When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 123 Stay away from Roy's radio show!

"Ballack is said to have bronchitis and is coughing badly, Kahn has a back injury, and Pizarro has an ankle problem."

Deschamps turned on the projector in the screening room at the Latilbi training ground.

A highlight reel of Bayern Munich's recent matches began playing on a white screen.

“Watch the game on January 30th,” Deschamps said, pointing to the screen. “Bayern used a 4-2-3-1 formation, with Ballack in the attacking midfield position.”

The video shows Ballack providing an assist to Makaay, saying, "Now that Ballack is sick, this is our chance."

He switched to the match on February 8: "They switched to a 4-4-2 diamond midfield, and Ballack was still the playmaker."

The footage shows Ballack celebrating after scoring a goal. "Notice their two strikers, Makaay and Pizarro, they have great chemistry."

"In the match on February 14th, Deschamps fast-forwarded to the key moment: "Schweinsteiger replaced Ballack, still in a 4-4-2 diamond midfield."

In the video, Schweinsteiger made several passing errors.

The last match shown was from February 21st.

“It’s still a 4-4-2 diamond midfield,” Deschamps said. “Schweinsteiger will continue to play as the attacking midfielder.”

The screen shows Demichelis scoring a goal.

“Look at this goal,” he paused the screen, the camera freezing on the moment Rensing made the save. “The 19-year-old kid who replaced Kahn made the save, but his positioning was off.”

He fast-forwarded to another shot, "Here, he almost dropped the ball. We need to shoot more from long range to make him nervous."

He cut to the back line: "Kovac and Kuffour, both of them are as heavy as trucks."

The footage shows Hamburg striker Naohiro Takahara easily getting past his defender. "Morientes, just keep an eye on the gap between them and run."

"In midfield, Schweinsteiger will replace the sick Ballack."

Deschamps pulled up footage of Schweinsteiger, saying, "The kid has good technique, but without Ballack, Bayern is like a headless fly."

He pointed at Hargreaves, "This guy can't run anymore towards the end. Pedretti, Bernardi, you guys need to hold him off."

“Watch their flanks,” Deschamps fast-forwarded to the shot of Ze Roberto crossing the ball. “Evra, Maicon, your job is to prevent them from crossing comfortably.”

Finally, he summarized: "Remember three things: First, take more long-range shots; second, exploit the space behind the center-backs; third, shut down their flanks. It's that simple."

Deschamps slammed the Bild newspaper onto his tactical board, a slight smirk playing on his lips: "Look at this, is Hitzfeld trying to play a trick on us?"

"Not all Germans are cunning old foxes; there are honest people among them."

He pointed to the photos in the newspaper and said, "Kahn and Ballack started training with the ball last week, and they even participated in the full team training yesterday. The German media are really good friends of Bayern, even writing about the training details so clearly."

"Hitzfeld wanted us to think they were going to field their substitutes, but their reporters were too dedicated."

As soon as Deschamps finished speaking, the locker room became lively.

Giuly took the newspaper and pointed at Kahn, who was training: "Look at those saves, he doesn't look like he has a back injury at all?"

Roy snatched the newspaper from Giuly's hand and squinted as he examined the photos closely.

"what!"

Roy spread the newspaper on his lap and pointed to the training report: "Look at this part—'Ballack made three accurate long passes in the scrimmage.'"

Morientes leaned over to look: "This photo is really clear; you can even see the sponsor's logo on Kahn's glove."

Deschamps turned and wrote Bayern's expected starting lineup on the tactics board: "They will probably still use a 4-4-2 diamond midfield, with Kahn in goal and Ballack as the attacking midfielder."

He tapped on Ma Kai's name. "The German media has even exposed their training tactics. We must make good use of this intelligence."

Hitzfeld tapped the tactics board in the tactics room at the Säbener training ground, his face grave as he surveyed the Bayern players.

“Everyone,” he said in a low voice, “we are about to face Europe’s most dangerous young assassin.”

The projector lit up, playing a highlight reel of Roy's goals this season.

“法甲24场30球8助攻，欧冠6场8球4助攻，这数据我不知道同时期还有谁能够比较。”

He paused for a moment, then said, "We scouted him during the summer transfer window, but in the end we chose Makaay, the striker who best suited our tactics."

When Ma Kai heard this, his brows furrowed involuntarily.

“That 9-3 game,” he said softly, “even though I had already transferred by then, I still watched the video.”

