They were a great team before I was born, or at least that's what I was told. However, I don't think I would've been on the receiving end of any weird looks if I'd said we were the favourites for that match. Even though they had Ronnie van Rijn - or what he is called - and some apparently famous bloke called Val.. Valrauncion, I think? Either way, even though they had those two good players, I don't think any of us doubted we would win. As a result, the match turned out to be an affair far more complicated than what we expected. We did prevail with a two-goal lead, though. For some reason I felt like, in another universe where Krytenia may or may not have won eight World Cups (or was it Qazox?), we had actually lost two-nil. But that evidently didn't happen. So whatever.

We started dominating the match, though only slightly. The Krytenians had a pretty clear chance in the tenth minute, but we scored on the twelfth! Rübéãn Tôr, evidently determined to make me sit out every single minute of the tournament, scored after a great through pass by Terán. We had played well, yeah, but taking an early lead was a bit of a surprise.

Sadly, we couldn't really keep up and ended up on the other side of domination. The Krytenians started to show us why they'd gotten as far as us in the last World Cup, and why they could get farther than us that AOCAF Cup. van Rijn brilliantly headed a cross from a corner kick, bit Tzâín even more brilliantly saved it. Fuego hit the post in the twentieth minute, while Valrauncion remained a constant threat throughout the first half. When the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the first half, we knew this match was very far from over.

For the second half Pekarik, who obviously found our first half performance far from convincing, decided to replace Röènôùjýâ with Mixé. Sadly, Drê had found van Rijn to be a bit too challenging; maybe someone with actual experience in a league where defending matters would fare better. The Krytenians fielded the same ten men and elf.

The Krytenians played much more passionately than us for the first few minutes of the second half. It's tough to admit, but it's true. They ran probably three times half of what we did, though that's in part due to us keeping possession. They had more chances, though.

However, turning them into goals was what was most important. And, during that period of Krytenian domination, we turned our only clear-cut chance into a goal. I say “we”, but I actually mean Risko Kâí. He dribbled three and curled it in. It was one of those goals I saw him score as a kid, but watching him do it live was that much more satisfying. We were now two goals ahead!

.. and still we managed to suffer quite a lot! After that, the hosts created chance after chance, while we failed to do much with an underperforming Delafuente failing to make our game flow smoothly. Eventually, with fifteen minutes to go, Pekarik replaced his with Wínrôuge, who helped us overturn that domination a bit. I hate to admit it, but that guy is probably gonna be something else. I still think his ego's not justified, though.

Uh... either way, the Krytenians graced the post once and came close to scoring at least five times, only to be stopped by Tzâín and, on one occasion, by Bârr. By the end of the match, the stats made it evident that we had at best deserved extra time. We were in the final, but it was much less emotional than the last two matches. The heart-wrenching penalty shoot-out. Dandalleion's big moment of glory (hopefully not his last!). And now... an undeserved win. It just didn't really add up. But we celebrated, of course. We were in the final, after all. Many of us had never been in one.

by **Osarius** » Wed Sep 09, 2015 3:28 pm

Ko-oren were always well-drilled. They were always stubbornly resolute. Alan had seen enough matches between Osarius and the Dragonflies to remember that much. He would have glanced over his shoulder, but his new shadow, Katherine Davenport, was close enough that he could hear her ragged breathing. 'She's persistent, at least...' he mused. It was only ten minutes into the match, but he needed to shake this tail.

Before the match, the manager had told Alan he'd be a key player. Some might have thought that a little unfair, placing pressure on a young player like that. Not Alan. 'Good chance to establish myself, that's all.' Alan jogged toward Fabio Mancini, and Jorge Santana behind him. He still didn't look over his shoulder, but tried to project his thoughts to Davenport, 'follow me, come on.' She did.

* * * * *

"...Drummond's movement was key in this clash. Being man-marked [Or should that be woman-marked? - Ed.] by Davenport could have kept him out of the game, and limited Osarius' effectiveness in the attacking phase, but instead, he moved smartly. By dropping deep, or moving wide, or just drifting into the space between the lines, Drummond forced Davenport to lose her position in the Ko-orenite defence. If she didn't track him, he punished her. This degree of control is a strong sign of the Utica midfielder's rapid maturation, and will only fuel the notion that he will eventually become the long-term successor to his uncle, Toby, as the Firebirds' chief playmaker."

