When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 170 If I didn't break the rules like this, they wouldn't be able to stop me at all.
On the evening of June 6, after arriving in Porto, the French team stayed overnight at a hotel near the airport.

The next morning, the whole team took a bus to the town of San Tilso, 25 kilometers away, where they began their closed training camp before the European Cup.

The town is quiet, the training base is well-equipped, and it is close to the Porto match venue, which is convenient for the team to prepare for the game.

When the French team arrived in San Tilso, the entrance was already crowded with reporters from all over Europe.

As soon as Roy got out of the car, he was surrounded by a group of reporters, with microphones and cameras pointed at him.

"Roy, how does it feel to be in Porto now, preparing for the European Championship, after defeating Porto in the Champions League final?"

A reporter asked the question first.

Roy smiled and said, "It feels good. The weather is great and the venue is excellent."

"Do you think the people of Porto will hate you?" the reporter pressed.

Roy shook his head, his tone calm: "I didn't sense any hatred from them. In fact, the results of a football match don't breed hatred, as long as there are no unethical incidents on the field."

He paused, then added, "I believe that if Porto players go to Monaco, they will be welcomed just as well."

How are you in form? Can you maintain your performance from the Champions League?

"I'm in good shape and I will do my best to help the team."

"In France's first group stage match against England, which player are you most worried about?"

After a moment's thought, Roy replied, "The England team has many world-class players. Beckham's passing, Lampard's late runs into the box, and Gerrard's all-around game are all worth watching."

"But to be honest, I'm really interested in that young man named Wayne Rooney. Although he's only 19, he's shown incredible talent and may soon become the core of England."

What are France's goals for this European Championship?

Roy said firmly, "Of course, it's the championship."

After saying that, he nodded politely and turned to walk into the Vimar Conference & Spa Hotel in San Tilso.

The hotel isn't luxurious, but it's quiet and private, surrounded by greenery, making it a suitable place for closed training camps.

The front desk staff had already prepared the room keys and handed them to each player with a smile.

“The room is alright,” Juli leaned closer, waving the key card in her hand. “I heard the pool and treatment room are open 24 hours a day.”

Roy nodded and took the training schedule from his assistant.

He glanced at it; high-intensity training would begin first thing tomorrow morning.

Right now, all he wants to do is go to his room, take a shower, and get a good night's sleep.

In the afternoon, the French team players arrived one after another at the makeshift medical room.

The team doctor, holding a record board, checked each person's physical condition one by one, measuring their heart rate and muscle response, and asking if they felt uncomfortable anywhere.

Roy cooperated and did a few sets of stretches. The team doctor nodded and put a checkmark next to his name.

Afterwards, the players went to the hotel gym in twos and threes.

Some people are jogging on the treadmill, while others are relaxing in the pool.

Roy chose a rowing machine.

There was no intense competition or tactical maneuvering; it was just simple physical activity to allow the tense muscles to gradually relax.

Roy sat on the rowing machine, rhythmically pulling the handles, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Pedretti was stretching on the equipment next to him, and the two chatted casually.

"Next season?" Roy took a breath. "Will I still be at Monaco?"

Pedretti paused, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The new boss, Rybonov, definitely wants to keep them.

Ribery and Adebayor have signed new contracts, but Morientes is determined to return to Real Madrid.

As for himself, Jean Petit talked to him almost every day, saying that he was the team's midfield core and the key to rebuilding.

Pedretti ultimately just shook his head and continued stretching with his head down.

Some things cannot be decided by sincerity alone.

Looking at Pedretti's reaction, Roy already understood seven or eight parts of the situation.

The Champions League title is like a passport; with it, who wouldn't want to try their luck on a bigger stage?
No one would blame this kind of thinking, after all, the youth of playing football only lasts a few years.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer: "Which clubs did Miko contact for you? Can you tell me?"

Pedretti didn't answer directly, but instead gave a wink towards the pool.

Henry and Vieira were relaxing in the water, their laughter faintly audible.

Roy nodded knowingly and didn't ask any further questions.

Some things are better left unsaid here.

He suddenly smiled and said, half-jokingly, "You've fulfilled my dream." — He had once publicly stated that he admired Wenger's coaching style the most.

Pedretti shrugged: "You have a chance if you want to achieve it."

Roy smiled and shook his head: "No, Thierry (Henry) will lose his job."

"Ronda will definitely say again, 'It's you again?'"

On the morning of June 8, set-piece practice was underway at the training ground.

Zidane stood in front of the ball, took his signature run-up, and unleashed a curling shot that sailed over the wall and into the top corner.

Scattered applause rang out from the sidelines, but for this master, it was just routine.

When it was Roy's turn, he casually placed the ball and took three steps back.

With a run-up and a leg swing, the ball traced a strange arc, plummeting rapidly after clearing the wall of players, grazing the crossbar and nestling into the net.

