When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 184 The stadium is like the Trojan plain, the outcome uncertain, the gods silent.
July 3, 2004, French national team training base in Lisbon.

After finishing his morning training session, Roy strode toward the team's media studio.

His personal assistant, Heathlen, had already set up a Sony DCR-PC330 digital camcorder, which Roy's team had purchased specifically to record everyday moments.

"Is the angle adjusted?"

Roy walked up to the camera and casually straightened the collar of his sweat-soaked training uniform.

Heathlund gave an OK sign: "The tripod is very stable, and the viewfinder is adjusted."

Claire handed over a note: "Ferrari's PR director specifically requested that you mention their new F2004 race car. But don't make it too obvious, just be natural."

"Michael's qualifying session tomorrow, right?"

Roy took a deep breath and spoke slowly in slightly broken German: "Michael, the entire French team and I are watching the qualifying race in Magny-Cours tomorrow. Remember that thrilling overtake you made in your F2003-GA at Monza last year? That taught me to never give up. This year your F2004 is even faster, and our European Championship journey is coming to an end. Viel Erfolg! (Good luck!)"

After recording, Claire quickly sent the video file to Ferrari's media department via encrypted email.

In less than two hours, the video appeared in the Ferrari team's internal system.

After filming, Heathlen immediately took out the MiniDV tape and carefully labeled it "20040703_Schumacher's Blessing_Master Tape".

Claire then dialed Ferrari's media hotline: "The video footage has been recorded and we will transmit it via a secure link within twenty minutes."

At Ferrari's pit stop at the Magny-Cours circuit in France, Technical Director Ross Brawn personally received the video file.

Claire turned the IBM laptop toward Roy and tapped the space bar with her finger.

The screen lit up, and Schumacher's figure appeared against the noisy background of the Ferrari service station.

“Roy, I’ve watched your game footage. Your performance on the field is like that of a natural race car driver – that precise shooting and decisiveness when breaking through. Even Jean Todt said you should come to Maranello and try out our simulator. But right now, the European Championship is your most important track.”

He picked up a steering wheel inlaid with carbon fiber and engraved with the "Magneti Marelli" logo.

“Look at this steering wheel. It’s a precision instrument that we specially tuned for the French Grand Prix, and every button has been tested over thousands of kilometers. The skill and determination you showed on the field reminded me of my most competitive years.”

"Tomorrow I'll give it my all on the track, just like you do on the pitch. We both have important finals on Sunday—I'll be in Magny-Cours, and you'll be in Lisbon. If you can bring the Henri Delaunay Trophy back to France, this specially tuned steering wheel is yours. I'll personally engrave 'For the racing driver on the football field' on it."

The interaction between top athletes is like two stars illuminating each other.

When an F1 legend like Schumacher and a football star like Roy cross paths, a wonderful chemistry is created.

Schumacher's racing fans will turn their attention to football, and Roy's fans will become interested in F1.

This cross-industry interaction has amplified the influence of both individuals, growing like a snowball.

For sponsors, this is like a windfall.

Ferrari can leverage Roy's influence among young fans to increase brand exposure, while Roy's sponsors can also use Schumacher's international fame to open up new markets.

This win-win collaboration will boost the commercial value of both athletes.

Meanwhile, back in 2004, before YouTube even existed, Roy had his team record everything about him with the latest Sony cameras—the sweat during training, the jokes in the locker room, and the moments of pre-game nervousness that made him gag.

These cardboard boxes filled with MiniDV tapes are like jars of old wine buried deep inside.

When the era of short videos arrives in a decade or so, while other stars can only reminisce about their youth through blurry TV recordings, Roy's team will be able to release a 4K restored version of "The Daily Life of a 19-Year-Old Genius," allowing young fans to witness the beginning of a legend firsthand.

This forward-thinking approach to record-keeping will ultimately become the most valuable asset of his business empire.

On the morning of July 4, 2004, at the Lisbon football team hotel...

Roy carried his DV camera through the corridor. The morning sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the lens was still hazy with a touch of morning mist.

Roy's camera gently pans to Ms. Marceau, the lobby manager.

She was organizing the front desk documents when she looked up and saw the camera. She immediately put down her work and gave a professional and friendly smile.

Good morning, Mr. Roy.

Ms. Marceau greeted him in English, her voice gentle and polite, "How did you sleep last night?"

Roy lowered the DV camera slightly, positioning himself at the edge of the frame.

He replied in fluent Portuguese: “Very good, Ms. Marceau. The room is very comfortable, thank you for your thoughtful arrangements.”

A hint of surprise flashed in Ms. Marceau's eyes, and the corners of her mouth unconsciously turned up: "Your Portuguese is so fluent."

