[11 August 2018]- Fulham vs Crystal Palace
77' Minute
"The ball is played to Wan-Bissaka who has begun sprinting with determination and... Ohhhh, there goes Aleksandar Mitrović with a poorly timed challenge.
He slid in wildly to clear the ball away from Wan-Bissaka but has inadvertently tripped him over."
Mitrović charged toward Wan-Bissaka's leg, aiming to disrupt the play. For a second, it looked like he'd done just enough but Wan-Bissaka wasn't having it. He hit the turf, leaped straight back up, and powered on, brushing off the foul like it never happened.
"Wan-Bissaka however, is undeterred and the referee waves play on," Hinchcliffe points out, voice rising with excitement.
This is what football was about. The passion for the sport. Pushing forward through adversity. and not diving for foul calls.
Alan Parry cut in, his tone slightly disapproving: "That was maybe not the best move by Mitrović, he should have known better. Palace have kept the ball, they haven't had much of it in this match, but what they have done with their opportunities has been lovely and now they're surging forward with real intent. Wan-Bissaka has two defenders in front of him... what will he do?"
And just like that, the young right back answered the question.
He darted forward, eyes scanning, and with the kind of composure you don't expect from a player his age, he threaded a slicing through ball between Le Marchand and Bryan. It was a dagger. A pinpoint pass. To some, it may have looked short but the ball was in the perfect place for Zaha to work some magic.
"OH, WHAT A BALL!" shouted the first commentator.
"Zaha's onto it! He's in behind!"
Wilfried Zaha burst through the line like a flash of lightning, having timed his run perfectly. Fabri came rushing out, making himself as big as he could to dissuade a shot but Zaha had already made up his mind, ignoring Chambers who was rushing towards him. With calm composure and a smooth drop of his shoulder, he danced around the keeper with practiced ease.
"FABRI'S BEATEN AND ZAHA HAS AN OPEN SHOT!!!!"
Craven Cottage turned silent in nervousness. But the away end was already roaring. And with a simple diagonal shot, the ball found its way into the net.
The score was now 0-2 at the 79th minute, sealing the win for
"GOOOAAAAALLLL!!!"
"ZAAAAHAAAAAA!!! Crystal Palace double their lead!"
Zaha sprinted away, arms stretched, before jumping and shadow boxing the air. Wan-Bissaka jogged over quickly, wrapping his arm around Zaha. The rest of the team began moving towards them to celebrate what was now a guaranteed victory.
"That," Hinchcliffe huffed out, catching his breath, "is a lovely goal of real quality. Crystal Palace have scored 2 goals and conceded nothing, keeping a clean sheet in the first match of their season. Away from home too, if I forgot to mention."
"Zaha has been incredible, I wasn't too sold on how well he would play as a striker in Hodgson's 4-4-2 but he has fit into this system like a glove. But let's not ignore Wan-Bissaka. he's not just surviving out there," Parry added. "He's not just been great defensively; he contributed to both the goals Palace scored."
"You're not wrong there. But let's not ignore the appalling lack of effort from the Fulham defenders there. I know it's their opening game, Parry but they need to build momentum early for the rest of the season. Chambers had a solid chance to clear the ball away but gave up without trying."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the sideline, Roy Hodgson leaned toward Ray Lewington, their eyes scanning the pitch where Zaha and Benteke, both drenched in sweat, were jogging back into position.
"We're in control, 3 points in our first match." Hodgson muttered.
"Let's give the lads a little breather. It'll be a good time to blood Sørloth and the kid."
Lewington nodded, already making the call to the officials. "Dubois, right? I like the kid. He's got heart, and gives 100% effort on everything. That makes him better than most."
Hodgson smiled faintly. "Doing well in cup games is not the same as the pressure of a premier league match but let's see if the boy can handle the moment."
"And let's sub in Kouyaté as well. I want to see how well he meshes with the squad in a real match."
"Good idea. We didn't get to test him out much during pre-season." Lewington chuckled before saying, "And Townsend would probably 'preciate the rest. I can hear the fella's breathing from here!"
Hodgson gave a slight chuckle and began to walk over towards the three substitutes who had just taken off their training bibs.
"Alright, Fulham are tired. The match is practically over but I'm not subbing you on for fun. We're shifting the formation slightly. Kouyate, you're replacing Townsend in that midfield but a bit deeper. Help Wan-Bissaka keep Sessegnon on lockdown. I don't want him even breathing comfortably."
