The first tumor in football

Chapter 200 You can only rely on yourself!
The snowflakes at Camp Nou were blown everywhere by the thunderous cheers.

Suarez was the first to rush up and jump on Messi's back, almost pressing the Argentine into the grass as he finished celebrating.

Pique ran halfway down the field with his arms outstretched, screaming at the top of his lungs until veins popped out of his neck: "This is fucking history! This is the fucking king of football!"

The entire Barcelona defense line was crowded in the corner flag area, and Ter Stegen even waved his gloves and slapped Rakitic on the butt.

Messi was pressed at the bottom of the crowd, with his right hand still pointing to the sky.

He gasped and looked out from the gap between the people, just in time to see Song Wen pulling off his socks near the center circle - the young midfielder was casually adjusting his shin guards, without even glancing over here, as if the defense that was shaken off like a wooden stake just now had nothing to do with him.

The Spanish commentary booth was about to flip over the roof. The main commentator with a handlebar mustache slapped the tactical board. "Look at this replay! Three consecutive fried meatballs changed direction. Godin and Jimenez's knees were almost twisted into knots! This is why it snows in Camp Nou - even God is spreading a white blanket for artistic football!"

In front of the green screen, Fan Zhiyi's stubby fingers repeatedly stroked the peony pattern on the thermos cup. The air-conditioning in the live broadcast room made the back of his neck feel cold, but the sweat on his forehead still slid down his temples to his chin.

A close-up of Messi celebrating a goal was coming towards him on the screen. He suddenly remembered the moment when he was knocked down in Crystal Palace 20 years ago. His Adam's apple rolled up and down as he swallowed.

"This ball." He heard the end of his voice trembling, and hurriedly held the edge of the cup with his palm and took two big gulps.

The bitter taste of the inferior tea exploded on the tip of my tongue, and I finally managed to squeeze out the second half of the sentence: "It's really beautiful."

Fan Zhiyi caught a glimpse of the words "Song Wen's eye defense" in the barrage pool. His thick black eyebrows were twisted into a knot, and his elbows pressed heavily on the armrests of the swivel chair. "But let's be fair, if Song Wen hadn't retracted his foot just now, would Messi have been so comfortable?"

Zhan Jun's hand holding up his gold-rimmed glasses paused, and his narrow, almond-shaped eyes behind the lenses swept across the real-time data panel.

"The referee's standards are questionable." Zhan Jun clicked on the triple-speed replay, his bony index finger hovering over the touch screen.

When Busquets' studs brushed against Song Wen's ankle, he keenly noticed his partner's suddenly tense shoulders and said, "The one who showed his studs this time should be given a card, and also for Alba pushing Costa." Before he could finish his words, the barrage pool suddenly exploded into pieces of Argentine flags.

"Hey, teacher, don't be so quick to scold me." Fan Zhiyi's voice suddenly rose, making the microphone buzz. He leaned forward and almost hit the monitor. The collar of his round-neck T-shirt was pulled askew. "When Pepe made a flying tackle on Messi in the Champions League last year, you didn't have the same attitude!"

Zhan Jun took a tissue and slowly wiped the keyboard, his eyes behind the lenses sweeping over the other person's twitching masseter muscles.

He pulled up the thermal image, and the orange-red trajectory of Messi looked like a flowing flame: "Look, Lao Fan, Messi's range of movement today is 15% larger than usual, and the number of times he touched the ball..."

"To be honest, this old guy is like he's on drugs today." He stared at the calf muscles exposed by Messi's socks slipping off. The muscles looked like a taut bowstring in slow motion. "When Song Wen intercepted the ball for the third time, he changed direction and supported his foot at an angle of at least 60 degrees. If it were an ordinary person, his ligament would have been torn long ago."

"Indeed," Zhan Jun nodded, "Messi's condition today is indeed too good, and..."

"And damn!"

Fan Zhiyi's angry curses exploded in my ears.

He was broken by the barrage of comments.

"Fuck you, even if Messi is 18 years old or 20 years old, if the referee is not a beast, I, Fan Zhiyi, will say this: Song Wen is better than Messi!"

Zhan Jun was a little stunned when he heard Fan Zhiyi's words.

He didn't expect that Fan Zhiyi would dare to say such words without any scruples on a public platform.

This will offend a lot of Messi fans!

How many fans does Messi have around the world?

A spit from each of them could drown Fan Zhiyi.

It would be fine if Atletico Madrid was leading, or even if they scored first now.

The key now is that Barcelona scored a goal first.

Fan Zhiyi dared to say this. If he loses the game, he might be held accountable to the root.

