Footbal: Arsenal - Chapter 54: Arsenal Lead 1-0 at Halftime (Patreon)

Arsenal 1, Real Madrid 0.

Kieran was still being tossed into the air by his teammates.

In the sunshine, he saw supporters jumping up and down in time with his own rise and fall. It felt as though the whole stadium was holding him aloft.

The stadium announcer stretched out the goalscorer's name, and the supporters answered in a thunderous chorus.

“Kieran! Kieran! Kieran!”

As he rose through the air again, Kieran turned his head and spotted Wenger by the touchline. The pride on his manager's face was unmistakable. Anyone could have seen it, and Kieran certainly could.

He looked down at his jubilant teammates. Apparently they still had plenty of excitement to work off, so he was going to have to endure a few more trips into the air.

All around him were the deafening cheers of the Emirates crowd and the Arsenal goal music booming over the speakers.

For Kieran, competitive sport had always been more than the profession he'd relied on to make a living, in this life and the last. It was a love carved into his bones, something that filled his entire existence.

You competed because you loved the process and cared about the result. But in the end, wasn't it all for moments like this?

This was one of those moments. It belonged to Kieran and to Arsenal.

Maybe the final result of the match would disappoint them. But right now the stadium itself had faded into the background. All that stood out were the people leaping with joy because of a goal that had seemed impossible.

The celebration went on for two full minutes.

Everyone in the stadium had been swept away by that bicycle kick. These were people who loved football. How could any of them fail to celebrate a goal like that?

Unfortunately, the match couldn't remain stopped forever. Somebody had to bring Arsenal's celebration to an end.

The Madrid players had no intention of volunteering to play the villain. That left the referee. After all, UEFA was paying his wages.

The supporters weren't pleased. The joy had reached its peak, only for the celebration to be cut off. Most of them felt frustrated and thoroughly let down.

On the pitch, Arsenal's players obediently lowered Kieran when the referee told them to stop. Kieran felt as though another toss or two might have made him throw up.

Once he had his feet under him, he heard the crowd booing the referee.

He caught his breath, raised both hands, and began applauding in the official's direction, a simple acknowledgment that the man was doing his job.

Kieran understood how the supporters felt. He didn't think they were wrong to express themselves. But the referee hadn't done anything wrong either, and he deserved respect for it.

The mood inside the stadium turned almost instantly.

One by one, Arsenal supporters followed Kieran's lead and began applauding the referee. Within moments, the applause was thunderous.

The referee was so touched he could almost have cried.

Never before had he received thanks from tens of thousands of people together in a stadium.

A referee represented the rules and the game's authority, which meant he was never likely to be particularly popular. He'd been booed on plenty of occasions.

More often, the crowd simply ignored him.

Now a complicated mixture of feelings welled up inside him. His face revealed none of them. The whistle between his lips gave only a faint sound.

I'll remember this moment for the rest of my life, he thought.

Madrid's players were still standing in the positions they'd occupied in their defensive wall of a formation.

That wasn't because they were exceptionally disciplined. Kieran had scored before they'd had time to move, and there had been no reason to move afterward. So they'd watched Arsenal's entire celebration from where they stood.

It had shaken them all over again.

Did a club like this really exist? A team so united that even its supporters moved together?

For the first time, the Madrid players understood the weight behind Kieran's two titles, Arsenal's Crown Prince and the King of Arsenal.

Supporters everywhere celebrated with players when their team scored. It was another matter entirely to follow a player's lead outside a celebration, even when it meant acting against their own feelings.

Arsenal supporters were like loyal soldiers, ready to respond whenever their king gave a signal.

As the applause subsided, the crowd grew calmer.

Their excitement hadn't vanished, but sharing that collective gesture with Kieran had created an invisible bond between him and the supporters, and among the supporters themselves.

The referee blew his whistle. The stoppage was over.

Arsenal's players returned to their own half for the restart.

The sun was still glaring from the direction of the goal, but it no longer troubled Kieran and his teammates.

Arsenal were ahead now. They didn't need to attack in a panic. They could take their time, play steadily, and look to extend their lead.

Madrid were a goal behind, but they weren't especially anxious either.

They were the away side and wanted to secure as many away goals as possible.

Even if they failed to score today, the return leg would be played at their own ground, where they could try to make up the difference.

Mourinho's side therefore stuck with their counterattacking approach. Arsenal, for their part, continued their possession-based attacking football.

At the whistle, players and ball began flowing around the pitch again.

This time, however, Kieran found himself under suffocating pressure.

Nobody in Madrid colors was going to let him wander around chatting with teammates again. Who knew what other absurd tactics he might discuss with them?

It wasn't just defenders like Ramos and Pepe. Even Di María, Madrid's right winger, stayed within about three meters of Kieran, ready to help his teammates close him down.

Whenever Kieran received the ball, Madrid's players became more alert and nervous than at any other point in the match.

His bicycle kick had certainly left an impression.

Cristiano Ronaldo's eyes were brimming with competitive fire and admiration. Ramos, meanwhile, kept glancing Kieran's way with a look that suggested he was already planning his next tackle.

Kieran took stock of the attention and loosened his wrists and ankles. Then, like someone incapable of standing still, he began kicking his legs and waving his arms every now and then.

With a mischievous streak, he even raised a hand to ask his teammates to pass him the ball more often.

They happily obliged.

Pass after pass came his way. Suddenly he'd be running off with the ball at his feet, only to dart somewhere else a moment later.

Madrid knew there was little room through the middle and that Kieran might not be able to break through.

But they couldn't afford to leave him alone. At least one defender was always forced to shadow him, and that consumed energy even when Kieran didn't shoot.

Not that he had any intention of avoiding shots.

Arsenal had the advantage now, so they could afford to try more efforts from distance. It didn't matter if a shot was blocked or failed to go in.

Wearing Madrid's defenders down would be a success in itself.

Kieran kept firing at goal. Gradually, the visitors began to tire.

Then the referee's whistle sounded again.

The first half was over. Halftime had arrived.

Arsenal's players headed toward their bench, where Kieran gave Wenger a delighted hug. Up in the stands, the supporters watched the manager and his young player with an almost dizzy sense of satisfaction.

If they'd had this combination of coach and player at the beginning of the season, Arsenal fans might have declared that the Premier League title was theirs for the taking.

But the season was nearing its end.

As far as the Champions League was concerned, most supporters were content as long as the team gave everything it had.

The unexpected delights that Kieran and Arsenal had been giving them lately were already more than enough to make them happy.

As the players filed off the pitch in orderly fashion, the supporters sent them on their way with a long, unbroken round of applause.