When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 113 "Côte d'Azur" Derby

August 2, 2003, Stade Louis II.

Ligue 1, Round 16.

Monaco will host Nice.

"The French Riviera Derby".

Commentary from French TF1 television:

"Nice's five-defender system works very well, with the two wing-backs dropping deep, which makes it difficult for Monaco's cross-the-flank tactics to be effective."

The Stade Louis II was shrouded in a light drizzle.

Rainwater formed fine puddles on the grass, and every time the players ran, they kicked up a string of water droplets.

The fans in the stands, wrapped in raincoats, exhaled white breath that condensed into fog in the cold air.

The match was close from the very beginning.

Nice's 5-3-2 formation was like an impenetrable wall, with five defenders and three midfielders completely blocking the area in front of the penalty area.

Roy roamed around the attacking third, but every time he received the ball, he was immediately double-teamed by Kovacs and Parmarot.

He had to drop back to midfield frequently to call for the ball, but even so, Pitau followed him like a shadow.

Deschamps stood on the sidelines with his hands in his coat pockets and his brow furrowed.

He kept gesturing to the players on the field, signaling them to play more ground passing combinations.

However, Nice's defense was very deep, and the distance between the two defensive lines was just right, which repeatedly thwarted Monaco's short passing penetration.

Giuly and Rothen's breakthroughs on the flanks were always met with fierce resistance; often, just as they got past one defender, two or three more would immediately come to cover them.

Roy and Pulso huddled together from time to time, both appearing very anxious.

The Croatian striker pointed to his eyes and then to the penalty area, seemingly reminding Roy to be careful of the offside trap.

However, Nice's defense was disciplined, and Leonardo and Abbadodo had excellent positional awareness, making it difficult for Monaco's two strikers to find space.

The fans in the stands began to get restless.

Whenever a Monaco player gets the ball, a deafening roar of cheers erupts from the stands.

The fans' cheers were filled with both anticipation and anxiety—this team had gone 15 rounds unbeaten in the league, and this glory was like a heavy crown, making everyone tremble with fear.

Even though they are firmly at the top of the standings, they still treat every game with extreme caution.

The veteran fan, Monardi, gripped his scarf tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"One in! One in!"

He muttered to himself, his voice drowned out by the surrounding singing.

His grandson kept checking his watch, as if the game was progressing more slowly than usual.

This undefeated team brings them not only pride, but also a sweet burden—with each additional undefeated game, they feel an even greater fear of their record being broken.

The die-hard fans in the South Stand, the "Red and White Army," were still waving their flags enthusiastically, but their cheers today were noticeably more urgent.

Gustav, the leader, had a hoarse voice, but he was still shouting at the top of his lungs to direct the cheering rhythm.

They know all too well that it is this cautious, prudent approach that has brought the team to where it is today.

This team carries the expectations of too many people. Every game is like walking a tightrope, making people both excited and on edge.

Rain pattered on Roy's face. He raised his hand to wipe his face, his gaze fixed on the ball.

Nice's tight defense made it difficult for him to move, but the young striker's eyes remained sharp as knives.

TF1 commentator: "You can hear the conflicting emotions in the Monaco fans' cheers—they're proud of the team's unbeaten record, but also worried about an upset in such a derby."

Before he finished speaking, another wave of cheers, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation, erupted from the stands.

Roy received a long pass from Abidal in midfield.

Facing Kevors' close marking, he suddenly stopped and gently flicked the ball between Kevors' legs with the outside of his right foot.

A gasp rippled through the stands, but Roy didn't try to score; instead, he calmly passed the ball to Giuly, who had made a run into the box.

Unfortunately, Giuly's subsequent cross was blocked out of bounds.

"Look at this dribbling skill!"

The commentator exclaimed excitedly, "Even under such harsh conditions, Roy can still execute such delicate technical moves!"

The corner kick was taken, and Roy didn't crowd into the penalty area to contest the header as usual. He knew that his 1.82-meter height wouldn't give him an advantage against Nice's tall defenders.

So he cleverly swam to the edge of the penalty area, and when the ball was headed out, he rushed forward and unleashed a powerful volley.

The ball hurtled towards the corner like a cannonball, but Gregorini made a diving save at the last moment.

"Oh--"

The fans in the stands simultaneously let out a sigh of regret.

Roy shook his head, but quickly returned to the game.

He noticed that the Nice defenders' positioning was starting to loosen, and immediately gestured to his teammates to "push forward".