* * * * *

Fabio Mancini had the ball about ten yards inside the Ko-oren half, and was looking for the best pass option. Bagaururnir was closing in, but Gavin Mitchell gave the shout. "Man on Fabs!" The skipper released the ball to the left, where Alexander Scott was waiting. Alan drifted deeper, toward Fabio. 'Come on... someone use that gap.' He thought, glancing quickly over his shoulder at the space Davenport had vacated to follow him. Juliasterinthen shuffled across. 'Shit.' Alan frowned at Gavin, flicking his eyes toward where the gap had been.

Fabio had the ball again. This time, Alan moved left, inviting the captain to drive forward. He took the hint. Davenport didn't follow this time, leaving Fabio's path closed. He turned back, finding Gavin, before moving to the left flank. Alan saw the chance and drifted back into the centre, with his back to goal. 'Yes! She hasn't noticed yet!' He thought to himself, the glee apparently showing on his face as he made eye contact with Gavin. He understood this time, and shuffled sideways. 'He's gonna make the pass...' Alan glanced over his shoulder. '...she's just noticed.' He glanced past her, toward goal. 'She won't make it in time...'

Alan turned back to face Gavin, and the ball was already in the air. Controlling the ball on his chest mid-turn, he struck the volley goalward -- just in time to avoid the lunging tackle attempt from Davenport -- and it cannoned down off the crossbar and in. 1-0.

* * * * *

"...while Alan Drummond was a constant nuisance for the otherwise solid Ko-orenite defence, he could not create openings quickly enough on occasion. When this was the case, the Dragonflies were able to break down the attack and counter swiftly. Their pace on the break was a problem for the Firebirds' defence, given that both Scott and Turner are given to pressing very high up on the flanks, leaving acres of space in the fullback zones. The Ko-orenite goal came from one such counter, though it was perhaps too late to erase or even significantly reduce the damage done by Drummond earlier."

* * * * *

The final whistle went, and the scoreline was perhaps more favourable than it should have been. 'A better attacking side would have given us more trouble,' Alan thought. 'Like either of the potential final opponents...' He'd heard the announcement that he'd been given the man of the match award about ten minutes ago, and it felt good. He'd proven his point. Hadn't he?

As he left the pitch, the gaffer grabbed his arm. "You did well, Al." He said, with a curt nod.

"Cheers, gaffer." He grinned. "Like my goal?"

Azarai Robinson cracked a smile. Gradually. As if trying not to. "It was a great strike, good movement in the build up."

"So did I do enough?"

"For what?" Robinson answered. 'Don't play dumb.' Alan thought. 'You know what I'm asking.'

"Al!" Shouted Ashley Saunders, as he practically jumped on Alan's back, ruffling his hair. "Get your ass inside!" Ashley bundled him down the tunnel, before he could protest, or press Robinson for an answer. "You won the pot tonight, so dinner's on you, bro!"

"Hey, Ash, you think we'll play in the final?"

"You probably will. You've been great. Sido will probably start up front, though." Ash replied, almost cheerfully.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really. Plenty of chances coming up."

"But it's a final, Ash."

"So? Plenty of those coming up too, I'd hope."

"Hm." Alan grimaced. "Maybe."

* * * * *

"Azarai, you have a tough selection for the final, with Alan Drummond in form, but Luther Bailey's defensive ability potentially crucial against Farfadillis. How do you make a call like that?"

Reporters loved asking stuff like that, Azarai knew. 'What am I supposed to say to that?'

"Yeah, it's difficult. I'll need to go back to my room and weigh it all up. Speak to my assistants, really think it through." Azarai replied, trying to avoid giving any indication of his intent. In truth, he'd already chosen the team for the final.

"How impressed are you with Drummond's progression during this tournament? He's really come along well, hasn't he?" The next reporter spoke up. 'Another pointless question. Of course he has. That's plain to see.' Azarai rolled his eyes internally. Almost externally, too.

"He's done well. I'm trying not to build him up too much right now because I don't want him to be under too much pressure, but he's done well. I'm very happy with his performances, and several others in the squad." He replied. "I mean, this is my first tournament in charge and we're in a final. That's great. The whole squad have been excellent so far."

"Are you confident about your chances against Farfadillis?"

