When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 215: First on the Commercial Value Ranking, Where Does It Rank on the Locker Room Power Ranking?
Good evening, Monaco!
The night at Stamford Bridge does not belong to the Red and White Army.

Chelsea defeated Monaco 2-0, with Roy scoring a stunning long-range shot and providing a crucial assist, handing his former club their first defeat of the season.

Tonight, we swallow our defeat, but we will not forget it.

That boy who emerged from Boulogne once stood with us at the pinnacle of Europe.

— Radio Monte Carlo (RMC Monaco)

In the locker room, Evra tossed his soaking wet jersey into the laundry basket and suddenly blurted out:
"Roy is going to win the championship again this year. That's my opinion."

His words seemed disjointed, but everyone understood.

The Frenchman shut down Duff completely today, and his performance on the left flank, along with Ribery's, even overshadowed Chelsea's attack on the right.

Roma grinned and said, "Winning the title isn't surprising. Chelsea was already strong enough. Now they have Roy, they're unbelievably strong. Plus that madman Mourinho, you saw what happened last season."

Evra was getting impatient: "If this continues, will the reporters start saying we're just Roy's foil? Anyone else in the other positions could easily win the title alongside him?"

Several former teammates looked at each other in the locker room.

Although everyone acknowledges Roy as a top player, the media always loves to exaggerate the idea that "wherever Roy goes, he wins a championship," which makes the contributions of other players seem insignificant.

Last season's miracle was clearly created by the whole team fighting until they cramped up, but under the narrative logic of the fourth option, the credit is often attributed to one person.

But actually, that's not what bothers Evra.
Rather, Patrice Evra considered himself Roy's most loyal dog in the team.

The results of it?
When Roy transferred to Chelsea, he took Maicon and Abidal with him, without even asking him a single question.

Seeing them now, clad in blue robes and wielding great power, he felt a pang of bitterness.

Evra packed her clothes, muttering in a voice only she could hear:

"I'm the damn sheepdog. Now the sheep have been sheared bare, and I'm left to watch the empty pen."

"What are you muttering about?"

Ribery suddenly peeked over from next door, frowning impatiently. "It's so annoying. Losing is bad enough, and I have to listen to your nagging."

Evra slammed the cabinet door shut, glaring back with red eyes: "None of your business!"

He felt a tightness in his chest; while he had transferred to Monaco and secured a starting position, this scarred man was still struggling in the French third division.

If it weren't for his close friendship with Roy, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to wear the Monaco jersey.

He was just a substitute last season, but now that he's taken over Roy's number 10 jersey, he's acting all high and mighty.

"You're just a damn sycophant who clings to Roy's coattails, thinking you're something special?"

Ribery bared his teeth and deliberately imitated Roy's tone in a high-pitched voice: "Patrice, how about you give us a rap?"

Evra instantly flew into a rage, grabbing Ribery by the collar: "You fucking—"

Bernardi immediately stepped between the two, shoving aside the tense Evra: "Shut the fuck up! If you want to fight, go on the pitch against Chelsea! What kind of bullying is this in the locker room?"

"Oh, I'm not even here anymore, how am I supposed to be your topic of conversation?"

The locker room door was pushed open at some point, and Roy leaned against the door frame, suddenly grinning.

The entire locker room froze instantly.

Evra was still grabbing Ribery by the collar, and the two of them turned their heads at the same time, looking like elementary school students caught fighting.

Roy walked into the locker room, nodded to Bernardi, Squillaci, and Roma, and said with a smile, "I've come to see my old teammates."

He then looked at Evra, his voice light and airy, but his eyes were as cold as knives.

"Patrice, your fists are so hard, why don't you dare to swing them at Mourinho tonight?"

"Why haven't they made a move yet? Halftime? Should the referee bring some supplies?"

Ribery's hand, still pressed against Evra's neck, suddenly froze.

Roy whistled and shook the Chelsea commemorative wine he was carrying: "Frank, you can imitate my speech quite well. How about you learn how to play football like me?"

Arshavin leaned against the corner, silently observing Roy.

This Chelsea player swaggered into the opponent's dressing room and shut up Evra and Ribery with just a few words.

Roy put his arm around Evra's neck and whispered, "You saw how much Domenech trusted Mendy in the Bosnia and Herzegovina game. Now that eight Monaco players are in the national team, can he really trust them?"