Goalkeeper Barthez stood still until the ball went into the net before he reacted.

"Merde! (Damn it!)"

He kicked the goalpost, cursing, "What the hell is that curve? The ball can curve in mid-air?"

Roy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Zidane stood to the side, hands on his hips, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

He had seen many free-kick masters, and the unpredictable trajectory and the way they suddenly dropped at the highest point were very similar to that of Juninho from the Brazilian team.

"One more?" Roy asked with a smile.

Zidane nodded and silently stepped aside.

This time, Butters stared intently at Roy's running start direction.

The instant the ball left his foot, he lunged sideways to the left.

You were right!

But the ball seemed to be under a spell; just as it was about to be tackled, it suddenly spun sharply and slammed into the angle between the goal frame and the crossbar.

With a muffled thud, the entire goal shook.

Barthes knelt on the grass, staring blankly at the still-swaying door frame.

The sound of camera shutters clicking was constant from the sidelines, but the training field was so quiet that you could hear the net swaying.

The assistant coach broke the silence with a whistle: "Alright, let's continue practicing defensive positioning!"

Zidane walked over and patted Roy on the shoulder, then after a moment of silence, asked, "Do you want to take the free kick?"

Roy shook his head and wiped the sweat from his face with his jersey: "You're a master, I'm a striker. A striker's job is to put the ball into the goal."

He paused, then gave a sincere smile: "Besides, we feel more at ease with you taking the penalty."

Some things don't need to be fought for; time will naturally hand them over to him.

The afternoon's group matches were highly competitive.

The reserve team wore orange vests and strictly followed England's traditional style of play in their tactical arrangements.

As soon as the first team kicked off, the substitutes retreated to defend, setting up England's 4-4-2 formation.

Their tactics are simple and direct.

After intercepting the ball in the backfield, they immediately launched a long pass to the two center forwards (Trezeguet and Saha), while the wingers desperately made runs down the flanks to deliver crosses, completely replicating England's signature "long ball and cross" style of play.

Whenever the substitute team gets a set piece, Roy takes the set piece himself, mimicking Beckham's free-kick style.

The ball traced an exaggerated arc in the air, flying straight to the center of the penalty area, leaving the first team's defenders struggling to cope.

The substitute midfielders kept a close eye on Zidane like shadows, disrupting the French team's attacking rhythm with fierce tackling.

On the main team side, the coach required them to adapt to the impact of this kind of English football.

Vieira kept giving loud instructions from the backfield to keep the defense compact, while Roy and Henry had to practice finding opportunities in a tight defensive formation.

Several times, the substitute team's rough defense caused the starters to fall hard, but the referee signaled for the game to continue.

"There aren't this many whistles at the European Championship!"

Santini roared from the sidelines.

After training, there is a daily 15-minute media open day.

Reporters swarmed the players like hungry wolves, their flashes blinding them, and the routine interview ended abruptly after a few simple questions.

Evenings are for psychological counseling sessions.

The lights were off in the hotel conference room, and the projector showed images of the fans cheering wildly.

Psychologists asked everyone to write down their biggest fear.

When the blank paper was handed out, Zidane's pen hovered over the paper for a long time.

The deathly silence in the dressing room of the Stade Louis II, the boos from the fans, and the ball I kicked away—these images flashed through my mind.

But in the end, he wrote: "Eight years old on the streets of Marseille"

Butters was snoring in the corner when he was suddenly called to wake up.

"What are your nightmares?" the psychologist asked.

The goalkeeper rubbed his sleepy eyes, suddenly straightened up, and mimicked in a thick Scottish accent, "Fabian! You're guarding the goal like you're having afternoon tea! You could have stopped that ball even if it was an old lady's shopping bag!"

He perfectly mimicked Ferguson's signature furious expression.

"If you do this again, I'll loan you to Siberia to guard the polar bears' goal!"

The locker room erupted in even louder laughter, with even the usually serious Desailly laughing until tears streamed down his face.

Barthes winked smugly, but secretly rubbed his fingers together as he looked down.

Barthez, who once shut out the invincible AC Milan, now bears the marks of time.

Last winter, he was kicked out of Manchester United and returned to where his dream began – Marseille.

The locker room is still the same locker room, only the champion photos on the wall have turned yellow.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw wrinkles around my eyes and my once beautiful hair had turned into baldness.

Occasionally, young team members would come to ask him for advice on save techniques. When he demonstrated, he could still make the same moves he used to make back then. But sometimes when he got up, all the joints in his body would ache slightly.

Occasionally late at night, he would pull out the videotape of that shutout game against Milan and stare blankly at his own triumphant self on the screen.

But the flickering blue light from the television always reflected this tired face.

Only he knows that some of the nightmares following conceding a goal cannot be hidden even by jokes.

