The Bosnia and Herzegovina Super League was a competition that began in 1997, so its history isn’t very long.
The Bosnia and Herzegovina Second League, on the other hand, only officially began operations in 2000. This is currently its second season, so it’s still in an exploratory phase. Because of this, the match schedule isn’t that tight.
The season wrapped up early, at the beginning of April, and after the players went on vacation, they began their part-time job careers.
It also had a standard winter break. The overall schedule wasn’t very demanding, which was intended to create more rest time for these low-income players and help them balance their personal lives with their professional careers.
Currently, 11 rounds of the competition have been played, and the season is already past the halfway mark.
The Mostar Wanderers were in 4th place on the league table, still a long way from the promotion zone.
Sarajevo FC, however, was in third place, making them a rival the Mostar Wanderers had to defeat to get promoted.
"Keep an eye on their shorty, number 9!"
Sarajevo FC’s captain, Locke, spoke fiercely to his newly joined teammate.
Bazzer was a 22-year-old German who came to Bosnia and Herzegovina due to his parents’ work. He joined the club based on his previous soccer experience.
Bazzer had a natural German rigor, but looking at the 150-centimeter-tall pipsqueak, his mind filled with a series of question marks.
’Him? A center-forward? Number 9?’
Both his miniature, skinny frame and his baby-fat face gave him a childish look.
This was a world away from his idea of a center-forward—tall, powerful players who were tough as nails and good with both their feet and their heads.
"Don’t underestimate him. That guy has scored eight goals in 11 matches!"
Captain Locke said grimly.
Hearing this, Bazzer’s expression immediately turned serious. The opponent’s appearance was deceptive, but scoring 8 goals in 11 matches spoke volumes.
After both teams finished their final preparations, they walked onto the pitch, led by the three referees.
"Let’s go, Suk!"
"Show them what you’ve got!"
"I’m waiting to hear news of your victory!"
"Come on, warriors of Mostar!"
The fans in attendance were incredibly enthusiastic. Although there were only about 200 of them, they made the whole stadium feel extremely lively.
Suk trailed behind his tall, sturdy teammates. Visually, it looked as if there was a gap in the team’s lineup.
During the handshakes, Bazzer looked at this guy who had to tilt his head up to raise his fist, his face still filled with doubt.
’How on earth does this guy score goals? Eight of them, no less!’
Bazzer didn’t get it. ’Is the entire Bosnia and Herzegovina Second League full of scrubs? Letting this pipsqueak score on them?’
After they reached their side of the pitch, Mulinar bumped Suk’s head with his shoulder and laughed. "That guy looks pretty confused."
Suk pressed his lips together. "Well, I’m pretty different from a traditional center-forward."
Mulinar smiled. "Don’t worry, I’ll get the ball to you."
Suk nodded lightly.
He took a deep breath, looked ahead, and murmured softly, "Ninth Master, bless me!"
...
"Here! Pass the ball!"
"To me! To me!"
"Tackle it out!!!!"
The match was incredibly intense, not in terms of pace, but in terms of physical confrontation.
The pace of the game wasn’t fast, the speed of Ball progression and passing was slow, and the transitions between offense and defense were riddled with problems.
But the key thing was, these guys were not afraid to go in for a tackle!
Any time they were beaten or faced a threatening attack, a tackle was sure to follow. And a lot of the time, they weren’t going for the ball, but to take down the man holding it.
This was a characteristic of the Bosnia and Herzegovina League!
If the Premier League was the most physically intense league, then the Bosnia and Herzegovina League was definitely the most barbaric.
Faced with these kinds of tackles, the head referee wouldn’t even flinch.
BANG!
Mulinar and Locke slammed into a 50-50 challenge.
As the captains of their respective teams, neither had any intention of backing down in the battle for the ball, both actively charging forward for the challenge.
The impact sent the squeezed Ball flying.
But neither of them stayed put; they continued to chase the Ball, going in for a second challenge.
BANG!!
This time, the tops of their feet smashed together viciously. The sound of bone hitting bone made everyone nearby grimace, feeling a phantom pain in their own feet. But the two players just kept chasing the ball with a limp, showing no sign of giving up.
Ultimately, the Ball flew to the feet of Mostar’s full-back, Kotic. Kotic passed it up the flank to a teammate ahead, and at the same time, Suk also began moving toward that side.
Seeing Suk move, Bazzer immediately followed.
Suk had his back to the attack. He could feel Bazzer’s presence behind him. At that moment, Suk suddenly burst into motion, spinning around to make a run in behind.
Bazzer turned instinctively, but he quickly realized his mistake.
’Wrong!’
Bazzer cursed inwardly. ’This shorty is just trying to draw my attention.’
Sure enough, the opposing midfielder threaded a straight pass through the middle, attempting a surgical through-ball.
But Bazzer hadn’t been pulled out of position by Suk. He was positioned perfectly in the passing lane and intercepted the Ball with ease.
"Well done, Bazzer!"
A teammate shouted encouragement, and Bazzer calmly passed the Ball to the full-back on the other side.
Just then, he saw Suk slowly jogging back.
Bazzer looked at Suk, and Suk looked back at Bazzer.
Their eyes met. Suk could see the growing doubt in Bazzer’s eyes, as if to say, ’Did this guy really score 8 goals?’
"Yes, I did!"
Suk said.
