When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 127 Do you want a total war?

Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, March 8, 2004.

Reporters had already set up their cameras and microphones at the exit, waiting for the arrival of the entire Bayern Munich team.

As Hitzfeld led the players out of the tunnel, a flurry of flashbulbs went off.

L'Équipe reporter: "Mr. Hitzfeld, in the first leg in Munich, Monaco drew 2-2 with Bayern, holding a two-goal advantage. How many goals do you think Bayern needs to score in today's match to secure qualification?"

Hitzfeld: "Football isn't a simple arithmetic problem. The ideal way is for us to just score one more goal than them and then make sure they can't score any more."

A reporter from Bild asked: "Monaco has won their last two matches, but conceded the first goal in both, suggesting their defense is somewhat unstable. Will Bayern take advantage of this?"

Hitzfeld: "Monaco's attack is very strong, but their defense is definitely leaky. We will take our chances, but first we have to make sure we don't concede. They've been conceding first and then scoring late recently. It's like my wife always saves the best steak for last when she cooks, but today we'd better be able to flip their frying pan first."

The camera pans to Kahn, who is wearing sunglasses and whose blond hair stands out in the sunlight, but his tightly pursed lips betray his displeasure.

Kicker reporter: "Mr. Kahn, Monaco has a two-goal advantage, which is very unfavorable for Bayern."

Kahn removed his sunglasses, a flash of annoyance in his eyes: "Listen, just because they can score two in Munich doesn't mean they can score in Monaco. Home and away games aren't everything."

He paused for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Of course, I admit that my performance that day was not good enough."

A reporter from France Football: "Regarding Roy's goal, many people said you should have saved it."

Kahn's face flushed instantly, and his fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily.

He took a deep breath: "That ball."

"I've been training extra all week, all for tomorrow. I've practiced every save move hundreds of times. Just wait and see, I'll let my actions speak for themselves today."

After saying that, he turned and strode away, leaving the reporters looking at each other in bewilderment.

Barak walked at the back of the group; the wound on his brow bone had scabbed over, but it was still noticeable.

ROI's War Room, Issue 8.

Host Gomez flashed his signature smile at the camera: "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 tactical devil presiding over it."

"And tonight's guest lineup welcomes a very special guest, Frank Ribery!"

Gomez turned to Ribery: "Frank, as a young player, how do you assess the strength of this Bayern team? Don't be nervous."

Just as Ribery was about to speak, he suddenly remembered Roy's repeated instructions in the dressing room: "Don't comment on specific people or things."

He curled his lip and blurted out, "Not worth mentioning!"

“Hey! Even if I only get 10 minutes off the bench, I can still change the game!” He counted on his fingers, “5 minutes to get past Ze Roberto, 3 minutes to outmaneuver Demichelis, and 2 minutes to nutmeg Kahn!”

Gomez barely suppressed a laugh: "So confident?"

"Of course!" Ribery said, getting more and more excited. "I've even planned out my celebration! If I score, I'll imitate Kahn's signature roar from the corner flag! But I'll have to stay away from him, I'm afraid he'll bite me."

Gomez finally couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Looks like Bayern needs to be careful tonight, we have a 'super sub' here who's itching to make a move!"

"Dear viewers, this is why we say ROI's War Room is the most dangerous tactical analysis show in Europe! Because our guests are more terrifying than their opponents!"

The dimly lit beer hall was packed with fans wearing Bayern Munich jerseys.

University student Maximilian volunteered to be the translator; he had only studied French for a year in high school and had failed the course.

Ribery's excited voice came through the TV: "Even if you only give me 10 minutes, I can change the game!"

Maxi frowned and stammered as he translated, "He said... give him ten minutes and he can beat Bayern to a pulp."

Construction foreman Hans slammed his beer mug on the table: "What?! This little French dwarf!"

"Breaked past Ze Roberto in 5 minutes"

Maxi's eyes widened: "He said he could make Ze Roberto cry his way home to his mother in five minutes."

Retired teacher Schroeder slammed his fist on the table in anger: "Too arrogant!"

"3-Minute Outmaneuver of Demichelis"

Maxi became increasingly excited as he flipped through the pages: "He said he could make Demichelis look like a circus monkey in just three minutes!"