Roy stared at the blank slip of paper, his pen tip trembling slightly as it hovered over the surface.

He suddenly remembered that recurring nightmare.

In the underground parking garage of a certain residential complex, he sat in front of the steering wheel, and his reflection in the rearview mirror showed him wearing black-rimmed glasses.

The passenger seat was piled with technical documents and quarterly KPI reports from a major internet company, and a parking permit that hadn't been removed was still stuck to the windshield.

The scent of grass on the football field, the smell of sweat in the locker room, and the deafening cheers when a goal was scored—all of these have become nothing more than a fleeting dream while I'm lying on my desk during my lunch break.

The scariest thing is waking up to find your phone screen showing the outstanding mortgage amount and an overtime notice from the product manager.

The pen tip fell, drawing a grinning emoji.

Some fears are best left unsaid, just like you can't admit that you sometimes pinch your thigh to make sure you're awake.

He folded the paper strip into a paper airplane and tossed it into the wastepaper basket.

"Feet are more honest than mouths."

He said to himself, then turned and walked toward the gym.

There's a treadmill there; you can hear your real heartbeat when you run on it.

The training on June 9th began with high-intensity tactical drills from early morning.

The coaching staff focused on developing a defensive system to counter Beckham's crosses from the right wing, and the defenders repeatedly practiced blocking crosses and timing their aerial duels.

On the offensive end, the strike partnership of Henry and Roy showed amazing chemistry.

When Roy has the ball, he is almost unstoppable. His crossovers and accurate passes keep defenders constantly on their toes.

Henry used his signature speed to tear apart the defense time and time again. The two played together smoothly, and several one-two passes caught the defenders off guard.

Goalkeeper Barthez practiced penalty saves alone after training, carefully studying the shooting habits of each potential penalty taker, making full preparations for a possible penalty shootout.

The goalkeeping coach stood by the goal and loudly reminded him: "When Beckham takes a penalty kick, he has a habit of glancing at the goalkeeper first, pausing briefly during his run-up, and he likes to shoot with his right foot into the bottom left corner!"

Barthez wiped the sweat from his face and had his assistant coach mimic Beckham's penalty-taking style, making save after save.

Every time he lunged in the wrong direction, he would pound on the goalpost and immediately demand to try again.

"Ten more!"

Barthes shouted, panting, "I'm going to make sure none of the British score!"

As the sun set, his figure leaped and made saves in front of the goal until it was completely dark.

At one o'clock in the morning, the hotel where the French team was staying was completely silent.

Roy tiptoed to the bar, looking for a glass of iced water.

Pushing open the door, I found Henry curled up on the sofa watching the NBA Finals live.

The Lakers vs. Pistons game is in overtime and has reached a crucial moment.

"Still not asleep?"

Roy poured himself a glass of water and sat down next to him.

Henry stared intently at the screen: "Kobe just hit the game-tying three-pointer, forcing overtime."

On TV, Kobe scored a total of 14 points in the last two quarters, and the Lakers eventually came back to win 99-91. Kobe raised his arms and roared in triumph.

Henry slapped his thigh: "Lakers are the champions!"

Roy shook his head and took a sip of ice water: "The OK duo is done for. The Pistons will crush them in the next game."

Henry smiled and pointed at him: "A bet on dinner?"

"make a deal."

Roy yawned, got up and left, saying, "Don't stay up too late, we have training tomorrow."

Henry suddenly spoke up: "You're not really going to come to the Premier League, are you?"

Roy paused, then turned around with a half-smile on his face: "What, are you scared?"

"what!"

Henry scoffed, "What a joke."

Roy stood in the doorway, the hallway light slanting across half of his body.

He raised his water glass in a gesture of greeting: "Remember to prepare the restaurant."

On the morning of June 10, the team held a light training session, focusing on practicing short passing combinations and off-the-ball movement. The players maintained their physical condition in a relaxed atmosphere.

In the afternoon, the entire team completed the official group photo and media footage shooting as required by UEFA, and the whole process was efficient and orderly.

In the evening, the players played Pro Evolution Soccer in the hotel lounge.

Henry skillfully chose Arsenal, while Sagnol controlled Bayern Munich.

"No, you can't use the French team!"

When Giuly wanted to choose the national team, Henry stopped him with a smile, saying, "We didn't authorize you to use our data."

Sagnol nodded in agreement: "Exactly, use your own strength."

Giuly shrugged helplessly and ultimately chose Monaco.

Henry led Arsenal to a 4-2 victory, while Sagnol defeated Giuly 3-1.

Dejected after losing, Giuly shouted that he wanted to play another game, which made his teammates who were watching burst into laughter.

The evening of July 6.

Leticia walked out of the TF1 television studio, the Parisian summer night breeze dispelling the heat of the studio.

She took out her phone and dialed that familiar number.

"Is the recording of the show finished?"