'What is it with these people and their stupid questions?' Azarai almost asked that one aloud. "Of course." He said, matter-of-factly. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be qualified for this job, I think. I believe in this squad, I think they can beat Farfadillis, of course I do. Do I think we will? I'm not a fortune teller."

"Okay let me ask a different way, do you think maybe having faced probably tougher opposition to get to the final, your players might be at a disadvantage?"

"Not really. I think it's fair to say maybe we've had a tougher path to get here but maybe we have a psychological edge because of that. I try not to think about that kind of thing. I stick to preparing my players to execute the plan on matchday. If they can do that, I think we win. Otherwise, we don't. That's what football matches come down to in the end."

by **Krytenia** » Wed Sep 09, 2015 4:21 pm

It's the last cutoff...I'm sure the paranoia is rising...

Third Place Playoff
Ko-oren 2–1 Krytenia

THE FINAL
Osarius 2–3 Farfadillis

Congratulations, FARFADILLIS!

by **Farfadillis** » Mon Sep 14, 2015 6:35 pm

We'd gotten to the final by facing top team after top team. First Audioslavia, against whom we comfortably lost. Second, 95X, reigning champions. Then Vilita & Turori, regional powerhouses. And after that, the hosts. Surely, an under-25 team in the final would be a blessing? Well, maybe not. This young side had rather inexplicably beaten the Equestrian States, thrashed the Cup of Harmony champions, beaten Audioslavia and then also beaten Ko-oren. Really made me wonder what their senior team could be like.

Have you ever had two hundred thousand people watching you? I have. It's incredible. The atmosphere's impossible to describe. I hated having to sit out this game in particular, but it was a bitter truth I had to accept. There was nothing I could do that Tôr and Fôx couldn't do better, as they'd proved throughout the tournament. All I could hope for was the Firebirds tiring Mâás out.

When the game started, we started fiercely looking to score. The Osarians, on the other hand, looked more comfortable doing little with the ball in their possession. They were truly great at keeping the ball away from us, at least until they wanted to do something with it. However, Mêndêlöíndçêl's form would never plummet in a final, and neither would Bârr's, so they managed very little despite holding the ball for about 60% of the time. That stat in particular surprised me at the end of the game. We had evidently been the better team.

I believe the reason why our possession was so low was that we played that game in particularly vertiginous style. Whenever we got it, we looked for a swift and deadly attack. We had the pace and the technique to threaten our opponents greatly in small bursts, and that's precisely what we did. We took the lead in the fifteenth minute in a way because of that.

Röènôùjýâ passed the ball to Fôx to start a counterattack. Mâás passed to Terán, who backheeled it to Wínrôuge, starting over an injured Delafuente. The young narcissist proceeded to split the Osarian defense in two with an exquisite through pass to Fuego with just one touch. José then faced Monteforte one-on-one, but the Osarian goalkeeper managed to tip it wide. The corner kick, however, was a whole different story. We had a particularly deadly combination in Kâí and Bârr. I might sound biased, but I truly believe Kâí's one of the best crossers in the world. Meanwhile, Bârr is a fucking tower. So, yeah, you can imagine who scored and how. Santana was marking Ivaktör, but not even him could stop the Rulandese from kicking the ball with his head.

After that, we still tried to score. We had our fair share of chances. Risko almost pulled off a cheeky chip from outside the box, but it hit the roof of the net. Terán came very close in the thirtieth minute too, dribbling two players with just one move and then flooring a third before sending the ball barely wide.

However, our opponents were trailing only in goals, as they got a few clear-cut chances as well. Two were stopped by Tzâín, who was in one of his sharp days. However, in the thirty-eighth minute, they managed to pull level with a well-timed finish by Monroe after working the ball into the box with their possession football. Pekarik had told us the Osarians would probably want to punish us on the counter, but we were seeing none of that.

Eventually, half time came. The scoreline was one-all, and it struck all of us as fair. Neither team had been evidently better than the other. Maybe we were kinda better, but not enough to deserve the lead. Either way, we were going to have to truly fight for the title for the following forty-five minutes. Not like we had gone into the match expecting anything different.

For the first few minutes of the second half, both teams were still pretty even. However, that all ended when Pekarik told Mêndêlöíndçêl to man-mark Drummond, who'd honestly caused us a bit of a pretty big headache. I'll be honest, being man-marked by Yurpá sounds like a nightmare. That Alan guy sure did well considering the handicap, though.

