Fantastical football sim Rematch has, we’re told, a passing problem. Specifically, no-one is doing it. While I suspect this dearth of teamplay is exaggerated in the darkness of upset Steam forum posts, I definitely remember a lot of ballhogging going on in the third person booter’s open beta.
It sounds to me, then, that Rematch is suffering from the same issue you get in low-ranked Dota 2 lobbies: everyone wants to be the superstar, the one who ends the match with the biggest numbers next to their name, oblivious to how few instances of the letter ‘I’ occur in the word ‘Team’. It’s very few, people. Clearly, what’s needed is someone willing to do the dirty work as a passing-focused support character, and today, that would be me. I’d score no goals and seek no glory, only defending, distracting, and most importantly, promoting the redistribution of stitched leather orbs.
My first match initially seems to begin suboptimally: I’m in goal, where my coveted assists stat would be hardest to pad. However, this ends up serving nicely as a warmup, as I can comfortably gather the ball before hoofing it down the field to goalhanging squadmates. Early on, this tactic almost produces a cheeky first assist, were it not for a fine save from my opposite number.
Then, a stroke of luck. One of their defenders steals the ball, only to make a disastrous backpass attempt to their suddenly disappeared goalie, sending the ball bouncing pathetically into her own net. I could not have been less involved in the process if I tried, but still, 1-0!
When play restarts I’m rotated to my preferred outfield, and within a minute, a fortunate bounce drops the ball at my feet – with acres of unguarded space to charge into. Immortality awaits with a single well-placed shot, but as a teammate dashes up alongside me, I remember my mission. With the lightest of taps, I nudge the ball into his path, from whence a friendly boot punts it into the net. 2-0, and the system works. Elation.
Despite our rivals responding with a powerfully struck goal of their own, that proves to be their final moment of joy, as we tighten our grip on the game once more. Our carries – soz, forwards – are agile and elusive, our keeper solid. I’m doing my part too, closing off enemy passing routes and harassing ball carriers like a shinpadded gnat. With two minutes remaining I get another clear run at goal, again managing to resist the temptation to shoot, though realise too late I’ve made the classic support mistake of isolating myself in the late game. With no-one to pass to the attack fizzles out, but it’s no matter, as some more inexplicable goalie positioning allows our quick-thinking winger to fire home into another empty net. The whistle blows at a triumphant 3-1, the game’s sole assist going to yours truly, and I feel like Manchester United in 1999: utterly unplayable.
It’s a pleasing success, though the scoreboard also reveals an uncomfortable truth. It turns out I didn’t actually register that many passes, with only three completed ball transfers across the entire match. I resolve to spend more of the next game in control of the ball, rather than staying in space – it’ll give my teammates fewer passing options themselves, but they surely won’t mind when I deliver them gift-wrapped footballs with prepaid express delivery into the opposing goal.
It goes terribly. Within ten seconds, I fumble the ball into a rival player’s toes, allowing him to casually trot up to our six-yard box and slam it goalwards. I can only stand, despondent, while our beaten keeper stares daggers at me from beneath his catboy beanie.
For my sins, I take his place between the sticks, which also goes terribly. Our team is bisected by a low pass through midfield, and while I bravely step out to confront the sprinting attacker, I mistime a defensive dive, opening him up to wriggle around and secure the easiest goal he’ll bag in his career.
The rest of the match proceeds almost as abysmally, largely thanks to my newfound talent for unforced errors. I am getting on the ball more, but I’m misplacing passes, mistiming dribbles, and mismanaging stamina. Their third goal is, at least, not my fault directly – a long shot sails in and our keeper misses the catch – but with the final seconds on the clock, I completely botch a sideways pass that could very likely have earned a consolation goal and an ego-repairing assist. It finally ends 0-3, and I feel like Manchester United in 2025: unforgivably dogshit.
Perhaps to take pity on me, Rematch loads up my next game with my full team of four against a mere trio, the kind of officiating decision that would have real football fans declaring that the referee is some variety of merchant banker. Even so, I’m determined to win redemption against these outnumbered kids, and begin by delivering a crisp, accurate pass down the wing to an ash-skinned football phantom, who respite her spooky visage quickly establishes herself as our most skilled player by far.
That’s one complete pass in the books, though it doesn’t lead to a goal, and after two minutes of back-and-forth, the ball is suddenly pinged into our net, helped along by a fourth opponent I somehow missed running out of the dressing room. Our numbers advantage is not only neutralised, but flipped, regardless of our talismanic ghost lady’s best efforts.
Still, if adversity failed to build strength in the last match, it was getting the bricks down in this one. After the 0-1 I’m back on goalkeeping duty, and at least make up for my previous disasterclass with a succession of flying saves. Because having the ball in one’s hands is the sole position in Rematch where you aren’t immediately set upon by three angry sets of studs, I’m also getting more time to line up my passes, enabling a few agonising near-misses at the opposite end of the pitch.
Eventually, though, their defence cracks. I dash out of the box to kick an unclaimed ball down the field, where it’s scooped up by a wide-lying teammate, who in turn taps it sweetly towards our unmarked ghost for a tidy equaliser. Then, just thirty seconds later, she fires an intercontinental ball-istic missile from just inches shy of the right touchline, putting us ahead. This ghost is having the game of her… life?
Some cagey defending sees out the game to a 2-1 victory, but by now I’ve lost faith in my own supporting schtick. My pass total only crept up from three to four, and although that doesn’t seem to include goalkeeper hoofballs that may have bounced for a bit before finding an ally, I can see why Rematch is yet to develop a passing meta.
It is, in short, easier to go it alone than even the game’s own tutorial wants you to believe. There are undoubtedly moments when passing presents the ball with a faster route from foot to goal, but attackers have more than enough flickin’ and tappin tools to get past defenders all by themselves, and the effective shooting range is so generous that if you have an opening, why would you not just take a punt at a lightly protected net?
It’s just inevitable to see selfish plays when individual heroics do, in fact, work. Of the nine goals scored across my three matches, only four had credited assists, meaning most goals really are scored by players making solo runs and shots instead of tiki-taka’ing the ball across the line. And that was with muggins here specifically trying to rack up passes, so most normal games will be even richer in sporting solipsism.
It’s not behaviour that would make you friends in a shirts-for-goalposts kickabout, sure. But in Rematch, nice guys either finish last, or they’re dragged to first by players more willing to simply take the shot. And honestly, I can’t blame them for it.
