When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 172 Human joys and sorrows are not the same

Ferguson sat on the sidelines, chewing gum, and watched the first half of the game in silence.

His eyes never left Roy, the French rascal who had turned England's defense upside down tonight.

Manchester United's offer has been on the table for three weeks, but Roy hasn't made a single move.

Roy's agent, Mendes, was always polite when he answered the phone, but he always said the same thing: "Manchester United is a great club, and we will seriously consider it."

He always wears that well-trained smile when facing reporters' questions.

He used standard answers like "focusing on the Champions League" and "focusing on the European Championship" to evade the question, his words and sentences all evasive.

Although he has clearly stated that he will leave the team, he has kept quiet about his next destination.

Premier League or La Liga? In his words, this question became an open-ended riddle.

As transfer rumors intensified, his responses became increasingly vague.

Neither denying nor confirming, leaving only the suspense of "the outcome will be revealed when the league starts."

This meticulous approach not only whetted the media's appetite but also left ample room for potential buyers to bid.

"You cunning little rascal."

Ferguson cursed inwardly; he hated the feeling of being led by the nose.

He turned his head with a gloomy face and happened to catch a glimpse of Victoria not far away.

She was wearing oversized cat-eye sunglasses and had one son in each arm.

Despite her obvious displeasure, years of professional training in front of the camera had conditioned her body to react instinctively.

When she notices the camera turning, she immediately adjusts her posture to find the best shooting angle and present a perfect public image.

That attitude made the old man even angrier, and he ground his back teeth hard.

"Damn celebrity behavior"

He cursed inwardly, yet had to admit the reality: the choices this summer were frustratingly simple.

They either buy Roy, that slippery guy, at all costs, or they go to the transfer market to find another striker.

Ferguson stared at Roy on the field, weighing two options in his mind: either grit his teeth and buy this cunning kid, or sign an ordinary striker.

If you choose the former, you have to put up with this kid's pretentious act.

Choosing the latter might mean missing the best opportunity to lead Manchester United to new heights.

The transfer market is like a damn vegetable market, and the most attractive cabbage right now happens to be the one that's cunning.

The players from both teams marched out of the tunnel in neat formation, the dark blue jerseys of the French team and the pure white uniforms of England swaying slightly in the night breeze.

Ferguson sat there, hearing two aged yet powerful shouts beside him: "God bless England!"

He knew without turning around that it was Sir Bobby Charlton and Sir Hearst, the hero of the 1966 World Cup.

(Geoffrey Charles Hurst was a legendary English striker who scored a hat-trick in the 1966 World Cup final. He played for several English teams throughout his career, making 723 appearances and scoring 323 goals. He helped West Ham United win the FA Cup and the European Cup Winners' Cup, and helped England win their first World Cup title.)
But what does this have to do with the Scots? The Scots don't care about England outside of Manchester.

England kicked off the second half, with Rooney passing the ball back to Scholes, and England immediately launched an attack.

Beckham received the ball steadily on the right wing. Facing Lizarazu's pressure, he deftly flicked the ball with his right foot to create space, and then swung his leg to deliver a signature curved cross.

The ball flew in a perfect parabola towards the penalty area, and the England fans in the stands erupted in a deafening roar of cheers.

Irving suddenly accelerated, getting ahead of Thuram and controlling the ball with his chest.

Just as he was about to unleash a powerful shot, Abidal suddenly appeared from the side and made a vicious sliding tackle to clear the ball out of bounds.

Irving stumbled and fell in the penalty area, but the referee waved play on.

On the sidelines, Eriksson angrily waved his arms, while the French substitutes on the bench celebrated with high-fives in relief.

Beckham stood there, hands on his hips, his buzz cut covered in sweat that glistened under the stadium lights.

The French defenders were high-fiving each other in celebration of their successful defense, but Beckham had already turned and run back.

As he ran, he gave his teammates a thumbs-up, signaling them to keep playing like that.