Roy's voice came from the other end of the phone, and the sounds of his teammates chatting and laughing could be faintly heard in the background.

As Leticia walked toward the parking lot, she laughed and recounted the funny things that happened during the recording: how the host teased her about blushing, and how the production team prepared a child to imitate Roy's celebration gesture.

Her tone was light and cheerful, but at one moment her voice suddenly softened: "I booked a flight for tomorrow morning."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for two seconds.

Actually, you don't need to.

Roy was interrupted before he could finish speaking.

"I want to see you win. And I dreamt of you holding the trophy."

Leticia brought the phone closer, her voice soft and nasal: "I count down the days since you left. I miss the smell of you after training, the scent of grass and sweat on you, the way your Adam's apple bobbed when you scored. Last night I slept with the training uniform you left in my apartment; it still felt warm."

"On the day we win the championship, I want you to come find me wearing that champagne-stained jersey. This time."

Her voice suddenly became so soft it was almost inaudible, "I want to peel it off you with my own hands."

In the distance, the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkled in the night, and she heard Roy's soft laughter coming from the phone.

"All right."

The afternoon before the match, the Stadium of Light hosted a training session for both teams.

According to the schedule, the two teams will enter the field one after the other, each having 45 minutes to get used to the field.

The pitch was meticulously trimmed, and the sprinkler system had just been turned off, leaving it glistening wet in the sunlight.

Staff set up barriers on the sidelines to ensure that each team's training was not disturbed.

The players walked onto the grass one after another, did some simple stretching, and then began group practice.

Passing and receiving the ball, shooting, and tactical positioning.

The training content may seem routine, but every detail could hold clues to tomorrow's tactics.

The first 45 minutes of training were completely closed to the public, with only the coaching staff and team personnel present.

The stadium's security personnel strictly guarded all entrances, prohibiting any outsiders from approaching.

But as the final 15 minutes approached, the atmosphere on the sidelines gradually became more lively.

Photographers and videographers from various countries had already set up their equipment on the sidelines, their lenses all aimed at the field.

As soon as the barrier was removed, the sound of camera shutters rose and fell, and flashes of light formed a continuous barrage in the twilight.

Reporters seized the opportunity to record every detail: the players' condition, the coaches' gestures, and even conversations on the bench.

Some media outlets even brought telephoto lenses in an attempt to capture possible tactical deployments from a distance.

After training, both teams left one after another, and the stadium returned to calm.

But the discussions in the media area had only just begun, with live broadcasts from various television stations, shorthand transcripts from newspapers, and breaking news reports from radio stations all coming out.

These images and texts quickly spread around the world, becoming important material for pre-match analysis. As night fell, the lights of the Stadium of Light gradually went out.

Off the field, speculation and discussion about tomorrow's match are fueled by these training videos.

That night.

The television screen in the hotel conference room flashed with the dazzling fireworks display from the opening ceremony, illuminating the languid figures of the French players.

Someone yawned and put their feet up on the coffee table.

The TV broadcast the host's passionate commentary, and the camera panned across the stadium stands filled with spectators, where the red and green Portuguese flags rippled like waves.

Suddenly, a deafening cheer erupted from the speakers, and several players who were playing cards instinctively looked up at the screen.

"They set off fireworks again."

Someone muttered something in the corner.

The television screen switched to an aerial view, showing the entire stadium bathed in colorful lights, like a dazzling gem.

Someone turned up the volume, and the melody of the Portuguese national anthem instantly filled the entire room.

When the camera focused on the players' tunnel, the meeting room finally fell silent.

The referee's whistle could be clearly heard on the television, signaling the official start of the opening match.

Roy held the glass of ice water, water droplets sliding down the side of the glass to his fingertips.

“Figo said he was injured a while ago,” he said with a smile and a shake of his head, “but I didn’t expect him to start anyway.”

Zidane leaned back on the sofa, his eyes glued to the television screen: "Luis's ability is undeniable."

He paused, then added, "If he and Costa retire, who will Portugal rely on?"

Roy took a sip of ice water and said with a smile, "It's thanks to that Portuguese kid from Manchester United."

Zidane was taken aback at first, then burst into laughter, and all his teammates in the locker room turned to look at them.

"You mean that curly-haired kid? He hasn't even started yet!"

Roy shrugged: "Just you wait and see."

When you become a coach in the future, don't be so shocked that you keep touching your bald head.

On television, the camera panned across the Portuguese substitutes' bench.

A 19-year-old boy was intently watching the game, his curly hair gleaming slightly under the lights.

Roy pointed at the screen and said, "You know that kid—"

A proud smile played on his lips. "He's my little brother."

The first half began with Portugal launching the first attack.

Figo made several breakthroughs against Haas on the right wing, but his cross was cleared by Patrick Müller.