The TF1 commentator kept emphasizing: "Monaco must find a way to break through this solid defense; they need more off-the-ball movement to tear apart the defense."

Deschamps finally couldn't sit still any longer.

He walked to the sidelines and shouted Bernardi and Zikos's names, signaling for the two midfielders to push forward more to participate in the attack.

At the same time, he had Ibarra and Evra, the two full-backs, push forward boldly, attempting to create local advantages by increasing the number of attackers.

The rain was getting heavier and heavier, and the conditions at the venue were getting worse and worse.

Roy slipped and fell to the ground after a scramble for the ball, his shorts getting covered in mud.

When Roy slipped, he spread his hands and smiled, as if mocking his own disheveled state, then got up and even helped his opponent.

"Look at Roy!"

In the stands, middle-aged businessman Pierre patted his old friend on the shoulder, saying, "I often forget that he is only 19 years old, yet he is as composed as a veteran."

His friend Maxim nodded. "My son's room is covered with his posters."

In the North Stand, young fan Thomas hid under his father's raincoat, his eyes fixed on Roy.

"Dad, why isn't he in a hurry like the others?"

The father ruffled his son's hair. "Because a true star knows that opportunities will always come."

This detail was precisely captured by the photographers on the sidelines.

Die-hard fans immediately began singing a newly composed cheering anthem: "Our Roy, calmer than the rain!"

In the 28th minute of the match, Roy keenly spotted an opening on the right flank just outside the penalty area and delivered a surgical through ball to Ibarra.

Although the attack was eventually thwarted, the retired teacher couple in the stands spontaneously applauded.

“Do you see that?” the old man said to his wife. “That’s how we felt when we saw Platini back then.”

In the commentary booth, the commentator was analyzing: "Monaco needs to be more patient; they're too eager to deliver the decisive blow. In these weather conditions, perhaps they should try more long-range shots."

Before he could finish speaking, Zikos unleashed a sudden long-range shot from outside the penalty area. The ball grazed the crossbar and went out of bounds, drawing a sigh of regret from the stands.

Half an hour into the game, the score remained 0-0.

The Monaco players began to frequently look at Deschamps on the sidelines, awaiting further instructions.

The head coach crossed his arms and observed every detail on the field with keen eyes, his mind racing to devise possible tactical adjustments.

In the 37th minute, Giuly stepped into a puddle while breaking through on the right wing, and his entire body slid forward two meters in an exaggerated manner.

The quick-thinking French winger immediately adopted a freestyle swimming style, alternating his arm strokes and swinging his legs up and down, just like he was training in a swimming pool.

Laughter erupted from the stands, and even the serious Nice defender Leonard couldn't help but cover his mouth and chuckle.

"Hahaha, look at Ludo!"

Pulso laughed so hard he bent over, his hands on his knees, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Roy ran over and patted him on the back. The two looked at each other and laughed. The Croatian made a "this guy is funny" face.

Deschamps, standing on the sidelines, also smiled, shaking his head and shouting into the field, "Focus!"

But the smile on her lips couldn't be hidden.

A hearty laugh came from the commentary booth: "Typical Giuly humor! This diminutive winger always manages to ease the tension on the field this way. But honestly, in these conditions, the players really need this kind of relaxation."

When Juli got up, he deliberately shook the water droplets off his hair and winked at the stands.

Roy ran over and pulled him up, and the two of them grinned from ear to ear as they high-fived.

This lighthearted little incident eased the tense atmosphere on the field, and even the referee couldn't help but smile.

But just seconds later, as the referee blew his whistle, everyone's expressions returned to focus, and the game became tense again.

In the 41st minute, Roy dropped back to midfield to receive the pass.

Facing Iverson's pressing, he easily broke free with a beautiful Marseille turn, and then delivered a precise 30-meter long pass to Pulso.

The Croatian striker's first touch was too heavy, and Parmarot cleared the ball in time.

"Incredible view!"

The commentator exclaimed, "That pass was so precise, it was like it had GPS!"

In the first half stoppage time, Roy and Rothen executed a brilliant combination on the left wing.

He first feigned a cut inside, then suddenly accelerated down the flank, delivering a cross with a rabona near the byline. The ball swept across the face of goal, but unfortunately, Pulso was a fraction too slow. The halftime whistle blew, and the score remained 0-0.

As Roy walked toward the locker room, thunderous applause erupted from the stands.