With the ball at our disposal slightly more often, and with Terán showing himself sharper and sharper as the minutes went by, mostly thanks to his often annoying decision to rarely run, we started dominating the game. Ivaktör and Yurpá were making no mistakes, Cleto and Drê were bombing forward with efficacy, Rübéãn and Mâás were causing headaches on the flanks, Wínrôuge and Terán likewise in the centre and Risko and José looked in top form at reading the game. Sometimes everything just clicks.

Twenty minutes into the second half and... we had nothing to show for it. Something like four clear-cut chances wasted. The Firebirds had one, too, but Tzâín saved our asses once again. However, our domination was stagnated when Mâás suffered a thigh injury. Nothing too serious, as we found out later, but we needed a replacement. And Ibarra was out with the same kind of injury...

For a moment, I thought that maybe Pekarik wanted to replace Mâás with a more defensive player like, say, Ruy. I was torn between worry and excitement. I was worried he might want me to replace Mâás. On the other hand, I was excited he might want me to replace Mâás. In the end, Pekarik looked at me and gestured towards the pitch. I had already warmed up and was... probably not ready to jump into the pitch to play Osarius in a final, but I digress. Into the pitch I went, fully aware that filling Fôx's shoes would be impossible.

Just like in the penalty shoot-out against 95X, I was only vaguely aware of my surroundings. Those not related to football, that is. A fifth of a million people watching? I'd forgotten that. But, oh my, was I nervous. I was seven when we'd won the AOCAF Cup for the first and until then only time. I was nervous because I really wanted to win. It felt like a duty. In a way, it was.

Losing Fôx was a big blow, but I didn't play badly. Our domination continued, because as good as Mâás was he was still one in eleven. Even in our moment of most domination, the Osarians had still held onto the ball lengthily, though. It's just they were using it as a mechanism of defense more than anything. I was pacey, so I could hit them on the counter.

Just two minutes into my first final, I effortlessly got a yellow card for a silly tackle on Alexander Scott. Legit could've broken his ankle. That definitely wasn't my intention, nevertheless. The minutes went by, and the match looked like it was becoming more and more even, though we were still clearly the better team. Eventually, my chance to shine came.

Mêndêlöíndçêl stripped Pudoremu of the ball with a brilliant last-ditch sliding tackle. You know, one of those that make even us Farves cheer him on. He passed to Wínrôuge, who one-twoed Mancini with Terán's help. Fôrté found a weakness in the Osarian defense almost instantly and passed the ball to me. I had sneaked behind Mitchell's back. He was probably a bit too relieved his Directus teammate had gotten injured. I outsped him on the race to the ball and began my triumphant run towards the box. I dribbled Turner and entered it. I looked up and saw Kâí and Fuego running towards empty space, carrying defenders with them. I noticed space opening up behind them, however. If there's one nice thing about playing for Farfadillis, it's that you've always got more than one person to pass the ball to. This time, Tôr was blitzkrieging into the box. I connected a creeping pass to him, almost as a reflex. Rübéãn blasted the ball into the goal with his first touch. Two-one up. Around fifteen minutes to go. I already felt like a bit of a hero.

It was all so unreal. One moment I was sitting in the bench, the other I was assisting what could be one of my nation's most important goals in its history. Euphoria had gotten to me - I'd dare say I was barely sentient at that point. My thoughts in those blurry moments could be perfectly summed up as 'ball'.

That was precisely what backfired. Just three minutes after Rübéãn's goal, Drummond, who'd drifted to the wing, managed to dribble me in a pretty humiliating way. I timed my tackle wrongly, and he went down like he'd been shot. I don't really remember how nasty my tackle was - and I didn't want to check the replays. But I've got the feeling he wasn't exaggerating a single bit. The referee, left with no other options, showed me the second yellow card. I had even forgotten I had been carded previously. I felt just like when I missed the penalty against 95X. I was putting my team's chances in jeopardy once again. The guilt was unbearable.

Immediately, Bârr and Mêndêlöíndçêl were surrounding the referee. Bârr straight out threatened him. The ref didn't even card him. Ivaktör was on a yellow card, he knew he wasn't getting out alive if he sent him off. Even Yurpá looked furious. He was arguing wildly with the ref. I just left the pitch with my head hanging in shame. Those ten seconds walking my way off the pitch were some of the longest of my life. I could feel the entire world watching me, judging me. I had screwed up big time. I had gone from hero to villain in just four minutes. Pekarik tapped my back, I think, I was barely paying attention. I just made my way to the dressing room. Baek joined me in order to make me feel better.

