When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 262 Istanbul: Fleeting Moments and Eternal Moments

The gleaming silver Champions League trophy stood on the sidelines, adorned with a dark blue ribbon representing Chelsea. Maldini walked past the trophy without giving it another glance.

Kaka knelt on the grass, tears blurring his vision.

Two summers ago, when he arrived in Milan from São Paulo, everyone was looking forward to the Brazilian talent's brilliant performance.

He was loved by countless fans at AC Milan.

This club, a symbol of glory, has missed out on the championship for two consecutive seasons.

Crespo stood on the sidelines, filled with resentment.

He gave it his all in this final; every run and every shot seemed to be a testament to Chelsea, to Abramovich, and to Mourinho.

But the 2-5 scoreline mercilessly declared that his struggles were ultimately in vain.

Although he is still a Chelsea player, there is no longer a place for him in the Stamford Bridge dressing room.

He longed to stay in Milan and to continue wearing the red and black jersey.

But everyone knows that Milan is chasing that Brazilian talent.

After this crushing defeat, a rebuilding of Milan is imperative, and Crespo's name is clearly not in the team's future blueprint.

He stared blankly at the stadium.

At 29 years old, he doesn't even know where he'll be playing next season.

Stam, Nesta, Gattuso, Pirlo, Dida—they all walked quickly toward the players' tunnel with their heads down. Although they were supposed to receive their runner-up medals according to procedure, no one wanted to stay on the field for even a second longer.

Pirlo slowly walked across half the stadium, his gaze landing on the young man—Roy, a prodigy who, at only twenty years old, already stood at the pinnacle of European football.

Two seasons, two treble wins, from Monaco to Chelsea, this tall figure with black hair soaked in sweat is chatting easily with Cech.

Looking at his muscular physique and youthful face, Pirlo suddenly felt a sense of oppression. The thought that such a talent did not belong to the same team as him was suffocating.

"Enjoy this moment, Roy. There are many more glories waiting for you to conquer in the future, just hope you don't take the championship from us next time."

Roy casually told Pirlo, "You guys played very well tonight. But I played very well too. I've never played as well as I have today. This is the best game I've ever played."

Pirlo paused for a moment, a helpless, bitter smile appearing on his lips.

"Do I have to thank you?"

He silently repeated it to himself, but ultimately did not say it aloud.

The two stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and finally simply took off their jerseys and exchanged them.

Chelsea fans at the Atatürk Olympic Stadium went wild, with one fan nearly going mad during an interview with Sky Sports:

"I can't believe it's real! Chelsea! Champions League winners! Roy! Fuck Roy! Hat-trick! Assist! He single-handedly took down Milan! He said he would bring the Champions League back to London. This madman, this damn genius, he actually did it! Champions! It's us, Chelsea! Not Arsenal, not Tottenham, not West Ham, not Fulham! It's us! The blue of Stamford Bridge! The Champions League trophy will be engraved with Chelsea! Did you see that?! We are the fucking kings of Europe! Roy! God! He's only twenty! At twenty, he scored three goals in the final! London is ours! All of Europe is ours!"

In the stands, blue flags waved, and fans embraced and wept.

Someone was pinching their arm, muttering repeatedly, "We are the Champions League champions. We are the Champions League champions."

The sound started as a few scattered notes, but it quickly coalesced into a deafening roar that echoed through the Istanbul night sky.

Twenty years, fifty years, a hundred years from now, this moment will be forever etched in Chelsea's history.

The players on the field—Lampard, Drogba, Thiago Mendes, Makelele, Desailly, Terry, Carvalho, and even Cech—as well as all the substitutes on the bench, including Duff, Huth, and Joe Cole, all poured onto the pitch. Some fans also climbed over the sidelines to get on board, and the media frantically tried to interview every player they could. Everyone was immersed in unprecedented joy.

Mourinho stood on the sidelines, his hands in his trouser pockets. The night wind in Atatürk ruffled his early gray hair. At this moment, he was not tasting the sweetness of conquering Europe that he had expected, but rather a kind of dull, almost weary sense of relief.

