Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
“…Chelsea’s condition is good, and so is Nottingham Forest’s… Even though it’s a little too early, I still want to say- Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 11th round of the English Premier League: On their home ground, Nottingham Forest welcomes Chelsea! I’m John Motson. Today, our commentator for the match is Gary Lineker. Gary, what do you think about today’s match?”
“Mourinho doesn’t pursue an artistic way of playing football. He once declared himself a worshipper of Capello; from that, we can know what kind of manager he is. He puts more value on the results than how things appear; he puts more emphasis on the end than the means. So, despite Chelsea having a sharp offensive formation, they play with prudence. I believe the ‘1:0 philosophy’ is the best interpretation of him. But, but in this match, on the away field, I don’t believe Mourinho would insist on his 1:0 philosophy.”
“Because his opponent is Tony Twain?”
“Yes. This is the only manager he did not manage to beat in the previous season. We don’t know what relationship the two of them have in private; Mourinho once attended a work permit hearing for Forest’s player, Pepe. And before UEFA’s lot-drawing ceremony, Mourinho took the initiative to chat with Tony. But, on the field, the two of them are enemies. Neither Mourinho nor Tony would allow themselves to lose to the other. And, with both managers focused on the results, they would certainly use the most effective method of scoring to attack. With that, this match will doubtless be an extremely intense and fabulous watch.”
An hour before the match was to begin, the two in the broadcasting stands had already gotten busy.
In truth, much earlier before the start of the match—half a day before—various English media outlets had already started gathering in Nottingham. Despite the Northern London Derby ongoing today between Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur, the match held at Nottingham was the true highlight that attracted the attention of the entire nation.
Exactly like it was played up by the media, the people closely watching the match were neither Chelsea nor Forest’s fans. Instead, there were many neutral fans. According to the count after the match, there were even quite a few female spectators in the audience. Perhaps they did not care so much about which team would win, but rather hoped to see who it would be left laughing in the end. Was it going to be Mourinho or Tony Twain?
The Sun described it perfectly; it was “The war between two men.”
※※※
45 minutes before the start of the match, the spectators’ stands in City Ground were basically filled up. They were also prominently split into two parts: the clearly dominant red phalanx and the blue square congregated in the away stands.
Red and Blue were traditional colors in the English football scene. Most team’s home team attire was one of them. Although there is no conclusive evidence, the earliest suggestion for teams to wear different colored attires in matches first appeared in the “Handbook of Football,” published by Routledge, which listed red and blue as two colors of choice. “If it could be pre-arranged, one party could wear a certain jersey color, such as red, while the other could wear another, like blue. That way, it could prevent confusion among players and abrupt, ill-intentioned steals. Such a sight was commonly seen, and I often hear such an apology: ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were one of them…’”
That could be the earliest reason accounting for why scores of football teams in the current English football scene wear either red or blue jerseys. As a result, there emerged a tradition of the “Red Blue Battle”, wherein arch rivals within the same city were often in red and blue. For example, the two teams Liverpool (red) and Everton (blue) in Liverpool city; Manchester United (red) and Man City (blue) in Manchester; and the recent rivalry between Arsenal (red) and Chelsea (blue).
Currently, Forest Team and Chelsea had also sunken into an eddy of a “Red vs Blue Battle.”
Before the teams entered the field, fans from both sides had already launched into a full-out battle on the spectators’ stands.
Forest fans were mocking Chelsea with their songs, calling them ruble corps, a group of mercenaries who had long ago lost the traditional spirit of English football and become a toy for their Russian boss. Replying to Nottingham Forest’s provocation, Chelsea’s fans sang in loud voices, “We are f**king RICH!” There were even Chelsea fans who held up posters saying, “Do you need us to give you money to buy a stadium?” mocking Nottingham Forest’s poor stadium which could only seat 27 thousand people.
The police force in Nottingham Forest was on high guard against all eventualities; fearing that fans from both sides would end up in a clash drawing blood prior to the match, they set up an empty stretch of partition three stands wide between the spectating areas of the two teams. In the middle stood two rows of riot police with backs against each other in full gear, helmets on their heads along with tempered glass shields and police batons in their hands. They watched the red-faced, thick-necked fans alertly.