In the 8th minute, Rui Costa played a through ball to Pauleta, but it was intercepted by Swiss midfielder Rafael Wijkie.

Switzerland tightened their defense and launched their first threatening attack in the 15th minute, when Swiss attacking midfielder Hakan Yakin's long-range shot was saved by Portuguese goalkeeper Ricardo.

Portugal immediately countered, with Simão cutting inside from the left and shooting, but his effort was saved by Swiss goalkeeper Steele.

In the 22nd minute, Figo took a corner kick, and Portugal captain Couto's header went over the crossbar.

Switzerland launched a quick counter-attack, and Alex Frey received a long pass and volleyed wide.

Portugal continued to apply pressure, and in the 35th minute, Maniche's long-range shot was saved by Steele and went out for a corner.

During a corner kick attack, Pauleta's header was disrupted by Patrick Müller and he failed to get a clean header on target.

Switzerland had a good chance in the 40th minute when striker Chapuisat received a pass from Yakin, turned and shot, but Ricardo caught the ball.

In stoppage time, Figo took a free kick directly, but Steele made a diving save to tip the ball over the crossbar.

The first half ended with both sides exchanging attacks but neither managing to score.

Portugal dominated possession but struggled to create clear-cut chances against Switzerland's tight defense, while Switzerland relied on quick counter-attacks to create threats.

At halftime, Portugal made the first adjustments.

Scolari waved his hand, and 19-year-old Ronaldo stood on the sidelines ready to come on. He quickly tugged at his socks and replaced Simão.

At the same time, Deco replaced veteran Rui Costa and took over the midfield command.

For the Swiss team, coach Kuhn substituted Celestini for Chapuisat, who had a lackluster performance in the first half.

After the start of the second half, Ronaldo was exceptionally active on the left wing.

He no longer focused on fancy dribbling as he used to, but instead used simple changes of direction to attack the Swiss defense time and time again.

Makelele suddenly burst out laughing and nudged Vieira beside him with his elbow: "See? This kid plays exactly like Roy, he's got a bit of the style."

Vieira stared at Ronaldo's clean and decisive change of direction on the screen and scoffed, "The moves are similar, but they're still lacking a bit of experience."

In the 52nd minute, Figo initiated an attack on the right wing, and Deco received the ball and quickly passed it across the field.

Inside the penalty area, Ronaldo skillfully flicked the ball with his left heel, shaking off the defender before unleashing a powerful shot with his right foot, but it was brilliantly saved by Swiss goalkeeper Steele.

Makelele slapped his thigh: "It's so similar!"

The young Portuguese player was not discouraged and continued to roam the left flank, occasionally cutting inside to look for opportunities.

His movement was more like that of a shadow striker, leaving the Swiss defense somewhat bewildered.

Müller had to frequently cover for the young player to deal with his energetic style.

In the 59th minute, Deco shook off Vicki in midfield and delivered a diagonal pass to Figo, who was making a run down the right flank.

Figo dribbled into the penalty area, suddenly changed direction when facing Müller's defense, and fired a right-footed shot into the far corner, which Steele could not save, giving Portugal a 1-0 lead.

In the 71st minute, Switzerland launched a counter-attack. Frey broke through on the left and crossed the ball, and substitute Celestini poked it into the net before Couto could reach it, leaving Ricardo helpless. The score became 1-1.

In the 85th minute, Figo took a corner kick from the left, and Ronaldo suddenly surged forward from the far post, outjumping Haas to head the ball into the net, giving Portugal a 2-1 lead again.

The final whistle blew, and the score was 2-1.

The young Cristiano Ronaldo was still excitedly waving his fist, his curly hair soaked with sweat.

Figo walked over and patted his head, and the two of them walked together toward the stands to thank the fans.

The Swiss players sat slumped on the grass in twos and threes.

Roy, watching Cristiano Ronaldo on the TV screen, smirked slightly: "Young man, if you run into me, I won't hold back. Just wait, your brother Roy is coming."

In another Group A match of the European Championship, Spain defeated Russia 1-0.

In the 59th minute, substitute Valerón scored with his first touch of the ball.

Russian player Sharonov received two yellow cards and was sent off.

Spain dominated the game, with Raul and Morientes creating several dangerous chances, but Casillas made crucial saves to keep a clean sheet.

The referee issued a total of 9 yellow cards in this match, the third most in a single European Championship game.

Russia extended their winless streak in the European Championship to eight games, their last victory being in 1988 (during the Soviet era).

Spain ended their Euro 2016 opening match curse and now leads the table with Portugal on 3 points.

Tonight, the Estádio da Luz will host one of the most anticipated matches of this European Championship.

Defending champions France face arch-rivals England.

Despite France's recent dominance in major titles, including the 98 World Cup and the 2000 European Championship, they have always struggled against England.

Looking back at their historical record, the two teams have met 6 times in major tournaments, with the French winning only once, drawing 2 and losing 3.

