c24 - Enter the Big List
"Wright."
The name of the backup goalkeeper was the first to be called from Moyes' mouth an almost unshakable arrangement.
"Watson… Yabo… Kevin Campbell… and—"
There was only one spot left. Going by Moyes' usual pattern, he would bring two substitute forwards. That meant the final place had to go to an attacker. All eyes naturally turned to Chadwick.
The teenager's face lit up with anticipation. Chadwick had started several games during the injuries to Rooney and Kevin Campbell last season. The thrill of that experience had never left him.
But this season, with a crowded front line, he hadn't even made the matchday squad, let alone the starting eleven. Now, with Bent injured, the opportunity to at least sit on the bench again had his heart pounding. How could he not be excited?
At that moment, Moyes had to choose between Chadwick and Valdy. Though Valdy had impressed everyone during training, most assumed he wouldn't be selected. He hadn't fully integrated into the squad yet. Compared to Chadwick, his chances seemed far slimmer.
But then came Moyes' next call one that stunned everyone and drained all color from Chadwick's face.
"Valdy!"
There was no hesitation. Moyes had chosen Valdy over Chadwick.
Even Valdy was surprised. He had expected to wait longer for his chance, but Moyes had placed him on the big list already. It was a twist worthy of a plotline in Bleach the unexpected rise of a dark horse, much like a low-ranked soul reaper suddenly achieving Shikai.
His teammates gave him mixed looks some offered congratulations, while others held back with subtle disdain. Chadwick, in particular, glared at Valdy with open resentment. The bench spot was his and Valdy had stolen it.
But envy is a mark of mediocrity. Valdy didn't care about Chadwick's resentment. If he had the skills, he could earn it back. Whispered curses and petty insults meant nothing.
"I didn't think Moyes would actually put you on the big list. Is he throwing the match?" joked Gravesen as he walked past, clapping Valdy on the back.
Valdy shrugged coolly. "I'm just a benchwarmer. You should be more worried about Manchester United's midfield blowing you apart."
It wasn't an empty threat. Even though Keane had lost some pace with age, he was still a juggernaut on the pitch. Facing him was like staring down a Hollow with unrelenting pressure.
Gravesen shook his head with a theatrical sigh, clearly wounded by the jab.
Meanwhile, Chadwick continued shooting venomous glances from across the room. His resentment thickened the atmosphere though, to be fair, the whole team was tense. After all, their opponent was Manchester United. Despite being overtaken by Arsenal last season, no one dared underestimate Ferguson's squad.
For a club like Everton, whose primary goal was avoiding relegation, an away game at Old Trafford wasn't about winning it was about damage control. A small defeat would be tolerable; a draw would be like hitting the jackpot.
Moyes' tactics were clear: pure defense, only counterattack if absolutely necessary. The priority was to concede as few goals as possible.
But Valdy's thoughts were elsewhere on how to create a moment worthy of system rewards.
Though his imagination wasn't exactly stellar, he did have reference material. The legendary "God of Trolls" was his muse a title perhaps akin to how Mayuri Kurotsuchi in Bleach used bizarre and theatrical actions to disorient enemies.
In Valdy's memory, the God of Trolls' most iconic move was sitting on the pitch to "contemplate life." There was also the infamous shirt with "Why Always Me?" and a bodybuilder-style celebration against Germany in the Euros.
But none of those were really suitable for him.
The "contemplating life" pose came after deliberately wasting a one-on-one chance. If Valdy threw away a breakaway against Manchester United, he might as well be benched for eternity. That was no joke.
The "Why Always Me?" shirt worked only if you'd scored plenty before. This would be his first game let alone first goal. "Always" what, exactly?
As for the muscle-flex celebration… his lanky frame wouldn't survive the comparison. If he took off his shirt, he'd be drowned out by laughter.
Trolling wasn't as easy as it looked. Should he fake a cramp mid-run? Or worse pretend to pee on the pitch? That would definitely earn him the headlines. Just not the kind he wanted.
Valdy sighed. It felt like his path had suddenly blurred. A troll without a plan how tragic!
---
In truth, the distance between Liverpool and Manchester was just 55 kilometers, so there was no strict need for Everton to travel the day before. But this game was crucial. Management wanted players well-rested, so they arrived early regardless.
For Valdy, this was his first away trip — and it was a thrill. On the bus, most players were resting, music in their ears. But Valdy was bouncing with energy, nearly bursting out of his seat. He looked like a spirit beast from Bleach's Soul Society trying to escape a gigai.
The veterans had seen it before. Every rookie was like this their first time — excited beyond reason. Truthfully, even they hadn't been this hyped when they debuted.
"Calm down," Gravesen grinned, seizing another chance to tease. "Your job tomorrow is to sit on the bench, cheer us on, and ride back to Liverpool. That's it."
Valdy smirked. "If Keane knocks you flat, I'll cheer him on."
…Which earned him a slap from Gravesen.
This match was the highlight of the week. While Arsenal were cruising, Manchester United had stumbled since the start of the season.
They were beaten by Mourinho's Chelsea in the opener. Though they scraped past Norwich, it was far from convincing. Then came a frustrating draw against Blackburn. After three rounds, United lagged behind in points.
Meanwhile, Arsenal and Chelsea had won all their games. The pressure was already on.
All eyes were on this match to see if United could turn things around — and Everton was expected to play the sacrificial role.
And then there was Rooney — England's golden boy — supposed to face his former club for the first time. But his injury kept him out, leaving fans disappointed.
As for the little-known Manchester United loanee who would now face his real club… no one cared.
Who the hell was Valdy?
That, above all, was the real question.
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