Pierce Brosnan, a reporter from Nottingham Evening Post, sighed as he watched the scene from the press box. “It’s hard to believe that these two teams had no enmity between them for the past hundred years…”
The combination of media advances and the fact that the two managers had equally untameable personalities caused the teams to rapidly become rivals. It was impossible for Brosnan not to know about this; rather, he simply did not wish to admit that he himself was one of those adding fuel to the fire. On occasion, he still imagined himself as different from the paparazzi who made up news and tried so hard to please their audience; his idealism had survived in his heart.
※※※
30 minutes before the match, players from both teams entered the field to begin warming up. The fans on the spectators’ stand finally stopped attacking each other, their attention having been drawn to cheering for the players and teams they supported instead.
Judging from the players who came out for the warm-up, it was clear that both sides were sending out their best with no intention to conserve their abilities. This was despite Chelsea having to play against Real Betis in an away field three days later, and Forest having to play Benfica in Portugal in four days.
“Indeed, this fits their personalities; neither wants to admit to a loss to their rival.” Motson counted the players warming up on the field and compared it with the team list he had just gotten. As expected, none of the core players were missing.
Chelsea had sent out their full team of core players, as had Forest.
Lineker laughed to the side.
“Isn’t this interesting? The personalities of these two are precisely what we hoped to see. Before, we were still worried about a lack of anticipated events within the English Premier League after Sir Alex Ferguson’s retirement. Now, we no longer have to worry… We still have Mourinho and Twain!”
15 minutes before the match, warm-ups on the field ended and players from both teams returned to the players’ corridors, each heading back to their respective locker rooms. Although nobody knew what went on in there, everyone was interested.
At the same time, a dark red Audi A6 drove into the gradually emptying square outside of City Ground.
“We’re late?” A shrill voice sounded from within the car.
“No. Mr. Doughty requested for us to arrive at this time. If there are too many people, we would worry about them crowding around and injuring you.” Another voice spoke up.
The car door opened. The first person who stepped out was a man in a black suit. Making his way around the car, he opened the rear doors. A woman – Freddy Eastwood’s wife – exited first with a baby in her arms. Following her was a young boy who hopped out of the car.
The man waited for them to exit the car before reaching in to help the Romani, Eastwood, out.
“OK, thank you, but…” Eastwood had noticed that the other man seemed intent on helping him all the way up to the luxury box, and hastily waved his hands to stop him.
“I can walk, just a little slowly.”
Sabina, standing beside them and patting the sleeping baby, said to the man, “Let him walk on his own.”
The man seemed somewhat reluctant. “But, your leg… Mr. Doughty specially instructed us to…”
“Chairman Doughty would also hope to see a healthy Eastwood, right?” said the Romani. “I’ll walk up. No problem.” He started walking towards the passageway that led to the main spectating stands.
The man hesitated at the back, but quickly caught up and followed beside him.
“Let’s go, baby.” Sabina waved towards the boy looking around.
※※※
As Eastwood was slowly climbing the numerous stairs, Tang En was in the locker room spurring on his players for the final time.
The strategy board was a mess, but it was of no importance. No one looked at it. The real strategies had long been imprinted on their minds.
“Everyone.” Tang En looked at the players, who were already changed into their jerseys and sitting in their places.
“Last season’s EPL champions are our opponents for this match. In this season, up until now, they have yet to lose any game, topping the ranks. No matter my personal opinions towards this team or Mourinho, I must admit that this is an extremely strong, superb team with great combative ability.”
At that point, he stopped and looked at his uncertain players.
“Look around at the expressions on your faces… Do you think it is weird for me to praise our opponents just before the match? Did any of you think I was joking to liven up the mood?” Tang En shook his finger at them.
“No, no. I’m not joking. All that I’ve said is heartfelt. Chelsea is indeed strong. Incredibly strong. In the last season, they almost achieved a zero-loss championship. They were so close to being on par with Arsenal’s 03-04 season record of a zero-loss win of the championship. But!”
Tang En swiftly turned his words around, abruptly jolting everyone’s spirits. “Why did I say ‘almost?’ Because they still lost a match in the League! Who can tell me, who was it they lost to?”
This was the moment they were waiting for. Everyone in the locker room chorused, “Us!!”
“Almost every team in England would surrender to Mourinho’s Chelsea. All except one team, who doesn’t fear them! Tell me, who is that!?”
“It’s us!” Practically the whole team had risen from their seats, yelling at the top of their voices with their heads up high; they looked just like wolves.