This number left French fans feeling frustrated, while Three Lions supporters were secretly pleased.

BBC reporters carrying cameras traversed the central square of Lisbon, which had been transformed into a sea of ​​Saint George flags.

In the morning light, hundreds of England fans formed a circle and danced impromptu. Some wore the national flag as a cape and swayed and twirled around the fountain.

Shouts of "England! England!" echoed throughout the streets, while a slightly off-key rendition of "God Save the Queen" drifted into the alleyways.

The camera panned across a series of flushed faces.

Some people dyed their hair red and white stripes, some wore plastic crowns, and many others simply had their necks reddened by the sun and alcohol.

Suddenly the crowd parted like a tide, as fans brought in portable speakers, and the deafening "Three Lions" instantly ignited the entire square.

The reporter struggled to squeeze through the waving crowd, the microphone recording only off-key singing and the clattering of bottles.

Occasionally, one could hear a few drunken boasts: "The French just wait and see!" "Tonight we're turning the Stadium of Light into Wembley!"

"It's our turn to beat the French in the European Championship."

When a BBC reporter held the microphone up to an elderly man, the gentleman from Manchester was supporting his wife's shoulder.

"I watched the Swedish game in 92 live."

He spoke into the microphone, his voice tinged with dissatisfaction, "That was the first time England and France had met in the European Championship. France had Papin, and we had Lineker, both top strikers. And what happened? It ended 0-0, and neither team even made it out of the group stage. It was a terrible match."

"this time?"

The old man paused for a moment, then said, "Of course England will win. However, France should have no problem getting second place in the group."

When pressed for an explanation, the old man waved his hand and said, "They have Zidane, after all."

He started counting on his fingers, "Roy, Henry, Vieira, Makelele... France has accumulated too many good players over the years."

His wife couldn't help but interject, "Then why did you just say England would win?"

The old man pursed his lips: "The ball is round, there has to be something to look forward to."

He pulled his wife and turned to leave, muttering, "But realistically speaking, the French are indeed strong."

When facing the camera, the French fans spoke with an undeniable confidence.

"Roy? He's only 19, but he's already the world's best striker, no doubt about it. 17 goals in the Champions League and 45 in the league, those are monstrous numbers in any era. We French have never produced such a genius before—faster than a prime Henry, more flashy dribbling than a young Zidane, shooting accuracy comparable to Papin, and he can also take a beautiful free kick."

"The scariest thing is that he can play for at least another 12 to 15 years. Imagine what level Roy will be at when he's 25? 30? After tonight, English defenders will have nightmares just hearing that name. I watched both legs against Arsenal, and Campbell was completely outmaneuvered by him. He's one of the best centre-backs in the Premier League. The first change of direction, Campbell couldn't keep up; the second sudden stop, Campbell just slipped. That kid plays like he's playing a video game on easy mode."

"The English always boast that their Premier League is the best league in the world, but look at who's the top scorer in Europe this season? Roy! And who's the top scorer in the Premier League this season? Thierry! It's us Frenchmen again. Now their own defenders have to face these two monsters in the European Championship. I really feel sorry for Terry and Campbell."

"You England have Beckham's crosses and Owen's speed, but Roy is a player on another level. After the game, the whole world will acknowledge: this will be the new king of football. 19 years old? That's just a number."

As the match draws near, the media clashes between Britain and France are intensifying.

Newspapers clashed head-on on the front page, experts engaged in heated debates on television programs, and radio hosts went all out.

English media outlets dug up historical records, emphasizing the French team's poor performance against the Three Lions in major tournaments, while also jokingly criticizing the French for always "clumsing at crucial moments."

French media retorted, listing the glorious achievements of French football in recent years and mocking the English for being stuck in the past.

In the pre-match analysis program on the TV station, the two legends had conflicting opinions.

The English guest emphasized physical strength and set-piece advantage, while the French expert talked about technical skill and tactical awareness.

Even the weather forecast has become a topic of contention.

English media said that the sunny weather in Lisbon was perfect for English football, but French media immediately countered that the cool evening breeze was just right for the French team's ball control rhythm.

In the final hours before the match, the fierce competition among the media reached its peak, as if the battle for victory had already begun off the field.

The Mirror ran the headline "The Lions of Lisbon" on its front page, featuring a photo of Beckham, Rooney, and Lampard with their tongues sticking out of their mouths, calling on the team to recreate their classic victory over France in 1982, while also hoping that Owen could end France's clean sheet record.

The Daily Telegraph used the inspiring headline "It's time to unleash your power" to describe the match as the starting point for England's journey to greater glory.

The Times, meanwhile, cleverly used Ledley King's name to launch a psychological attack on the French team, publishing headlines such as "'King' will help England rule France" and "Eriksson supports 'King' to help England rule France".

