Chapter 293: Chapter 240: Baggio’s Penalty Kick

Corner kick.

Reina lifted his foot and sent it straight toward the front of the goal.

The arc was good, and the landing spot was perfect. Amidst the chaos, McBride anticipated the ball’s trajectory, leaped into the air, and prepared to head for the goal.

But in front of him, another man jumped even higher.

Nesta!

With a flick of his head, he cleared the ball.

On the bench, a frustrated Alina spun 180 degrees on the spot, his hands clutching his head.

"An iron wall," Andy Dunbar, beside Chen Yu, grimaced and sighed.

Chen Yu nodded in deep agreement.

The famed *catenaccio* was no joke.

The United States Team was young, full of energy, and could run. They’d ridden those strengths to two straight wins in the group stage, but against Italy’s back line, they seemed to be in over their heads.

That simple corner kick was the most threatening attack they had managed in over sixty minutes of play so far.

The rest of the time, their efforts mostly consisted of mad dashes down the flanks ending in intercepted crosses, or central pushes that fizzled out before the penalty area.

The United States Team only had this one trick up their sleeve, and they didn’t really have a better plan.

"It’s fine. Losing would be normal. Getting a draw now would be the best possible outcome." He had never harbored any extravagant hopes of defeating Italy.

But speaking of which, a question suddenly occurred to Chen Yu. "Hey, if this match ends in a draw, doesn’t that mean we’ll finish first in the group?"

Andy Dunbar paused for a moment, then nodded, his eyes shining with excitement. "You’re right! If it’s a draw, we’ll both have two wins and a draw. Our goal difference will be the same, but we’ll have one more goal scored than Italy."

In the first round, both the United States and Italy beat their opponents 2-0.

But in the second round, the United States beat Ecuador 2-1, while Italy beat Croatia 1-0.

The goal difference was the same, but the United States Team had scored one more goal in total.

Chen Yu found it incredible.

’Since when could a minnow like the United States Team actually top a group over Italy?’

"No way. There are still thirty minutes left in this match," Chen Yu said, shaking his head again.

That’s what he said, but judging by Italy’s performance in the first half, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Even Chen Yu had noticed that Italy, so powerful on paper, was now left with only its vaunted defense.

Not only was their back line incredible, but they had also stacked the midfield with defensive midfielders, which left their offensive playmaking somewhat lacking.

They were playing a defensive, counter-attacking style, often just hoofing long balls to the forwards and hoping they could make something happen.

The strategy was too simplistic, and it wasn’t pretty to watch.

Whether they could score depended entirely on Vieri’s individual brilliance.

And Vieri was truly strong. He had scored in both of the previous two matches, and in the last one especially, he had single-handedly saved Italy.

For this match, however, Alina had made specific tactical adjustments.

In the back line, he’d put in all the tall, heavy-set defenders.

They were also consciously tightening up their defense, specifically to prevent Vieri from bullying his way through and scoring.

It was effective; the 0-0 scoreline after all this time was proof enough.

"Huh, Baggio’s starting to warm up," Andy Dunbar said, suddenly patting Chen Yu on the arm.

On the other side of the pitch, Baggio and Doni got up and started stretching on the sidelines.

’They’re going to make a substitution.’

Watching Baggio, Chen Yu felt a wave of wistful emotion.

In truth, Chen Yu really hoped Baggio could prove himself one more time in this, his last World Cup.

It wasn’t about self-redemption; he had already achieved that in ’98.

It was enough just to prove that a healthy him was still the best forward on the planet. That would allow him to bring his career to a perfect close.

It was like Batty. If a hero’s time must come to an end, he shouldn’t just fade away from the battlefield, slowly forgotten in some unremembered corner. He should have one last battle on the same field where he once fought, even if the hero’s twilight had come and he was no longer at his peak.

The clock hit 67 minutes. Baggio and Doni were already standing on the sideline.

Not far away, Trapattoni watched Baggio, who still wore his signature ponytail, and was suddenly reminded of the figure from the past—young and glorious, once on the cusp of becoming the king of football.

With a long sigh, Trapattoni felt a tickle in his throat, as if he wanted to say something.

But just then, as if by some telepathic connection, Baggio turned and looked his way.

Their eyes met. Baggio gave a slight smile and nodded.

That was all.

But it said more than a thousand words.

At 71 minutes, Italy was the first to change its formation.

Baggio came on for Big Inzaghi, and Doni replaced Totti.

Doni was more adept at organizing the attack.

This substitution showed that Trapattoni was not satisfied with a draw, especially since a draw would drop Italy to second place in the group.

So, he needed to strengthen the attack.

As for Baggio, bringing him on was a spur-of-the-moment decision by Trapattoni.

For one, in the first two matches, Trapattoni had already tried as many forward pairings as possible.

The first match was Vieri paired with Totti; the second was Vieri with Big Inzaghi. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

He had not yet tried a Vieri and Baggio partnership.

For another, although he had called Baggio up to the National Team and Baggio had looked to be in divine form on the training ground, Trapattoni was still hesitant to use him. After all, he was so old, and no one knew what his form would actually be like on the pitch.

But he had once been one of the best forwards in Italy, and indeed the world. It would be a real waste to have him watch from the sidelines for the entire tournament.

Trapattoni wanted to give him a try.

This was the group stage, and with qualification already secured, he might as well give Baggio a chance. If he played well, he could be considered for the knockout rounds. If his form was poor, then it was back to the bench for the duration.

Baggio took a deep breath. As he stepped onto the field, he bent down and brushed the turf with his right hand.

