Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
“Eto’o——Eto’o! Shot! The ball went in! Unbelievable! They scored two goals within five minutes and equalized the score! They moved like lightning….Nottingham Forest could not respond at all!”
“The game has reversed in an instant! Nottingham Forest’s advantage was completely obliterated! Tony Twain’s team held their ground for fifty minutes and did not manage to hold on to their one-goal lead. They played too conservatively!”
“Had it not been for the send-off by the Norwegian referee, this game shouldn’t have been like this. Nottingham Forest’s performance before this equalizer was strong and they almost became victors. This is really too bad.”
The various commentators from different countries expressed their views on the goal. Those inclined towards Barcelona naturally applauded it, and those leaning towards Nottingham Forest lamented on behalf of Twain.
At the top level of Stade de France in the VIP box seats, when he saw Eto’o score the equalizer, Evan Doughty did not care that there were other people around and just smacked his thigh. Sitting next to him, Allan lightly shook his head. Their favorable situation had just slipped right out of their sight.
Sophia obviously knew what had happened on the field. She turned her head to look at George, sitting next to her.
Her son stared at the field expressionlessly. She did not know what was on his mind.
※※※
“Nottingham Forest has asked for a substitution. The number 9, Nicklas Bendtner will replace Chimbonda, who has muscle cramps. This is Manager Tony Twain’s last substitution, which is still an adjustment on the front line. This situation is ironic, seeing how everyone says that the Forest team is a symbol of conservative play and utilitarianism. But in this game, Manager Twain’s two substitutions have been to use the offensive players to replace the defensive players…If they did not have a player sent off, perhaps the Forest team wouldn’t have fared that much worse than Barcelona.”
Nicklas Bendtner sprinted onto the field. There were still nine minutes before the game entered the injury-stoppage time.
Could he actually be the hero who saved the team at the last minute?
No one knew.
Having equalized the score, Barcelona began to retreat and defend while Nottingham Forest stepped up its offense. Twain’s substitution told his men that they should stop defending and start attacking in the final moments.
Albertini gnashed his teeth to persevere. He could not run any longer, but he still charged up for a long shot. This long shot was quite powerful. It brushed against the crossbar and flew out. Valdés was startled and broke out in a cold sweat.
“Nicholas Bendtner! A header!”
This time, the Danish kid’s close shot was too direct and ended up being embraced by Valdés.
Rijkaard could not sit still. He walked out of his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and stood on the sidelines, staring nervously at the field.
Those two goals were not so much due to the substitutions he had made, but his luck. Before the goal, even though Barcelona appeared to be pressing on the Forest team hard, the number of times their shots threatened the goal was less than that of the Forest team. They had few real opportunities to do so.
Twain could not sit still either. He stood on the sidelines, waving and growling to get the team to press on again and again.
“Stop f**king defending! Attack!”
Arteta dribbled the ball in the middle to force a breakthrough and fell to the ground after he broke into the penalty area. Shouts broke out in the stands.
“Penalty kick!” Twain jumped up.
But the referee whistled and gave Arteta a yellow card to indicate that he had just dived!
“Damn the blind referee to hell!” Twain did not care about the penalty. He just cursed and swore. When he saw his players go up to the referee to reason with him, he yelled at them, “Stop arguing! It’s a waste of time!”
In last few minutes of the game, Barcelona, which represented artistic and beautiful football, was overwhelmed in its own penalty area by Nottingham Forest, which symbolized utilitarianism. They were in an extremely thorny situation.
“This time it’s Eastwood… passing… Why is he still passing?! It’s not enough, he played too timidly!”
“Pepe dribbles the ball forward and bypasses Ronaldinho! Eto’o runs after him… Foul! It looks like the Cameroonian is going to get a yellow card.”
“This is Nottingham Forest’s free kick in the front field….Paul Gerrard rushed up! That’s really insane…”
“Gerrard did not grab the ball. The football is still at the foot of the Forest players. He did not run back to his own goal but continued to stay in the front field. The entire Forest team is going crazy!”
If the rules had allowed, Twain even wanted to rush up himself to shoot.