There was a few seconds of silence in the locker room. Everyone knew what he was talking about.

In Monaco's 9-3 thrashing of Deportivo La Coruña this season, Roy scored three goals and provided one assist.

Sagnol and Lizarazu exchanged a serious look.

Sagnol said, "This kid is the most terrifying striker I've ever seen. During national team training, he made me feel like a wooden stake."

He pointed to his right leg, "I knew he was going to lunge this way, but I just couldn't stop him."

"His speed? Too fast."

"The most dangerous thing about him is his shooting. He can shoot from any angle in the penalty area, and he always seems to aim for corners the goalkeeper can't reach. Plus, this kid has such high football intelligence; he can always anticipate the defender's weight. I've tried all sorts of methods to defend against him in training, but..."

The locker room was silent; everyone was waiting for what was to come.

Sagnol shrugged with a wry smile: "The result is that we get played. He can suddenly stop while running at full speed and then finish the shot the moment you lose your balance."

He looked at Kahn: "Oliver, he loves to shoot near the top corner of the post, the ball is incredibly fast."

"That little brat."

Kahn gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath.

The scene of the last Franco-German war is still fresh in my mind.

Roy's first shot gave him a real scare—the near-corner blast was incredibly fast, and if he hadn't instinctively raised his hand, the ball would have already gone in.

Kahn yelled at Hinkell, "Don't give him any space to kick!"

But I know in my heart that this kind of shot is impossible to defend against.

What annoyed Kahn the most was Roy's gaze.

Every time we faced off, he maintained that infuriating calmness, as if to say, "I know you'll pounce, but not next time."

When Roy scored the second goal, Kahn didn't even see the ball's trajectory.

The moment the ball darted under his arm and into the net, he felt a sense of powerlessness.

The last time he felt this way was when he faced Ronaldo in the 2002 World Cup final.

Two calm shots from that Brazilian shattered his World Cup dream.

Turning his head and seeing Roy's damn "salute" celebration gesture, Kahn felt like rushing up and punching him.

But the proud and arrogant Kahn still refused to admit it.

He frowned: "Is it really that strange?"

Lizarazu, who had been silent to the side, glanced at Kahn and thought, "Don't you know how sinister this is?"

“He’s a monster,” Lizarazu concluded, “but the good news is, we know how to deal with him.”

He looked at Hitzfeld, "Coach, we need to use three players to double-team you."

2004 2 Month 22 Day.

ROI's War Room, Issue 7.

Host Gomez:

"Good evening, Monaco! Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome back to ROI's War Room—Europe's most dangerous tactical analysis program! Because we have Europe's most dangerous devil in charge! Tonight, our tactical radar is locked on—'Bundesliga champions' Bayern Munich!"

"And tonight's guest lineup, besides our 'Demon King' Roy..."

He paused deliberately.

Meanwhile, in a villa on the outskirts of Paris.

Cantona, with a cigar in his mouth, was lounging on the sofa, while the opening music of "ROI's War Room" played from the radio.

When Gomez introduced "Roy the Devil," a slight smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, "The show's about to begin."

However, when the host deliberately dragged out his words and announced, "There is another heavyweight figure, Monaco's manager, Mr. Deschamps!"

"Merde!"

Cantona sat bolt upright, nearly dropping his cigar.

He stared at the radio, as if he could see the scene in the studio through the airwaves.

"Why is Deschamps here?!" He scratched his head in frustration. "With him here, that arrogant kid is definitely going to lose all the fun on this show!"

Deschamps' calm voice came through the radio: "Bayern's midfield control is very strong, but their defense does have weaknesses."

Cantona rolled his eyes: "Listen to that bureaucratic tone!"

Then came Roy's voice, still sharp, but noticeably more restrained than usual: "Willie (Sagnol) likes to push forward, but I have to say, he's a little slower than me."

"what?!"

"This kid doesn't even dare to say 'Sagnol is a sieve'? With Deschamps next to him, he can't even speak!"

He stood up and paced back and forth in the living room, muttering to himself, "Deschamps, that nice guy. He doesn't understand at all. Fans want to hear the truth, not the clichés in the tactics manual!"

On the radio, Gomez was trying to lighten the mood: "Roy, what do you think of Kahn's condition?"

Before Roy could answer, Cantona shouted into the radio, "Say it! Say he's old! Say he should retire! Just like you always do!"

But on the other end of the radio, Roy calmly analyzed: "Kahn is very experienced; we need to make smarter shot selections."

