When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 132 Roy's White Trail

On the morning of March 13, 2004, the coffee machine was making a regular "click" sound in the kitchen of the Monaco apartment.

Wearing his training clothes, Roy stuffed bread slices into the toaster and accidentally pressed the start button on the coffee machine as he turned it on.

“Hala Madrid”

He hummed the Real Madrid anthem to the rhythm of the coffee machine grinding beans, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

Just as the bread machine popped up with a "ding," he was singing "Defend your noble whiteness," and casually flipped the toasted bread over.

Morning light streamed through the blinds, casting striped shadows on the training schedule next to the dining table.

Roy poured some milk into the steaming coffee cup, and the aroma of toasted bread mixed with the bitterness of coffee filled the kitchen.

He took a bite of bread, hummed a song, and slung his training bag over his shoulder. It was just another ordinary morning of preparation.

March 14, 2004, Ligue 3 Round 28, Auxerre's home game.

Roy sat on the bench wrapped in a coat, with Morientes to his left and Giuly to his right.

All three were focused on the field. Today, Deschamps started Pulso, Ribery, and 37-year-old Caniggia.

It was raining quite heavily, and the grass was soaking wet.

Ribery was really into it, dashing around on the left flank and giving the opposing defenders a hard time.

On one occasion, he broke through to the byline and crossed the ball, which Caniggia almost poked in, but unfortunately it hit the post.

Before the end of the first half, the away team executed a series of smooth passes in the attacking third.

Ribery received the pass on the left wing and skillfully dribbled past Auxerre midfielder Tainho.

The short man with the scar on his face was tap-dancing, weaving the ball back and forth among three or four defenders.

His ankles were incredibly agile; with a few quick turns and spins, he outmaneuvered his opponents, eventually managing to slip the ball through the gaps in the defense to Gallardo in the middle.

Deschamps and his former assistant coach Petit exchanged a glance on the sidelines.

Petit clicked his tongue: "This kid, if it weren't for Roy, he should be in the starting lineup."

He recalled what Roy had said when he strongly recommended Ribery.

"At worst, he'll be Rothen; he might even become the next Pires."

In retrospect, that assessment was indeed accurate.

Before the start of the second half, Deschamps brought on Pedretti and Bernardi, replacing Zikos and Plasil.

Then Morientes replaced Pulso.

While warming up on the sidelines, Roy patted Morientes on the shoulder: "Morro, we're not walking on the same kind of grass anymore."

Morientes paused for a moment, then suddenly remembered the match in 2003.

Back then they were all wearing Real Madrid's white jerseys, but now they're all wearing Monaco's red and white kits.

Morientes tightened his shoelaces and gave a soft "hmm".

The rain was still falling, and he splashed through the water as he ran onto the field.

Not long after, Maicon seized an opportunity on the right flank and charged forward.

His eyes were fixed on Cissé, and just as the "Black Whirlwind" was about to accelerate and shake off Squillaci, the Brazilian darted forward and executed a clean and swift sliding tackle on the slippery grass.

"boom!"

Cissé was tackled to the ground with the ball, splashing water everywhere.

Maicon scrambled to his feet; the ball was already glued to his feet.

He wiped the rain off his face and rushed to the front without looking back.

Before the Auxerre players could react, the Brazilian full-back had already dribbled the ball across the halfway line.

He forcefully shoved aside Auxerre's Capo, surged past the center circle, accelerated past Violo, and passed the ball diagonally back to Morientes.

Morientes received the ball with his back to goal and flicked it to Ribery with his heel.

Ribery dribbled into the penalty area, feinting left and right to get past Minho and Dumbe, and then fired a low shot into the net.

1-0! Monaco takes the lead.

On the bench, Roy and Giuly happily high-fived, completely unaware that they hadn't even entered the game yet.

"Blackburn 0-2 Arsenal," Roy flipped through the newspaper, pointing to a photo, "Henry's free kick, tsk tsk."

The photo shows Henry taking a shot, the ball arcing in an exaggerated arc.

Juli leaned closer to look: "It really is beautiful. Wait, what did you say?"

He looked up abruptly because Roy had just casually remarked, "After we get past Real Madrid, we'll probably be playing Arsenal."

Juli coughed because he choked on his saliva.

Although everyone wants to beat Real Madrid, no one dares to say it so openly. That white-clad army is like a dark cloud hanging overhead, and just thinking about it makes people feel suffocated.

Roy, however, turned another page of the newspaper as if discussing what to have for breakfast the next day.

Raindrops pattered against the plastic roof, making a continuous crackling sound.

2004 3 Month 16 Day.

The Spanish football program "After the Match" produced a special episode titled "Roy's White Track".