When the Barcelona players saw Paul Gerrard did not return to defend, they all wanted to grab the ball and directly shoot at the goal from a long distance. If one of them had scored such a goal in the Champions League final, his name would forever be written in history.
Eto’o captured the ball again from the Forest players with his aggressive tackle. When he looked up and saw Paul Gerrard desperately dashing back to defend, he wanted to get ready to shoot.
Just at that time, Albertini rushed out from the side and fiercely tackled him, causing him to fly out with the ball!
“Albertini! A timely foul!”
“He should get a red card for that foul!”
As the game was nearing the end, the commentators from the two different countries also became distinct. The English commentators supported the Forest team, while the Catalonian and Spanish commentators were on the side of Barcelona.
Perhaps because the game was in the final moments, the referee finally softened his stance and showed Albertini a yellow card, which made the Barcelona players a little disgruntled. They surrounded the referee for a reason and actually wanted to take the opportunity to waste the time in the game.
Albertini got up and made a gesture to the referee to alert him of the Barcelona players’ trick.
※※※
The final moments of the game were very chaotic, with one team trying to waste the time in the game and the other going all out to try to equalize the score. Both teams were cantankerous. A conflict was almost certain to happen. Almost every foul would draw a confrontation between the players of both sides.
Twain felt helpless as he looked at the out-of-control situation on the field.
He could already anticipate that outcome.
History had corrected its path at its most critical moment. No matter what method he used, it was still that outcome in the end. It was the same as how people never cared about the process, they only cared about the outcome. No matter how much a “bug” like the Forest team had changed the process, as long as the outcome had not changed, then people would think that history had not changed.
Twain looked up at the sky and could not see anything with the brilliant lights lighting up the entire stadium. The night sky was suffused with light. He just gazed at the sky until he heard the three whistles coming from the field and the cheers that exploded afterward.
※※※
“The game’s over! Barcelona is the new European champion! Congratulations to them! They defeated Nottingham Forest. This was a bitter fight! But no matter, they are now the victors, the king of Europe!”
“Congratulations to Barcelona! This Barcelona team looks like an invincible fleet!”
“The European champion, Barcelona! They proved that the optimistic predictions about them before the game were right. They were superb and deserved to win!”
Cheers rang out through the Parisian night sky.
Twain withdrew his gaze and stood up from his seat. Beside him, the substitutes’ bench and the coaching staff were silent. The Nottingham Forest people seemed unable to accept this defeat.
They had played spectacularly and were unstoppable for a season, with powerful opponents bowing down to them, and now they were finally defeated.
No, have we lost?
At least Twain did not admit it.
“Don’t keep quiet. Come with me to console the players.” Twain said to Kerslake, who sat next to him and covered his face with his hands.
※※※
The young Arteta crouched on the ground, supported by his hands so that he did not fall. He had just cried, and his face was obviously streaked with tears.
Albertini was already doing what Twain and Kerslake were going to do before they came onto the field.
As the captain and weathered veteran of the team, defeats, and victories had dominated equally in his career. He already knew how to face such a loss.
Now he was comforting his teammates one by one on the field. He comforted Arteta, Leighton Baines, Paul Gerrard, Nicklas Bendtner… One by one as he went along. Twain and Kerslake appeared to be superfluous as they walked up.
Twain wanted to say something, but he could not say anything when he opened his mouth as he watched the players lying on the ground.
He could only walk up, pat them on the shoulder one by one, and rub their heads.
It was no use to say any more at this time. He should leave the comforting and encouraging words until they had calmed down.
After the brief comforting of everyone, Twain turned and walked to the tunnel, where the reporters gathered.
“Mr. Twain, please say a few words for the interview!” He was stopped by countless reporters over there.
“There’s nothing to say. We won against Barcelona but lost to the referee. It’s as simple as that.” Twain was a little impatient and wanted to leave, but was held back again.
“With all due respect, Mr. Twain, on the question about the referee. Van der Sar’s foul indeed warranted a red card according to the rules.”
“That’s right. According to the rules, it’s should have been a red card.” Twain nodded. “But if all the penalties have to be so rigid, why do we let people be referees? Why don’t we just use a robot, or put hundreds of cameras around the field and watch the slow-motion replay to enforce a game? I don’t want to criticize the standards of this referee, but unfortunately, the referee enforcing this Champions League final has no idea what the art of enforcement is!
