The Greatest of all Time

Zachary followed Coach Bjørn Peters' instructions and didn't exercise intensively for the next two days. He simply attended the Rosenborg team training sessions, which were mainly focused on instilling the tactics for the final into the players on Friday and Saturday. Aside from that, the young footballer didn't do much of anything else except go to the massage parlor, perform a couple of yoga routines, and accompany Camilla to let off some steam. He was totally laid back, spending his hours at leisure until when Coach Johansen called for the pre-match tactical meeting on Saturday evening.

Zachary, of course, didn't waste time heading to the tactics room to attend the meeting in full spirits. The two days had allowed his muscles to recover perfectly and his mind to freshen up, leaving him in a state akin to riding the mist and flowing like the clouds. He was in tip-top shape and ready to do his utmost in the Norwegian Cup final the following day.

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Coach Johansen walked to the front of the tactics room right after the players had taken their seats. For a few seconds, he stood there, sweeping his gaze around the players like a shepherd overlooking his flock. Unlike a few months prior, the tactician had a self-confident air about him, ostensibly as if everything around the room was under his control. Anyone, including Zachary, could tell that he'd already grown into a bold and self-assertive coach after winning his first trophy with Rosenborg a few weeks prior.

"Good evening to you all," he greeted the players with a smile after a short while.

"Good evening, coach," the players replied, more or less in unison.

"Welcome to yet another pre-match tactics meeting," the coach said, glancing around. "Tomorrow afternoon, we play Molde in the Norwegian Cup final. It's an important match for all of us since we're on the cusp of winning a double for this season. So, I expect all of you to give more than a hundred percent during the match tomorrow afternoon. Are you with me, guys?" He ended his speech with a bellow.

"Yes, coach," the players replied loudly and enthusiastically in chorus.

"Good." The coach nodded and walked towards the tactics board. "As usual, I won't waste time discussing the tactics in detail since we have already spent an entire fourteen days doing just that," he said. "I'll just name the squad for tomorrow and highlight a few things before sending you home for the night."

"So, first things first, the squad," the coach continued in a booming voice as he started to draw a formation on the tactics board. "In goal, we'll have Daniel Örlund, our veteran keeper. In defense, we'll have Mikael Dorsin, Tore Reginiussen, Yerry Mina, and Eric Bailly."

"In defensive midfield, it will be Mike Jensen and Thomas Partey holding down the fort. In attacking midfield, it will be none other than Zachary Bemba. On the flanks, we'll have both Tobias Mikkelsen and John Chibuike driving the ball. And finally, Nicki Nielsen will be our point-man and only center-forward. That's it for the starting line-up."

"Moving on," the coach carried on. "On the bench, we'll have a total of seven players. They are Lund Hansen, William Troost-Ekong, Cristian Gamboa, Ole Selnæs, Jonas Svensson, Pal André Helland, and Paul Kasongo."

"Any questions concerning the squad?" The coach queried immediately after.

All the players, including the regulars like Zachary and Nicki, remained silent. Of course, no player would dare to question the squad named by the coach.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," the coach said with a smile. "Now, I'll summarize the tactics for the final. Be sure to listen extra carefully since it'll be the last time I'll be discussing the game plan in some detail. Okay?" He swept his gaze across the room once again.

"Yes, coach," the players replied, more or less in unison.

"Good." Coach Johansen nodded, stroking his beard. "We'll still play with our usual 4-2-3-1 defensive formation, with four defenders, two holding midfielders, one attacking midfielder, two flank players, and one center-forward." He pointed at each position on the tactics board as he spoke.

"I expect each of the field players to play with lightning-fast reactions and creativity on the field of play. That is because we'll have to utilize high pressing tactics combined with both wing play and counterattacking strategies to overcome Molde in the final."

"Furthermore, team Molde is likely to utilize a similar formation as ours in the final. So, we'll have to remain tight in shape from minute one so that the Molde guys cannot break through us through the middle. Our midfielders will have to constantly be on their toes, closing down spaces to make the shape work."