Barthez took the goal kick, and the French team patiently passed the ball around in their own half.

Gallas passed back to Thuram, who then passed across to Lizarazu on the left wing.

The Frenchmen were as composed as they were on the training ground, and their dozen or so passes kept the English strikers busy.

Makelele received the ball near the center circle and observed the situation on the field.

Just as Gerrard pressed forward, Roy suddenly dropped back from the front line to receive the pass.

Makelele understood immediately and passed the ball to him.

Roy had his back to the goal, seemingly about to stop the ball and adjust, but at the moment of contact, he gently tapped the ball with his heel.

The ball slipped between Gerrard's legs as he missed his target. Roy turned and accelerated to catch up with the ball, delivering a surgical through ball before Lampard could cover.

Giuly surged forward on the right wing like an arrow, sweeping the ball across the face of goal before Ashley Cole could block it.

Henry arrived quickly and was about to shoot into the empty net when Campbell made a sliding tackle, using his thigh to block the ball out of bounds.

The cheers of the French fans turned into sighs, while the English defenders looked at each other, panting, celebrating their narrow escape.

Giuly stood at the corner flag, took a deep breath, and then took the corner kick.

The ball spun as it flew toward the England penalty area. Thuram leaped high in the crowd, but Campbell held his position firmly, and the two engaged in a fierce battle in the air.

Thuram barely managed to glide on the ball, which changed direction and flew towards the far post.

Henry made a symbolic jump at the far post.

Everyone knows that this Arsenal striker's heading ability has never been his strong suit.

It was more like he was performing some kind of ritualistic action, and sure enough, the ball flew over his head by about ten centimeters.

Heading a ball can mess up a hairstyle, although Henry neither headed a ball nor had a hairstyle.

Just then, Roy emerged from the crowd, poised to unleash a shot.

Gary Neville reacted quickly, stepping in front of Roy and blocking the shot with his back to the goal.

Seeing the situation, Roy immediately changed his tactics, gently flicking the ball with his right foot, and the ball bounced up on the grass.

Before the defenders could react, he quickly flicked the ball up with the outside of his right foot, sending it flying over the chaotic penalty area.
Gary Neville had just turned his head when he saw the ball float lightly over his head, while Lampard and Campbell beside him missed their targets as if in slow motion.

The next instant, Vieira charged toward the landing point like a hungry lion.

His tall frame created a gust of wind as he ran, and the bulging muscles beneath his jersey were clearly visible.

He stopped firmly on the edge of the penalty area, then swung his right leg like a battering ram, unleashing a powerful shot.

"boom!"

The sound of the ball leaving his foot was like a cannon shot.

It slammed through the dense forest of legs in the penalty area, struck the inside of the left post, and bounced into the net.

Although James made a save attempt, the ball was too fast and the angle was too tricky, so he could only watch the ball go into the net.

The English fans in the stands wearing Arsenal jerseys froze instantly, and several young men wearing red and white scarves instinctively covered their heads.

"Bloody hell!"

A middle-aged man with a London accent blurted out, his beer glass hovering in mid-air.

His female companion was staring intently at Vieira celebrating on the field, the Arsenal captain having just breached the goal of their supported England team.

The fans around him also went wild.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What a shambles!"

"We're fucking dire!"

Vieira immediately turned around after taking the shot, spread his arms like an eagle spreading its wings, and leaped into the air with a deafening roar.

The cheers of the French fans instantly swept across the entire stadium.

As Roy charged toward Vieira, he tapped his temple with his right index and middle fingers together, a sly smile playing on his lips that said, "I knew it would go in."

Vieira's previously tense celebratory expression instantly crumbled.

Gary Neville stood there, shaking his head helplessly, sweat streaming down his face.

After England kicked off, Rooney passed the ball back to Scholes, but the French striker had already pressed forward quickly.

Scholes made a hasty cross, and when Lampard received the ball, Makelele was already close in, forcing him to pass it back to Campbell.

The French team's formation resembled a tightened net.