“A year too late,” he muttered to himself, looking at the grass.

He failed to win that damn championship when he most wanted to, when he should have won it most.

This honor should have been mine last year.

He was in better form and more charismatic at that time, and that trophy silenced all the doubters.

Although they are still champions, they are like red wine past its prime; the flavor is still there, but the most thrilling intensity has been lost.

Roy is right, all champions are just champions.

The gilded reliefs on the podium won't record whether you reached the top at your peak or won by luck.

But only he knows that some victories carry a sense of destiny, while others, like tonight, are more like compensation for regrets.

Abramovich came to the stadium immediately after the match ended. In fact, he had left the box before the match ended and waited in the tunnel during injury time, like a boxer eager to enter the ring, anxiously waiting backstage for his moment to win the gold belt.

When the final whistle pierced the Istanbul night sky, the Russian practically sprinted onto the pitch.

He even pushed aside UEFA protocol officials and, while Terry and Lampard were still basking in the ecstasy of their kneeling celebrations, he had already gripped the base of the Champions League trophy tightly with trembling hands.

When he became ruthless, lost all passion, and reckless, he was like Yuan Shu holding the Imperial Seal of the State.

This Russian oligarch stood under the spotlight at Istanbul's Atatürk Stadium, watching his £2.3 million football empire finally crowned.

从2003年7月1日收购俱乐部到2005年5月25日夺冠，正好658天。

"Hey Brown, my good brother!"

Roy walked through the bustling crowd of celebrations, surrounded by celebrities, reporters, players' families, and lucky fans.

Milan fans had long since dispersed like the receding tide, leaving only a few Rossoneri supporters stubbornly standing in the stands, waiting to witness their team receive the runner-up medal.

Just then, Roy's gaze locked onto the tall figure, LeBron James, wearing a Chelsea jersey, standing on the sidelines smiling.

Without hesitation, Roy rushed over and gave him a big hug. Even though James was much taller than him, Roy still patted him hard on the back, like brothers who had been separated for a long time.

In a brief conversation with ESPN, Roy praised James with a smile: "Brown is an incredible athlete, really. His talent... God, it's like a masterpiece favored by God. The future is his, without a doubt. Of course, he still needs a few more years to develop."

Several Hollywood stars came over and joined the conversation, creating a relaxed and pleasant atmosphere.

James smiled and exchanged pleasantries with them, sensing the sincerity in Roy's words.

However, when Roy suddenly patted him on the shoulder and said, "Brown, this is what it feels like to win a championship. You can do it too," James' smile froze slightly.

This statement, though seemingly encouraging, subtly carries a condescending tone.

Of course I can do it, but why should I ask you?

And when exactly will I be able to do it?

And where I can do it.

Cheryl walked through the celebrating crowd and came to Roy.

As soon as she opened her arms, Roy grabbed her slender waist and lifted her off the ground.

Cheryl laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, passionately planting a kiss on his cheek.

The flashes of cameras around them intensified instantly as reporters scrambled to capture the moment. The victorious kiss between the Champions League king and the English rose was destined to be the front page of tomorrow's major newspapers.

Roy was already used to this scene—victory, hugs, kisses, flashing lights, everything was like a pre-written script.

The Dutch girl's light laugh when he won the Ligue 1 title, the French girl's red lips on the night he lifted the Champions League trophy, and now Cheryl's kiss on his cheek are just the same scenes in different contexts.

Each celebration felt like a repetition of the previous one; even the media frenzy and the audience cheers had become so familiar, almost to the point of numbness.

He won countless trophies, but unknowingly lost that initial pure excitement.

When glory becomes a habit, and emotions become mere decorations for victory, even the most glorious moments inevitably reveal a hint of unspeakable emptiness.

This may be the price of genius: while conquering one peak after another, those moments that once made him feel excited are now just mechanical skill and boredom.

As the Milan players left the podium one by one, the entire Chelsea team stood on the podium, with blue ribbons pouring down from the sky like a torrential downpour.

Although Roy was already the team's true core and leader, according to tradition, the former captain Desailly still lifted the Champions League trophy as the representative.