Cantona slammed the radio off and sullenly sat back down on the sofa.

"It's over. It's all over."

He looked up and sighed, "The most interesting program was ruined by Deschamps."

His wife handed him a towel: "Maybe it's a good thing Deschamps was there? At least the boy learned manners."

Cantona scoffed: "Politeness? Football doesn't need politeness! It needs passion! It needs sparks!"

He pointed to the radio, "He should have said Lizarazu 'runs like he's wearing flip-flops,' that would have been brilliant!"

Cantona became increasingly agitated as he spoke, standing up and pacing back and forth in the living room, pointing at the radio with his finger:
"Kahn? Truly great! If he were five years younger! Now he'd be like an old lion rolling on concrete when he makes saves! He'd roar more than he'd make saves! Now he'd be standing in front of the goal like a grumpy parking lot attendant—loud, but completely unable to stop luxury cars!"

"Ballack? Midfield engine? Ha! He dribbles forward like he's carrying an entire beer festival tent!"

"Kufuer? The Ghanaian defender? I think he's a Ghanaian sieve! When he's marking a man, he's like a lost child, all he does is raise his hand and cry to the referee!"

"Demikellis? His defensive coverage area isn't even as big as my backyard! Every time he gets beaten, he looks so innocent, like a lost puppy!"

"Hargreaves? England's hope? He played like a lost tourist at Bayern! Eight out of ten crosses went straight into the sausage stand in the stands!"

"Pizarro? A Peruvian assassin? I think he's just a fishmonger at the market! A doorstep sense? Even the baguette I ate last night knew how to spot people better than him!"

Cantona took a deep drag on his cigar and exhaled a smoke ring: "This Bayern? They're only fit to perform in beer gardens! In the Premier League, even relegation-threatened teams could eat them for breakfast!"

He was completely immersed in his art.

"But that won't work~ With Deschamps on the sidelines now, our little devil can only say: 'Bayern is a respectable team, their defensive organization is very disciplined.'"

Cantona made a vomiting gesture: "Boring! Hypocritical!"

Outside the window, the Paris night sky is dotted with stars.

Cantona sighed, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

“Hello, Petit? Yes, it’s me, Eric. Listen, next time you see Deschamps, tell him that.”

He lowered his voice, "Stay away from Roy's radio show!"

The scene in the radio studio.

Gomez rubbed his hands together and flashed a professional smile:

"Alright, now let's move on to the audience call-in segment!"

The moment Gomez pressed the answer button, a piercing scream erupted from the receiver: "Aaaaaah! Roy! I sleep with your jersey every night! I've already turned your number 10 jersey into a wedding dress! Our child will be named Roi Junior! He'll definitely be..."

Deschamps' eyes widened.

Roy raised an eyebrow and said calmly:

"Thanks, it seems my jersey is more sought after than the wedding dresses."

"But darling, I have to remind you of two things."

"First, the name Roi Junior sounds like some kind of limited edition perfume."

He winked into the microphone. "Secondly, if you really intend to do this, I suggest you wait until I retire, otherwise my jersey sponsor will sue me for bigamy."

An even more excited scream came from the other end of the phone: "Can I pre-order your sneakers?!"

Roy shook his head, feigning seriousness: "Sorry, ma'am, my shoes already have an owner. They're going to accompany me to kick down Bayern's goal."

"Secondly, it's better for the child to take a normal surname. For example, his father's?"

Suddenly, a heavy thud was heard on the other end of the phone, followed by a nurse's shout: "The patient in bed 307 has stolen a cell phone again!"

Roy decisively pressed the hang-up button, and the studio fell into an eerie silence.

Three seconds later, bursts of laughter suddenly came from behind the glass of the control room.

Gomez wiped away tears of laughter: "This might be the most..."

As soon as the second call was answered, a deep, hoarse voice came through:

"Roy, what do you think is the significance of football to the universe?"

Roy suddenly laughed: "An interesting question."

"If the universe is a sports field, the Milky Way is the sideline, and the solar system is the center circle."

The other person couldn't help but interject: "Are you confusing astrophysics with football tactics?"

"Of course not. But think about it, 22 people chasing a ball for 90 minutes is like a planet orbiting a star." "What about a comet?" the other person asked.

"Comet? Comet is Inzaghi, who's always offside."

Deschamps watched as his disciple talked nonsense with a straight face.

A rapid breathing sound came from the other end of the phone: "But that doesn't explain the ultimate meaning of football!"