Her tone was noticeably more relaxed.

"The weather is nice today, hopefully it's a good omen."

Roy continued speaking in Portuguese, his voice relaxed and natural.

Ms. Marceau nodded, her eyes softening with affection, and her voice even became more cheerful: "Of course, of course! All of Lisbon is waiting for your good news."

Team doctor assistant Anna hurried past with her notebook, but paused when she saw Roy's camera.

"The morning checkup data is even better than yesterday," she said, looking down at the report, her ear tips slightly red. "The muscle condition is perfect. However..."

She hesitated before looking up, "Are you sure you don't want to do another myofascial release?"

Roy turned the camera toward the restaurant and said with a smile, "Sometimes, a delicious breakfast is the best way to relax, especially for your facial muscles."

The camera slowly pans into the restaurant, following the footsteps.

Zidane was leaning against the window, sipping coffee, the morning light gilding the top of his bald head.

Seeing the camera pointed at him, he smiled and shook his head, lightly tapping his temple with his index finger in a gesture of "don't film me".

"Zidane," Roy's voice came from behind the camera, "say hello? Tell me how you feel about tonight's game?"

Zidane picked up his coffee, took a sip, and a sly smile suddenly appeared on his lips: "The Greeks are indeed tough to deal with, but if you can score three more like last time..."

"Then I can just stroll around the field during this game. Pass the ball, enjoy the scenery, and wait for the final whistle. I can take the trophy home without even breaking a sweat."

“You’re dreaming,” Roy said with a smile and a shake of his head. “We still need you to take control of the situation.”

Zidane burst into laughter after hearing this, his coffee cup wobbling as he said, "Alright, alright, looks like this old man has to give it his all again."

Just then, Vieira and Pires walked by, and Vieira casually patted Roy's butt, causing the camera to suddenly shake.

"What are you filming?"

Vieira leaned closer to the camera and grinned.

Roy immediately turned the DV camera towards them: "Come on, say something harsh to the Greeks."

Pires frowned but remained silent.

Since the start of the European Championship, his familiar left-wing position has been firmly occupied by the number 10, while he has consistently been unable to compete with the in-form Giuly on the right wing.

Vieira grabbed Pires by the shoulder, flashing a menacing smile at the camera: "Listen, the Greeks should be competing in the Olympics. Weightlifting, wrestling, javelin—let them choose! Football? Tonight they'll see who's on this turf!"

Pires stumbled from being shaken by him and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

As if that wasn't enough, Vieira added, "When they go back, remember to buy economy class tickets—but don't bother with the 20kg baggage allowance, since there aren't any trophies to check in anyway."

The restaurant erupted in laughter; even Desailly, who was reading a newspaper, couldn't help but shake his head and laugh.

Trezeguet poked his head out from the other end of the table: "Damn, what a fucking trash talk!"

While slicing an egg, Makelele replied without looking up, "That's what Roy said to the Porto fans on the radio last time, right?"

The camera slowly pans across the restaurant, showing Henry spreading jam on bread.

He looked up at the camera, ran his fingers over his shiny scalp, and smiled, "Hey, make me look good in the picture, this face is going to be on the front page tonight."

After saying that, he immediately lowered his head and continued spreading jam. Although he had scored three goals since his form improved, compared to Roy's amazing nine-goal performance, this number felt like bread crumbs from the previous day.

The restaurant gradually became lively.

The players came in in twos and threes and each took a plate.

Some people ordered fried eggs and bacon, while others chose yogurt and fruit. Butters slowly peeled a hard-boiled egg.

France's defense had quite a few weaknesses in this European Championship, but Barthez's goal remained rock solid.

The former Manchester United goalkeeper silenced all those who doubted his form with a flawless performance.

If Barthez can keep a clean sheet against Greece in the final, he might even have a chance to compete with Cech, who has had a perfect performance in this tournament, for the best goalkeeper award.

It's worth noting that the Czechs only conceded two goals throughout the entire tournament.

The waiters pushed the food cart back and forth, occasionally bending down to refill the coffee pot and collect the used napkins.

At the long table by the window, Santini and his assistants were talking in hushed tones.

The manager, who is about to join Tottenham after the match, knows very well that if he lifts the trophy tonight, he will have many more options.

The French Football Federation has quietly contacted Blanc, the recently retired member of the 98 champions, who makes no secret of his desire for the managerial position.

When questioned about his lack of coaching experience, Blanc retorted, "I know some people will bring that up, but I want to say that the position of national team coach is much higher than that of a coach. The national team coach must first and foremost be a qualified manager, and I believe I can handle that. Deschamps led Monaco to the Ligue 1 title in his second year after retiring, and then to a treble the following year. What the national team needs first and foremost is someone who can unite the locker room as one, and I know that better than anyone."