"Are you trying to cause some trouble to give him a chance to revive the team, or do you think there are too many of us brothers in the national team?"

Ribery craned his neck waiting for Roy to speak, but the other man simply walked right past him as if he were nothing.

Roy turned around and bumped shoulders with Bernardi and Squillaci, laughing and chatting about funny things that happened in last season's Champions League. Before leaving, he added:
"See you next time. No matter which of our teams finishes first in the group, we both have to advance. Don't drag the team down."

As Roy reached the door, he suddenly turned around and lightly tapped his temple with his fingertip:

"Frank, what are you trying to prove? Don't forget I believe in your ability. You guys should prove it with your feet by winning that damn third Ligue 1 title. As for now?"

"You haven't proven anything yet."

That evening, Roy got into his car, and as soon as he started the engine, the radio broadcast match reports from other Champions League games.

In Group E, PSV Eindhoven defeated Porto 1-0, while Rosenborg drew 1-1 with Arsenal. Arsenal remained top of the group with one win and one draw, while Rosenborg finished bottom with one point. Ljungberg opened the scoring, but the home team equalized in the second half. Rosenborg maintained their unbeaten home record in the Champions League since September 2001. In Group F, Barcelona defeated Shakhtar Donetsk 3-0, and AC Milan beat Celtic 3-1.

“G组，安德莱赫特1比3国际米兰，云达不莱梅2比1瓦伦西亚H组，莫斯科中央陆军1比0帕纳辛奈科斯。”

Roy's car slowly drove through the streets of West London, where groups of Chelsea fans could be seen in the night, wearing blue jerseys, clutching scarves, and singing victory songs loudly.

A man staggered along the roadside, carrying a bottle of liquor, his companion's arm around his shoulder, their laughter ringing out loudly in the deserted street.

In the rearview mirror, a black sedan maintained a constant distance—the paparazzi's car.

Roy was already used to it, and simply pressed the accelerator lightly.

Not far away, another low-profile SUV followed unhurriedly; that was his bodyguard.

The car window was rolled down a crack, letting in the night wind, mixed with the cheers of fans in the distance.

Roy closed the car window and turned onto another road.

Maicon sat in a VIP booth at the China White nightclub, downing a shot of tequila that burned his throat.

The area was crowded with hot women, and the smell of perfume mixed with the smell of cigarettes filled the air.

His fellow Brazilians were egging him on, and every now and then a few girls would shove and push against him, but he just found it annoying.

The lights were so bright they hurt his eyes, and his mind was filled with images of the locker room after the game.

Mourinho pointed his finger at him in front of the whole team and yelled, "You're like Highway 20 tonight! Ribery can just walk over it whenever he wants!"

What's even more frustrating is that Roy was sitting right next to him, coldly tying his shoelaces, without saying a word.

After Mourinho slammed the door and left, the guy actually got up and went straight to the Monaco dressing room without looking back.

Maicon stared at his retreating figure and suddenly realized that those days of calling each other brothers might have been just wishful thinking on his part.

He downed another glass and slammed it heavily on the table.

Several heavily made-up women immediately pressed themselves against him. One of them, with her hand painted with scarlet nail polish, had already placed her hand on his chest, her fingertips lightly brushing against his collarbone.

"Handsome, why are you drinking alone all by yourself?"

The woman, reeking of sweet perfume, leaned close to his ear, her warm breath brushing against his neck.

Maicon felt a throbbing sensation in his temples, and the nameless fire in his chest burned ever brighter.

He grabbed the woman's restless wrist with such force that she gasped softly.

At this moment, he just wanted to find an outlet for his anger, maybe to smash something, or maybe to pin this stunner in the tight dress down on the sofa and ravage her.

"Get out of my way!"

He suddenly shouted, startling everyone around him who all stepped back.

He grabbed the bottle and took a big gulp, then stood up unsteadily, tearing open the collar of his shirt, which was soaked with alcohol, to reveal a large expanse of his reddened chest.

The phone suddenly vibrated on the coffee table, and the screen lit up with the name "Roy".

He stared at that name for several seconds, and the henchmen and women around him dared not utter a sound.

He wiped his face, grabbed his phone, and pressed the answer button.

"Hello." His voice was hoarse.

On the other end of the phone, Roy's voice was calm: "I'm at the back door."