In contrast, The Guardian remained calm and restrained, with its headline "Eriksson calls for a cool head," drawing lessons from England's past major tournament defeats. Its article published the day before, "Why England can't win," offered a comprehensive critique of the team.

Newspapers unanimously reported on French captain Desailly's disparaging remarks about England, while also mentioning that he had lost his starting position.

Several media outlets also invited football legends to offer advice and strategies for defeating France.

The Sun, continuing its usual style, used the double entendre "Balls v Gauls" ("Gauls" refers to the French, and "Balls" refers to both football and, in a veiled reference to male genitalia) and Beckham's underwear advertisement to hype the issue.

The newspaper continued its ongoing coverage of the underwear advertisement by directly quoting Beckham's joke, "Ours are bigger than theirs," in the subheading.

This seemingly vulgar wordplay actually conveys the confidence that "the England team is genuine and can defeat France" through a playful approach.

To amplify the effect, the newspaper even published a sensual photo of three bikini-clad women holding lion cubs, presenting the "Three Lions" title in a visually striking way and cheering for the England team with its signature unconventional style.

The French media responded to the uproar from the British media with an elegant yet sharp rebuttal:

The front page of L'Équipe featured a black-and-white close-up of Zidane deep in thought with his eyes closed, and the headline was simply a line of gold-embossed French: "L'art avant tout" (Art above all).

The inner pages silently display three sets of data: next to France's 1040-minute clean sheet record, there is an exaggerated note that "the last time France conceded a goal, Rooney was still wearing children's clothes."

罗伊赛季数据统计表下写着：“法甲34场45球13助攻，欧冠13场17球8助攻，法甲每52分钟造1球，欧冠每44分钟造1球。”

He added, "Salute to all the guards who tried to defend him; you at least proved your courage."

The culture section of Le Figaro unusually devoted an entire page to analyzing "football aesthetics," with a comparison chart on the left showing Henry's footwork trajectory when he dribbled past five players in the Champions League, and on the right a rough illustration of a long pass and cross from England.

The editorial title quoted Victor Hugo: "The savage roar will eventually be defeated by the rhythm of civilization."

Le Monde set up a "British Humor Classroom" column in the corner of its front page, translating The Sun's headline into French and adding a note: "Please note that this is the most sophisticated pun in their language."

Below is a comment from a linguistics professor at the Sorbonne University in Paris: "When the British joke about genitalia, we discuss tactics in French, and that's how the Gauls respond."

2004年6月13日，荷兰在波尔图巨龙球场1-0小胜保加利亚，取得B组开门红。

Van Nistelrooy headed in a precise cross from Van der Meyde in the 40th minute, scoring the only goal of the match.

Bulgarian goalkeeper Zdravkov made several crucial saves, denying Van der Vaart's long-range shot and Zenden's one-on-one chance.

In the second half, Bulgaria attempted to turn the tide, but the Dutch midfield duo of Cocu and Davies displayed masterful control, using precise positioning and fierce interceptions to completely sever Bulgaria's midfield from their attack.

Berbatov found himself isolated in the attacking third, forced to drop back frequently to receive the ball, but he was unable to break through the steel cage woven by the Dutch.

Whenever Bulgaria attempted to launch an attack, Cocu's anticipatory interceptions and Davis's close marking would appear like shadows, nipping the opponent's attack in the bud.

Bulgarian midfielder Petrov nearly equalized with a free kick that hit the post just before the final whistle.

This victory laid the foundation for the Netherlands' path to advancing from the "Group of Death".

At 8:30 p.m., the atmosphere at Lisbon's Estádio da Luz was thick with tension and anticipation before the big match.

The stands were already packed, with the shouts of more than 60,000 fans rising and falling like waves crashing against every corner of the stadium.

The east stand was dyed a deep blue, a sea of ​​French fans.

They waved their tricolor flags and sang "La Marseillaise," their unified voices radiating the confidence of the defending champions.

The west stand was pure white, where England fans sang "God Save the Queen" in the loudest voices, their songs filled with a longing for victory.

Whenever the songs from both sides rose and fell, the fans in the neutral stands would cheer, pushing the atmosphere to a climax.

The lights around the stadium gradually came on, illuminating the stadium as if it were daytime.

The big screen began playing footage of the two teams' historical encounters, and each exciting moment elicited cheers from the stands.

Security personnel on the sidelines were on high alert, knowing what this match meant to both sets of fans.

As the start time of the game approaches, the fans' emotions are getting higher and higher.

Some people started stomping their feet rhythmically, causing the entire stands to shake; others waved huge national flags, creating colorful waves in the crowd; still others lit fireworks, and red smoke filled the air above the stands.

The announcement that the match was about to begin was broadcast over the loudspeaker, but it was almost drowned out by the roar of the fans.