After four years, he was once again standing on the World Cup stage.

He looked around at the stands packed with fans. At a glance, Baggio saw supporters holding up huge signs with his name written on them.

’Quite a few of them, too.’

’I am Roberto Baggio, after all!’

Stirred, Baggio suddenly turned his head and looked toward the United States Team’s bench.

And similarly, he immediately spotted Chen Yu in the crowd, who was also looking in his direction.

From so far away, Baggio couldn’t make out the expression on Chen Yu’s face. ’He’s probably happy for me,’ he guessed.

’All of it—the meniscus transplant, taking a tendon from his arm, that major surgery, enduring all that pain, paying such a high price—it was all for this day, wasn’t it?’

From a distance, Baggio gave Chen Yu a thumbs-up, then turned and threw himself into the game.

"That guy."

Chen Yu saw Baggio’s gesture and smiled slightly. At this moment, Baggio probably had no more regrets.

After the substitution, Italy’s attack showed some signs of life.

Italy loved its *catenaccio* defense and its *trequartista* forwards. After getting Vieri, they preferred to just give him the ball and let him solve the problem himself.

Vieri was a complete player with a powerful physique, and he could often solve problems with brute strength alone. But he lacked the ability to carry the ball from midfield to initiate and finish an attack. He needed a *trequartista* to help him.

But Baggio was different. It was no exaggeration to say that in his prime, he was the most technically skilled forward in Italian history, a top-tier striker whose play could be elevated to the level of art.

With his world-class dribbling, his attacking range covered the entire area from midfield to the box. He was an anomaly among Italy’s strikers.

Now, having returned after being tempered by time, Chen Yu was quite eager to see what kind of performance he could still deliver.

At 79 minutes, Baggio dropped back to receive a pass. Facing O’Brien, who was marking him, he turned sideways to bait O’Brien into making a tackle, then instantly pulled the ball with his left foot and burst forward, blowing past O’Brien.

The move was incredibly fluid.

Then came a long, surging run.

Facing an onrushing defender, he executed two quick cutbacks and left the man behind.

Chen Yu had seen Ronaldo’s insane dribbling runs. Those were purely about incredible physical attributes, using high-speed changes of direction to muscle past defenders.

Baggio, in contrast, when facing multiple defenders, relied more on technique to outwit his opponents and get past them.

Two men, three men—once he got going, Baggio was unstoppable. He single-handedly threw the United States Team’s defense into utter chaos.

But he never forgot to watch his teammates’ positions. At the last moment, he sent a square pass straight to Vieri.

Vieri met the pass and unleashed a furious shot.

For a moment, Alina’s heart nearly stopped beating.

Brad Friedel saved the United States Team, making a flying dive to tip the ball over the bar.

Alina clutched his heart, gasping for air.

Trapattoni, meanwhile, clutched his head in frustration.

On the field, a frustrated Vieri fell to his knees.

That was, without a doubt, Italy’s most threatening shot of the entire match.

Alina came to the edge of the technical area. He waved his hands, signaling his players to continue compressing the defense. It was already the 80th minute. They should forget about scoring; just defending and securing the draw would be enough.

Italy had obviously figured out the United States Team’s plan and began to press forward.

Unfortunately for them, the bus was parked too solidly, and they couldn’t find an opening.

And time was running out.

It wasn’t until the 87th minute. It was Baggio again. He made a reverse run near the box to receive the ball. The instant he received it, he knocked it with his heel—a reverse trap so slick it made your scalp tingle—and left the defender behind him. He then charged toward the penalty area.

His dribbling was incredibly dangerous. Inside the crowded box, facing the fierce tackling of the United States Team, Baggio somehow stayed on his feet and closed in on the six-yard box.

A nervous Friedel was debating whether or not to come out.

At that moment, Hajuk stuck out a foot.

Baggio fell to the ground.

Hajuk’s face instantly went pale as he frantically looked toward the referee.

The referee was already running over, gesturing emphatically.

Penalty!

"Shit!" Alina furiously kicked over the ice bucket beside him.

Chen Yu was silent.

As Baggio’s friend, Chen Yu was happy for him, seeing him play in such form during his limited time on the pitch.

He was 35 years old, after all.

But now, he was a member of the United States Team, and a penalty at this stage was practically a death blow.

Totti had been subbed off. Normally, Vieri should have been the one to take this penalty.

This time, however, Vieri voluntarily shook his head and looked at Baggio.

Although Baggio no longer needed any redemption, this penalty kick could perhaps still represent something.

Baggio froze for a second, then walked to the penalty spot.

In that instant, it was as if the entire stadium had fallen silent.

Baggio was in a bit of a daze.

He was a penalty specialist.

In Serie A, he was one of the players with the highest penalty conversion rates: 63 successful kicks out of 71 attempts.

And for the National Team, not counting shootouts, he had taken 7 penalties in regular and extra time, and hadn’t missed a single one.

But all the fans only remembered the one penalty he missed in ’94.

Even now, Baggio still felt that regret.

So, taking a deep breath, Baggio began his run-up.

Friedel dove, his face paling. He had guessed the wrong way.

The ball flew past him and into the net.

Instantly, the stadium erupted.

Before he had time for a proper celebration, Baggio was mobbed by his ecstatic teammates.

In the middle of the crowd, listening to the cheers echoing throughout the stadium, listening to the excited shouts of his teammates, Baggio wanted to laugh, wanted to scream. But two streams of hot tears flowed uncontrollably, soaking his eyes.