At this moment, the screen full of bullet comments exploded into fireworks:
[Song Wen is confirmed to be the walking emperor! ]
[Did you take the money? It’s so obvious that you’re letting the game go]
[Come on, the pride of the Chinese people! Slap the referee in the face!]
[I can brag about Messi’s dribbling for ten years]
[Ten Years of Cerebral Thrombosis Upstairs]
[General Fan, please stop washing.]
[Fan Zhiyi is passionate, but he really chose the wrong side this time]

[Beast Fan Zhiyi, go to hell]

The live broadcast suddenly cut to a close-up of the players. Messi was lowering his head to adjust his torn and deformed No. 10 jersey, with melting snow on the tip of his nose.

When he looked up at the big screen replaying the video, he finally smiled for the first time that day.

The director obviously knew what the audience wanted to see and immediately turned the camera to Song Wen.

Amid the boos, Song Wen did not look at Messi, but instead looked in another direction with a fierce gaze.

Following Song Wen's line of sight, the referee of the game was standing there.

Zhan Jun took a breath and said softly:
"Old Fan, do you still remember the game when Song Wen was still in the English Championship?"

Hearing Zhan Jun's words, Fan Zhiyi immediately recalled.

That was more than half a year ago, when Ipswich and Huddersfield played at Wembley Stadium for a spot in the Championship promotion zone.

In that game, Ipswich suffered unfair treatment from the referee.

This eventually led to an incident in which fans went on the field and beat up the referee, shocking the football world.

But now we are at the Camp Nou, Barcelona's home ground.

Moreover, Atletico Madrid's fans today are not as enthusiastic as Ipswich fans back then.

So there is no chance that this will happen again.

Fan Zhiyi knew that now facing this natural referee, Song Wen could only rely on himself.

Amid the loud cheers from Camp Nou, Griezmann walked to the kick-off spot.

He turned around and saw Song Wen nodded at him.

When the ball came to Song Wen's feet, he started running towards Barcelona with the ball.

I have to admit that Messi was in very good shape today.

His performance in Atletico's penalty area just now was amazing, and he played with Atletico's defense at his fingertips.

The defense was strong against Godin, but facing Messi, he could only watch him send the ball into Atletico's goal.

So Song Wen knew that in today's game, it would be unlikely to rely on defense to stop Barcelona's attack.

The only way is -

Attack!

The grass at Camp Nou was shining coldly after being soaked by snow water. As soon as Song Wen touched the ball, he heard the scraping sounds of four spikes coming from different directions.

Busquets stood in front like a moving wall, Iniesta blocked the passing route on the left, and Rakitic was approaching at a sprinting speed from the right back -

The tactical videos that Valverde played repeatedly before the game turned into a physical cage at this moment. The Barcelona coach even used a red pen to trace the trajectory of Song Wen's average 2.3 penetrating passes per game during his time in the English Championship into a spider web.

"Let him go alone!"

Valverde tore open his cashmere scarf on the sidelines, and the white mist from his nostrils mixed with Catalan instructions, "Lock the 17-meter area!" He was too aware of the danger of this No. midfielder. In the last round of the league, Song Wen's elevator assist against Sevilla that penetrated the six-man defense line was still playing on the hard drive of the La Liga technical team.

Busquets' studs had already stepped on Song Wen's instep. The moment the referee turned around, the Spanish midfielder's knee "accidentally" hit the opponent's inner thigh.

Song Wen staggered and took the blow with his shin guards. When he supported himself with his left hand, he felt ice chips buried under the grass.

This is not a football field, it's clearly the blood and sand of the Colosseum.

"Fuck your mother!" Fan Zhiyi's thermos cup hit the commentary desk with a muffled sound, and the microphone in the live broadcast room captured the crackling sound of his knuckles. "Did you see that? Three clamps and one dirty kick!"

The barrage pool was instantly ignited:

[Professor Bu's classic acting]
[Song Wen's legs are made of iron?]
[The referee bought it]
Song Wen suddenly used the sole of his shoe to kick the ball into the air. The moment Busquets looked up reflexively, the black shadow had already passed under his crotch.

The moment Iniesta stretched out his legs to intercept, Song Wen's right knee hit his shoulder hard, and the two rolled into a ball in the snow.

"Good shot!" Zhan Jun suddenly slammed the table, and the director quickly cut to a bird's-eye view. In the seemingly awkward collision, Song Wen always protected the ball with his left hand, and the moment he fell to the ground, he used the arch of his foot to bounce the ball to the empty space on the side.

The moment Costa received the ball, Pique came close to him like a bulldog smelling blood.

The Spanish center back's studs were accurately stuck in the path that his national team teammate had to take to speed up. Costa tried to break through with his signature bull charge, but Pique's predicted sliding tackle pushed the ball out of the sideline.

"Diego, didn't your wife give you extra food last night?" Pique stood up and patted the snow on his knees, and raised his eyebrows at Costa who was slumped on the ground, "This sprint is not as strong as my dog, haha."