Maicon frowned: "Now?"

"Now," Roy said and hung up.

Maicon stared at the black screen, and the nameless anger in his chest suddenly subsided by half.

He pushed the woman beside him aside, grabbed his coat, and walked toward the back door.

Pushing open the back door of the nightclub, a cool breeze rushed in.

Roy was leaning against the black Range Rover. When he saw him get out, he pointed to the back seat with his thumb and said, "Get in."

In the darkness, the Land Rover slowly drove through the streets of London.

Maicon stared out the window without saying a word, while Roy focused intently on driving.

It wasn't until they crossed the Thames that Roy broke the silence: "Speak up, you can tell me what's wrong now."

Maicon tapped his fingers twice on his knee, swallowing hard as his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Are you unhappy about the highway?"

Roy glanced at him sideways. "You feel wronged?"

Maicon slammed his fist on the car door: "Damn it! You try it! The whole team is watching!"

"So what? You want me to say 'Maicon played brilliantly today' in front of José?"

He sneered, "It's a fact that Ribery fucking ripped you apart."

Maicon clenched his fist: "At least say something fair."

"Fair words?"

Roy sneered, "Fine, I'll give you the truth. Gallas is practically a benchwarmer now, and who is Glen Johnson? The media says he's England's future right-wing answer, and now he's constantly being pestered by reporters asking why he can't even make the bench. Do you think they don't have their own thoughts?"

"You may be better than them, but your strength should be shown on the court! Not after partying in nightclubs, getting humiliated on the court, and then coming to me demanding some bullshit justice!"

Gallas was seething with anger. He felt he was Chelsea's first choice for right-back, but ever since Roy strongly recommended Maicon to join the club, his position had been completely taken over by the Brazilian.

Every time Gala sees Roy and Maicon with their arms around each other during training, he can't help but clench his fists.

In his view, it was Roy's behind-the-scenes maneuvering, a privileged figure in the locker room, that led Mourinho to completely give up on him.

What infuriated him even more was that Maicon, who couldn't even speak English well when he first arrived, secured a starting position thanks to Roy's support, while he, a French international, couldn't even get a warm spot on the bench.

“Listen, you know how many eyes are watching this position. You are indeed better than Gallas and Glen Johnson, but being better isn’t about words; it’s about on-field performance. You think Mourinho initially wanted you the most? Wrong. He really valued the steady, reliable type like Paulo Ferreira. You weren’t his ideal tactical choice at all, but now it’s done, and we’re here.”

"Of course. Don't worry about what kind of players the coach likes all the time. He's here to lead the team to victory, not to be a nice guy and make you happy. Remember, at Chelsea, performance is everything. Play well, and your position is yours; play poorly, and he can substitute you anytime. You think being a starter is a guaranteed job? You're sorely mistaken."

"Look at the watch on your wrist."

Roy grabbed Maicon's Daytona wrist. "Monaco's Champions League winning watch, I gave one to the whole team. And now? We're last year's European champions! Abramovich didn't spend a fortune to buy us to compete for a top-four finish, and he didn't buy Mourinho to be a babysitter. Whoever can help the club win the Champions League stays; whoever can't, gets out, including me and Mourinho."

“I came here with the titles of European Golden Boot winner and Premier League record signing, and nobody dared to utter a word because I deserve them. But now you want me to say you're the best right-back in the Premier League? Do you even dare to admit it? Gary Neville and Lauren would laugh their heads off.”

Maicon remained silent.

Roy smiled, his voice low: "There's no such thing as fairness in this world, only what's in your interest. If you can play to your potential, I'll naturally speak up for you. Even if Mourinho doesn't like you, it doesn't necessarily mean you'll be the one leaving. I know who my brothers are. But there's a condition..."

He turned to stare at Maicon. "You need to figure out what you're supposed to do first."

"I want to win a few more titles in England with you old guys. The Premier League is nothing! We want the Champions League trophy. But there's a condition."

"You have to fucking prove you deserve this watch first."

After listening to Roy's words, Maicon remained silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

His gaze gradually softened from initial anger to calm, and finally he simply whispered, "I understand." Roy didn't say anything more, but simply started the car again.

"I'll say one last thing to you. Mourinho once said something like this: When you win, you're a genius; when you lose, even your hairstyle is wrong."