Although he didn't score, he proved his worth with one brilliant performance after another.

The fans whispered among themselves: "Did you see that backstab?"

"I bet he'll score in the second half!"

Halftime locker room.

The locker room was filled with damp steam, and the players were panting heavily, their jerseys clinging to their bodies.

Pulso was wringing out his socks, and water was splashing onto the floor.

Squillaci slumped on the bench, his chest heaving violently.

Suddenly, a loud "thump!" of a subwoofer vibrated from the corner of the wall.

Everyone looked up, and Roy was grinning as he turned on the stereo in the locker room.

The accompaniment to "In da Club" from 2003 suddenly rang out.

"Patrice!"

Roy grabbed Evra by the neck and yelled amidst the deafening drumbeats, "Give us the fucking hottest rap ever! Crush them in the second half! We'll keep winning this year!!"

Evra's eyes lit up, and he ripped open his soaked jersey, revealing his well-defined muscles.

He grabbed a mineral water bottle, used it as a microphone, and jumped onto the bench.

"Yo! You sons of bitches, listen up! This isn't rain, it's my rage burning! Lyon bastards, tremble before us, Parisian bitches, get your handkerchiefs ready to wipe your tears!"
Listen up, you cowards of Marseille – I'm going to beat you to a pulp! Auxerre? Sochaux? Lens clowns? You'll all kneel down and lick my boots!
Those Nice bastards are cowering in their own half, I'm going to pound your ironclad defense tonight! Rennes, Lille, Nantes, Bordeaux, they're all cowards waiting to get their asses kicked!

Bastia, you Corsican country bumpkins, you'll be crying for your mother tonight! Strasbourg and Toulouse, you weaklings, the scoreboard will blind you!
Le Havre and Montpellier are trash, go back to the relegation zone and eat shit! Guingamp, Sedan, and Troyes are garbage, the stinking ditch of Ligue 2 is your home!

Monaco! The Red and White Army! We are the nightmare of Ligue 1! Anyone who gets in our way will be crushed into mincemeat! This is our battle song!!!

The locker room was filled with a strong smell of sweat and rain.

Evra, shirtless with water droplets still clinging to his muscles, stood on a bench, yelled the last line of a song, and then slammed a water bottle to the ground.

The plastic bottle bounced on the wet, slippery floor with a dull thud.

"Good job!"

Roy burst into laughter and rushed forward, grabbing Evra by the neck.

He could feel the young defender's strong muscles trembling slightly—a mixture of excitement and exhaustion.

The other team members in the locker room were all shirtless, shouting and jumping around them like a pack of crazy wild beasts.

The music was deafening, but what Roy whispered in Evra's ear suddenly silenced the usually fearless young man.

“Patrice,” Roy’s voice held a rare hint of satisfaction, “you are truly my right-hand man.”

Evra paused for a moment, then grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

"Roy, I learned all of this from you."

Ah? ? ?
The locker room door was pushed open, and the coaching staff stared in astonishment at nineteen madmen, soaking wet, who were banging their chests and roaring to a deafening hip-hop rhythm.

The second half.

The rain continued to pour down, shrouding the entire stadium in a hazy mist.

The second half was even more intense than the first half. Nice retreated to defend, with their five defenders forming a moving wall that held the edge of the penalty area.

Monaco's every attack was ruthlessly thwarted, and the fans in the stands began to get restless.

In the 65th minute, Nice launched a sudden counter-attack.

Everson sprinted halfway down the field with the ball, his speed catching Monaco's defense off guard.

On the edge of the penalty area, he unleashed a low shot that headed straight for the bottom right corner of the goal, but Roma made a diving save, barely managing to deflect the ball out of play with his fingertips.

Monaco fans were terrified, as Deschamps yelled at the defense from the sidelines.

Ten minutes later, Nice had another chance.

Pitau delivered a precise through ball from midfield, Simeone beat the offside trap, but his header went just over the crossbar.

The Monaco players looked at each other, knowing that if they couldn't break the deadlock, the game would likely end in a draw.

89 minutes.

"Nice's counter-attack! Danger!"

The commentator suddenly raised his voice, his tone urgent, "Evra! Look at this young Frenchman! His eyes are glued to the ball, he lunges forward, his right leg fully extended, a beautiful sliding tackle! The ball is cleanly intercepted! This young man has saved Monaco!"

The ball rolled to Zikos's feet, and the veins on the Greek midfielder's forehead bulged. The moment he looked up to observe, the entire stadium seemed to freeze.