Roy: "Simply put, without football, Earth would just be an ordinary blue marble in the universe. But now, at least aliens can have some fun watching Canal+."

"So, the meaning of football is: to make the universe less boring and more yellow cards."

Deschamps sat in the studio, his expression gradually freezing from its initial composure.

He originally thought the calls from fans would be serious tactical discussions, but it was like opening Pandora's box. All sorts of bizarre calls came one after another, leaving even this former World Cup champion, who was used to big events, dumbfounded.

Someone claiming to be his ex-girlfriend asked, "Do you remember me?"

“Darling, how could I forget?” Roy leaned back in his chair. “But next time you want to catch up, I suggest you just send a text message. After all, all of France is listening to our private affairs right now.”

Someone claiming to be an illegitimate child came up and immediately called out, "Dad!"

Roy agreed and told the director to hang up the phone.

Some people even claimed to be psychologists and immediately said, "Roy, according to the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria, you clearly have narcissistic personality disorder."

“Doctor, you’re right,” Roy smiled.

"But you missed the most crucial symptom. My mirror says I should be paid an endorsement fee."

Someone was clearly a Henry hater: "Roy! You're way better than Henry! What kind of legend is he?"

Roy raised an eyebrow, hung up decisively, and the director switched to the second incoming call.

"Roy! You're not even fit to carry Henry's shoes!"

Roy suddenly laughed and turned to the director, saying, "Bring that person back in."

So, for the next five minutes, the studio turned into a debate between Henry, the black pieces, and the white pieces.

Roy concluded: "See, that's the charm of football."

Deschamps finally couldn't hold back: "Is this how you guys always are?"

Roy shrugged: "That's considered civilized."

Deschamps took a deep breath and made a silent decision.

I will never accompany Roy on radio shows again.

Gomez glanced at the real-time data and smiled with satisfaction: "Dear viewers, this episode's listenership has reached a new high. To thank you for your support, we will be drawing 100 lucky listeners to receive specially customized 'ROIX' sports protective gear."

“Participation is very simple,” Gomez continued. “Just text ‘ROI’ to our hotline number before noon tomorrow. Each winner will receive one of the following items at random: a wristband, a knee pad, or a water bottle.”

"That's all for this episode," Gomez concluded. "This is ROI's War Room. See you before our next Champions League match."

On the morning of February 23, 2004, the Monaco team's chartered plane landed at Munich Airport.

As soon as the cabin door opened, Ribery rushed out, only to be shivering from the cold wind.

"This godforsaken place!" he cursed, pulling his coat tighter around himself, and shouted back to his teammates, "Ten times colder than Monaco! This isn't playing football, it's like an Arctic expedition!"

Roy followed leisurely behind, unable to resist teasing, "Frank, would you consider playing football in a place like this in the future?"

"What a joke!"

Ribery shook his head firmly, his teeth still chattering, "I'd rather go to Africa to play desert football, at least my ears won't freeze off!"

He rubbed his almost frozen ears and added, "Unless they turn the stadium into a greenhouse and give me ten more down jackets!"

Deschamps walked past them and, upon hearing the conversation, simply shook his head slightly.

He looked up at the gloomy sky and thought that this kind of weather was not a good omen for tomorrow's game.

In the distance, airport staff were busy clearing snow from the runway, the snowplows emitting a deep roar.

At the airport exit, dozens of French fans had been waiting for a long time, holding scarves and jerseys.

As soon as Roy appeared, the crowd stirred.

"Roy! Can I get your autograph?"

"Morientes! Can I take a picture with you?"

"Kiuri! Look this way!"

Roy took the pen and skillfully signed the jerseys and photos handed to him by the fans. Occasionally, he would even cooperate by being hugged by the fans for a few photos.

Morientes and Giuly were also surrounded, and they patiently fulfilled the fans' requests.

Rothen signed autographs while chatting with fans: "Did you fly all the way from France?"

"Of course! We absolutely have to beat Bayern tomorrow!"

A young fan shouted excitedly.

Ribery rubbed his hands together to warm them up, and seeing his teammates surrounded by a crowd, he grinned and said, "You guys take your time signing, I'm going to warm up on the bus for a bit!"

After saying that, he ran away in a flash.

Deschamps stood to the side, glanced at his watch, and whispered to the staff, "Don't let them stay too long. We need to get to the hotel to rest as soon as possible."

Ten minutes later, the entire Monaco team boarded the bus and headed to the Sofitel Munich Bayepster Hotel.

