The Greatest of all Time

Wednesday, November 6, 2013.

Red Bull Arena, Wals-Siezenheim, Salzburg, Austria.

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The sun was about to set on yet another hectic day for Roger Schmidt, the head coach of Red Bull Salzburg. At that moment, he was drumming his fingers rhythmically on the lustrous surface of his office desk, staring intently at the screen of his laptop. Occasionally, he would frown after watching brilliant moments from Rosenborg during past matches as he pondered on how to defeat the Norwegian giants. His body language matched his state of extreme concentration as he devised strategies against his upcoming opponents in the Europa League.

"The world is truly unfair. How did a third-tier team acquire such a monstrous talent?" He thought out loud a short while later. He'd just watched Zachary's long-range shot that resulted in Rosenborg's first goal against Viking the previous weekend.

"This guy is going to cause us a lot of problems if we don't tie him down during the game." He sighed for the umpteenth time since beginning to review Rosenborg's previous matches that day.

Coach Roger Schmidt was in a bit of a dilemma. Red Bull Salzburg's Europa League game against the Norwegian football giants was slated for the following day. However, he was still undecided on what tactics to employ against them despite spending an entire week studying their past match videos. His predicament was for one sole reason — the monstrous talent, Zachary Bemba.

The young attacking midfielder was a true blue freak in human skin on the field. He was capable of invariably coming up with uncanny ways to punish opponents even when his team was playing at its worst. Moreover, he was highly clinical and impressive beyond words whenever he managed to step in the final third. He would turn into a football demon, with flair akin to Ronaldinho and Messi's styles, whenever the goal was in sight. If his opponents made the grave mistake of giving him some breathing space during the heat of the game, he would punish them. That's how he'd managed to score more than twenty goals for Rosenborg in a single season despite not taking part in a substantial chunk of fixtures due to injury.

"What to do?"

Coach Roger Schmidt cast his gaze through his office window, watching the horizon in the west ablaze with the fire of the setting sun. He was in a daze for some time. His mind continued working in overdrive the entire time, deriving strategies that the Red Bull Salzburg team could employ in the upcoming Europa League game. Yet, he still came up short and couldn't conceptualize a satisfying game plan even after deliberating for more than a dozen minutes.

"This is the sort of player who must not be left alone during a match." Coach Roger Schmidt mumbled a few minutes later as he scribbled down a few sentences in his notebook. His fingers started drumming the surface of his table once again as he sank back into his thought process.

Ever since debuting as a football manager back in the day, Roger Schmidt had always been an attack-minded coach in every respect. He disdained defensive football and had always believed the best defense was attacking relentlessly like mad. He had never been satisfied as long as his team failed to score at least two goals in a match. Such a coaching style had won him status in European footballing circles as he grew from obscurity to fame in only a decade.

However, after becoming the head coach of Red Bull Salzburg the previous year, he'd started becoming more reserved and cautious with his tactics. His slight change in ideology didn't come from the bottom of his heart — but was due to the constant pressure from his new coaching responsibilities.

He'd come to understand that the bosses and fans at Red Bull Salzburg were an impatient lot. They didn't even give him enough time to build a squad from the ground up — but wanted to see Red Bull Salzburg winning trophies year after year. Moreover, if he ever lost against a weaker team, they would drown him in a sea of curses. All in all, he had to continue winning matches without fail for any chance of securing his job in the long run.

He had developed the habit of spending hours going over his game plans again and again after taking on the managerial position for Red Bull Salzburg. He always made sure there wasn't a single loophole in his strategy before executing it on the field of play. That way, he'd managed to mentor the Red Bull Salzburg players, enabling them to secure an unshakable position as Austrian League table leaders that season.

"Knock! Knock! Knock!

Rhythmic knocking on his office door broke him out of his reverie a short while later.

"Come in," he said almost instantaneously and a bit impatiently.

The door opened the next instant, and Herbert Ilsanker, one of his assistants in charge of goalkeeping, stepped into the spacious office. He was a rough-looking middle-aged man who'd been working for Red Bull Salzburg since 2006. His many years of service for the team gave him status among the coaching staff and players, which even he, the head coach, couldn't disparage.

"Good evening, coach," the man said, settling into one of the sofas just opposite Coach Roger Schmidt's desk.

"Good evening to you too, Herbert," Coach Roger Schmidt replied, glancing at the assistant with a "what can I do for you?" look.

"It's almost time for the pre-match tactical meeting," the assistant said, his tone cordial. "The players are already gathering in the tactics room as we speak now. We should head over there right away."

"Ohhh! It seems I forgot about the passing of time once again," Coach Roger Schmidt said, smiling ruefully and casting a glance at his watch for the first time in hours. He'd been so absorbed in analyzing Rosenborg games that he'd failed to notice it was already nineteen minutes past six in the evening. It was just eleven minutes to the scheduled time of the pre-match tactical meeting.

"I'll head over in a few minutes. Thanks for reminding me."

"No problem," the assistant said, smiling back. "Is everything ready? How goes the preparations for the match tomorrow?" His tone was laced with a bit of concern as he glanced squarely at the coach.

"I've already designed a game plan for the match," he replied, standing up and closing his laptop. "On paper, it should be just enough to help us dominate the weaker Rosenborg side throughout the entire duration of the match."

"However, I still have this nagging feeling that the Norwegian team will prove to be a tough opponent for us tomorrow. So, I've been trying to devise a strategy to help us restrain their star attacking midfielder — Zachary Bemba, without altering our high-tempo attacking style. If we can contain him in midfield, I believe that we'll win this game with hands down for sure."

"Ohhh!" Herbert said, caressing his bearded chin. "But a single player shouldn't cause you that much unease. Remember that we're the stronger team, the Austrian giants, with plenty of spectacular young talents like Sadio Mané, Kevin Kampl, and Alan serving as our attacking force. They are all goal-hungry forwards and will be looking to tear Rosenborg apart whenever they get the chance. It would be a waste to deny them an opportunity of having a go at their opponents due to some conservative defensive tactics."

"All in all, I believe that we shouldn't change our attacking footballing style for just a single player. Even if he is the second coming of Ronaldinho, he won't affect the overall picture without incredible teammates to support him during crucial moments of the match. If by accident, he manages to score once or twice, then we'll score thrice. If it so happens that he scores three times, then we'll score four times. I believe that that should be our game philosophy."

"Good," Coach Roger Schmidt said, nodding. "You understand me well, Herbert. I'm also of the same view and don't want to give up our attacking flair just for a single player. However, that's the very reason for our dilemma. I've been finding it a bit difficult to develop a strategy that can restrain Rosenborg's young number-33 without having to sacrifice our fast-paced attacking tempo."

Herbert, the assistant, sighed, shaking his head. "As coaches, we can't always control everything on the playing field. There will always be factors out of our control during the heat of the match. That's why even teams like Barcelona and Real Madrid, which have assembled the best squads in the world today, can still lose games. And that's the true beauty of football as a sport. So, as coaches, we can only prepare our teams to the best of our ability before sending them on to the field of play. The rest is up to the players, luck or even an unseen higher power, as some would say."

Coach Roger Schmidt smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He could feel his mind starting to clear after hearing Herbert's words. "You do make a point, Herbert," he said, nodding. "What's there to fear? We've already done our best as coaches to prepare our players for the upcoming match. As long as we stick to our philosophy and attack Rosenborg from the first minute to the very end, we'll have a high chance of winning for sure. Thank you, Herbert, for reminding me."

"It's my pleasure," Herbert replied with a smile. "I'm glad to be of help. Time is running out. We should start making our way to the tactics room. We shouldn't make our players wait."

"Good."

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