September 18th. The 7th round of the Championship kicked off.
Sheffield United was back at Bramall Lane, hosting Portsmouth, a team from the southern coastal city.
Portsmouth was once a historic powerhouse, having won the FA Cup just two years ago. However, reckless spending on players had driven the club into administration. Most of their star players had been poached by top-flight teams, leaving behind a squad that was purely Championship level.
On Bar Street, inside a 45-year-old pub.
"Hurry up, help me get the signboards outside!"
Kodal had confirmed in the pre-match press conference that Maher would remain in the starting lineup. He quickly directed his staff to carry out the advertising boards, holding a few small banners himself.
These were the promotional materials for the fan event, freshly made a few days ago.
They clearly stated: Spend £200 at a table, and get an exquisite gift signed by Maher. Or, for any purchase over £50, you could buy a signed gift separately for just £50.
Limited to 25 per week, running for four weeks.
Honestly, compared to Kodal's investment, even if they sold out, he probably wouldn't make much profit.
But running a business was about cultivating customer habits.
If this event could build a loyal base of fans who recognized their pub, the long-term benefits would be worth it.
"I actually wanted to launch this after the last game," Kodal said, looking at the new shop front with anticipation after the rush. "But for some reason, I had a feeling we might lose—maybe even get crushed—against Scunthorpe at home.
"Turns out my prediction was spot on. Good thing I didn't rush it, or the fans' enthusiasm would have been low right from the start."
A staff member smiled and turned to ask, "So, putting it out today... do you predict Sheffield United will win this one?"
"Winning is hard to say."
Kodal shook his head. He knew the team's situation this season, but there was one thing to hope for. "But I feel Maher has a chance to score. I have a feeling he might surprise us."
Seeing the staff laughing, he waved his hand and walked inside. "Don't doubt an old man's intuition. It's more accurate than a woman's sixth sense."
"Hahaha...." The joke made many look up and laugh.
Kodal huffed. Sometimes, the older you get, the more like a child you become. Entering the pub, he sat at the bar himself, waiting for customers.
Soon, a few regulars walked in, ordered some beers, and sat down to wait for the match.
They asked about the event, but initially, interest wasn't high.
That changed as kickoff approached. Fans who couldn't get tickets from the scalpers flocked to Bar Street. The street instantly buzzed with life, and many noticed the event.
"Let's go in and take a look."
"Maher's signature? Are kids these days already so business-savvy? Hahaha."
"Sure, if he puts in a stellar performance today, I might consider buying one."
Following the logic that they had to spend money on drinks somewhere anyway, they might as well participate in the event. People started filing in.
Kodal hadn't expected such a good response. He greeted everyone with a beaming smile, while his staff got busy.
"Is it definitely Maher's signature?"
Some wealthier fans who were big supporters of Maher even pulled out their wallets immediately upon entering, ready to buy.
"Honest business. No cheating."
Kodal opened his phone, showed them Maher's social media, and pointed to the pinned promotional post.
"Sold!"
Many ordered £50 worth of drinks and spent another £50 on the signed gift. They could choose between a scarf, a hat, a hip flask, or a bottle.
At this moment, most fans chose the scarves and hats with the club's "Blades" crest.
Flasks and bottles get finished and aren't easy to carry; keeping them at home didn't feel like collecting a trophy.
Amidst this lively atmosphere, kickoff time drew near.
......
Bramall Lane Stadium, near the center circle.
"You are a light in the dark.... That there's only the road down the dark....!!"
Listening to the singing from the stands, Maher stared fiercely at the opponent's goal. His desire to score and win had reached its peak.
He could feel a powerful force radiating from the songs, something emanating from the bottom of people's hearts—a legacy passed down and championed by Sheffield fans for generations.
At this moment, he deeply felt the power of community football.
Even though they had suffered a crushing defeat last time, and even though he himself had felt so lost, seeing the fans leave with dark faces had made him feel powerless and guilty.
But when the new round of the league started, these same people rallied again in the stands, using every means to cheer for the team, still full of hope and expectation.
"Peep!!"
As the referee blew the whistle to start the match, Maher sprinted forward, running toward the left side of the opponent's defense, eager to receive the ball.
He thought of the ad he posted for Kodal before the game, and that bundle of £4,000 full of the warmth of people's palms.
These people must be closely watching his game today, right?
His first brand partner... he couldn't tarnish his reputation. He had to go all out and use his influence to bring some business to Kodal's pub.
And his influence had to be built on goals and assists.
Although many media outlets had reported on him, his follower count wasn't high yet. His fame was still small-scale.
He had to use one spectacular moment after another to deepen his impression in the fans' minds!
"Boom boom... boom!"
Moving with the team's formation for a few minutes and touching the ball twice to get a feel for it, Maher didn't rush. He wasn't the same player he used to be.
After a few professional matches, his game experience had improved significantly.
It was like training a sniper; besides talent and potential, you need to feed him a lot of bullets.
The more you play, the more familiar it gets.
Maher never felt he could only rely on long shots and crosses to score. With playing time guaranteed, he could even stumble into a chance.
And as long as the opportunity came, he could seize a one-on-one or even a header!
This was a sense of composure, a calmness adapted to the Championship.
"Peep!"
In the 12th minute, Gilbert was fouled by an opponent while dribbling through the center. The referee blew the whistle.
But unexpectedly, the opposing midfielder, Michael Brown, suddenly bent down, bringing his face close to Gilbert's, eyes full of malice. "Arsenal boy, if you think you're too precious, go back to Arsenal!
"The Championship isn't for you, nor for that partner of yours. You'll end up ruined here."
Finishing his words, he headbutted Gilbert hard and stood up to walk away.
"What did you say?!"
Gilbert was a young lad with a fiery temper. He immediately got up and chased after him. "You're 33, right? You'll rot here your whole life! You can only envy guys like us, because you have nothing."
"What?" Michael Brown whipped his head around, eyes wide, forehead thrust forward, locking heads with Gilbert.
Head-to-head! A classic football scene!
Gunpowder filled the air. Players from both sides rushed over.
"What are you doing!"
Maher arrived first, shoving Michael Brown away. It was a competitive match; no need to baby anyone.
Gilbert had exploded into a conflict; he had to save his teammate.
Feeling the heat around him, a fire rose in his chest. When dealing with football hooligans like this, you couldn't play by the rules.
"Peep peep peep!!" Seeing the situation about to spiral out of control, the referee blew the emergency whistle and sprinted over, placing himself between the two sides.
The two teams faced off. Personal grudges had now mixed into the pure athletic competition.
"Booooo.....!" The Sheffield United fans booed loudly. Many threw water bottles and debris onto the pitch, venting their displeasure.
This was their home ground; how dare the opposing player start trouble?
"Isn't that a straight red?"
On the sideline, Gary Speed rushed out of the dugout, storming toward the fourth official. "He threatened our player and headbutted him in the face! Can't you see that?
"Tell him through the earpiece, now!"
The fourth official kept a straight face, avoiding eye contact with Gary Speed, and said nothing into the mic.
A farce played out, then quickly subsided as everyone came to their senses.
After the referee showed yellow cards to both Maher and Michael Brown, the players gradually separated.
Only Michael Brown, feeling insulted, gritted his teeth as he was pulled away, spitting out threats. "You two boys better watch out!"
In a spot he didn't notice, Maher held the ball, walking to the free-kick spot, preparing to take it himself.
The team's primary free-kick taker was Janu Hans, who had only taken over corner duties two weeks ago.
But this time, Maher was going to take it.