The entire beer hall erupted in chaos.

"Grit his groin in front of Kahn in the last two minutes!"

Maxi stood up and loudly announced: "He said that Kahn looked like a neutered watchdog when he made saves, so after scoring a goal he would stuff the ball into his crotch like a female dog in heat!"

"asshole!"

More than a dozen beer glasses were smashed on the ground at the same time, shards flying everywhere.

In the corner, a fan flipped the table over, the sound of shattering glass accompanied by shouts of "Kill this bastard!"

Maxi looked at the commotion he had caused and secretly smiled smugly. The French class he failed last semester was finally coming in handy.

Finally, Ribery said, "But we need to stay away from Kahn."

Maxi stated unequivocally: "He said he was afraid Kahn would bite him because Germans are all mad dogs!"

While the pub owner hurriedly turned off the radio, angry fans were already organizing a petition to "teach the Frenchmen a lesson."

At that moment, a middle-aged man with a beard suddenly jumped onto the long wooden table. He was wearing a retro Bayern Munich training uniform, and the Bayern Munich logo was tattooed on his hand.

"My compatriots!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it made everyone turn their heads.

“Just now, we witnessed such humiliation! Those Frenchmen, those arrogant Gauls, dared to run wild on our land!”

He slowly surveyed his surroundings, his gaze lingering on each fan's face for a moment: "They mocked our legendary goalkeeper! They scorned our ironclad defense! They even... even..." His voice suddenly choked, "They even said they would make our hero crawl off the field on his knees!"

A chorus of curses erupted from the beer hall.

The middle-aged man raised his right hand, and the scene immediately fell silent.

"I ask you, my brothers!" his voice was low and dangerous, "Do you want all-out war?"

"want!"

A dozen voices roared at the same time.

"Do you want to show them the true iron will of Germany?"

"want!"

He suddenly jumped onto the bar, looking down at everyone: "Listen to me, this isn't an ordinary football match! This is a holy war! A holy war to defend the soul of our football!"

His right hand began to rhythmically pound his chest: "Think of our fathers! Think of Beckenbauer! Think of Gerd Müller! Are the glories they forged with iron and blood going to be trampled on by these French clowns today?"

"No!"

The fans' response shook the chandelier.

"We will turn the Stade Louis II into their graveyard!" His voice was hoarse and piercing. "Everyone will wear the brightest red jersey! Everyone will shatter their eardrums with the loudest battle song! Everyone will burn their backs with the most fervent gaze! They think Monaco is their territory? Wrong! It will be the crushing ground for the German war machine!"

"I swear, as long as I have a breath left, I will never let these Frenchmen flaunt their honor! What about you?"

"Defend till death!"

Amidst the frenzied shouts, some people began smashing more glasses.

"Remember tonight! Remember this humiliation! We will show all of Europe what the will of Germany is! What Bayern's fury is!"

"We want every inch of the pitch at the Stade Louis II to burn with our fighting spirit!"

He finally raised his right arm, pointing straight towards the Munich Olympic Stadium: "Long live victory! Long live Bayern! Long live Germany!"

"Long live! Long live! Long live!"

The beer hall erupted in cheers, with fans smashing glasses, overturning tables and chairs, and chanting Bayern's battle anthem.

In the corner, Anna, a female fan who actually understood French, turned pale and trembled as she dialed the police.

Looking at the trampled tables and chairs and shards of glass scattered on the floor, Hans, the beer hall owner, trembled as he lit a cigarette: "God, what kind of show did I put on?"

In his Nice apartment, Ribery suddenly woke up from a dream, his back soaked in cold sweat.

“Merde”

He muttered, "I dreamt that a bunch of Germans were driving tanks and running me over."

March 9, 2004, Champions League Round of 3, second leg, Old Trafford Stadium.

By the 35th minute, the atmosphere at Old Trafford had reached a fever pitch. The chants of more than 70,000 Manchester United fans surged onto the pitch in waves, their red scarves billowing like ocean waves in the stands.

The shouts of "United! United!" were unified and deafening.

The die-hard fans in the Stratford West Stand had already stood up, waving their arms and setting the pace for the entire stadium.