"Lastly, the defenders will have to play a very high backline and constantly lay offside traps to prevent the Molde midfielders from playing dangerous balls behind us. And that's how we seal off the Molde attackers and prevent them from threatening our goal throughout the ninety minutes of gameplay. Are we together, guys?"

"Yes, coach."

"Good," Coach Johansen said, nodding. "Finally, all I'm requesting from all our field players is to play as usual. You need to remain composed, when and when without the ball so that you can deal with unexpected situations that might arise during the heat of the match. And above all, you need to stay focused right from the first minute until the final whistle. If you do that, we'll surely win the match, hands down. Are we together, guys?" He ended his monologue with another fervid roar.

"Yes, coach," the players roared back in unison with the same level of passion.

"Good," the coach said, smiling. "As you all know, we'll play the final at the Ullevaal Stadion starting at 2:00 PM. So, we'll need to depart for Oslo early in the morning, at least by 9:00 AM, to be on the safe side. Thus, I expect all field players to gather at the parking lot here, at Lerkendal, by 7:50 AM. Otherwise, I wish all of you a good night."

"Goodnight, coach," the players replied.

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At the same time, a similar meeting was ensuing far off in Molde in the tactics room of the Aker Stadion. But rather than be called a tactics meeting, it would have been best to describe it as a crisis meeting based on the mood in the tactics room at that moment. It was as if a series of inconspicuous but ominous sparks were darting across the brightly-lit room, bringing with them a drab and dreary atmosphere upon the people seated within.

The air was just that heavy, with every face in the tactics room occasionally contorting into a slight frown. It was as if the participants were deep in consternation, preparing to face off against a dreadful monster rather than team Rosenborg in a few hours.

"Tomorrow afternoon is our only chance at winning any silverware this season," Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, the head coach of Molde Fotballklubb, abruptly broke the silence.

His tone was somber as he swept his gaze across his players while folding his arms across his chest. A few almost imperceptible dark circles could be seen around his eyes — a tell-tale sign that he wasn't in the best of spirits at that moment.

"Let me repeat this again," the coach articulated word for word, taking a step forward. "Tomorrow afternoon is our only chance at winning any silverware this season. That is because we'll be facing off against Rosenborg in the Norwegian Cup final at the Ullevaal Stadion in Oslo. Should we win, we'll become the 2013 Norwegian Champions and then qualify for the Europa League qualifiers for next year." He paused for a few seconds as if to let his words first sink into the minds of his players.

"As long as we win, we'll wash away all our shame of finishing sixth in the Tippeligaen and once again establish ourselves as the giants of Norwegian football." The coach punctuated his words with a clap of his hands before sweeping his gaze across his players. "But that's as long as we win!"

"So, lads," he continued. "I expect you to give your all, to do your best and play like never before in tomorrow's final. I expect you to head into the match against Rosenborg as if your lives are solely dependent on the results of that match. And I expect you to remain more than a hundred percent focused from the first minute until the final whistle. For that's the only way we'll be able to outdo what's probably the mightiest squad in Norwegian football at the moment. Are we together, lads?"

"Yes, coach," all the players in the Aker Stadion's tactics room roared back enthusiastically in concert.

"Good, good, good!" Coach Ole Gunnar Solskjaer nodded, the corners of lips lifting into a faint smile. "I like the energy. And I hope you carry that energy into the finals tomorrow. As long as you do that and play at your best, then what's there to fear? We'll be able to give Rosenborg a run for their money for sure. Are you with me, lads?"

"Yes, coach."

"That's the spirit," Coach Ole Gunnar Solskjaer said, his voice lowering once again. "Now, let's discuss tactics." He turned around and stepped towards the large LCD screen in front of the room before turning it on.