Same day.

An old chartered plane landed at Vigo Airport.

Arsenal players filed out, all looking pale.

The plane, rented to cut costs, had seats as hard as the grass on a training field, the engine was so loud it was impossible to sleep, and the ride was constantly bumpy.

Henry was the last to descend the gangway, with two noticeable dark circles under his eyes.

Gilberto patted him on the shoulder: "What's wrong? Didn't you sleep well last night?"

Henry rubbed his temples: "I listened to a French radio program. Two guys who claimed to be football fans gave me a real dressing down."

In fact, compared to the haters who criticized him, it was the things his fans said that made him so embarrassed he wanted to tear his hair out:
He called Henry "the Sun God of France," and said that his silhouette when shooting made even the Mona Lisa pale in comparison.
"Which radio station is so bold?" Gilberto asked, intrigued.

Pires, dragging his suitcase, walked by and interjected, "ROI Tactical Room, right? My cousin said that show is really popular right now."

Vieira snorted coldly: "I told you long ago, those Monaco folks are quicker with their mouths than their feet."

At that moment, the newly arrived Nonda walked by silently, carrying his backpack.

The striker who was taken from Roy's starting position at Monaco has now scored two goals for Arsenal.

With a market value of less than half that of Reyes, coupled with his strong physique and simple playing style, he has become a more practical choice.

Nonda excels at receiving the ball with his back to goal and shoots decisively, but his speed is average; Reyes has exquisite technique but is weak in physical duels. He was unable to adapt to the physicality of the Premier League and was frequently loaned out later, never truly realizing his potential. Meanwhile, Joaquín and Vicente, who stayed in La Liga during the same period, maintained a longer peak period.

Due to Bergkamp's fear of flying, Nonda was given a starting opportunity in this match.

Everyone knows that the elegant Dutchman would rather spend three days on the train than step into an airplane cabin—the 1989 Suriname air disaster took away 15 of his teammates, and a reporter's "bomb joke" on the return trip from the 1994 World Cup completely shattered his last shred of trust in flying.

Wenger, who was checking his luggage not far away, turned around when he heard the noise: "Gentlemen, instead of worrying about the radio, you should think about how to deal with Celta Vigo's defense."

He said sternly, "Especially you, Thierry, Celta Vigo's right-back."

"His turning speed is slower than an airport baggage carousel? Coach, I could beat him with my eyes closed."

Henry suddenly blurted out a sentence out of the blue, which made his teammates around him burst into laughter.

Pires slapped his thigh: "My God, when did you learn that Monaco kid's way of talking?"

"It started when I was forced to listen to 'ROI Tactical Room' for three hours."

Henry shrugged, mimicking Roy's signature eyebrow raise. "But seriously, if even that radio host can be this arrogant..."

"I'd be letting down his sharp tongue if I didn't score two goals."

Wenger shook his head helplessly: "Looks like we should thank Roy?"

Just then, an announcement in Spanish came over the airport's public address system. Henry picked up his backpack and muttered to himself:
"When we lift the Champions League trophy, I will remember to include a line in my acceptance speech: 'Dedicated to all the radio programs that spoke ill of me.'"

2 month 24 day.

Just after noon, Marienplatz was packed with Bayern Munich fans wearing red jerseys.

The song "Southern Star" echoed from under the clock tower of the old city hall all the way down the commercial street.

Long queues formed in front of several beer tents—the Hofburg pub's limited-edition Champions League beer mugs were in high demand, with the gold-stamped "FCB vs ASM" lettering gleaming in the sunlight.

More than 500 Monaco fans who had traveled with the team gathered at the "Provence" restaurant in Leopoldstrae.

Police cordoned off the area, but that didn't stop the French from turning the outdoor dining area into a mini Monaco. They waved red and white flags and shouted in broken German to passing Bayern Munich fans: "Tonight, we'll show you Mediterranean football!"

At the sponsor's booth in the Olympic Park, Roy's mother was leading her two children through the crowd.

Rowan was glued to the Pro Evolution Soccer game at the Sony booth, while his sister Romy was captivated by the shooting game featuring Ford cars.

Luo Mi tugged at her mother's clothes and pointed to the street corner: "Mommy, look!"

About twenty Monaco fans were gathered in a circle, their beer glasses clinking together.

They swayed back and forth, keeping time with the music, and honk their self-composed tunes in broken German with a heavy French accent for the passing Germans:
"Roy! Roy! Our devil! He's a nightmare for Bayern's defense!"