Roy stood to the side, his fingers tightly gripping the medal on his chest, his eyes reflecting the gleam of the silver cup.

There were almost no Milan fans left in the stands, only a few scattered red and black figures silently watching everything.

And so, the story of Istanbul came to an end. His teammates around him were both crying and laughing, the fans in the stands were shouting "Champion" at the top of their lungs, and blue ribbons fell on his shoulders like snowflakes.

But none of this could penetrate his heart.

At that moment, he felt utterly empty.

The trophy was heavy, and the cheers were loud, but the long-awaited excitement was slow to arrive.

His gaze had already crossed the sea of ​​revelry and landed on an unknown distance.

For him, only the next championship counts.

Post-match press conference.

Ancelotti:

"We created some great chances in the opening stages, but we failed to capitalize on them, and perhaps that deserves our punishment. We fought back twice to equalize today. If it weren't for that lapse in concentration that led to the goal before halftime, the outcome might have been different, but there are no 'what ifs' in football."

"Chelsea played very tenaciously, with a strong style and excellent teamwork. Even after Abidal was sent off, they played with ten men and still managed to score two goals against us, which is truly remarkable."

"Regarding Roy's form? I don't need to comment. His stats of three goals and one assist in the Champions League final speak for themselves. I just hope this is the worst he's ever been."

Maldini:

“We made some mistakes, and Chelsea capitalized on every opportunity. When you give a player like Roy space, he makes you pay, and tonight we paid that price too many times.”

When a reporter pressed him about the rumors of his retirement, he shook his head slightly.

"All I want to say now is congratulations to Chelsea. We were so close to the title, but that's football."

Kaka's voice carried its usual gentleness and restraint:
“Chelsea deserved the win, especially Roy. When you face a player who can change the game at any moment, we tried to contain him, but tonight he was almost unstoppable.”

"Right now, all I want to say is sorry to the fans. They deserved a better outcome, but football is sometimes like the torrential rain in my hometown; even the best plans can get soaked."

Mourinho:

"Without a doubt, this season has ended perfectly. We have won every honor we could. Chelsea has truly achieved the goal of 'winning everything' – the league, the Champions League, the FA Cup, and the League Cup. Four trophies don't lie. Those who once doubted us, feared us, slandered us, and attacked us, if they are watching TV now, they should know clearly: we are quadruple winners, we are the strongest team in Europe."

"When you're in a high enough position, you don't really need to say anything more. It's difficult to make others look up at you to talk, and it's not a comfortable way of communicating for either party. We just let our results speak for themselves."

“I want to thank everyone. Their contributions may have been big or small, and their responsibilities may have been different, but everyone did their job. That’s why Chelsea was able to make history.”

Terry:

"I came to Chelsea when I was fourteen, and this team has been my life. I dreamed of playing for Chelsea for many years and winning many trophies. I have gained everything here and will give everything here. Looking back now, it all feels like a dream."

"When the final whistle blew, I suddenly remembered the match on October 28, 1998, in the League Cup against Aston Villa, where I made my Chelsea debut as a substitute in the 87th minute. That was six or seven years ago, and now we're standing in Turkey, having just defeated AC Milan."

"To be honest, throughout my childhood, AC Milan has been the benchmark of the football world. There was a time when I even thought they were invincible. But today we proved that anything is possible."

Desailly:
"Winning the Champions League trophy for three of the most important clubs in my career is an indescribable feeling, especially at Chelsea, where I felt the deepest respect and sense of belonging. Winning a major title for this team has always been my dream, and now that dream has come true."

"Regarding the future, I think it's time to consider retirement. Although some clubs have contacted me to continue playing, I feel I need a break. Everything has to come to an end."

"As for Chelsea's future? There's absolutely no need to worry. Some young players have already proven they can shoulder all the responsibility; they've accomplished things that seemed impossible."

Of course, the reporter most wanted to interview Roy.

He scored 40 goals and provided 19 assists this Premier League season. In the Champions League, he netted 19 goals. Just tonight in the final, he scored a hat-trick and provided a crucial assist, completely dismantling AC Milan's invaluable defense.