Kouyate gave a confident nod. It was essentially the same role that he had flourished in during his time at West Ham.
He turned in Victor and Sorloth's direction. "You two however have a different role; you might be replacing Zaha and Townsend but you won't be playing the same game. Their fullbacks are bloody exhausted so when you have the chance, bulldoze through them and increase our goal difference."
The board went up: 3 substitutions
[17] Benteke OFF – Dubois [20]ON
[11]Zaha OFF – Sørloth [9] ON
[10] Townsend OFF - Kouyaté [8] ON
The crowd gave a warm cheer, some confused murmurs rippling through as they read the unfamiliar name and didn't recognise it. But a cluster of youth academy players in the front row erupted with applause, they knew who Victor was and hoped that soon- it would be them being subbed on.
"Here comes the change for Palace. Both strikers off, including goalscorer Zaha, and... wait a minute, this is a special moment for Victor Dubois, just 18 years of age, making his senior debut. Talk about a stage to remember. Kouyate making his debut for the Eagles. Rumor has it he cost nearly £10 million pounds so Hodgson is definitely eager to see what he can do in a proper game."
Parry chuckled. "That's Hodgson all right. Two-nil up, ten minutes to go, and he's thinking long-term. Smart move. Fulham have taken out Jean Michael Seri who made his first appearance in the Premier League, replacing him with Stefan Johansen. Thoughts on Seri's debut, Andy?"
Hinchcliffe gave his thoughts "The Whites paid nearly £30 million for the midfielder and if they want their money's worth from the 27 year old, Seri needs to adapt to English football. And fast. The Premier League is a different beast to Ligue 1, especially in the physicality department but let's see what the Ivorian can do in future matches."
-85th Minute-
With only a few minutes remaining in the match and three points guaranteed, the Eagles were passing with calm confidence. McArthur played a triangle with Milivojević and Kouyaté. The ball zipped cleanly across the turf.
Simple but effective passing. No risks taken.
"Palace aren't forcing anything," observed Hinchcliffe. "Just seeing this one out. Only a few minutes left and with little effort from Fulham to push for a counterattack, this match is practically over."
All eyes were on the subbed on strikers, making their debut for the Eagles.
Victor Dubois, just five minutes into his Premier League debut, was hugging the right touchline, chest rising and falling, waiting for his moment.
It came.
McArthur intercepted a sloppy pass from Cairney and immediately sprung forward, flicking the ball into space.
"Here's Victor Dubois!" shouted the commentator, voice lifting with anticipation. "The teenager has a real chance here!"
Dubois took the ball in stride, pushing it past Bryan with a clever touch using the outside of his foot. He unleashed a burst of pace, leaving Bryan in the dust as Victor began sprinting down the right..
"Oh my word, he's quick! Bryan's struggling to keep up!"
There was no fullback in front of Dubois now, just the centre backs, Chambers and Le Marchland
Now he was inside the box, and the defenders began rushing as fast as they possibly could. Fabri was adjusting his footing, the moment hung in the air. A dream debut in the making.
"THE LADS GOT TO SHOOT THIS!" Parry shouted over the commentary. "He's through on goal!"
And he was. The angle wasn't perfect, but the space was there. Dubois shaped up like he would shoot, his shoulders dipped, eyes set towards goal. The crowd began rising to their feet in anticipation.
But he hesitated.
Instead of pulling the trigger, Victor opened his body and rolled the ball sideways.
"To Sørloth!"
A perfect square ball. Sørloth charged in stretching his leg out to try and tap in the ball into the net.
....
But the contact was poor.
The ball proceeded to unfortunately ricochet awkwardly off his shin and veered wide of the post.
"Oh nooooo…" The stadium let out a collective groan along with commentators.
"THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN THREE!" Parry shouted at the top of his voice, frustration in his voice. "Dubois did everything right... until he didn't."
"He had a solid chance!" Hinchcliffe added. "You don't get many of those. Not at this level. You take them when they come."
On the sidelines, Hodgson's jaw tightened ever so slightly. Lewington folded his arms.
"Dubois should have shot that," Hodgson muttered. "This is what I meant when I told you and the board it was too early for him; he's got talent sure, but we need a striker with a killer instinct and experience, not one still wet behind the ears. "
"He's unselfish," Lewington replied. "Maybe too much so. Its not that big of an issue Roy. We won the match anyway, Dubois created a good opportunity but it failed. It happens."