Once in the dressing room, Casper pulled out one of those long-distance radios, that could pick up Farf signals for some reason, for us to listen to. He didn't speak a word. I think he figured it was for the best. What I heard as soon as he turned it on almost destroyed me.

"Here comes the crosssss... Manciniiiii... it's a goal. Goal for Osarius. Mancini scores. We've given up the lead once again. Two-all."

Want to know what's worse than getting sent off in a final? Getting sent off in a final and conceding a goal from the set piece.

"Pekarik is the only one to blame here. A seventeen-year-old is not mentally prepared for high-stake matches like this one."

Casper was biting his lower lip in frustration. I could see he was more sorry about me than about the result. A minute or two passed.

"Just six minutes 'til injury time. The match is still pretty much up for grabs, with Farfadillis still actively trying to score. Wínrôuge loses the ball. Mitchell to Mancini. Mancini to Drummond. Drummond goes for the long-range attempttttt..."

By then I could barely breathe.

"...AND TZÂÍN BARELY TIPS IT WIDE!! WHAT A SAVE RIGHT THERE! WHAT A HERO!"

I punch the air vigorously in relief while Casper sighs profoundly.

"Here comes the cross... Bârr clears it. Mata picks it up, dribbled one, dribbled another. Goes for the through pass to Kâí. Risko picks up the ball. Come on Risko... he's dribbled Mitchell AND HE'S BEEN TAKEN DOWN! SURELY THAT'S A RED!?"

Well, at least that meant our chances were a lot higher now.

"And the referee shows leniency for once in his life. That's just unfair. He'd already been carded."

Not even that, then. I was beginning to think the multiverse just had it out for me.

"Oh, what is this. Fuego's being replaced by... you know who. Friekder's coming in. Oh, please please save us Lord Dandalleion."

Pretentious commentary, yes, but that was an accurate summary of what was going through my mind.

"There's just four minutes to go. Looks like we're headed for extra time. Hopefully penalties. I don't fancy our chances with ten men."

I was not exactly sure my heart would tolerate more a few minutes in that state, let alone extra time and penalties.

"Mêndêlöíndçêl passes to Mata. Mata to Tôr. Tôr to Terán. Terán back to Yurpá once again. Yurpá to Fôrté. Fôrté dribbles one, but he's surrounded. Passes back. Drê with the ball. We're pretty much swarming the Osarian half.

I'm not sure why, but I was laughing hysterically. I think the nerves had really gotten to me.

"Drê to Terán. Terán dribbled one, NOW ANOTHER. THROUGH PASS."

I could almost feel my heart stopping.

"WÍNRÔUGE ONE-ON-ONE. HE CHIPS IT..."

I was pretty sure my heart had stopped.

"SANTANA CLEARS IT, BUT THE REBOUND IS UP FOR GRA-GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL. GOL. GOOOOL. DANDALLEION. IT'S DANDALLEION. EXPLOSIVE SPRINT. HE'S BLASTED IT IN WITH AN EMPTY GOAL AT HIS MERCY. I'VE GOT TO CALM DOWN... *deep breath* I'm fine. I'm fine. WE'VE RECOVERED THE LEAD GODDAMMIT."

As the pundit calmed down, so did I. I let go of Casper and I sit once again. I must've broken a few of his ribs with the hug I gave him. Just a few minutes to go.

"The celebration's over. Dandalleion gets carded for taking off his shirt. Most important yellow card of his career."

Absolutely agreed.

"We're about to enter injury time. The last couple of minutes of Friekder's career. It just sounds unreal."

He'd been a starter for longer than I'd been alive. It was absolutely unreal. Or, rather, very much real. Old people retire from their national teams all the time.

"And the fourth ref's given only two minutes! Pudoremu's making his opinion about that pretty clear over there. I would send him off."

Just two more minutes. I felt like crying. I felt so useless.

"The ball's gone out. Rübéãn's taking his sweet time. Gives it to Yurpááá... who very... nonchalantly punts it up and into the stands. Goal kick for Osarius. Just one minute to go."