When the players from both teams finally emerged from the tunnel, the entire stadium erupted in deafening cheers.

The flashes of light, like stars, captured this moment forever.

The fans stood up one after another, some raising their hands to applaud, some excitedly hugging the people next to them, and some even shedding tears.

At this moment, the Estádio da Luz became the center of European football, with all eyes focused on this green field.

Inside the players' tunnel, the French team's stars were chatting casually.

Zidane stood at the front, a calm smile on his face.

Behind him and Butters, Roy stood quietly, his eyes fixed intently ahead.

The English players' eyes were unconsciously drawn to this young man.

Beckham's expression was the most complex. At the pre-match press conference this afternoon, Roy unexpectedly sat in front of the microphone instead of Henry, who was supposed to be in the forward representative segment.

When asked by a reporter, "Who is greater, Zidane or Beckham?", the young man calmly replied, "David is excellent, but Zidane is something else entirely. Whether it's team honors, individual awards, or all-around technical ability, the gap between the two is more obvious than the media portrays—Zidane is a phenomenon."

When a British journalist questioned this answer, Roy raised an eyebrow and countered, "If Zidane's face is as captivating as David's, who do you think is better?"

A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd, and Zidane couldn't help but chuckle as well.

He immediately stopped smiling and added seriously: "In the end, football is all about the feet. Zidane can put on a masterful performance with his left foot, right foot, and header, while David—we all know he can only cross with his right foot."

"It must be admitted that David's right foot is truly unparalleled in the world when it comes to crossing. Just like the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, it is unmatched! But a football field is ultimately not an art gallery with only one mirror."

Standing in the passageway now, Beckham can still recall the knowing smiles of the reporters below the stage.

Lampard and Gerrard exchanged a glance, and Campbell instinctively clenched his fist.

They have all witnessed the storm this young man has stirred up in European football over the past year.

Tonight, he is the most dangerous weapon in the French team, even more fearsome than Zidane.

Young Rooney stood in the middle, his fists clenched.

He was eager to prove himself as the true genius in this match, but everyone knew that the 19-year-old Roy on the other side had already reached the pinnacle—the core of the three-time Champions League winner and the first Golden Boy award winner, achievements that were like a mountain.

Even if Rooney wins his second Golden Boy award in the future, people will only say, "He's the second Roy."

The Euro 2016 logo hanging above the passageway gleamed under the spotlight.

As the two teams walked out of the tunnel side by side, the entire stadium erupted in deafening cheers.

When Zidane and Henry waved to the stands, the cheers of the French fans instantly rose, and the entire blue stands erupted in cheers.

But the wildest cheers came the moment Roy raised his arm. Every wave of the 19-year-old prodigy's hand elicited a deafening roar, even drowning out the cheers from Zidane.

The English fans on the other side were not to be outdone; Beckham's signature smile and Owen's wave caused a deafening roar to erupt from the white stands.

However, attentive viewers will notice that many French fans are not holding the traditional tricolor flag, but banners with Roy's name and number printed on them.

One detail says it all: when the big camera panned across Roy, the screams erupting from the stands were noticeably mixed with the voices of more female fans.

Referee Marcus Merk's whistle pierced the Lisbon night sky as France kicked off first.

Henry gently passed the ball to Roy beside him, but Roy did not rush forward. Instead, he calmly passed the ball back to Makelele in midfield.

England immediately launched a high press, with Lampard and Gerrard pouncing on the French midfield like two hungry wolves.

Makelele made a decisive through pass forward before the double team arrived, and the ball accurately found Roy who had dropped back to receive it.

England's encirclement and suppression came swiftly and fiercely.

Rooney, who had retreated, was the first to rush forward, while Gerrard and Lampard also flanked him from both sides.

Roy, however, remained as composed as if he were dancing a waltz.

He first made a sudden stop and change of direction, and Rooney's lunge missed.

Then, with a gentle flick of the instep, the ball slipped between Gerrard's legs, only to be pulled back by a foot strike.

Finally, facing Lampard's feint with a lowered shoulder, he nimbly slipped through the gap between the two.

Enraged, Rooney twisted his leg from behind, and Roy fell to the ground.

A whistle blew.

Roy sat on the grass with his hands outstretched, a helpless smile on his face.

The referee ran over and gave Rooney a verbal warning.

Roy nimbly got up, signaled to the referee that he was alright, and turned to face the French fans' stands.

He raised his right hand, palm up, pointing towards England's half of the field, a mischievous smile on his lips.

This gesture drew cheers from the French fans.

Everyone understood the meaning of this gesture: "See? If I don't break the rules like this, they can't stop me at all."

Rooney stood to the side, his face flushed red.

Gerald quickly came over and pulled him away, afraid that this hot-tempered kid would cause more trouble.

Roy had already jogged back to his position, as if the earlier conflict was just a minor incident in the game.

(End of this chapter)