Besides Blanc, there are several other familiar names on the French Football Federation's shortlist for a new head coach.

Platini highly values ​​Tigana, who led Monaco to the league title, and Mechu, who led Senegal to a miracle in 02, is also under consideration.

Domenech, the current U21 head coach, is also among the candidates as an assistant coach.

Roy and several teammates sat around a long table having breakfast.

The DV camera was mounted on a tripod in the distance, with a red light on, but no one was paying any attention to the lens.

“The Portuguese can’t even fry an egg properly,” Giuly said, pursing his lips. “The yolk is completely cooked, with no runny center at all.”

"At least better than England, where they can fry an egg until it's rubbery."

Roy took a bite of his bread and mumbled as he asked Rothen, "Where are you going next season? I heard that teams in the Premier League and La Liga want you."

Rothen counted on his fingers: "Manchester United, Liverpool, Barcelona, ​​Atletico Madrid"

He suddenly slammed his fork on the table. "Forget it, rather than being a substitute for a big club, I'd rather stay in Ligue 1 and be the boss."

"Let's do the math, guys—if I transfer to the Premier League now, my weekly wage will be at most £50,000, and I'll have to fight for a starting position all over again. Should I go to Paris or stay at Monaco? The hype surrounding the treble wins will at least get me a weekly wage of €80,000, plus advertising endorsements and local commercial activities. Staying in Ligue 1 means I'll make a good amount of money, but the pressure will be halved."

Evra whistled: "The nightclubs in Paris are way better than those in Manchester."

Rothen blinked: "Wait until you're thirty, get a big contract, transfer to another club, and then spend two more years making money in Qatar. Isn't that better than getting kicked around in the Premier League?"

Juli raised an eyebrow: "You're quite the shrewd one."

“Of course,” Rothen raised his glass. “If we don’t capitalize on the treble-winning momentum now, are we going to be a substitute in the Premier League?”

“Going to Paris to be the boss is indeed a good idea,” Roy said calmly after listening to Rothen’s words. “To each their own.”

"Manchester United made you an offer, right? They need a striker." Evra lowered his voice. "I heard Ferguson even reserved the number 7 jersey for you—Solskjaer wore it temporarily last season, just waiting to give it to you this year. He even halted Rooney's transfer for you; that's some sincerity."

Roy stirred his coffee: "They gave you a quote too?"

“Yes,” Evra nodded, “but I want to go to the same club as you. With you, the championship is guaranteed.”

Roy chuckled: "You're quite the schemer."

"If you go, you'll just be partnering with Giggs, and Manchester United doesn't play 4-3-3. I'll definitely be following behind Van Nistelrooy, and with Ronaldinho and that Portuguese kid up front, we don't even know how to arrange formations. Is one ball enough to cover everything?"

When Evra brought up the topic, he seriously considered the transfer for the first time.

With the European Championship final just around the corner, these thoughts just wouldn't go away.

He had to think about it.

Roy had three offers in hand, each representing the team's utmost sincerity.

Although Manchester United insisted on taking 30% of the image rights, he could accept that.

The reason for signing a 100% image rights agreement in Monaco was to leave room for negotiation now.

Chelsea is indeed willing to offer exorbitant weekly wages and 100% image rights; Abramovich's checkbook is never ambiguous.

But behind Manchester United's 70% revenue lies another story: the exposure of 70,000 spectators at each Old Trafford match, the dozens of numbered jerseys sold every minute in the official store, and the prominent position that inevitably appears in Nike's global advertising.

Roy knew in his heart that Manchester United's offer was indeed the best solution.

Although his salary wasn't the highest, he understood all too well what wearing the number 7 jersey meant.

That legendary number represents a guarantee of global business value.

Ferguson's promise was solid: if Roy joined, he would be the future flag bearer of Old Trafford. The number 7 jersey at Manchester United represents more than just a central role on the pitch.

This signifies the thunderous roar of Old Trafford, the pursuit of top global brands, and the enduring legend of the most successful club in Premier League history.

Becoming the king of Manchester United is equivalent to standing at the pinnacle of commercial value in world football.

Countless top endorsements and tens of thousands of jerseys bearing his number outside Old Trafford will all become part of his business empire.

Ferguson wanted to give him not just a position, but a platform for the legend to continue.

Van Nistelrooy's pivot, Scholes' orchestration, and Giggs and Ronaldo's explosive runs down the flanks – this system was practically tailor-made for him.

If he really transfers, Rooney probably won't have a chance to come back.