Roy dropped back to midfield once again, easily receiving a pass from Vieira.

Gerrard pressed forward, and Roy made a deft turn and passed the ball to Zidane, who was there to receive it.

England's midfield was thrown into disarray by the two players' runs.

Whenever someone lunges at the ball carrier, the ball is always passed into an open space before they can close in.

The boos from the stands grew louder and louder.

Fifty minutes into the game, the French team suddenly launched a quick counter-attack.

Vieira intercepted the ball in midfield and quickly advanced, using a change of direction to get past Lampard before passing the ball to Henry on the left wing. Henry dribbled inside for two steps, then suddenly backheeled the ball to the onrushing Roy.

Without hesitation, Roy played a low through ball to Zidane on the edge of the penalty area.

Zidane deftly flicked the ball with the outside of his foot, and it returned to Henry's feet.

Henry accelerated past the defender and unleashed a curling shot from the left side of the penalty area, the ball arcing perfectly towards the far corner.

England goalkeeper James made a diving save to catch the ball securely.

James hastily launched a long ball, but it landed directly at Vieira's feet.

An angry jeer erupted from the stands from the England fans.

Before the criticism had even subsided, the French team had already launched a new offensive.

Giuly dribbled down the right flank and delivered a precise diagonal pass to Henry, who was making a run down the left.

Henry made no adjustment and immediately crossed the ball. With a dull thud, the ball struck Gary Neville's arm, which he hadn't yet managed to retract.

"Penalty!"

French players immediately surrounded the referee to protest, but German referee Merk simply shook his head to signal the game to continue. English fans breathed a sigh of relief, while the French bench erupted in chaos.

The atmosphere on the field was becoming increasingly tense.

In the 54th minute, Vieira was brought down by Scholes with a flying tackle while dribbling forward, and the referee immediately showed him a yellow card.

As Vieira rubbed his ankle and stood up, the French team doctor rushed onto the field to check on him.

A more intense clash occurred in the 55th minute when Henry received the ball with his back to goal on the edge of the penalty area and suddenly flicked it backward with his heel. This unconventional move caught Gary Neville off guard, and he was grazed on the forehead by the studs, causing him to bleed profusely. The team doctor rushed onto the field to bandage him, and England was forced to play with 10 men for the time being.

England quickly retaliated.

In the 56th minute, Beckham took a free kick in the attacking third. His signature curling shot was heading straight for the goal, but it was easily caught by French goalkeeper Barthez.

Two minutes later, Beckham tried another long-range shot, this time the ball went over the crossbar.

In the 59th minute, Rooney elbowed Thuram in the face during a challenge, and the French players angrily surrounded the referee, but Merk only gave Rooney a verbal warning.

Thuram covered his nose, blood seeping from between his fingers, and the scene became chaotic.

It wasn't until the 62nd minute, when Zidane delivered a precise pass from the left wing and Henry's powerful shot went just over the crossbar, that a collective sigh of regret rose from the stands, briefly pausing this tense duel.

In the 64th minute, Gary Neville delivered a through ball down the right wing. Beckham was about to start chasing the ball when he was pushed to the ground by Lizarazu from behind.

The referee blew his whistle, and England were awarded a free kick on the right side of the attacking third.

Beckham stood in front of the ball and habitually adjusted his socks.

The French team formed a tense defensive wall, while Barthez loudly directed the defensive positioning from in front of the goal.

With a run-up and a swing of his leg, Beckham's right foot traced a perfect arc, sending the ball spinning towards the near post.

Lampard suddenly burst out of the crowd, leaping high into the air before Thuram could react.

His forehead struck the ball squarely, changing its direction and sending it hurtling towards the near post.

Barthez made a desperate save, but it was too late.

1-2! England pull one back!
France's 1108-minute clean sheet streak has now come to an end.

The England fans in the stands erupted in cheers, waving their red and white flags wildly.