"Tomorrow, we'll play with a 4-2-3-1 formation," he said and began pointing at the field positions, which were already manifesting on the LCD screen. "Our goal keeper will be Örjan Nyland. Our four defenders will be Olav Rindaröy, Vegard Forren, Even Hovland, and Martin Linnes."

"Our two holding midfielders will be Magne Hoseth and Emmanuel Ekpo. Our only attacking midfielder will be Jo Inge Berget. Our flank players will be Daniel Chima Chukwu and Mattias Moström, on the left and right, respectively. And finally, our center-forward will be Fredrik Gulbrandsen."

"On the bench, we'll have Ole Söderberg, Joona Toivio, Per-Egil Flo, Daniel Berg Hestad, Mats Möller Daehli, Agnaldo, and Tommy Höiland. That's it for the squad."

"And now, I'll emphasize some of the key points within the tactics once again," he said, glancing around. "One, I expect each one of you except Fredrik, our center-forward, to fall back and defend whenever we lose the ball."

"You guys have to note that Rosenborg has a very agile attacking force and midfield. Players like Zachary Bemba, Nicki Nielsen, Tobias Mikkelsen, and Thomas Partey are all very terrifying opponents when given space and time on the field of play."

"The only way to prevent them from terrorizing our defense is by constantly closing them down and obstructing them long before they can step into our defensive third. And the only way to achieve that perfectly with our squad is by continuously playing with ten men behind the ball whenever we're on defense. Are you guys with me?"

"Yes, coach," the players replied, more or less in unison.

"Good." The coach nodded. "Point number-two. I want our midfielders to prioritize that Zachary Bemba and bar him from stepping into the final third."

"This concerns especially our holding midfielders — Magne and Emmanuel. You guys will have to constantly be on your toes while marking him. Don't just let him run through our ranks as if we're just air. Show some spirit and use your brains. Tackle him, pull his shirt, or block him stealthily. I don't care how you do it. But make sure he doesn't run with the ball through the midfield and into our half. Are you with me?"

The coach's eyes glimmered as he glanced squarely at the two holding midfielders. However, the two players remained silent as if they were just pondering on the coach's words for a few moments.

"Are you with me, Magne, Emmanuel?" The coach asked once again after seeing them remain silent.

"Yes, coach," the two of them gave half-hearted replies as if they were not totally in agreement with the coach's instructions.

"If you have anything to say, just spit it out," Coach Ole said after noticing their hesitation.

"Coach," Emmanuel Ekpo, one of the holding midfielders, said a bit hesitantly in reply. "We're all well aware that Zachary Bemba has been a highly clinical and efficient set-piece taker throughout the season. As long as we concede a free-kick in our final third, he'll have a chance to punish us and score for sure. So, how can we still use fouls against him during the match? Isn't that just like shooting ourselves in the foot?"

"That's a good observation," Coach Ole said, a polite smile outlining his face. "But what I meant is for you guys to bar his path long before he steps into the final third. If the situation calls for it like during a dangerous counterattack, you can even stealthily pull at his shirt."

"Provided that he's still more than thirty-five yards from our goal and you aren't the last man, then that will be the proper way to handle the situation. That way, we can avoid conceding free kicks in dangerous positions in our final third and frustrate Zachary, thereby causing trouble for Rosenborg. Are you with me, Emmanuel?"

"Yes, coach," the holding midfielder replied, nodding.

"Good." Coach Ole nodded. "However, whatever the circumstance, you guys have to try as much as possible to avoid conceding free-kicks in the final third. If you are to foul, then go commit your fouls far away from the box so that you don't concede needless free-kicks. I want us to make it as hard as possible for that Zachary to net even a single goal. Are you with me, lads?"

"Yes, coach."

"Then, I'm glad," Coach Ole said, a light smile framing his features. "I'm sure that each one of you knows what to do tomorrow since we've been going through the tactics over the past two weeks. So, let's end today's meeting here. Make sure that you don't stay up late and be sure to be on time tomorrow. We'll depart for the airport at 10:00 AM sharp."

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