"Roy! Roy! Our Demon King!"

A curling shot cuts through the night sky, the football soaring straight into the top corner!

Roy! Roy! Make Bayern cry!
Monaco's Champions League campaign continues; they are unstoppable!

The burly man leading the group suddenly ripped open his jacket, revealing a homemade T-shirt underneath with a skull drawn on it and the words "Bayern's defensive nightmare" crookedly written on it.

In the state government banquet hall, Prince Albert II was raising a toast with the Governor of Bavaria.

No one noticed that the prince's niece, Charlotte Casiraghi, quietly tucked her Monaco scarf into her coat.

As the waiter served the Bavarian white sausage, a player interview suddenly flashed on the TV screen, and the girl's fork clattered onto the plate.

At 6:30 p.m., Real Madrid's away game against Lokomotiv Moscow kicked off.

In the freezing wind of minus five degrees Celsius, Florentino sat in the stands, wrapped tightly in his coat.

The grass in front of him was covered with a thin layer of frost, and Real Madrid's "Galácticos" were gliding with difficulty on it.

In the 27th minute, Izmailov, like a Siberian wolf, squeezed through the gap between Beckham and Helguera and unleashed a low shot that flew straight into the top corner of the goal.

Casillas knelt in the snow, watching helplessly as the ball slipped under his armpit.

The entire Locomotive Stadium erupted in cheers.

Moscow fans waved bottles and scarves, stomping their feet and making the stands rumble.

Zidane lowered his head and breathed hot air into his gloves, revealing a tear in Figo's right sock, which showed a bloodstain.

Snowflakes covered Beckham's blond hair, yet he swept them away like a sapper.

After a shovel rescue, he lay on the side of an advertising board, retching, white mist condensing in the cold wind.

Guti's long passes repeatedly slipped on the snow-covered grass, like a rudderless sailboat.

In the 53rd minute, Maminov unleashed a sudden long-range shot from 30 meters out. The ball deflected off Bravo's back and into the opposite direction, sending Casillas diving in the opposite direction. 2-0!

Enraged, Carlos kicked the corner flagpole, but slipped and fell flat on his face.

Queiroz's face on the sidelines was as gloomy as the Moscow night sky.

It wasn't until the 84th minute that Ronaldo managed to turn and poke the ball past Asatiani, salvaging some pride for Real Madrid.

The "alien" didn't celebrate; he silently picked up the ball and ran back to the center circle, his exhaled white mist instantly dispersed by the north wind.

As the final whistle blew, the Lokomotiv players collapsed onto the snow as if they had won a battle; Zidane and Figo's jerseys were soaked with an indistinguishable mixture of sweat and snow.

Fans climbed over the railings, unleashing their roars into the night sky.

Real Madrid's stars walked quickly off the field with their heads down, their cleats crunching on the snow.

That night, the €2 million Galacticos was torn to pieces by the cold winds of Moscow.

Sideline statistics show that Beckham ran 12.8 kilometers, setting a new record for the Real Madrid team.

For a star player known for his "banana kick," this number is ironically heartbreaking.

As Florentino rose to leave his seat, the camera captured snowflakes clinging to the collar of his coat.

Meanwhile, off-key renditions of "Katyusha" from the Russian fans echoed through the Moscow winter night.

In the away team's locker room at the Munich Olympic Stadium, Deschamps clapped his hands, the sound particularly crisp in the small space.

He looked into each player's eyes, his tone calm yet firm.

"It's our turn!"

------

Starting in 2005, FIFA planned to hold the World Club Championship in Japan every December, with champions from the six continents participating, and the European and South American champions advancing directly to the semi-finals. 102 European clubs strongly opposed the move, but UEFA supported it. The tournament was merged with the Toyota Cup, replacing the home-and-away format that had been in place for 44 years for European and American clubs.

— L'Équipe

意甲第22轮，AC米兰3-2逆转国际米兰。上半场国米2-0领先，下半场托马森、卡卡和西多夫连扳三球。阿德里亚诺与卡卡首次德比对决。

— Gazzetta dello Sport

Barcelona president Laporta has publicly stated his desire to sign Henry, saying that "joining Barcelona should be Henry's dream."

Wenger retorted: "Another Beckham-esque farce. I still want to buy Buckingham Palace."

—The Sun

(The competition story isn't finished yet. Read the short chapter first; there should be another chapter when I wake up.)
(End of this chapter)