49: Away draw with Gunners

The whistle for the second half awakened the players from their brief rest.

In the locker room, Old John's voice was hoarse, but his tone was firm.

He relayed Lin Feng's instructions, which were like a fire in the dead of winter.

"The Boss said, this isn't a hundred-meter sprint, it's a marathon."

"We don't need to be first every time, but every step must be steady."

"In the second half, continue to maintain the defensive line, but the counterattacks must be more resolute and direct."

He emphasized the space behind the wings, which was left open after Arsenal's attacking push.

The air at Emirates Stadium was still dominated by the songs of the Arsenal fans.

In those songs, there seemed to be less of the casualness of the first half and more of an urgent prodding.

Hartlepool United's players, carrying the 'oracle' from their boss, stepped back onto the pitch.

They dragged their tired bodies, but their eyes were filled with an unyielding flame.

Their formation remained compact, and their defensive will showed no signs of wavering.

But in the initiation of each counterattack, there was an added touch of determination and decisiveness.

The ball was more often delivered to Arsenal's left flank.

That was the wide-open space left by Gaël Clichy's overlapping runs, and also the weak point they repeatedly exploited.

Arsenal's offensive was more ferocious than in the first half.

They hoped to quickly kill the suspense of the match with a second goal.

The ball passed between their feet like a dancer, each combination filled with imagination.

Robin van Persie's runs were tricky, Fabregas's passes were precise; they constantly searched for gaps in Hartlepool United's defense.

But Hartlepool United's defense, under the roaring command of Kasper Schmeichel, was like a moving fortress.

They stood united, yielding not an inch.

Every block, every clearance, was made with desperate resilience.

Schmeichel continued his miraculous performance.

Every sortie was decisive and precise, every save as steady as a mountain.

He tipped a sure goal away with his fingertips and blocked a point-blank follow-up shot with his body.

His shouts pierced through the rain, directing the defense, making the Arsenal players feel a hint of frustration.

Time, in the tug-of-war of offense and defense, passed minute by minute.

In the sixty-fifth minute, a turning point arrived.

Jamie Vardy received a long pass from a teammate on the left wing; he ran tirelessly, using his body to firmly hold his position.

He prepared to forcefully break through Emmanuel Eboué.

Arsenal's right-back Eboué, already somewhat impatient from Vardy's continuous assaults, stuck out a leg.

It was not a clean tackle, and he tripped Vardy and the ball to the ground.

A sharp whistle sounded.

Hartlepool United was awarded a free-kick in an excellent position.

Approximately twenty-eight meters from the goal, slightly to the left, directly facing the goal, making a direct shot possible.

The boos from tens of thousands of fans at Emirates Stadium surged like a tide, attempting to interfere with the player taking the kick.

Gylfi Sigurðsson slowly walked to the spot.

He ignored all the surrounding noise, bent down, carefully positioned the ball, and even brushed away the grass clippings from it with his hand.

He looked up, his ice-blue eyes calmly fixed on the goal.

In those eyes, there was no tension, no excitement, only a calmness like the glaciers of his homeland.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slightly.

Then, he began his run-up.

His steps were steady, full of rhythm.

He struck the ball.

The ball was precisely struck by the inside of his right foot, instantly spinning at high speed.

It traced a beautiful and strange arc, elegantly curving over the tall wall of Arsenal players.

Jens Lehmann, the experienced German goalkeeper, stretched his body fiercely in the air.

His fingertips almost touched the ball.

But the ball's descent speed exceeded his prediction.

It grazed the top right corner of the goal and slammed into the net.

One to one.

At the moment of the goal, the magnificent Emirates Stadium fell into an eerie silence.

The deafening singing and booing that had lasted for over sixty minutes seemed to be instantly cut off by an invisible hand.

The silence lasted for less than a second.

Immediately, the away fans' section, that blue and white corner, erupted in a volcanic celebration.

Three thousand Hartlepool United fans jumped, embraced, and roared frantically; their voices, in the silent stadium, sounded so clear, so shocking.

In the Sky Sports commentary box, Arsenal legend Ian Wright suddenly jumped up from his seat.

He was so excited he was incoherent, the microphone almost vibrated with his voice.

"Gooooal!"

"Oh my God! Gylfi Sigurðsson!"

"Another world-class free-kick! This is simply a free-kick master! A magician from Iceland!"

"Hartlepool United has equalized! At Emirates Stadium! This is incredible! Arsenal's defense has paid the price for their complacency!"

On the sidelines, Arsène Wenger's usual elegance and calmness were completely gone.

He looked in astonishment at the glaring "1-1" on the scoreboard, his hands in his suit pockets, his brows tightly furrowed.

He immediately turned and made a gesture for Alexander Hleb, who was on the bench, to come on.

He wanted to regain control of the midfield and not give the opponent any more chances.

Arsenal, after all, was a top team.

In the seventy-eighth minute, they once again demonstrated their terrifying strength.

Hleb, who had just come on as a substitute, delivered a brilliant pass in midfield that tore through the defense.

The ball penetrated Hartlepool United's defense and reached deep into the penalty area.

Robin van Persie ghosted in, and with a nimble touch, he faked out Ben Clark's defense in the box.

Immediately, he shot from a tight angle.

The ball hit the net.

Two to one.

Arsenal took the lead again.

With the score trailing again, Lin Feng, in the VIP box, did not hesitate.

He immediately gave his final instructions to Old John via phone.

Old John decisively carried out Lin Feng's command to go for broke.

The tall center-forward Kevin Kyle took off his training bib and replaced Robert Snodgrass, the right-winger whose stamina was almost exhausted.

Hartlepool United's formation changed to the simplest and most direct two-striker system.

They would fight their final battle in the tallest, most primitive way.

Time, on the referee's watch, dwindled minute by minute.

In the third minute of injury time, there was little time left.

Hartlepool United was awarded their last corner kick of the entire match.

This was their last chance, and the last glimmer of hope to reverse their fate.

Gylfi Sigurðsson stood at the corner flag again.

He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his cheeks.

He delivered a high-quality corner kick, the ball with a strong inswing, flying into the most chaotic area of Arsenal's penalty box.

Kevin Kyle, the 'twin tower' surprise who had just come on, leaped high like a bomber.

He overpowered world-class center-back Kolo Touré, using all his strength to head the ball fiercely towards the goal.

The ball made a dull thud in the air.

It heavily struck the underside of the crossbar, then bounced sharply downwards.

Into the net.

Two to two.

The final whistle, almost at the same moment the ball entered the net, sounded sharply.

The match ended.

Hartlepool United, away from home, at Emirates Stadium, drew two-two with the mighty Arsenal.

This result shocked the entire England football world.

Lin Feng, in the VIP box, slowly stood up, looking at the wildly celebrating players on the field and the silent Arsenal fans, a victorious smile on his face.

He knew this was not a simple draw; it was the best proof of the team's will.

Returning home, to Victoria Park, they would have an even greater chance to create that ultimate history.