The program was produced by Canal+ Espaa TV, and director Juanma Truba presented football matches in an unprecedented artistic style.

The program employs cinematic filming techniques, often accompanied by philosophical narration and classical rock music, elevating the competition to an artistic presentation.

Director Juanma Truba has revolutionized the art of football broadcasting with his unique visual language!
He paired slow-motion replays of El Clásico with Neruda's poetry, turning a football match into an art film.

This filming method is so novel that it elevates the artistic level of football broadcasting by a significant margin.

In his hands, the camera is not just a tool for recording matches, but also a way to tell touching stories about football.

What the audience sees is not just the score, but also the most touching moments on the football field.

Former Liverpool player Michael Robinson served as the commentator, and his unique blend of British humor and Spanish passion became the hallmark of the program.

Irish striker Michael Robinson, a member of Liverpool's treble-winning team in 1984 (First Division, League Cup, and Champions League), played for Manchester City and Brighton during his career before retiring at Osasuna.

After retiring, he became a famous Spanish football commentator.

It is often referred to as the Spanish version of "World Football".

The camera slowly zooms in on a faded old photograph.

“In the summer of 1998,” Michael Robinson’s familiar voice rang out, “the year Zidane lifted the World Cup trophy at the Stade de France, Real Madrid scouts discovered this young man from Lille at the Clairefontaine training ground.”

The scene cuts to a training video of Roy Clairefontaine, where he sweeps across the grass like a gust of wind.
"Seeing the flair this kid has when he dribbles, Real Madrid brought him to Castilla without hesitation."

The screen showed a photo of Roy trying on Real Madrid's training kit for the first time.

The jersey, clearly a size too big, hung loosely on his body, the collar askew, revealing his still-developing, thin shoulders.

He held the team badge with exceptional seriousness, his eyes gleaming with undisguised joy.

“Back then,” Robinson chuckled, “he ran like a fawn that had just learned to leap, far from the lightning speed he would later display. But look at that turn he made when protecting the ball.”

The video cuts to a blurry training clip, showing 14-year-old Roy clumsily but persistently practicing a turn, his socks covered in grass clippings from repeated falls.

The camera then switched to a class photo at the Ramiro de Mezzo High School in Madrid.

In the photo, Roy stands in the second row on the side, wearing a neat school uniform shirt, and appears exceptionally quiet among a group of Spanish students.

His hair was cut very short, and he wore a slightly reserved smile, his right hand gripping the hem of his shirt.

“His performance in the classroom,” the principal recalled to the camera, “was as serious as his positioning on the field.”

"His report card was excellent; he was almost always first in his class in subjects like math and geography," the principal said calmly. "However, this boy was too introverted. During breaks, while other students were chatting and playing, he would always be juggling a ball alone on the sidelines. To be honest, with his looks, many girls were attracted to him, but he seemed completely uninterested in dating. At that time, many boys his age had already started dating, but he was only focused on soccer."

The program then inserted interview segments with two of Roy's high school classmates.

Nineteen-year-old Elena Morales, a media studies student at Complutense University of Madrid, wore a simple beige knit sweater and jeans, with her hair casually tied in a ponytail.

The afternoon sun shone on the stands of the playground. Elena rested her chin on her hand, smiled, and shook her head.

Elena: "Roy is like a ghost in class. He's always number one in grades, but he hardly ever talks to anyone."

"Once I forgot to bring a pen, and he silently handed me one, but he didn't even lift his eyes off the textbook."

"The girls privately call him 'Poplar Tree'—not because he's dull, but because of his straight, upward-growing posture without distraction."

"To be honest, Real Madrid's youth academy boys are very popular in school. They wear the latest football boots, their training uniforms have the team crest on them, and they get much more pocket money than the average student."

"Many of them have three or four girlfriends at the same time, and they are proud of it."

"Now you know why those people have been forgotten, while I sit here talking about Roy, an extraordinary person who lived an extraordinary life before doing extraordinary things."

"Before graduation, a few of us girls mustered up the courage to ask him to go shopping at Puerta del Sol. He said very seriously, 'I need to go back to the training camp on Sunday to practice shooting.'"

The camera zooms in, and Elena's eyes sparkle: "These days, college girls are going crazy talking about how sexy Beckham is, but I always say, 'You should look at my high school classmate.' His aura is like a drawn sword, sharp and clean. Even compared to himself back then, he's even more..."

She suddenly stopped, shook her head, and said, "Never mind, these adjectives are too stupid."

She paused for a moment, then her tone softened: "Sometimes I think, what if I had been braver back then?"

Before he could finish speaking, he waved his hand with a smile.

"Never mind, he probably only cares about football."

A voice-over asks: "Real Madrid is about to face Monaco in the Champions League, who will you support?"