One minute. That's how much time it took me to heat my milk for breakfast.

"The Osarians are looking very much like us now. Everyone's inside our box. HERE COMES THE CROSS... TZÂÍN PUNCHES IT OUT! DANDALLEION BEAT EVERYONE TO THE BALL! A GOD, HE'S A BLOODY GOD I TELL YOU!"

I am sure every single Farf shared that sentiment.

"He's running with the ball, keeping possession. Calabrese catches up to him. Tries to fight him off the ball... DANDALLEION'S JUST NOT LETTING IT GO. HE'S DRIBBLED CALABRESE. HE'S RUNNING TOWARDS THE GOAL, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE THE OSARIAN DEFENSE HAS CAUGHT UP. He's slowed down...

So much tension I could cut it with my teeth.

"END IT ALREADY REF! Kâí joins Dandalleion, they one-two Drummond AND IT'S OVER. FARFADILLIS ARE REGIONAL CHAMPIONS."

I didn't even know how to react. Casper turned off the radio. We were going to join the team.

I was ecstatic. We'd won. We'd done it. As soon as I stepped out of the tunnel, I think I finally realized what we'd achieved. I couldn't help but run towards my teammates in celebration. Dancing around the trophy, walking a lap 'round the pitch. We did all of the standard things. It was a first for me, though. We emptied the jerrycan (it had water, don't worry) on Dandalleion's head. There was a bit of disbelief in all of us, I believe. I don't remember exactly who, but more than one of my teammates approached me to tell me I'd been fantastic, despite having been sent off. I knew it was bullshit, but it was nice listening to someone say it. Still, we had won despite my cock up. I just couldn't be happier.

Eventually, the time came for us to get our medals. A Krytenian would be handing them to us. I was later told that's the closest a Krytenian had ever gotten to a senior football gold medal.

We formed a queue in ascending jersey number order.

First one to get his medal was Rôhj. I might sound biased, but if there had been a Golden Glove award, I would've given it to him in a heartbeat. The truth was we'd been slightly underachieving on the attacking front. But that man right there had made sure that wouldn't hurt us too much.

Second in line was Cleto. Must've been weird for Steffan having two of the people who had caused him the most headaches in his life receiving the medals first. The medals of his first title as a manager.

Third in line was, funnily enough, Alex. Alex Terán, the single most frustrating he had ever managed and would ever manage. He was so frustrating I myself could understand how Steffan might've felt. One of the players with the most natural talent out there, but just none of the work ethic to back it up, or even the attention to fully exploit it. Nonetheless a completely different breed of footballer. He could change games with just two touches of the ball, and he'd done that more than once in the tournament. He was tied for third with Tôr and Dandalleion for most important player in our campaign, I believe.

Fourth in line was Röènôùjýâ. Alaminos' injury allowed him to start every game. He did more than well enough, if you ask me. He, too, cause Steffan a fair share of headaches with his overzealous offensive runs.

The fifth player to receive his medal was the Polarian's favorite player, though. Yurpá Mêndêlöíndçêl. A hard-worker like I'd never seen before, and a player who was just on another level. He'd not performed as well as some would have expected, probably because he was fucking thirty-five, but he was still one of our most important players. Ever wondered why our national team tends to concede a lot less than one would expect with our gung-ho attacking? That man was why.

After Yurpá came who I believe was Steffan's second-favourite: Ivaktör Bârr. A player with a lot of experience in the Polar Islandstates, he was a completely foreign mold of defender: a more mixed, standard one. He still had offensive flashes from time to time, but his defensive leadership made him one of our most important players. He'd been just as important as Yurpá and Rôhj for our win, in my opinion.

Number seven was José. He'd not been at the top of his level, to be honest, but he'd still done fairly well. The truth is, everybody contributed at least a bit, and José had done that.

After him, Risko collected his medal. Easily our most important player in the cup. He'd scored four and participated in a few other goals. He'd been our biggest threat in every game. He was heavily marked throughout the tournament, and he still managed to shine. A scary man in his prime, I'd dare say he had been just as good that tournament as Dandalleion in AOCAF Cups 43 and 44. But comparing them was just silly. Risko and Friekder were both Farf legends in their own rights. Comparing them was perhaps doing them a disservice.