Zhan Jun sighed.

"Costa plays the ball a little too straightforwardly. Pi has seen through everything a long time ago..."

In the 23rd minute of the game, Godin stole the ball from Dembele and kicked it directly towards the front court.

As soon as Song Wen raised his foot in the landing area, Rakitic flew over and hit his ribs with his shoulder.

The referee looked like a winter tourist in Barcelona, ​​as he chatted with the linesman with his back to the referee.

"You don't even want to blow the whistle?!" Fan Zhiyi's roar shook the glass in the live broadcast room. "Fuck you, when Song Wen jumps later, will Camp Nou limit his height again?"

The moment he fell to the ground, Song Wen used his heel to knock the ball to Thomas, and then he slid three meters away due to inertia.

"Give me!"

Griezmann's shout pierced the noise as the Frenchman was being double-teamed by Semedo and Umtiti on the edge of the penalty area.

Song Wen pretended to move forward and suddenly stopped. The moment Busquets was shaken and slipped, a low shot went through Alba's crotch.

The football drew a strange S-shaped trajectory on the snow, bypassing Ter Stegen's attacking fingertips and accurately finding the gap left by Griezmann when he retreated half a step.

“Got it!” Zhan Jun shouted excitedly!
Griezmann was halfway through his volley when Pique, who was chasing back, blocked his shot with his back.

When Barcelona's No. 4 cleared the ball, he even had time to turn around and taunt: "Antoine, you should learn how to play football in winter.

Fan Zhiyi banged his thermos cup in the live broadcast room, causing a few wolfberries to splash out.

"Griezmann, what are you hesitating about!"

"The data is out!" Zhan Jun suddenly raised his voice, "Song Wen has touched the ball 23 times and has been fouled 7 times, but the actual penalty is only..." He deliberately paused for two seconds, "Zero times."

The barrage pool was instantly filled with [Black Whistle], mixed with sporadic taunts from [Actor Song].

Fan Zhiyi's temples were throbbing as he recalled his first Premier League goal that was blown off 20 years ago. Veins bulged in his hands as he gripped the thermos cup, but at this moment he could not even swear.

The broadcast camera gave a tactical analysis at this moment - Song Wen's pass success rate reached a terrifying 0.8%, but the expected assist value had plummeted from the pre-match predicted 0.2 to .

Valverde smiled as if he was in control of the situation on the sidelines, and the cage he had carefully woven was tightening.

Looking at Griezmann with an innocent face, Song Wen sighed.

He knew that whether it was Costa or Griezmann, the strength they showed at the Camp Nou today was definitely below par.

Maybe it was because of the weather, or maybe it was because of the huge psychological pressure of visiting Camp Nou.

But no matter what the reason was, Song Wen knew that he could only rely on himself now.

He shouted at Costa and Griezmann.

"You two, watch me! I'm going to teach you a lesson!!"

Song Wen's voice was not small and it also reached the ears of the Barcelona players.

A shrewd smile appeared on Busquets' face.

There was a mockery in Pique's eyes towards the young man's arrogance.

Messi did not say anything, but in the 31st minute, he responded with an assist to help Suarez break through Atletico's goal again, changing the score to 2-0.

Rakitic then chose to shoot close to Song Wen's face.

"Hey boy, where's the fight you agreed on?"

In the face of Rakitic's ridicule, Song Wen did not speak.

Barcelona's passing and control made Atletico's defense overwhelmed.

During these few minutes, Song Wen didn't even get the ball.

Since I didn't get the ball, there's naturally no way to make a move.

But it doesn't matter.

Now that Atletico Madrid is kicking off, he will naturally get the ball.

As long as he gets the ball, he is confident that he can score into Barcelona's goal!
When Griezmann stood at the kick-off point, the cheers at Camp Nou instantly turned into boos.

At this time, with the score of Barcelona 2:0 Atletico Madrid, public opinion has already exploded! !
"Daily Sports" official website update: [Nou Camp Blizzard Warning! The Wizard's magic weapon was disarmed by the boss Mei. 】

The headline of AS: [The 2-0 magic fails? Song Wen's fraudulent attempt hits the iron wall of Mei.]

Column of "442": [From the butt-touching master to the snow clown - Song Wen's fantasy journey in La Liga. ]

The Sun gossip: [Griezmann's hair claims millions: it has endured a rotation that it shouldn't have endured. ]

Hot post on Hupu: [Rational discussion on whether Song Wen triggers the debuff of the Camp Nou barrier? ]

Bild's spicy review: [Goat of the porcelain world? Song Wen's fancy wrestling highlights have exceeded 100 million views. ]

The Guardian: [From the English Championship magician to the head of the La Liga circus - on Song Wen's career transformation. ]

(End of this chapter)