As O'Shea dribbled forward, the roar from the stands suddenly rose.

After Giggs completed the one-two pass, a burst of excited screams came from the stands.

The moment O'Shea took the kick and crossed the ball, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.

The moment the ball was cleared, a sigh of disappointment rose from the stands.

But the sigh immediately turned into a deafening cheer – Scholes met the ball with a powerful shot!

The moment the ball left their feet, more than 70,000 people simultaneously jumped up from their seats.

"GOOOOOAL!!!"

The commentator's voice was completely drowned out by the roar of the fans.

The fans hugged each other wildly, waving their flags even more vigorously.

Even in the usually reserved VIP section, many gentlemen in suits jumped up excitedly.

Manchester United maintained their lead until the 62nd minute.

Porto won a corner kick. Deco's corner kick found Costa in the penalty area, whose header was saved by Howard. However, in the ensuing scramble, defensive midfielder Costinha cleverly followed up and scored! 1-1!

The moment the ball went into the net, Mourinho sprang up from his seat like a spring.

He suddenly ripped open his collar and slammed his fists into the sky three times.

Each movement was imbued with the power of the entire body, and the hem of the trench coat swayed violently with each action.

His eyes were bloodshot as he roared into the arena, "Well done! Keep it up!"

In the 73rd minute, Manchester United took the lead again! Ronaldinho received the ball in midfield and completed a brilliant one-two pass with Cristiano Ronaldo.

Ronaldinho dribbled into the penalty area, and facing Carvalho's defense, he deftly chipped the ball over goalkeeper Baía. Van Nistelrooy at the far post easily tapped it into the empty net! 2-1!

The entire Old Trafford erupted in madness! Ronaldinho, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Van Nistelrooy embraced tightly in celebration, while Ferguson maintained his signature calm expression on the sidelines, and Mourinho looked ashen-faced.

As the match entered stoppage time, Manchester United fans began celebrating their advancement.

In the Sky Sports commentary booth, Martin Tyler's voice trembled slightly with excitement: "Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing a textbook Manchester United victory!"

His partner, Andy Gray, immediately chimed in, speaking rapidly: "Look at that goal, absolutely perfect! Scholes, what a precise long-range shot! Just like he's done countless times throughout his career!"

Taylor took a deep breath and continued, "But the most exciting part is yet to come. Look at Ronaldinho's ball handling this time, what agile footwork! His coordination with Ronaldo is as perfect as dancing the tango!"

"And Van Nistelrooy, that Dutch killer, always knows where to be! That's why he's the most fearsome fox in Europe's penalty area!"

The broadcast cut to Ferguson on the sidelines, and Taylor exclaimed, "Look at this old manager, still so calm. But we must say, his tactical setup tonight was masterful. Although Manchester United were missing key defenders, they completely dominated Porto, and their rotations on both flanks kept the opponent running around like crazy!"

Gray suddenly laughed: "To be honest, I want to frame this formation on the tactics board and hang it on the wall right now! 4-4-2 diamond midfield, a classic that will never go out of style!"

"Uh, Porto also uses a 4-4-2 diamond midfield."

"The key lies in the details! Look at the timing of Manchester United's full-backs making runs forward and their aggressiveness in tracking back."

The director cut to a close-up of Ferguson, the old man chewing gum, his eyes fixed intently on the field.

Gray immediately found the key point: "That's the difference between top coaches! With the same formation, Sir Alex Ferguson's in-game adjustments were clearly superior!"

"This is the essence of Manchester United football – precision, efficiency, and creativity! If they maintain this, they can go even further!"

In the control room behind the commentary booth, the staff looked at the ever-rising viewership ratings and smiled at each other.

"If Manchester United can maintain this form, they have a real chance to get back what they owe to certain teams in the upcoming matches." Andy Gray immediately understood: "We all know who you're talking about, Martin. The void left by Beckham has been perfectly filled, and this Manchester United team is more mature than last year."

Taylor: "Imagine if we could meet Real Madrid in the quarterfinals."

"Some coaches have a lot of accounts to settle in their notebooks. Let's wait and see what kind of revenge story this revitalized Red Devils will write on the Champions League stage."