"But there's another way to lose on the pitch. The team keeps winning, and you have to sit on the bench or leave the team altogether. Remember Elfakiri? The right-back on the field today, he left Monaco for half a season because of you, missing out on the Champions League title. To put it bluntly, he'll probably never win the Champions League in his lifetime."

"On September 24th, we at Waterhouse released our 2004 list of the most commercially valuable football stars. Beckham remained the top choice for advertisers, but the situation is changing. Several brands we've contacted are already discussing reducing their budgets for him next year. The problem is simple: David's image is too perfect, so perfect that it's making people lose interest. He's going from a 'heartthrob' to a 'good family man,' and this transformation is weakening his commercial appeal."

"We believe Roy's commercial image is a perfect combination of 'playing tough on the pitch, making money smart, and having a cool persona.' To be honest, it's not surprising at all that he topped the list of commercial value in 2004."

In a conference room of a glass-walled building in the City of London, Claire sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, her long, golden-brown hair neatly tied back.

She wore a well-tailored dark gray pantsuit, her long legs crossed, and her pointed high heels swayed slightly under the conference table.

As the Waterhouse representative presented the data, she rested her chin on her hand, her blue eyes calmly scanning the projection screen.

It's like evaluating an acquisition, not discussing the commercial value of a football star.

Claire put down her pen and looked sharply at the Waterhouse representative:
"First of all, what does Roy's topping of your commercial value list mean to you? Is it just a simple data result, or is there a deeper market judgment behind it?"

"Secondly, when you proactively contacted us, what kind of cooperation model did you hope to establish? Data sharing? Brand collaboration? Or more in-depth strategic consulting?"

Finally, she asked directly, "Since we're all here, let's be frank. Which brands are currently contacting Roy through you? I'm guessing at least a few brands are eyeing his untapped brand categories, right?"

The Waterhouse representative exchanged a glance with his colleague, then nodded in agreement: "You're right. Indeed, quite a few car companies have approached us. In the past two weeks alone, three top car brands have expressed their intention to cooperate through us."

"Oh? Three top brands?"

Waterhouse is a leading law firm specializing in commercial valuation and brand strategy consulting for top athletes. They provide consulting and promotion services based on the popularity of star athletes to numerous companies seeking brand ambassadors, and their popularity rankings have a significant impact on the commercial value of star athletes.

Roy, with his "ruthless playing style, shrewd money-making skills, and cool persona," unsurprisingly topped the list.

Henry, considered "flawless," came in second, while Rooney was seen as the best successor to Beckham, whose career was "declining."

Real Madrid's three stars, Ronaldo, Beckham, and Zidane, are ranked 4th to 6th respectively.

The new rankings focus more on assessing the growth potential of star players' advertising value rather than summarizing their existing advertising value. As a result, former advertising kings such as Beckham and Del Piero did not rank well.

Beckham currently earns nearly €50 million annually from commercial advertising, ranking first in the world. He has also just signed a massive €50 million, five-year advertising contract with Gillette.

However, his image has been damaged this year due to an extramarital affair scandal, Real Madrid's poor performance and the European Championship. Although he and Victoria have tried to salvage the situation, his commercial value is shrinking as his competitive form declines.

After signing several big-name endorsements, Roy hasn't really expanded into new business collaborations.

The collaboration with L'Oréal a while ago was just filming an advertisement; she wasn't even a spokesperson.

His cautious approach to advertising has left many brands eager to spend money on him extremely anxious.

Although Roy has a history of arrogant remarks and controversies, and his private life is not exactly low-key, brands that want him to be their spokesperson quickly discovered this.

This guy's "doing whatever he wants" is simply part of his persona.

The more unconventional his actions, the more people feel that "this is Roy."

In other words, he doesn't need to create a perfect persona at all, so there's no risk of his image collapsing.

On October 1, 2004, a gloomy sky loomed over the Melwood training ground.

Benitez stood with his hands in his trench coat pockets, watching the players running on the field.

Gerrard was absent, Baros had just recovered from injury and was not yet able to start, and even Kewell was limping.

The substitute players' passes occasionally flew out of bounds, splashing water on the damp grass.

When the assistant coach handed him the tactics board, he glanced at the statistics of Chelsea's seven-game winning streak.

Mourinho's team scored 14 goals and conceded only 1.