This team will be a title contender for the next few years.

Chelsea's offer has another layer of allure – it's very risky, but the opportunity is also rare.

Compared to traditional powerhouses like Real Madrid, AC Milan, Bayern Munich, and Manchester United, Chelsea's history is almost entirely blank.

Despite having won several league titles and the European Cup Winners' Cup, Stamford Bridge now welcomes an ambitious new owner and manager who are aiming for new heights.

Roy won the Champions League with Monaco, so he knows this feeling best.

Conquering new territories with your own hands is more addictive than reaping the rewards without sowing.

It's too early to think about these things now. Whatever the final choice, we'll have to talk to Ferguson and Mourinho in person after the European Championship final before making a decision.

Roy stood up and waited until the last person left the restaurant before turning to walk towards the DV camera in the corner.

He turned the camera to himself, his face still smeared with jam: "Guys, tonight's final."

He wiped his mouth, revealing his signature roguish grin. "Either you win the toast, or you get out—but you know how it is, I only ever choose the first option."

"My first European Championship final, though it won't be the last. The Greeks are really strong this year, but they'd better pray the net holds up well tonight. After all, I love scoring in finals."

"Just you wait and see. Once we bring the trophy home from Portugal, the Greeks can focus on preparing for the Olympics. That's where they belong, right?"

After saying that, he reached out and blocked the camera, plunging the screen into darkness, leaving only his laughing voice in the background:
See you tonight, don't change the channel.

2004年7月4日晚上8点45分，里斯本的夏夜闷热而潮湿。

The stadium was as bright as day, and the stands were packed with people.

Inside the Estádio da Luz in Lisbon, the French fans completely overwhelmed their opponents.

They wore neat blue jerseys, waved tricolor flags, and sang loudly.

This French team, which marched in triumphantly, won all five of their matches from the group stage to the knockout stage. Their terrifying firepower, averaging 3.8 goals per game, made everyone believe that the championship was already in their grasp.

In contrast, the cheers from the Greek fans seemed weak and isolated.

Although they were also wearing blue and white jerseys and shouting their hearts out, their voices were quickly drowned out by the cheers of the French.

Pre-match odds showed that Greece had only a paltry 5% chance of winning, and even the most optimistic experts believed it would be a one-sided match.

French fans even prepared celebratory champagne in advance, just waiting for the final whistle to blow and start the party.

However, in one corner of the stadium, a small group of Greek fans stubbornly continued to wave their national flag.

They knew it was a miracle that their team had reached the final, but in football, miracles often happen when you're not considered a favorite.

More than 30 cameras were set up throughout the stadium, transmitting live footage to the world.

The signal was transmitted around the world via cable and satellite, and countless people watched the game, from convenience store TVs in Tokyo late at night to open-air bars on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, and the giant screens in Times Square, New York.

In the broadcast control room, more than a dozen monitoring screens flickered with blue light.

Technicians stared intently at the world map in the center, which was covered with countless green dots indicating signal reception—from Europe to the Americas, from Africa to Asia, and even as far north as Pyongyang on the Korean Peninsula, a few signal access points were receiving broadcasts.

The director switched to aerial footage, showing the entire Stadium of Light shining brightly in the night.

Technicians unconsciously held their breath; such a global live broadcast spectacle is rare in football history.

The referee put the whistle in his mouth; the game was about to begin.

At this moment, the eyes of hundreds of millions of people around the world are focused on this green field.

"CCTV! CCTV! Good evening, viewers! Welcome to the live broadcast of the European Championship final! A thrilling clash is about to unfold at the Estádio da Luz in Lisbon – the underdog Greece will challenge the defending champions, France. Greece's coach, Rehhagel, has built a solid defense, but tonight they will face France's formidable attacking line – with veteran Zidane anchoring the defense and rising star Roy leading the charge. Let's wait and see if Greece can continue their underdog run, or if France will continue their reign of dominance!"

At 3 a.m., television screens across China began to light up.

While the rest of the country slept, countless windows glowing with blue light stood out conspicuously.

The narration traveled through the airwaves to every household. In the early hours of the morning, when most people were asleep, countless young eyes were still glued to the screen, waiting for that familiar figure to create a miracle.

BBC Television:
"Friends, this is the most fascinating thing about football—a Greek team that stumbled through the qualifiers has now reached the final stage at the pinnacle of European football. And opposite them is a star-studded French team, with Henry and Roy forming a formidable attacking duo, like two drawn swords. In 90 minutes, we will either witness the birth of a modern football legend or the continuation of a dynasty. This is football, this is the legend unfolding tonight at the Estádio da Luz in Lisbon!"