When the fourth official raised the electronic board indicating three minutes of added time, the entire Old Trafford crowd was ready to celebrate. The Red Devils fans began chanting "Glory, Glory, Man United," and red scarves rippled like waves in the stands.

However, things can change in an instant on the football field.

In the 92nd minute, Maniche made a vicious sliding tackle in midfield to steal the ball from Scholes and launched a counter-attack on the spot.

Deco received the ball, looked up to observe, and delivered a surgical through ball that pierced through Manchester United's defense.

McCarthy surged forward like a ghost, calmly slotting a shot into the far corner from the right side of the penalty area! Howard made a desperate save but couldn't reach it, and the ball bounced into the net! 2-2!

The Porto bench erupted in cheers.

Mourinho ripped off his tie and rushed onto the field, wildly waving his fists.

His assistants huddled together, while the Porto players on the field celebrated with a collective knee slide.

Old Trafford fell into a deathly silence, with only deafening cheers coming from the away stands.

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense after overtime began.

In the 107th minute, Ronaldinho dribbled forward and broke through on goal, but Maniche brought him down with a flying tackle from behind! The referee immediately showed him a red card.

Mourinho was furious on the sidelines, yelling at the fourth official: "That was a clean tackle!"

Ferguson, meanwhile, chewed gum with a grim expression, his eyes sharp and menacing.

Manchester United then used their last substitution, with Ronaldinho being replaced by Solskjaer.

Manchester United, with a numerical advantage, launched a relentless attack, but Porto, playing with only ten men, remained united and determined.

The defensive line formed by Carvalho and Costa was like an impenetrable wall, with Baía making numerous saves to thwart Manchester United's shots.

Cristiano Ronaldo stood on the edge of the penalty area, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his temples.

The Portuguese rising star, not yet 19, looked down at his shoes, his youthful face filled with confusion.

He had his three shots saved brilliantly by Baía, and his fourth attempt was blocked out of bounds by Carvalho's body.

He instinctively glanced at Ferguson on the sidelines, where the veteran coach was solemnly gesturing tactical signs.

Cristiano Ronaldo bit his lower lip, his curly hair damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead.

That night, his speed and skill, which he was so proud of, were repeatedly thwarted by Porto's ironclad defense.

Carvalho and Costa were like two moving walls; every time he got the ball, two or three players would immediately surround him.

Mourinho on the sidelines kept shouting instructions to the defense, his voice already hoarse.

As the whistle blew to end extra time, both teams collapsed to the ground. Cristiano Ronaldo stood there blankly, watching the Porto players high-five each other in encouragement.

At this moment, this future superstar truly experienced the cruelty of the Champions League for the first time.

The lights at Old Trafford illuminated the pitch, and the shouts of more than 70,000 fans were now reduced to heavy breathing.

Ferguson chewed his gum rapidly, while Mourinho had his hands in his coat pockets, but his slightly trembling fingers betrayed his nervousness.

"Porto will take the first penalty in the first round."

The referee's whistle pierced the night sky.

Deco placed the ball steadily at the penalty spot and took three steps back.

Howard hopped back and forth in front of the goal line, trying to disrupt the shot.

Run-up – Shot!
The ball nestled into the net, skimming past the left post. Howard dived in the right direction, but it was too late.

1-0!

Van Nistelrooy took a deep breath and walked to the penalty spot, while Baía waved his arms exaggeratedly in front of the goal.

After a brief run-up, the Dutchman fired a right-footed shot, but Baía dove in the opposite direction!
1-1!

The Manchester United fans in the stands jumped up in unison.

Costinha's second shot was like a cannonball, and Howard, standing still, didn't have time to react.

2-1!

When it was Scholes' turn, a unified cheer erupted from Old Trafford.

Ginger head chose the top left corner, but Baya leaped and tipped the ball over the crossbar with one hand!
A huge sigh erupted from the stands.

The broadcast cameras keenly captured a close-up of Ronaldo biting his fingers on the sidelines, the 18-year-old's eyes wide with shock. Ferguson turned and said something to his assistant coach, who immediately ran to comfort Scholes.

The third round brought a turning point.