Lampard rushed to the corner flag to celebrate, followed closely by Beckham, the two embracing tightly. The French players looked at each other in disbelief; the goal had come so suddenly.

With twenty minutes remaining in the game, England wanted to capitalize on their momentum after pulling one back, but France launched a furious counterattack immediately after conceding the goal.

Vieira and Makelele formed an impenetrable wall in midfield, and England's attack was intercepted just before it crossed the halfway line.

France's counter-attacks were swift and fierce, with the ball rapidly passing between Zidane, Henry, and Roy, leaving the English players breathless and forced to retreat entirely.

The England fans in the stands were so anxious they were stamping their feet, and some were shouting "Push them up!", but the players on the field had no time to pay attention.

Lampard and Gerrard were forced to drop back to the edge of the penalty area to participate in the defense, and even Beckham dropped back to the right-back position to help defend.

France launched wave after wave of attacks, the ball flying back and forth over the English penalty area, and James kept shouting instructions to the defensive line, his voice almost hoarse.

England then made a substitution, with Vassell, who was turning 24, replacing Owen.

In the 71st minute, Lampard pulled on Vieira's shirt while defending and was shown a yellow card by the referee.

Just one minute later, the situation on the field changed dramatically.

Beckham cleared the ball with a long kick inside the penalty area. The ball flew across the halfway line, and Rooney skillfully bypassed Thuram's interception on the left side of midfield, instantly creating a two-on-one counter-attack opportunity for England.

Rooney dribbled the ball all the way, leaving the French half empty except for Gallas, who was fighting and retreating.

Vassell made a desperate forward run through the middle, raising his hand to ask for the ball, and the England fans in the stands all stood up.

"Spread it!"

Some people have already shouted themselves hoarse.

But this Everton kid only has the goal in his eyes.

He suddenly stopped and changed direction, causing Gallas to stumble. In desperation, Gallas stretched out his right leg.

Rooney fell to the ground and rolled twice in the penalty area.

The referee, Merk, blew his whistle almost simultaneously, and the German jogged over, pointing his right hand to the penalty spot with a crisp and clean gesture.

Gallas knelt on the ground with his hands covering his head, and the French players immediately surrounded the referee to protest.

But the referee clearly saw that his studs did indeed scrape Rooney's shin guard.

The entire stadium erupted in chaos.

A deafening roar erupted from the stands, and England fans sprang to their feet, their red and white scarves waving wildly above their heads.

Someone raised their beer mug high, the golden liquid tracing an arc in the air.

Someone hugged the stranger next to them tightly, jumping and skipping.

Fans in the back rows even stood on the seats, waving their arms and singing loudly.

In the bar in front of the television, the clinking of glasses filled the air.

"We're going to tie it!"

An elderly fan at the bar slammed his fist on the table and shouted, splashing beer foam everywhere.

In every household's living room, the children were startled by the sudden cheers, and the pet dogs started barking as well.

At that moment, all of England was momentarily breathless.

From London pubs to Manchester fan squares, thousands of eyes were glued to the white penalty spot, so much so that people forgot to put down their glasses while they were hanging in mid-air.

In the stands, Victoria held Brooklyn and Romeo in her arms.

Little Brooklyn tugged at his mother's sleeve and asked, "Daddy, can you kick it in?"

Before Victoria could answer, an elderly gentleman wearing a Three Lions scarf leaned forward from the back row and said, "Of course, son! Your father is David Beckham!"

Beckham placed the ball steadily on the penalty spot and took a deep breath.

Barthez hopped lightly to the left and right in front of the goal line, his blue-black jersey soaked with sweat.

The French goalkeeper stared into Beckham's eyes and suddenly remembered the pre-match video analysis.

This England number 7 has taken four of his last five penalties, all of which went to the left.

"Pounce on the right!"

The coach's shouts seemed to echo in my ears.

Barthes took a deep breath, his nostrils filled with the smell of grass and sweat.

In a daze, he seemed to have returned to Munich in 1993, and the young goalkeeper who saved Van Basten's shot seemed to have possessed him again.