Elena winked mischievously: "My family has been Real Madrid fans for generations, so of course I support Real Madrid. But every time I see him with the ball, I might not be able to resist shouting: 'Get past them!'"

She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "It would be perfect if he could come back wearing a white jersey someday."

Narrated by Michael Robinson: "Some regrets in youth will eventually turn into knowing smiles in the stands."

Fernando López, 20 years old, is an engineering student at the Polytechnic University of Madrid.

“The thing I regret most in my life,” he said, scratching his head, “is that I didn’t get Roy to sign my homework in high school.”

"Back then, we always felt that not everyone in the youth training camp could make it into the first team, or even play professional football. Most of the people who were one or two levels below us or at the same level are now selling insurance, working as physical education teachers, or just getting by in regional leagues."

“Juan Pablo, two grades above us, the guy who used to brag about being ‘a Bernabéu’ all his life,” Fernando said with a smirk. “I ran into him at the supermarket last month; he was selling car insurance.”

He shook his head: "So watching Roy play in the Champions League now? It's like a dream."

"This guy is now the Champions League top scorer with 10 goals!"

Fernando suddenly raised his voice, "Next week he'll be standing at the Bernabéu wearing the opponent's jersey, it's fucking surreal."

"Who should I support?" Fernando rubbed his face and said with a smile, "Real Madrid is my life. But if he scores, I might secretly applaud."

A faded group photo from Real Madrid's youth academy in 2001 is slowly unfolded.

In the photo, a dozen or so boys wearing white training uniforms are laughing with their arms around each other, the sunlight shining on their youthful faces.

Juan Fran stood in the front row, grinning and making a "V" sign, while Roy, tall and thin, stood alone in the corner of the last row, his head slightly lowered, but his gaze was fixed firmly on the camera.

His expression wasn't as flamboyant as others; there was only a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, as if he could already see the road ahead.

Michael Robinson's deep voice rang out:

"Some people are born different. Even when they're standing in a crowd, you can tell at a glance that they don't belong there."

The screen cuts to a slightly blurry match video: Real Madrid B team vs. Alcorcón, 78th minute.

Roy received the ball on the edge of the penalty area and made a clever turn to get past the first defender.

When the second defender rushed up, he deflected with his right foot and then smoothly stepped down with his left, making a clean and efficient movement.

The moment the goalkeeper rushed out, he flicked his toe lightly.

"Look at this goal!" Robinson's voice suddenly became lively. "17-year-old Roy, scoring his first goal for Real Madrid B team."

The ball was still arcing through the air when Roy turned and charged toward the corner flag.

His jersey was torn and askew, but he opened his arms as if to embrace the entire stadium.

The moment the ball went into the net, he grabbed the Real Madrid crest on his chest and kissed it firmly.

"Later, someone asked," Robinson's voice softened, "why do you remember that goal so clearly?"

"Probably because this was the only time he celebrated like a child."

The footage finally cuts to that "historic" goal on January 29, 2003.

In the 89th minute of the match, at the Iberian Planet stadium.

Roy received the ball on the wing, and facing pressure from Mallorca defender Cortez, he made a clever turn to get rid of him, and then burst out with amazing speed, rushing along the sideline like an arrow!

"He's charging forward!" the commentator exclaimed.

Mallorca's defense quickly tightened, with two center-backs simultaneously pressing, but Roy suddenly changed direction while running at high speed, using his right foot to feint past Luxenhoff, and then delivered a low cross into the penalty area!
Morientes received the ball, feinted a shot, and then passed it to Morientes, flicking it lightly with his heel.

Roy surged forward like a ghost, facing goalkeeper Franco. He feigned a shot towards the far corner, but changed his move at the moment of contact, tensing his right foot and unleashing a powerful shot into the near corner!
"boom!"

The ball slammed into the top left corner of the goal like a cannonball, and the net trembled violently!
1-4! Real Madrid finally salvaged a little pride!
The background is the Bernabéu Hall of Fame, and the camera slowly pans across the nine Champions League trophies on display. Raúl's finger traces the nearest one:
"After that game, no one spoke in the locker room; it was as quiet as the dead. But Roy's goal was the only thing that was memorable. His breakthrough reminded me of Redondo, not in terms of technique, but in a kind of recklessness, that 'to hell with the score' kind of ruthlessness. It was as if the score, the opponent, or even the result of the game didn't matter; he just wanted to put the ball in the net."

He paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "Later, I saw on TV that he had become the core of Monaco, the top scorer in Ligue 1 last season, and had already scored ten goals in the Champions League this season, even eliminating Bayern Munich. Only then did I realize that the reason he didn't thank the crowd that day wasn't because he didn't understand the rules, but because he didn't consider this crushing defeat the end of the story."