Bazzer froze for a second, then said in surprise, "You know what I’m thinking?"
Suk drifted to the left, and Bazzer immediately followed.
The two continued their conversation while jogging.
"I’ve seen that look in your eyes many times," Suk said, glancing over his shoulder nonchalantly. "But they all ended up beaten by me."
Bazzer frowned slightly. "That’s because you hadn’t met me."
Suk shrugged and said nothing.
Meanwhile, on the pitch, both teams were still locked in a midfield battle. There was no variation in their attacking patterns; it was as if they were stubbornly sticking to one single path.
But this was the norm in a lower-division league!
The gameplay in lower-division leagues is very rigid, mainly due to the players’ limitations, which prevent them from executing the complex attacking routines seen in higher leagues.
Therefore, these lower-division teams all have one set of tactics that they use, and they run it into the ground.
The Mostar Wanderers used to be a possession-based team.
They built their play around their strongest player, Mulinar, as the core, constantly passing and advancing the Ball, waiting for an opportunity to find a gap and score.
But such a meticulous tactical approach is extremely difficult for a lower-division team to execute.
The uneven skill levels of the players made it impossible to effectively play a possession game.
But the Mostar Wanderers had no choice. They had no strong scoring threat up front, no formidable presence in defense, and to top it all off, a defense as porous as a sieve. It was truly difficult.
This had kept the Mostar Wanderers hovering around the mid-table of the Second Division League, unable to improve, until Suk’s arrival began to alleviate the situation.
"Suk!"
Mulinar suddenly yelled.
Suk turned and sprinted again, but the next second, Mulinar passed the Ball into the open space on the wing instead.
"Beautiful!!"
A roar erupted from the fans in the stands.
Mulinar might be getting older, but his passing fundamentals were still incredibly solid. A penetrating pass like that...
Just as everyone expected the Mostar Wanderers’ winger, Vitolic, to chase down the Ball and score, a figure suddenly shot out from the side, sending the Ball out of bounds with a clean, decisive slide tackle.
The entire stadium fell silent.
That kind of precise judgment of where the pass would land, combined with a clean and decisive slide tackle, was truly intimidating.
After getting to his feet, Bazzer let out a roar, releasing his pent-up excitement.
In his opinion, that tackle was both brilliant and timely.
"I get it now!"
Bazzer suddenly said to Suk, "You’re the decoy!"
Suk looked over, confused.
Bazzer stated with a confident expression, "You’re the decoy, so you don’t participate in the attack directly. The wings are your most threatening point of advance, and that number 8 is your playmaker. You might have really scored 8 goals, and your Archery Skill might actually be good, but as long as I cut off the connection between you and your teammates, you’re no longer a threat."
Bazzer looked completely confident, as if he had seen through to the truth.
To him, this was the only thing that made sense.
After all, what kind of impact could a 150-centimeter, skinny, short center-forward possibly have? Twenty minutes into the game, the guy hadn’t even had a single touch of the ball.
To put it bluntly, this guy was just a decoy meant to confuse the defensive line. The real offensive push came from the wings.
Suk blinked at him. "You think I’m easy to deal with, don’t you?"
Bazzer shrugged. "In Germany, a guy with your height would have already said goodbye to soccer."
Suk was silent for a moment, then suddenly warned him, "You’d better stick close to me. Don’t ever let me shake you off."
Bazzer wanted to say, ’So what if you shake me off?’ but then thought it would be too childish. There was no need to stoop to the level of someone who was just bluffing.
’Anyway, I’ve already figured out the essence of the Mostar Wanderers’ attack. Defending will be easy from now on.’
At that moment, on the sidelines, Oripé narrowed his eyes. "They’re starting to ignore Suk."
"It’s hard to keep an eye on him all the time." Mostar’s only substitute defender, Rosen, shrugged. "A short guy, one so short you can’t even see him when you look up. He’s bound to be overlooked."
Oripé nodded in agreement.
Then, Rosen continued, "But he’s lethal!"
On the pitch, Mostar’s attack moved to the left side, and Sarajevo FC’s entire defensive line shifted to the left as well.
Bazzer glanced at Suk beside him and noticed the guy wasn’t making any significant movements.
’Has he given up?’
Bazzer didn’t know what the other guy was thinking, but right now, he needed to pay more attention to Mulinar.
He was Mostar’s biggest threat.
But he failed to notice that the shorty who had been right beside him was slowly backing away, imperceptibly creating a distance of nearly four meters between them.
At the same time, after dribbling past a defender, Mulinar actually chipped the ball straight up from where he stood.
Watching the Ball fly over his head, Bazzer instinctively shuffled to his left, partly to block Suk’s path and partly to call for the goalkeeper to claim the ball.
But he found that he didn’t make contact with Suk’s body.
When he turned his head to look, Suk had already appeared behind him and was the first to reach the Ball’s landing spot.
"Since when?!!—"
Bazzer’s face paled in shock.
The cheers from the fans erupted suddenly.
Suk was already slowing down and adjusting the frequency of his steps. During this, he even glanced at the goalkeeper’s positioning.
As the Ball came down, he showed no intention of trapping it. Keeping the top of his foot locked, he viciously struck the Ball.
The Ball shot toward the near post like a straight line, grazing the post as it flew into the goal.
After scoring, Suk turned his head to look at the stunned Bazzer, as if to say...
’I told you, don’t ever let me shake you off!’