Back on the pitch, Dubois stood frozen for a second. Sørloth gave him an apologetic thumbs up, but the Norwegian's eyes betrayed the sting of the miss. Victor jogged back slowly, disappointment practically painted on his face. He glanced toward the sideline, meeting Hodgson's eyes briefly, then looked away.
"Still," muttered Parry after a pause, "that was a brilliant run. And a smart decision, but maybe not the right one. He's got impressive vision. Just needs that striker's ruthlessness but this was still a quality debut for the 18 year old striker."
"We've all seen debut jitters," Parry said. "But you also see the potential. He made that chance out of nothing."
96' Minute
"And that is the match over. Now that is what I call a proper game of footy, ain't that right Andy?"
…..
[17:32 - Brixton]
The front door clicked shut behind him. Victor Dubois stood still for a moment in the hallway, kit bag sliding from his shoulder to the floor with a dull thump. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
Victor took in a few deep breaths to recover from the bike ride. Usually, he cycled slowly to take the time to relax and enjoy himself. But today wasn't an ordinary day.
His parents were still at work.
He knew they would be. Saturday night was always busy at the pub.
Before he could even begin processing the events of the match, a distinct rumbling noise emerged.
From his stomach.
'I should've eaten more before the match huh.'
As he stepped into the kitchen, something caught his eye on the counter.
A foil wrapped plate with a folded bit of paper beside it. Victor peeled the foil back and the rich scent of carbonnade flamande rose up to greet him.
He picked up the note, written on torn notebook paper in his mother's ..well, unique handwriting
"Quoi qu'il arrive, nous t'aimons."
(No matter what happened, we love you.)
He stared at the words for a moment before folding the note slowly, tucked it into his pocket, and carried the plate into the living room.
Victor didn't turn on the light. He sat on the sofa, fork in hand, eating slowly. The food was still warm, and it filled more than just his stomach. But he still felt … off for some reason.
The events of the match still haunted him.
'Allow this sh*t, I need to relax', Victor grumpily thought to himself.
He set the plate down half-eaten, moved it to the small coffee table beside him and opened up his laptop, placing it on his lap.
The screen flickered to life. Like always, he opened chrome and went onto YouTube where the algorithm did what it always did; filled his page with countless football videos- match highlights, pundit analysis, a dozen thumbnails, one with his own face appearing on it.
Pride swelled in Victor seeing his face on a match highlight video.
Just 1 year ago, he was in the academy playing Under 18s football hoping that the coaches would finally promote him to the senior side.
Now he was in the Premier League, the dream of most kids in the UK who grew up watching and playing the beautiful game.
'Dammit, I need to watch the highlights- maybe the shot wasn't really possible to score'
[Wilfred Zaha Masterclass secures Eagles win at the Cottage
Fulham 2-0 Crystal Palace - Premier League Highlights]
Views: 30,349 Likes: 4.2k
_______________________________________________
Clips flew by of Fulham's missed chances, Hennessey's saves, Schlupp's goal just before half time.
Then, the 79th minute.
He leaned in, his eyes laser focused on the screen.
Wan-Bissaka's run. The foul.
He watched Mitrović's challenge again, studied how quickly Wan-Bissaka got back up.
Zaha's burst.
"OH, WHAT A BALL!" the commentator shouted.
"Zaha's onto it! He's in behind, FABRI'S BEATEN, ZAHA HAS AN OPEN SHOT
...
GOOOOAAALLL!!!"
He watched himself, barely in frame, warming up on the sidelines next to Sørloth and Kouyate.
Then came the substitutions.
"And here come the changes from Roy Hodgson. Benteke off, Zaha off... and look at this: an emotional moment for young Victor Dubois, just 18 years of age ,making his Premier League debut. Unbelievable. I couldn't put my socks on properly at his age."
The camera cut to him running on, expression tight, eyes scanning the pitch, doing his best to look composed.
The footage jumped to the 85th minute.
The interception. McArthur's pass.
His run.
He watched himself explode past Bryan, arm out, pushing the ball into space with the outside of his boot.
"Here's Victor Dubois! The teenager has a real chance here!"
His mouth went dry. Even watching it now.
He could feel it again.
That pulse, that second where everything slowed.
But when reached the box, he squared it to Sørloth .
Sørloth lunged forward.
And missed.
Victor felt like face palming himself watching it live.
And then came the commentary. The part that hit the hardest.
"THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN THREE!" Alan Parry's voice cut sharp.
"Dubois did everything right... until he didn't."
A pause. A quieter tone from Hinchcliffe.
"He had a solid chance. You don't get many of those. Not at this level."
The highlight clip jumped forward, showing the missed chance from another angle, this time slower. Him dragging the ball wide. Sørloth's awkward finish. The shot skewing off target.
Then, a freeze frame of Victor standing just inside the box. Motionless. His head down, mouth pursed.
"Still, that was a brilliant run. Smart decision... but maybe not the right one."
"He's got impressive vision," Parry added. "Just needs that striker's ruthlessness."
Click.
Victor muted the video.
He should have shot.
Was the angle awkward?
Yes.
Could he have scored it?
Maybe.
But why didn't he try?
'Why didn't I bloody shoot? I've seen Sorloth in training, he's an average striker at best. I had the ball, the space and the time.' he thought to himself
(A/N: Sørloth is actually a good striker but he plays for Athletico so screw him. Plus he was mediocre at Palace.)
"Why didn't I shoot!" he muttered out loud this time.
Victor couldn't figure it out.
He was a striker but passed the ball instead of shooting.
In the corner of his eye, Victor saw his laptop playing another video.
His youtube settings had autoplay on and put on the next video after the highlights.
And on the thumbnail was Ronaldo Nazario's iconic photo of his haircut during the world cup.
The video was an interview with R9 himself. A phenom striker who etched his mark on football history even without winning the Champions League.
'It's already on, may as well watch it to pass the time'
Victor's eyes scanned the title of the video
[ Ronaldo Nazário | The Phenomenon – Exclusive Interview with Lance! ]
The camera slowly panned across a sunlit room somewhere in Brazil. Maybe Sao Paulo, that was where Ronaldo retired almost a decade ago.
Framed jerseys in the background and trophy-laden cabinet placed behind the legendary striker, who sat relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, hands loosely clasped.
He looked older and had put on some weight but his eyes still held that glint of youth like he could bag a hat trick at any moment.
He smiled as the interviewer asked the question off-camera:
"What was it about being one on one with the keeper that made you so lethal?"
Ronaldo leaned forward, his smile turning into something more serious.
"It is the most honest moment in football."
He paused. Looked straight into the lens now, speaking as if addressing Victor.
Addressing Victor.
"When it's just you and the goalkeeper... no defenders to blame, no bad cross, no timing issue. It's you. Your instinct. Your decision. That's the purest part of being a striker. "
It cut to clips: Ronaldo in his prime. Inter Milan, Real Madrid, Brazil, dribbling past keepers, slipping the ball under diving arms, finishing with either foot like it was second nature.
"I never doubted. Doubt is the enemy of the striker."
He chuckled then, leaning back in his chair.
"Sometimes, I'd already chosen my finish before the keeper even moved. Left foot. Right foot. Chip. Nutmeg. It was the belief in myself that I would score."
Another clip: Ronaldo rounding the keeper against Valencia, 1996. Back to the interview.
"You have to be selfish there. Not because you're greedy but because that's our job. That's our responsibility. To score."
Ronaldo's voice softened now. His face became more … introspective.
"I missed chances. Of course. We all do. But the difference between a great striker and a good one? The great one wants the next chance even more."
He smiled again, but this time, it held something heavier. A quiet understanding of what it costs to carry that hunger all your life.
"You live for those moments. And when you're in front of goal, don't think. Just finish. That is joga bonito. Play without fear and you will find yourself playing more beautifully than you ever have before."
Victor stayed still.
Thinking.
He just stared at the frozen screen for a few long seconds.
"Don't think. Just finish."
It echoed louder than the crowd had that afternoon.
Because deep down, Victor didn't hesitate because he couldn't shoot.
He hesitated because he wasn't selfish. Maybe that was rewarded in the academy.
But not here.
And now...
He knew better- no
He knew what he lacked.
Ego.
USER LINK: INITIATING"
'Am I hearing things?"
Victor began rubbing his eyes- he was feeling sleepy all of a sudden.
"Maybe I just need .. . .. a nap" he yawned out slowly.
'I'll just lay down for a lil bit. Dad'll wake me up when he comes back'
He practically threw himself onto the sofa and just like that, made his way into the sweet embrace of sleep but not before making a silent promise to himself.
He would become the greatest striker in the world.
And he would do whatever it takes to reach his dream.