Chapter 285: Shooting for the Planes (Seeking Monthly Votes)

The fourth day of the first lunar month, the weather was clear and fine.

Mong Kok Stadium was decked out with banners and fluttering ribbons, and all six thousand-plus seats were filled with spectators.

Today was the second day of the Guangdong-Hong Kong Cup championship, and also the day Wu Feng's football team made their debut.

On the sidelines, Asia Television's broadcast equipment was already powered on, conducting the pre-match live warm-up.

In the VIP section, Huo Lao was prominently seated, with so-called Hong Kong socialites beside him, along with sports officials who had rushed over from the Mainland, while Jiang Tiansheng accompanied them.

In the best seats, there were quite a few rich second-generation heirs who often appeared in the newspapers, accompanied by their female companions.

Although the match had not officially begun, the atmosphere throughout the stadium was already quite heated.

The spectators were basically all discussing yesterday's brilliant matches, one by one beaming with excitement.

The attacking style that Wu Feng had specifically requested had achieved a quite eye-catching effect.

It remains the same saying: a football match is only at its most brilliant and attractive when both sides are attacking, which is also the moment when the stadium atmosphere is at its most intense.

Asia Television broadcast yesterday's two matches, and Wu Feng watched the entire process via television.

Whether it was the Mainland city team players or the Hong Kong club players, the vast majority of their basic skills were not up to par—they were what one might call "roughnecks."

As for technique and tactics, that was even more of a miserable sight; in short, the match scenes were quite chaotic.

The attacks lacked method, and many times they relied on the individual performance of one or two star players.

Of course, it wasn't just random flailing, but rather playing a very crude long-ball and cross-field tactic.

One can only say that the football tactical style of Great Britain had deeply influenced the tactics and strategies of Hong Kong teams.

When defending, it was just a swarm; in any case, the ball could pass, but the person could not.

As for positioning, or any kind of zonal marking tactics, one could basically see no signs of them.

Much like relying on star players during attacks, they also relied on individual ability to scramble when defending.

Players who performed well were particularly outstanding, while the rest of the players seemed as if they were invisible.

In any case, the feeling it gave Wu Feng was that the matches were messy and very chaotic.

It is estimated that this had to do with his strong demand for an attack-oriented approach, which the participating teams were not accustomed to.

Fortunately, the matches were truly lively; although there were frequent errors in passing, receiving, and dribbling, the brilliant and intense back-and-forth attacks were still quite attractive.

From time to time, the spectators would let out huge noises of either cheers or sky-filling boos, and the atmosphere was truly very heated.

Plus, it just so happened to be during the Spring Festival!

Although Hong Kong did not have a so-called Spring Festival holiday, there were not a few spectators who had free time and were willing to watch the match on-site, which might also be related to the lack of entertainment activities in this era.

Didn't you see that even the famous rich second-generation heirs who often appeared in the newspapers had come in quite large numbers?

Time passed, and soon the two teams participating in the match took the field.

Wu Feng and a group of former substitutes—now starting players—whom he had drilled for a month, made their grand entrance.

The team's luck was not bad!

During the draw, the opponent they pulled was also a Hong Kong team, but a much weaker "minnow" team.

Wu Feng breathed a sigh of relief; such an opponent was just right.

He could pat his chest and guarantee that he hadn't pulled any tricks during the draw, and that it was purely a matter of luck; of course, whether others believed it or not was not his concern.

Following a sharp whistle, the entire audience cheered in unison, and the match officially began.

As a midfielder, Wu Feng received a pass back from the center-circle forward and kicked the football directly toward the open space on the right flank.

The team's right-back, who had already started running, used all his might to sprint thirty meters, finally arriving just as the football was about to go out of bounds, and delivered a straightforward, unadorned poke.

The football shot straight across the half-field, rolling along the sideline toward the opponent's backfield.

Taking advantage of the fact that the opponent's wing-back and defender hadn't reacted, the team's right-back charged past the center line with his head down, reaching the opponent's thirty-meter zone.

Facing the rolling football, he subconsciously delivered a cross.

From beginning to end, this guy never once lifted his head.

At the same time, the team's forwards and midfielders moved forward rapidly, and even the defensive line followed up as a whole.

Facing the suddenly accelerated tempo of Wu Feng's team, the opponent was clearly unprepared and lost their footing for a moment.

At this time, the three lines of Wu Feng's team moved forward rapidly, looking aggressive.

But if there had been European professionals present, they would have been able to see that there were holes everywhere.

But the spectators on-site didn't know that; they just felt that Wu Feng's team was quite extraordinary.

Some spectators had already exclaimed, and the atmosphere of the entire football stadium became tense.

When the football flew from the flank toward the center, the team's forward had already arrived near the penalty area.

This fellow was a white man standing a full one meter eighty-eight, who suddenly leaped up and flicked his head to header the incoming football out.

Wu Feng arrived with lightning speed, puffed out his chest to trap the incoming football in front of him, pushed off the ground hard with his left foot, and slammed his right foot into the football.

The next moment, the round football suddenly deformed and shot into the sky like a cannonball.

*Cough cough*, he hadn't hit the right spot and had fired a "sky-high cannon"!

Boo...

Many spectators subconsciously let out loud boos, clearly very dissatisfied with Wu Feng's "shooting for the planes."

Damn it, they didn't even think about how long he had been practicing football?

Of course, he was also quite depressed in his heart.

Sure enough, intense matches were beneficial for him to hone his ability to control his body.

Wu Feng remained unmoved and loudly called for his team to fall back and defend.

As for the sidelines, there was no head coach there pointing fingers at all.

For this kind of low-intensity match, having him as the head coach on the field was enough.

It was just that the time was too short to find a suitable head coach.

Otherwise, he would have long ago replaced the team's original head coach, who was full of underworld airs.

"This team has something, indeed!"

Huo Daheng, sitting in the VIP box, quietly breathed a sigh of relief at this moment and spoke to his old friend beside him.

He had not expected the performance of the team where Wu Feng was to be so outstanding.

It completely lacked the sluggish appearance of other teams; the speed and rhythm were astonishingly fast, giving him the illusion of watching a top-tier team from Europe.

"It certainly does have something!"

The friend able to sit beside Huo Daheng naturally possessed an extraordinary status and position.

Crucially, this person was also a standard football fan; otherwise, they would not have been able to chat with Huo Daheng.

"The attacks are swift and fierce, the playing style is simple and clear, and especially the use of that center forward—it seems even teams over in Europe haven't used such tactics, right?"

"That is indeed the case!"

Huo Daheng nodded in agreement and chuckled, "Average center forwards basically just stand in the penalty area waiting for teammates to pass the ball for headers; who is like this one?"

"He actually didn't rush into the penalty area, but instead received the ball outside the edge of the penalty area and passed it!"

"If there isn't a long-range shooting expert with impressive strength, such passing is basically of little use!"

"It's a pity that the heavy cannon shot from that person just now actually went way over the bar!"

(End of this chapter)