He took a deep breath, straightened his right foot, and delivered a 30-meter long pass that cut through the rain.

"Look at this long pass!"

The commentator exclaimed excitedly, "Precision targeting! The ball seems to have a navigation system installed, finding Giuly who is accelerating on the right wing!"

When Giuly received the ball, he leaned slightly forward. He first used the inside of his right foot to lightly guide the ball, then lowered his center of gravity and swayed his shoulders from side to side to make a feint.

"Giuly cuts inside with the ball!" The commentator's voice trembled. "His eyes are constantly scanning the penalty area, the Nice defense is retreating! Look at this change of direction!"

Just as the defender lost his balance, Giuly suddenly sprang to his right with the outside of his foot.

"Horizontal strike! Morientes!"

The commentator's voice suddenly rose in pitch.

The Spanish center forward rushed forward to meet the ball, his left leg fully extended, and he slammed his instep into the ball.

"Shot! Oh!"

The commentator almost cracked his voice, "Gregorini made a diving save, tipping the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips! A world-class save!"

The fans in the stands simultaneously let out a regretful sigh of "Ah—".

"A corner kick opportunity! This might be our last chance!"

The commentator's voice trembled.

Rothen stood in the corner flag area, first wiping the rain off his face, taking three deep breaths, and then starting his run-up.

"Run-up! Cross the ball!"

The commentator almost shouted himself hoarse.

The ball traced a beautiful arc as Squillaci leaped high into the air amidst the crowd, his neck muscles tensing, and slammed his forehead into the ball.

"Squillaci! A header!" the commentator exclaimed. "Varo leaps across the goal line, clearing the ball with a right-footed bicycle kick! My God!"

Chaos erupted immediately inside the penalty area.

The ball bounced irregularly on the slippery grass, and the players' shoes splashed water everywhere.

"Melee! The ball bounced out!"

The commentator's voice suddenly became urgent, "Roy! Roy is on the edge of the penalty area!"

Roy stared intently at the incoming ball, leaning back slightly, his right leg already extended in a ready stance.

At this moment, time seemed to freeze.

"A volley shot!!!"

The commentator shouted at the top of his lungs.

Roy's right foot struck the ball solidly with the instep, and at the moment of the shot, his body was almost at a 45-degree angle to the ground.

"BUUUUUT!!! Goal! Goal! Goal!!!"

The ball bounced once in front of the penalty area, and then, as if by magic, passed through eight legs and flew straight into the bottom right corner of the goal!

Gregorini made a desperate save, but he was a fraction of a second too late.

"Roy! A last-minute winner! A game-winning goal in the 89th minute! The Stade Louis II is in an uproar!"

"Look at this shot!"

The commentator continued with great enthusiasm, "How focused Roy's expression was at the moment of the shot! His right foot hit the ball perfectly, and the ball bounced on the slippery grass, causing Gregorini to completely misjudge the situation! That's genius! That's a superstar! 19-year-old Roy scored the most crucial goal in the most important derby!"

The entire stadium erupted in deafening cheers.

Roy paused for a moment, then spread his arms and ran wildly toward the corner flag area, leaving a five-meter-long trail of water on the puddled grass.

"Look at his celebration!"

The commentator exclaimed, "As he slid down his knees, he roared to the sky, rain lashing his face, which was flushed with excitement! His teammates all rushed over! Pulso was the first to jump onto his back, and Giuly excitedly ruffled his hair! Deschamps stood on the sidelines with his arms raised high, completely unconcerned that his suit was soaked through by the rain!"

"This is football! This is a derby!"

The commentator concluded, his voice choked with emotion, "In the final moments, a hero was born! Elderly fans with white hair wiped away tears in the stands, young couples embraced passionately, and fathers lifted their sons high! Roy! Remember this name! This rainy night belongs to him, to Monaco, and to all the souls who are crazy about the Red and White Army!"

In the stands, elderly fan Monardi tightly embraced his grandson, tears mingling with the rain.

The die-hard fans of the "Red and White Army" jumped wildly, with their leader, Gustav, roaring Roy's name, his voice hoarse but still full of passion.

Even the security personnel on the sidelines couldn't help but raise their arms and shout.

The final whistle blew, Monaco 1-0 Nice, Roy's winning goal extending the team's unbeaten record.

The rain continued to fall, but the cheers of the fans lingered for a long time.

(End of this chapter)