“We were already short one player eighteen minutes into the game and we were still ahead of Barcelona until the seventy-sixth minute under those circumstances. I am proud of and satisfied with the performance of my team. Is Barcelona strong? Perhaps to everyone else. For me, they’re far inferior to my team. I don’t think that a team is strong when they barely win at the last minute with so many world-class star players. I proclaim that the Champions League title belongs to Nottingham Forest. No matter what you all think, we are the real champions.”
Facing countless microphones, recording pens and cell phones, Twain said with his arms held high, “This is Nottingham Forest Football Club’s third championship trophy in history. Thank you!”
With that, he turned away and left the mixed zone, ignoring the shouts and urges to stay from the reporters.
※※※
In the box, Evan Doughty shook hands with the Barcelona club president, Laporta. The latter had a dazzling smile on his face and shook Evan’s hand vigorously.
While Evan Doughty could barely squeeze out a smile, he tried his best to be polite and gracious in front of his opponent. He dealt with his opponent’s consoling words. But his gaze flicked towards Sophia, who stood alone at the door of the box. Her son had already left the box, which was full of hypocritical shows of friendliness and flattery.
※※※
Twain encountered Wood at the entrance of the locker room.
“Why did you not stay with your mother?”
“I wanted to come down and have a look.”
“What do you think of this game?”
“Luck was not on our side.”
Twain snorted, “Luck? Well, maybe.” He pointed behind him. “They’re still crying on the field. Go on.”
Wood nodded and walked past Twain.
Twain pushed open the locker room door and saw Edwin van der Sar, sitting alone inside. Because he was sent off with a red card, he could not even go to the substitutes’ bench. He could only sit in the locker room and watch the game broadcasted on the television.
When he saw Twain walk in, Edwin van der Sar rose from his seat. “I’m so sorry…”
Twain waved to stop his apology.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You’ve done a great job. We probably wouldn’t even have gotten into the final without you. Go out there and be with the team. Don’t just sit here alone.”
Edwin van der Sar went out and only Twain was left in the locker room. He sat down and leaned against the wall. To unload the heavy burdened feeling, he let out a long sigh.
Although he took the opportunity of the interview to give vent to his feelings just now, the sense of loss had not been alleviated at all.
He needed to play a variety of roles in front of people, always wearing different faces. Now that there was no one else in the locker room but him, he could finally reveal a tiny bit of frustration.
He rubbed his hair. His carefully-combed hair before the game was ruffled into a mess.
By all accounts, as a half-baked manager who had led his team to participate in the Champions League for the first time, it was considered a great success to be able to reach the final. Anyone would have been happy with that. Being the runner-ups in the English Premier League and Champions League were really good results for a team like Nottingham Forest.
However, Twain was unwilling to accept it. He did not stand a chance to the league champion because Chelsea was too strong and the point difference between them was too great. He pinned all his hopes on the Champions League and the Forest team overcame all the difficulties to go all the way to the final. They were only one step short of success. No, it was only half a step. One half-step. For a while, he felt like his hand had already grabbed hold of the handle of the Champions League trophy. He just needed less than twenty minutes before he could take the home.
If he was going to fail, would it not be better for him to be eliminated in the Champions League group stage? Why was he played like that?
Godd**n you… Sonofab**ch God…
Twain felt like throwing things, but he did not want the players to come back later and find the locker room in a state, so he just sat in his chair and sulked.
It was a long while before he heard the locker room door being pushed open.
David Kerslake appeared in front of him. “Tony? Tony?”
“Yes?”
“Time to go out and receive the award.”
“Receive the award? What award?” Twain asked in a very unpleasant tone.
“Uh… The silver medal.” Kerslake was alarmed by Twain’s tone.
“I’m not going!”
“Tony…”
“What’s the point of it? To mark the disgrace of a loser? A bulls**t silver medal? There’s only one champion. What’s the point of giving out a silver medal? It’s redundant! Go out and smile like a contrast to the victors? To make their champion look brilliant? I refuse to go! Isn’t Barcelona good? Let them play on their own!” Twain growled at Kerslake inside the empty locker room. His angry voice echoed in Kerslake’s ears.