He's only twenty years old.

Last season, he won both the Ballon d'Or and the FIFA World Player of the Year award.

Now, everyone knows that he is very likely to win these two trophies again.

His rise was so rapid it was dizzying, and the heights he reached were awe-inspiring.

In today's football world, there is no player who can be compared to him.

All eyes, all expectations, all amazement were focused on Roy.

Roy set an unparalleled record in football history, becoming the first player to win the treble in two consecutive seasons.

In the 2003-2004 season, he led the team to win the Ligue 1 title, the French Cup, and the Champions League.

In the following 2004-2005 season, he achieved a quadruple in the Premier League, winning the league title, FA Cup, League Cup and Champions League.

During this time, he also helped the French team win the 2004 European Championship.

Such a report card is unbelievably perfect.

Even within the entire career of a top star, this is considered brilliant, and Roy achieved all of this in just two years.

The scariest thing is that he's only twenty years old now. What will this record look like when he's thirty in ten years? Just imagining that possibility is suffocating.

This is not just a success, but a complete domination of modern football.

"Roy, you've become the first player in history to win the treble in two consecutive seasons. What are your true feelings right now?"

When asked the first question by L'Equipe reporter Duluk, Roy replied: "It's great. Because I don't want to lose."

"Now, what is your next goal?"

"I will continue to give my all in every game. If I had to name a single goal, I would say I want to win the World Cup and achieve something great with the French team in 2006."

A reporter from Tuttosport asked: "How do you maintain such an almost impossible consistency, winning seven major trophies in two years?"

"Stability? No, I've never pursued that. The real key is that I'm still evolving, still exploring my potential, and still maintaining a hungry curiosity about football. In every training session and every match, I'm trying to break through existing boundaries."

"So-called 'stability' is exactly the most boring state for me. I hate stagnation and I'm tired of repetition. What drives me forward is never maintaining anything, but creating something—new technical moves, new understanding of the game, and new ways to win."

“My football philosophy is simple: always be greedy for the next possibility. When others talk about my ‘consistent performance,’ what they are actually seeing is a never-satisfied person chasing one new goal after another.”

As the press conference progressed into its second half, the questions began to repeat themselves.

Reporters took turns asking questions about victory, honor, and the future, until an ESPN reporter suddenly posed a peculiar question:

Have you ever considered a short retirement like Jordan did? What if one day you really do win every championship?

This question disrupted the usual rhythm of the press conference, causing a moment of silence in the room.

Roy's eyes lit up, and he said, "Yes, besides football, I have another dream."

"That is to become an F1 driver."

Which F1 team will you drive for?

If it were the old Roy, he would have answered "Ferrari" directly.

But that's no longer possible. He signed an endorsement contract with BMW, and the Williams team uses engines supplied by BMW.

Late at night, Abramovich's slightly smaller "Compass" yacht quietly glided across the black, silky surface of the Bosphorus Strait.

The noise of the party below deck could be faintly heard, while Roy stood alone on the upper deck, gazing at the city that had just witnessed his coronation.

Istanbul unfolds its millennia-old tapestry in the night.

The massive dome of Hagia Sophia lies dormant in the night.

A little further away, the four minarets of the Süleymaniye Mosque pierce the night sky; this 16th-century building still dominates Istanbul's skyline.

The lights on the Asian side are relatively sparse.

Galata stands alone in the Caracoí district. This 14th-century Genoese watchtower has witnessed countless warships coming and going in the Golden Horn.

Further east in the Üsküdar district, the rooftops of old Ottoman-era houses occasionally peek out from among modern apartment buildings.

At the narrowest point of the strait, moonlight illuminates the ancient stone walls of the Rumeli fortress, from which Mehmed II launched his final assault on Constantinople in 1453.

A few hours ago, cheers at the Atatürk Stadium briefly broke the city's historical slumber, but now silence has returned.

Just like the cannon fire of 1453, the steam whistle of 1918, and the final whistle of 2005, they are all just syllables in the long memory of the Bosphorus.

(End of this chapter)