Lithuanian striker Jankoskas' shot was weak and easily caught by Howard.

As Giggs walked toward the penalty spot, the stands began to applaud rhythmically.

The Welsh magician equalized with a deft chip shot, 2-2!

Mourinho stood with his hands in his pockets, his face ashen, while Ferguson finally loosened his clenched fists.

McCarthy's powerful shot in the fourth round left Howard helpless.

When it was Gary Neville's turn, the tough defender's shot was brilliantly saved by Baía!

In the broadcast footage, Neville's brother Phil covered his eyes on the bench.

After McCarthy's powerful shot found the net, Mourinho completely erupted!
He suddenly leaped up and threw a punch.

He rushed to the sideline and frantically waved his fists at the Stretford stands, where the most vocal Manchester United supporters were shouting the loudest.

"Come on! Keep cursing!"

He roared in Portuguese, and then, amidst a chorus of boos, suddenly raised his right hand and gave the middle finger to the stands!

The referee immediately rushed over and raised the yellow card high!

But Mourinho didn't care at all. He turned around with a cold smile, spread his hands in front of his bench, as if to say, "Look, they're getting desperate."

In the final moments, Ferreira only needed to make his free throw to end the game.

The player, who usually plays as a right-back, almost slipped during his run-up, but his shot still went into the net!
4-2!

The entire Porto bench rushed onto the field like madmen, and Baía was pinned to the bottom.

The broadcast camera panned across Manchester United's players and managers: Ferguson walked towards the tunnel without looking back, Van Nistelrooy stood blankly in the center circle like a lost child, and Ronaldo's tears welled up in his eyes.

Just five minutes earlier, he volunteered to take the fifth penalty, but Ferguson waved him off.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are witnessing one of the most stunning upsets in Champions League history!"

Martin Tyler's voice trembled as the final whistle blew: "Mourinho's Porto will continue to advance over Manchester United's corpse, while the Red Devils can only swallow the bitter pill of being eliminated at home!"

In the mixed zone on the sidelines, a Sky Sports reporter stopped Deco, who was running wildly in celebration: "Did you expect this result before the match?"

The Portuguese midfielder wiped his sweat and laughed: "Jose said he'd silence Old Trafford tonight!"

Behind him, Mourinho was being tossed high into the night sky by the players.

A brief silence fell over the Sky Sports commentary booth as Martin Tyler's deep, slow voice rose, each word like the final page of Manchester United's glorious history: "An unbelievable ending. For the first time in eight seasons, Manchester United have failed to reach the Champions League quarterfinals. Tonight, their run to reach the quarterfinals for eight consecutive years came to an abrupt end. The myth of the Old Trafford stadium, which once made Europe tremble, and the unbeaten run in their last 17 Champions League home games has come to an end – the last Champions League defeat here dates back to the distant memory of losing to Deportivo La Coruña in October 2001."

Taylor continued in a trembling voice, "On this pitch, Manchester United have won all five of their previous encounters against Portuguese teams, scoring a staggering 19 goals. This includes two massacres of Porto: 5-2 and 4-0. Porto's dark history of losing all six of their previous visits to England, conceding 18 goals, has all been completely rewritten tonight."

Andy Gray's addition sounded more like a murmur: "We are witnessing the temporary end of an era, the most stable European cycle since Sir Alex Ferguson took charge, which has been brought to a close by a team from Portugal."

The broadcast lingered on the scoreboard for a long time, showing the "2-2" score, and below it, the glaring words "Porto advances," as if silently announcing:

On the map of the Champions League, some orders are quietly changing.

At Monaco's training ground, the television screen was frozen on footage of Porto players celebrating.

Deschamps turned off the TV and looked around at the players in the tactics room.

"Same score as the first leg," he said calmly, "Do you want to be Manchester United, or Porto?"

The locker room was so quiet you could hear the air conditioner running.

The players exchanged glances, some staring down at the floor, others unconsciously rubbing their fingers together.

Roy suddenly burst out laughing.

“I’ll definitely lift you up higher than that Portuguese man!” he said.

This statement was like opening a floodgate.

Giuly jumped up and shouted, "To hell with Bayern!"