Run-up, then shoot!
The instant Beckham touched the ball with his right foot, the French goalkeeper lunged to his right as if he had heard the starting gun.

He made the right bet! The edge of his hand felt the leather against his skin as the ball was forcefully blocked off the goal line.

The stadium erupted in cheers the moment that brilliant diving save deflected the ball!
Barthez rolled twice on the grass, and when he got up, he saw Beckham kneeling on the ground.

The French players rushed over like madmen, pinning their goalkeeper underneath.

The England fans' section was deathly silent, with some burying their faces deep in their scarves.

This is the 14th penalty missed in regular time in the history of the European Championship. Interestingly, the last three missed penalties were all in matches officiated by this German referee, Merk.

French fans celebrated wildly, and Barthez excitedly pounded his chest.

Beckham knelt at the penalty spot, scratching his head in frustration.

As the match entered its final stages, both coaches made adjustments simultaneously.

For the French team, Giuly, who was exhausted, was replaced by Pires, and Gallas also went off to rest, while Sagnol came on as a substitute.

England substituted Hargreaves for Scholes and Heskey for Rooney.

Rooney walked toward the sidelines, panting heavily. As he passed Beckham, he suddenly slowed down and glared at the captain who had missed the penalty he had won.

Four players hurriedly ran off the field, high-fived their substitute teammates, and the new players immediately got into the game, maintaining the pace of the match without slowing down.

In the 75th minute, Roy received the ball in midfield and suddenly accelerated and changed direction to get past Lampard.

Ashley Cole had to leave his defensive zone to cover, and Roy immediately passed the ball to the open space on the right wing.

Pires, who had just come on, swept past like a gust of wind. Ashley Cole desperately chased back, but the French team's attack was already surging into the penalty area like a tidal wave.

Roy received the ball with his back to goal on the edge of the penalty area and was instantly double-teamed by Lampard and Gerrard.

He turned with the grace of a ballerina and poked the ball to Zidane through the gap before the two players closed the goal.

The French master didn't even stop the ball; he flicked it across to the right wing with a flick of his ankle.

Pires darted out like lightning, received the ball, and flicked it through Campbell's legs.

Just as he was about to break into the penalty area, Campbell slid in and brought Pires down on the edge of the penalty area, along with the ball.

Pires rolled twice on the grass, and the French players immediately raised their hands to indicate a foul.

The referee blew his whistle and ran over, showing Campbell a yellow card.

The boos from the French fans had barely subsided before they turned into cheers.

This position is directly opposite the goal, exactly 20 yards away.

Zidane picked up the ball and gently passed it towards Roy, raising an eyebrow slightly—"You or me?"

Roy jogged over, a smile playing on his lips, pretending to help him position the ball correctly, but actually lowering his voice to say:

"You kick the ball, I'll pick up the scraps."

The England team's wall of players moved restlessly from side to side, like waves of wheat swaying in the wind.

James yelled at the top of his lungs, "Move a little further to the far left! Don't leave any open space in the near corner!"

Campbell and Ridley King sandwiched Henry tightly between them, their shoulders pressed together with a dull thud.

Roy crouched down and slipped to the outermost edge of the human wall, standing a little too close to Beckham.

He pretended to turn his head and squeeze through the people around him, but actually used his peripheral vision to measure the distance between James's position and the near post.

Makelele suddenly squeezed in as if to compete for position, which caused a shoving match among the England players.

In that chaotic moment, Roy's right toe imperceptibly stepped half a yard further onto the grass.

The referee blew the whistle, Zidane took three steps to run up, and his right instep curled into an arc.

The ball soared into the air, flying over the top of the chaotic wall of people.

James's view was blocked by the crowd, and by the time he saw the ball, it was too late.

The ball, as if attracted by a magnet, spun into the upper right corner of the goal, causing the net to tremble with a "whoosh".

The French players erupted instantly, and just as Zidane raised his arms, Roy jumped onto his back.