The camera cuts to Roy's Champions League highlights this season, where he calmly adjusted and scored against Kahn in the match against Bayern Munich.

“Now he’s coming back,” Raul said, looking at the camera with a faint smile. “Wearing the opponent’s jersey, with ten Champions League goals, standing on the Bernabéu pitch. Honestly, I can’t wait to see it.”

On the sidelines of the training ground, Zidane shook his head with a smile: "That kid just joined the national team and got the number 11 jersey. Wiltord thought it should have been his. Was he a little unhappy at the time? No, he quickly came to terms with it. Roy is clearly not the same kind of player as him. I told the whole team: 'This jersey should be his.'"

“Once in a training match he nutmegged me twice, and Desailly egged me on to teach the rookie a lesson. And guess what? This kid said in Spanish, ‘Zidane, I’ve seen your tapes in La Fabrica.’ Damn, who could stay angry after that? I couldn’t even pretend to be angry.”

"Henry? Of course he's a phenomenal player. He's 27 and at his peak. But look at Roy, who eliminated Bayern Munich in the Champions League when he was 19. When Henry retires at 37, this guy will only be 29. It's his golden age."

"Now, after each training session, Thierry stays behind to help him with extra practice."

Zidane gave a meaningful smile: "Do you know what this means? Even Henry himself knows."

"The future of French football? It lies with him now."

The end of the "After the Game" program.

The camera slowly zooms out, and the lights of the Bernabéu gradually illuminate the twilight.

Michael Robinson's narration is low and gentle:
"There are two kinds of people on the football field: those who live in the spotlight and those who live in the football itself. Roy's story is never about betrayal or regret, but about how a young man spent nineteen years honing a pure ambition into a sharp blade."

[Scenes flash back and forth: 14-year-old Roy falls and gets up on the muddy grass of Clairefontaine; 18-year-old Roy leaves the field alone under the spotlight at the Iberian Star Stadium; now, he is charging into battle in the Champions League wearing the Monaco jersey.]

"He kissed the Real Madrid crest, and he kissed the glory of France. But in the end, he never kissed a jersey, but football itself."

The camera lingers on the moment Roy gazes at the stands after scoring in this season's Champions League, his eyes as focused as they were in his youth.

"Next Wednesday at the Bernabéu, when the nine Champions League trophies stand silent in their display cases, when the boos or applause of 80,000 people resound."

"Please remember that some stars are born to shine, while some people are born to go on a bigger stage."

(end)

Florentino sat in a large leather chair, the office curtains half-drawn.

The light from the television screen shone on his face, and the subtitles of the program that had just finished airing were still scrolling.

He reached out and turned off the TV, then turned to look at the director standing to the side.

"Nice shot."

As he spoke, he took a box of cigars from the drawer.

I picked one out and handed it to the director; the packaging of that cigar looked expensive.

The director quickly took it with both hands, his voice a little strained.

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman."

Florentino didn't say anything more, he just patted the director on the shoulder gently.

This action made the director unconsciously straighten his back even more.

March 17, 2004, Monaco training ground.

After training, the players walked towards the locker room in twos and threes.

Morientes suddenly smacked Roy on the back with a towel: "Hey, who is Elena Morales?"

Roy looked up blankly: "Huh?"

“Last night, Spanish TV broadcast a special program called ‘The Day After the Match,’” Morientes said with a wicked grin, leaning closer. “That girl from Madrid praised you like a male protagonist in a novel, ‘like a drawn sword’?”

Juli took a sip of water, then immediately spat it out: "What sword?"

Morientes deliberately mimicked a female voice: "Now, girls in universities are going crazy talking about how sexy Beckham is, but I always say, 'You should look at my high school classmate,' and all of Spain is guessing if she's your ex-girlfriend."

Rotten hooked his arm around Roy's neck: "Is our little boy in the news again?"

“She said she was your high school classmate,” Morientes nudged Roy’s shoe with his toe, “and said something about ‘if he could wear a white jersey again.’”

Roy grabbed his training uniform and pulled it over his head, his voice muffled by the fabric: "Not familiar with it."

Rothen said with a wicked grin, "When is she going to sell calendars?"

After explaining, he said, "Nowadays, some girls specifically seek out athletes to create scandals. First, they go on TV interviews, then they shoot sexy calendars to make money. If they're lucky, they can even break into the modeling industry or even the television industry."

A few jeering whistles rang out from the training ground.

Roy had already crumpled the training clothes he had taken off into a ball and shoved them into Rothen's mouth.

"You're such a meddlesome person."

(I went to the hospital to get my back checked today, but I promise I'll finish writing about the Real Madrid match tomorrow.)

(End of this chapter)