Evra patted the person next to him on the shoulder, and Maicon started talking loudly.

The atmosphere in the locker room suddenly came alive.

Deschamps stood there, watching his players.

He didn't smile, but his eyes softened.

A depleted Juventus side suffered a 0-1 defeat to Deportivo La Coruña at the Stadio delle Alpi, exiting the Champions League Round of 16 with a 0-2 aggregate score. Just six minutes into the game, Del Piero was forced off with an injury; in the 12th minute, Montero's clearance error allowed his compatriot Pandiani to score a one-on-one goal. Juventus relentlessly attacked throughout the match but failed to break through, with Appiah's long-range shot hitting the crossbar and Tristan's lob in stoppage time striking the post. Deportivo advanced thanks to a tenacious defense, ending Juventus' 20-game unbeaten home run against Spanish teams.

Chelsea held Stuttgart to a 0-0 draw at Stamford Bridge thanks to a tenacious defense, advancing to the Champions League quarterfinals with a 1-0 aggregate score. The Bundesliga runners-up dominated possession throughout the match but were unable to break down Chelsea's solid defense. In the 6th minute, Duff's powerful shot was saved, and Crespo's header went wide. In the second half, Stuttgart intensified their attack, with Lahm's one-on-one chance going wide, and Hleb's shot combined with Kuranyi's also narrowly missing. Before the final whistle, Chelsea created several dangerous chances, with Mutu's header being brilliantly saved and Grondjaer's powerful shot hitting the post. Cudicini made several crucial saves to keep a clean sheet, helping his team secure their second consecutive clean sheet and advance to the quarterfinals.

On March 10, 2004, eleven young girls wearing Monaco's red and white jerseys stood out outside the Stade Louis II in Monaco.

They were all dressed in red tops and white shorts, holding banners that read "Allez Monaco," and stood in a row at the stadium entrance.

Passing fans gave them thumbs up, and some took out their cameras to take pictures.

The girls waved their banners with smiles, their red and white team uniforms standing out brightly in the sunlight.

They chanted cheers in unison from time to time, prompting the surrounding crowd to join in.

This makeshift cheerleading squad became the most eye-catching sight outside the stadium before the game.

They didn't have a professional performance; they simply expressed their support for the team in the simplest way.

Bayern's team bus slowly drove into the stadium tunnel. Ballack leaned against the window, his gaze sweeping over the cheering Monaco female fans.

The cool sea breeze in March made the banners in their hands flutter loudly.

"Aren't they cold?" someone in the back row muttered quietly.

Barak saw a blonde girl rubbing her arms, but the smile on her face didn't fade at all.

The wind lifted the hem of his red and white jersey, revealing skin covered in goosebumps.

Their smiles froze for a moment as the Bayern Munich bus passed by, but they continued to cheer for the Monaco bus that followed.

As evening fell, the area outside the Stade Louis II gradually became lively.

Bayern Munich fans who had traveled from afar walked toward the stadium in small groups and soon noticed a peculiar phenomenon: many Monaco fans were wearing number 10 jerseys, and shouts of "Roy! Roy!" could be heard from the crowd.

A huge poster hangs on the outer wall of the stadium, with Roy's portrait occupying the center position, Morientes on the left and Giuly on the right.

The poster stood out prominently in the sunset, and passing Monaco fans would stop and point at it with proud smiles on their faces.

Bayern Munich fans stood in front of the giant poster, whispering among themselves in small groups.

"Should we buy this Monaco kid in the summer transfer window?"

A middle-aged man wearing a Bayern Munich scarf pointed at Roy's portrait and said, "Makaay is good, but this guy looks more impactful."

"Come on," his companion shook his head, "His style of play would get him tackled to death in the Bundesliga."

At that moment, someone noticed Ribery's portrait in the corner of the poster and scoffed, "Look, that's the kid who spouted nonsense, saying he'd make us cry our way home."

Several Bayern fans burst into laughter, one of them pulling out his camera and snapping a picture of Ribery's portrait: "After the game, I'll see if he's still this arrogant."

As the match drew closer, more and more Monaco fans wearing the number 10 jersey appeared, and the shouts outside the stadium grew louder and more unified.

(End of this chapter)