“Tony, that won’t look good.” Kerslake was startled. He did not know what else to do, except to try and persuade him.
“Why not? It’s good for them! This big and glorious arena belongs to the champion team, how nice it is for them! Why should we butt in as losers?”
Twain sat down and stopped talking. There was only the sound of his heavy breathing in the locker room. Kerslake stood before him, at a loss as to what to do.
It was at this time that Evan Doughty came in.
“What’s wrong?”
Kerslake looked at the chairman as if he had seen the Savior, “Mr. Chairman…Tony, he refused to receive the award….”
Evan looked at Twain, who sat in a chair and sulked. Then he said to Kerslake, “You go out first. He’ll be out soon.”
Kerslake nodded and turned to leave.
When he closed the locker room door, Evan said to Twain, “Tony, it’s inappropriate for you to do this. You’re making it hard for your assistant.”
“I know. I just wanted to vent for a bit, but he came at the wrong time.” Twain’s tone was not as agitated as it had been earlier. “I’m sorry.”
“You should say those words to David yourself. It’s not easy being your assistant. In addition to helping you with your work, he has to put up with your venting…”
Twain scratched his head.
“I can understand your anger. I’m just as upset about this damn game as you are. But… don’t give people a handle to attack you. Don’t antagonize people too much, Tony. Listen to me. Go out and receive the award. The players are looking to you.”
His last remark coaxed Twain. Yes, no matter how upset and angry he was about the game, he could vent his displeasure in this locker room, but he could not let his players, who had fought for ninety minutes, bear his fury. As a manager, it was unseemly to shut himself inside here and leave his men behind.
He got up from his chair and said, “All right, I’ll go. But it’s not because I’m giving the UEFA face. I’m giving—”
Evan patted him on the shoulder and interrupted, “I know. You’re doing this for your team. Let’s go.”
※※※
The UEFA bigwigs waited until Twain finally walked out of the tunnel. When Twain came out, he suddenly became the focus of media attention. It seemed that since he was late, everyone was fully aware of his dissatisfaction with the game.
The Barcelona players and coaches were still celebrating their victory. They did not care about the feelings of a loser or that Twain was late.
Twain glanced at those men without the slightest smile on his face.
He was resolved not to give face to the UEFA.
The Forest players came on stage one by one to accept their silver medals. They were listless and only politely replied in single sentences when the UEFA officials offered words of consolation.
Twain was the last to go up. As the youngest manager previously given special publicity by the UEFA, he did not act appreciative at all. He walked up with a grim expression, as if someone close to him had died, and shook hands with the UEFA president, Lennart Johansson, who was in charge of giving out the awards. Instead of bowing his head and letting the other person put the medal on him, he took it straight and clenched it in his hand as he turned around and walked down.
He could not recall what Johansson had said to him as he basically did not listen at all.
Evan Doughty saw this scene from below and could only shake his head helplessly. He knew Twain’s temperament well. He had relented by being willing to come out and accept the award.
However, the matter was not over yet. Just as everyone was looking forward to the winners coming to the stage, the cameras focused their lens on that idiosyncratic manager.
As Twain walked down, he saw the Barcelona people holding their arms high and cheering, as well as the four on-duty referees standing on the edge of the platform preparing to take the stage to receive their awards. He then made a move that came as a surprise to everyone and was faithfully recorded in the live television footage.
He turned around and saw a ball boy standing on the sidelines, holding a digital camera, a notebook, and a marker. He was waiting there, ready to take a photo with his idol and ask for an autograph. It was nothing out of the ordinary; Twain had seen quite a few such people. He went straight over to the boy and hung the silver medal around his neck. He then turned around and walked away without hesitation under the surprised gaze of the young ball boy.
The television commentator saw this scene on the screen and simply did not know what to say.
The UEFA officials over there had just given him the silver medal, and he just gave it away casually. That was not giving the UEFA face, was it?
After Twain disappeared into the tunnel, the broadcast immediately cut to the award officials, and sure enough, an awkward smile hung on each of their faces.
No one had expected Tony Twain to do that in front of so many people, had they?
Evan Doughty covered his face.
Tony, you bastard.