And what about his Liverpool? Their injury list is longer than their bench.

He suddenly said to the teaching assistant:
"Listen, here's the arrangement: Cissé and Kewell as the two strikers, Riise on the left wing, and Garcia on the right wing. In midfield, Dio and Alonso will partner, with Dio focusing on drifting to the right wing to specifically mark that kid Roy. In defense, Traore will be the left-back, Hyypia and Carragher as the center-backs, and Josemi at right-back. Kirkland will be in goal."

"Finnan, Baros, and Hamann are ready to come on the bench. Remember, Diaw's job is to limit Roy's cutting inside, and Alonso is responsible for organizing and orchestrating the attack. The two wingers need to track back in time, especially Garcia, as Chelsea's attacks down the flanks are very sharp."

"When defending, maintain a compact 4-4-2 formation. When attacking, Riise can push forward, but be mindful of when to track back. Cowell should drop back to receive the ball, and Cissé should be positioned up front to contain Terry. Understand?"

"Let Alonso practice his free kicks more."

A muffled thud came from afar as the ball struck the crossbar, like a sigh.

Two days later, they were going to Stamford Bridge.

"Chelsea took the initiative from the start, with Roy's sharp breakthroughs and Lampard's precise through balls constantly testing Liverpool's defense. But young Kirkland made a world-class save to keep a clean sheet! Drogba and Terry created threats from set pieces, but the Reds' defense held firm, with Carragher making a goal-line clearance! Liverpool's counter-attacks were sporadic, but Alonso's long passes and Garcia's runs down the flanks kept the Blues on their toes. The game was intense and wide-open, but the score remained 0-0!"

The stands at Stamford Bridge resembled a boiling blue ocean, with the cheers of Chelsea fans surging towards the stadium like a tidal wave.

The entire stadium seemed to tremble, with blue and red figures weaving together on the green field to create a vibrant scene.

In the 27th minute, Liverpool launched an attack from their own half.

Xabi Alonso received the ball near the center circle, looked up to observe, and then delivered a long diagonal pass to Luis Garcia on the right wing.

Garcia dribbled forward, and Chelsea's left-back Abidal immediately stepped up to block him.

Seeing no space to break through, Garcia passed back to the onrushing right-back Josemi.

Josemi crossed the ball directly, but Lampard blocked it out of bounds with his body as he tracked back.

Liverpool are awarded a corner kick.

Alonso took the corner kick, sending the ball to the near post.

Hyypia outjumped Terry to head the ball towards the near corner of the goal.

Cech reacted quickly, tipping the ball over the crossbar with one hand. Liverpool won another corner.

This time, Alonso opted for a tactical corner kick, making a short pass to Riise.

Riise dribbled inside and suddenly unleashed a long-range shot.

The ball deflected off Carvalho and was about to fly into the net when Terry cleared it off the line with a long kick.

The clearance ball fell to Dio's feet on the outside, and he immediately passed it to Kewell on the left wing.

Kewell faked out Gallas and delivered a low cross to Cissé.

Cissé pounced on the ball before Carvalho could get a chance, but Cech made another crucial save to deny it.

Carvalho headed the ball out of the penalty area before Kewell could get a chance to follow up.

Makelele received the ball and immediately passed it to Lampard, who then launched a long pass to Roy, who was making a high-speed run down the left flank.

Roy sprinted forward with the ball, and Liverpool players desperately chased back, but it was too late.
Chelsea's counter-attack was swift and fierce, and in the blink of an eye, they had moved from their own penalty area to the opponent's half.

The Stamford Bridge fans have risen to their feet, hoping this counter-attack will result in a goal.

Roy streaked across the pitch like a blue lightning bolt, each touch of the ball sending shivers down the spines of Liverpool's defense.

From a high vantage point, one can clearly see the Liverpool players' hasty and disorganized pursuit.

Dio was the first to rush forward to intercept, but Roy easily changed direction and left him behind.

Alonso rushed in from the side to cover, but Roy remained calm, flicking and pushing the ball with his right foot, finding Lampard precisely in the middle.

Lampard passed the ball directly to Duff on the right wing without stopping it.

At this point, Liverpool's defense had been completely breached. Hyypia and Carragher desperately tried to track back, but Duff had already found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper.

Duff dribbled into the penalty area, and Kirkland rushed out of his goal.