Following Risko was Mâás, just like in influence that tournament. Mâás scored against Vilita & Turori, helped us keep possession often, started vicious counterattacks, and was overall just too much for other teams to handle. Having Risko and Mâás (arguably) hit their primes in the same tournament had turned out to be our saving grace.

Delafuente was next. He'd quite frankly not had a very good tournament. Sometimes I truly wondered if Fôrté would push him out of the starting spot instead of Terán. However, none of that happened, because Delafuente still managed to perform respectably at important moments. It was a pretty disappointing performance considering how he'd even carried the team around at times during the previous World Cup campaign, but he'd still done well.

Number eleven was Rübéãn. Tied for third most important player, he'd turned out to be a big surprise. I don't think anybody was expecting him to play at the level he did. Scoring in the semifinal and the final was something he probably hadn't even dreamed of. And I had helped him score the latter goal!

Number twelve was Ascensión. To be honest, I can't say much about him. I still don't know how he could talk so fast at times.

Thirteenth was Iñaki. He would've probably fared better than me in the final, because he showed a lot of talent whenever he took the pitch. Even though he didn't contribute greatly, he was worthy of the medal.

Fourteenth was Mixé, the guy who never played in Farfadillis. He didn't play much, but he showed everyone how to actually defend. He'd performed really well in that second half against Krytenia.

Fifteen was John Dragonslayer. He played only a few minutes and almost injured someone. Funny but scary guy.

Number sixteen was Ostadar Arambilet. The 'Grathi did his fair share. He was the one the most likely to replace Yurpá once he retired.

Seventeenth was Elexhé. Sadly, he hadn't got any playing time. Subbing in Dandalleion was just far too important.

And speaking of Dandalleion, he was up next. His words still resonated in my head. 'El fútbol da revancha.' It definitely does. That AOCAF Cup hadn't really been my revancha, but it had been the best possible revancha for him. Probably the most influential Farf player of all time. I'm sure many cried like he did when he received the medal.

Number nineteen was, I think fittingly, Fôrté Wínrôuge. I can't stress it enough: his attitude always rubbed me the wrong way. However, this man showed talent comparable to Kâí's and Dandalleion's back in the day. He'd had a fantastic tournament, on top of that. Dandalleion was awarded the MoM award n that final, despite touching the ball like ten times tops. Dandalleion gave it to Risko, who probably deserved it. What did Risko do? He gave it to Fôrté. I'm sure there was something highly symbolic about that. But I digress, one of the most, in a way.

Number twenty was another extremely exciting prospect who'd had a great break-out tournament, Ruy Monrazón. Heralded as the future captain of the team, it was clear as day he would be one of the greats. I had found him a bit pretentious in the beginning, but I ended up liking that guy's work ethic a lot.

Twenty-one was Thjorgias Pickton. With Bârr's outstanding tournament, Pickton had only been able to play like ten minutes as a sub. Still, a talented player, as any Farf would be able to tell just by looking at his surname.

And twenty-two was the single most talented player in history... me! Ok, ok, perhaps the single most useless player in the squad. I'd missed a penalty against 95X and, to top it off, I'd been sent off in the final. Plus we conceded off the set piece. But I did assist Tôr in the second goal, so it didn't feel like an empty victory to me at all. I just hoped Steffan had seen something special about me in the tournament, cause I sure as hell wanted to get called up for the World Cup a year later.

Twenty-third was Calogero Metz. Quiet guy. Tzâín's replacement, most likely.

After Metz, it was Casper's turn. What a man. I just couldn't fully break down in tears in front of him.

And then, it was Steffan who picked up his medal. Such a serious man. His hair had turned full-on gray because of people like Terán. He hadn't run up and down the pitch for ninety minutes, sure, but he too had put all of his efforts into winning the tournament. Right or wrong, he'd always had the team's best interests in mind. A deserved medal if there ever was one.

And soon after came the time for Yurpá to lift the cup. It was cliché, yes, but, just as you would've expected, he called Dandalleion over, and lifted it with his help. Yes, it had been Dandalleion's last game, but it had also been Yurpá's last AOCAF Cup. Them lifting the cup together was the single most happy yet sad moment of my life. These two would no longer be around in a year, and I would be among those responsible for the team's successes and failures after that. Heroes come and go. That was the lesson I had learned.

Oh, and 'el fútbol da revancha.' That too.

AOCAF 48 Everything Thread (Atlantian Oceania Only)

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