While the England players were still complaining to the referee about interference with the wall, James kicked the goalpost hard, making the crossbar vibrate.

The moment the ball went into the net, the French fans' section of the Estádio da Luz erupted like a volcano.

The shouts of "Zizou! Zizou!" swept across the stadium like a tidal wave, and the red, white and blue flags surged like waves in the stands.

Some people flung their scarves into the air, while others stood on their seats waving their arms, making the entire stands undulate like a wheat field being blown by a strong wind.

The cheers even drowned out the stadium announcements, and the French substitutes on the bench jumped and huddled together in celebration.

In stark contrast, another section of the stands was deathly silent.

England fans stood frozen in place, some mechanically chewing hot dogs they could no longer swallow, others burying their faces deep in their Three Lions scarves.

The stadium's overhead lights were particularly glaring at that moment, illuminating the starkly contrasting emotions of the two sets of fans.

After the score became 3-1, the French team, like a seasoned chess player, began to consolidate their gains.

The ball was passed back and forth slowly at their feet, and the English players ran and pressed in vain, but couldn't even get a touch on the ball.

Vieira and Makelele deliberately lingered for two seconds after each interception, drawing boos from the stands.

England's attack was like waves crashing against rocks, easily neutralized by the French team as soon as it reached the midfield line.

Roy suddenly slowed down when he received the ball on the right wing. Just as Cole rushed up, Roy flicked the ball with his toe.

The ball obediently leaped over Cole's head.

In a moment of desperation, the England left-back grabbed Roy's shoulder and pulled him to the ground like a kite string.

The moment the yellow card was shown, a chorus of boos erupted from the French fans' stands.

Roy slowly got up, carefully tucking the torn hem of his jersey back into his shorts, and then surprisingly reached out his hand to Cole.

Cole paused for a moment, a hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, but in the end, under the watchful eyes of everyone, he reluctantly shook the other person's hand and muttered under his breath, "Sorry, mate."

The French fans in the stands immediately erupted in jeers and mockery, with some mimicking the awkward handshake gesture that Cole had been forced to make.

Roy smiled and patted Cole on the shoulder as he turned around, as if to say, "It's okay."

Kerr could only shake his hand in frustration, lower his head and walk back to his defensive position, his ears turning red to his neck.

This forced gentlemanly act was even more embarrassing for him than the card he was given.

The broadcast camera panned across the coaching bench, where Eriksson kept checking his watch like a student waiting for the school bell to ring, while Santini, with his legs crossed and chewing gum, looked as if he were enjoying a performance that he had already won.

The final whistle pierced the night sky, and the entire stadium erupted in cheers.

The French fans erupted in a deafening roar, their red, white, and blue flags surging like waves. They had finally broken their 41-year winless streak against England.

The blue-clad figures on the field instantly huddled together; some knelt down and kissed the grass, while others took off their jerseys and threw them into the stands.

The players who rushed out of the bench were like a herd of horses running wild, knocking the coaching staff off balance.

The other half of the stadium was eerily quiet.

The players in white jerseys were either slumped on the ground or lying on their backs, their sweat glistening under the lights.

Beckham crouched on the grass, covering his face with his hands.

Roy walked over and patted him on the shoulder, and the two exchanged jerseys in silence.

He tied Beckham's white jersey around his waist, walked shirtless towards the players' tunnel, and the number 7 swayed gently in the night breeze.

The England fans' stands were quickly emptied, like the tide receding.

The plastic seats echoed hollowly as people left, and abandoned beer glasses and flattened flagpoles were scattered in the aisle.

A few fans, reluctant to leave, still sat scattered in the last few rows, staring blankly at the score on the big screen, their clapping slow as if they were attending a funeral.

While French fans were celebrating with champagne, the beer in the English stands had long since run dry.

Under the same night sky, some people embraced in cheers, while others left in silence.

Human sorrows and joys are not interlinked.

(End of this chapter)