As dusk falls in Britain, television sets in every household glow with the same blue light.

From pubs in the City of London to fan pubs in Manchester, from the Workers' Club in Glasgow to student accommodation in Birmingham, countless eyes were glued to the BBC broadcast.

Someone pointed at a figure on the screen and gritted their teeth.

They still remember the pain of the Champions League semi-final, while many others are focused on familiar faces—the stars who battled it out in the Premier League every week, now donning the national team jersey.

The housewife in the kitchen turned down the heat of the stew pot, while the father in the living room gestured for the children to be quiet.

The entire night in Britain was united by football at this moment; all the arguments, grudges, and expectations were temporarily frozen with the opening whistle on television.

French TF1 television station:
"The French team is here! Carrying the double glory of the 98 World Cup and the 2000 European Championship, the Azzurri are determined to wash away the shame of their group stage exit in the 2002 World Cup! That year, as the defending champions, we failed to score a single goal and left the field in despair, becoming one of the darkest memories for French football. But tonight, we will prove with our actions—the Gallic Rooster has risen from the ashes!"

"Look at this brand-new French team! Midfield maestro Zidane is still working his magic, but what's even more exciting is the emergence of a 19-year-old prodigy, Roy! The gloom of the World Cup two years ago is being swept away by the brilliance of this young man!"

"Roy has already scored 9 goals in this European Championship, just one step away from surpassing Platini's record! Think about it, just two years ago, the French team was struggling to score a single goal; and today, this 19-year-old is leading the team to new glory!"

"The Greek defense may be solid, but against a revitalized French team, against a Zidane eager for revenge, and against the unstoppable Roy, even the strongest wall will crumble! Tonight, French football will bid farewell to the nightmare of 2002 and usher in a new golden age!"

At 8:40 p.m., the whole of France seemed to be put on pause.

In the Paris metro stations, the evening rush hour crowds have disappeared, leaving only a few scattered passengers on the platforms, all staring at the hanging television screens.

At the port of Marseille, the bars were packed with people—sailors, dockworkers, and tourists—all with their eyes fixed in the same direction.

In Lyon's city square, the giant screen was already packed with people, some waving national flags, others with their arms around their friends' shoulders, and the air was filled with the aroma of beer and grilled sausages.

In Nice, in the south, at an open-air restaurant on the promenade des Anglais, guests turned their chairs toward the television, no longer caring whether their dinners on the table had gotten cold.

In Lille in the north, night shift workers at a factory gathered in the break room, with even the supervisors joining them, and the machines on the production line came to a rare halt.

In a country tavern in Burgundy, old people put down their newspapers, the radios were turned up to full volume, and even the owner behind the bar forgot to wipe the glasses.

In the police station's duty room, the walkie-talkies were unusually quiet, and the officers on duty were gathered around a small television.

In the hospital's waiting area, patients and their families were all staring at the live stream on the wall. Even the nurses were walking quietly, afraid of missing any details.

Even the border checkpoint officers slowed down their passport checks to the minimum.

The streets were empty, the shops were closed, and even the traffic on the highways had decreased.

Everyone found a place to watch the game.

Tonight, football is not entertainment, not a pastime, but the very breath of the entire nation.

The referee's whistle pierced the Lisbon night sky, and the Greek team unexpectedly chose to take the initiative.

After kicking off, white-clad striker Frizas did not pass back as usual, but instead turned and made a forward run, an unusual move that caught the French defense off guard.

Greek captain Zagorakis received the ball and, without hesitation, dribbled straight into the French heartland.

The midfielder skillfully dribbled past Makelele's interception and passed the ball to the onrushing Brazilian Nas on the right wing before Vieira could cover.

The cheers from the Greek fans in the stands rose instantly – this team, known for its defense, showed its sharp fangs right from the start.

The French players clearly did not expect Greece to be so aggressive.

Zidane hurriedly chased back, and Henry even dropped back from the attacking third to participate in the defense.

Greek right winger Charisteas received the ball and immediately crossed it. The ball swept across the front of the goal, giving French goalkeeper Barthez a scare.

"This isn't the Greek team we know!"

the narrator exclaimed.

The defending champions were forced to retreat entirely, while the "defense experts" Greece unleashed a fluid and relentless attack. Just two minutes into the final, the game turned into an unexpected and high-scoring affair.

The shouts of 70,000 people in the stands created a huge wave of sound, and hundreds of millions of viewers in front of their televisions held their breath.

At this moment, the arrows and circles on the tactical board transformed into twenty-two vibrant figures, writing an epic duel on the green field that belongs to the pinnacle of Europe.

(The final match is very short, so please keep it concise.)

(End of this chapter)