The Irish winger glanced up and saw that the goalkeeper had already covered the near post.

He gently pushed with the instep of his left foot, and the ball rolled along the grass toward the far post.

Kirkland made a desperate dive to the side, his fingertips barely brushing the ball, but he couldn't change its trajectory.

The ball rolled slowly across the goal line under the watchful eyes of the crowd, making a crisp "swish" sound as it hit the side netting.

The clock at Stamford Bridge stopped at 28 minutes and 17 seconds, and the scoreboard immediately jumped: Chelsea 1-0 Liverpool.

Duff ran toward the corner flag with his arms outstretched, and Chelsea players swarmed in from all sides and tackled him.

Mourinho excitedly sprinted along the sideline, while Kirkland remained kneeling in front of the goal line, slamming his fist heavily onto the turf.

In the 37th minute, Drogba and Carragher jumped at the same time to contest a header, and the two collided violently in the air.

The Ivorian twisted his right ankle upon landing and crashed heavily onto the grass.

He immediately curled up into a ball, clutching his ankle tightly with both hands, wincing in pain.

The team doctor rushed onto the field with a first-aid kit, and his expression changed after a quick examination.

He gestured towards the bench to make a substitution, and as Drogba was helped onto the field on one foot, a collective sigh rippled through Stamford Bridge.

Mourinho looked irritable, and Gudjohnsen had already started warming up on the sidelines.

In the 71st minute, Roy received the ball on the left wing and was immediately surrounded by three players.

Dio intercepted head-on, Alonso flanked from the side, and Josemi blocked the byline.

He flicked the ball past Dio with his right foot, deftly deflected it away from Alonso with his left, and then suddenly flicked it behind Josemi with his heel.

Just as Josemi's center of gravity shifted, Roy burst out from the crowd like a bullet.

He dribbled the ball to the edge of the penalty area, pretending to cut inside, but suddenly curled a low ball with the inside of his right foot.

The ball bypassed Hyypia's tackle and rolled precisely to the vicinity of the penalty spot.

"Roy dribbled to the edge of the penalty area! He was going to cut inside. No! He flicked the ball with the instep! The ball curved along the grass! Hyypia missed his tackle! The ball rolled right to Gudjohnsen's feet!"

Gudjohnsen arrived quickly and unleashed a powerful shot with his right foot.

"GOAL!!! The ball blasted into the net like a cannonball!!!"

Kirkland got to the ball, but his shot was too powerful, and the ball still went into the net.

Stamford Bridge erupted in cheers as Roy's magical breakthrough and assist made the score 2-0.

As the match drew to a close, both sides began making substitutions.

For Liverpool, Baros replaced Josemi, Finnan replaced Diaw, and Hamann replaced Luis Garcia.

For Chelsea, Mourinho finally brought on Maicon as a substitute in the 81st minute.

Due to his poor performance in the Champions League and his lax training recently, the Brazilian full-back was benched for this match, with Gallas replacing him as the starting right-winger.

The conversation in the locker room during halftime clearly influenced this decision.

While tying his shoelaces, Roy said to Mourinho, "Maicon has been training very hard lately; everyone makes mistakes."

Those words still echoed in Mourinho's ears: "I am not your problem."

He played exceptionally well on the field, and off the field he became increasingly popular with his teammates, and his prestige in the locker room grew higher and higher.

The Portuguese-speaking group, including Maicon, Carvalho, and Thiago Mendes, the French-speaking group, including Desailly and Abidal, and even Englishmen like Lampard, were willing to listen to his opinions.

Mourinho looked at the players chatting and laughing on the bench and noticed that they kept unconsciously moving closer to Roy.

The head coach stroked his chin.

He knew Roy meant no harm; he just wanted to fight for his teammates' interests.

But a team cannot have two people giving orders; that's the bottom line.

Nobody knows how long the harmony in the locker room can last.

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巴西传奇球星罗马里奥宣布退出国际比赛，这位38岁的94年世界杯冠军功臣（5球）坚称自己是“后贝利时代最伟大的巴西球员”。尽管未能实现千球梦想（生涯908球），他仍将在11月10日与94冠军队友进行告别赛。这位曾效力巴萨、埃因霍温的“独狼”以狂傲著称，但世界杯冠军和惊人进球数佐证了他的传奇地位。

—Global Sports

(End of this chapter)