When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 49 I No Longer Need "Superego Projection" (Please Read On!)

Marseille's top club.

The entire box was filled with Monaco players, the lights from the indoor swimming pool reflected on the ceiling, and women's laughter and deafening music mingled together, as if they were not celebrating a victory but holding a trophy exhibition.

Max and Coubillier stood by the champagne tower, pouring wine into their glasses incessantly, the foam flowing down the table as unrestrained as their attack tonight.

Bernardi, his shirt open with several lipstick marks on his chest, was embracing a dark-haired girl, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle.

Evra was holding two Eastern European models and teaching them to swear in French, with "Putain de Marseille" (Marseille bastard) awkwardly rolling between their lips.

Rothen pushed away the red-haired woman who was clinging to him, took out his phone and dialed Roy's number.

Listen up, brother!

He yelled into the microphone, with the sounds of champagne bottles popping and women laughing in the background, "The hottest girls in all of Marseille are around us! They only want to do one thing right now!"

He suddenly pulled a brown-haired girl in a sequined halter dress close to her ear and held his phone to her ear.

The girl, slightly out of breath, said into the microphone, "Your goal sent shivers down my spine. Tell me, is your shooting accuracy perfect, no matter where you are?"

Another blonde model wrapped her arms around Rothen's neck from behind and snatched the phone.

She giggled into the phone:

“I bet you’re even wilder than they say. I wore your favorite red, but unfortunately, only you can take it off.”

The aloof, Eastern European then took the phone:
"The men of Marseille only know how to cry. But your goal made me scream. I heard you made all of Marseille kneel tonight? Now it's my turn."

A red-haired Latina climbed over from the poolside and snatched the phone.

She was panting, with the sound of ice cubes clattering in the background.
“I hate football, but your celebration makes me want to learn the rules. Teach me, starting with ‘offside’.”

Roy cursed on the other end of the phone:

"I was about to go to sleep, you son of a bitch."

Laughter erupted from the private room. Luo Teng snatched back his phone and delivered the final blow:

“These seats were originally reserved by Meyer! If they win, those losers will be the ones drinking champagne here right now!”

"but now!"

He kicked over a cushion with the Marseille team logo on it. "Their girls are licking champagne bottles for us!"

"I'll come, but I don't drink. I have things to do when I get back to Monaco tomorrow night."

Roy needs to stay alert for his special interview with France Football magazine.

Four days later they will play Strasbourg at home.

Rothen muttered resentfully, "You're so boring."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, followed by Roy's low chuckle: "But I'll foot the bill. Miriam Joe got me a new endorsement."

Rothen had just hung up the phone, a victorious smile on his face, when he turned and shouted to everyone in the private room:

"Roy will be there soon!"

A cheer erupted in the private room, and the champagne cork flew "bang" towards the ceiling.

He then raised his phone high and roared:

"And he'll even pay for our meals!"

In an instant, the air in the private room seemed to ignite.

Evra jumped onto the sofa, raised his wine glass high, and roared, "He is my king!"

Vincent Massiano, 49, has been a columnist for L'Équipe and its subsidiary magazine France Football for 20 years.

His qualifications are even more senior than those of Drucker, who once interviewed Roy.

Known for its literary style and psychological insight.

Marciano was a renowned talent scout in the French journalistic world: he appreciated young, promising journalists and readily helped them, calling to secure interview opportunities or recommending them for internships if they were worthy of it.

He has interviewed Maradona, Zidane, Pelé, Platini, and Ronaldo, and maintains very close relationships with these famous players. He can freely text these people, and when asked if he contacted Barcelona's press officer before leaving a message for Ronaldo, he didn't even understand the question.

One day in 2012, he rang Messi's doorbell at Casteldfels and personally handed him his fourth Ballon d'Or trophy.

There was also an interesting anecdote at the time: when the door wouldn't open, Messi even joked on the phone that he had gone to the wrong entrance.

For the interview with Roy, he chose to conduct it in a morning café in Monaco harbor, away from the hustle and bustle of the training ground, close to the private rhythm of the waves.

Marciano stirred his coffee and casually launched into his opening remarks: "After the League Cup semi-final against Marseille, you quoted Clausewitz in the post-match interview. Clausewitz said 'war is a continuation of politics.' Is your style of football also like a private war?"

Roy raised an eyebrow and, upon hearing the metaphor of "war," revealed a slightly sarcastic and amused expression, as if to say, "yet another journalist trying to interpret football through a grand narrative."

He calmly replied, "War has no rules, but football does; competition is a more appropriate term. Football is also a team sport, and my football is about making a personal contribution to the team's competition."

Marciano looked at Roy with interest in his eyes. He refused to equate football with unruly killing, but acknowledged the brutal nature of its competitive essence.

"You said 'making personal contributions to the team's competition'—do you mean when Ekkel deliberately provoked you with a foul against Marseille? Was that also a personal contribution?"

Roy: "That was part of the psychological warfare, I understand but I don't accept it. Deschamps said before the game: 'If they succeed in making us angry, they've won two-thirds of the way,' but it's clear they failed. Eker was the one who got angry and was sent off with a red card. His biggest mistake wasn't the foul, but that he still lost after the foul."

Marciano: "Is this your football philosophy? Do you think violence within the framework of the rules is justified, and individualism in team competition is also justified?" "Yes, that's why I don't like to use malicious fouls intentionally, simply because systematic violence is more efficient than chaotic violence."

"Individualism does not conflict with team competition. Eleven people must mesh like gears, but the fatal blow always comes from the sharpest tooth. The premise is that individual brilliance must serve the logic of the collective."

Marciano: "You became Monaco's main striker right after turning 18. Did this rapid rise put pressure on you? How did Coach Deschamps help you adapt?"

Roy: "Pressure? I prefer to call it 'privilege'. Coach Deschamps told me, 'If you're afraid of pressure at 18, you should retire at 30.' He made me watch highlights of Henry and Trezeguet's runs every day after extra training, not to imitate them, but to help me understand: there are no shortcuts to greatness, only repetition."

Marchano blinked unexpectedly, his answer perfectly matching his next question.

"Your playing style is reminiscent of a young Thierry Henry. Is this deliberate imitation or a naturally formed style? Who is your true role model?"

“Ronaldo”

After a brief silence, Roy flashed his signature sly grin.

"It's not Henry, it's not Trezeguet, it's that monster who dribbled past five players at Barcelona and still managed a hat-trick even when he was sleepwalking in the World Cup."

The reporter was not surprised at all by this answer.

"Why? Because true genius is never defined by style. Henry was an assassin, Trezeguet was a sniper, but Ronaldo..."

"He is a falling meteorite, not caring about what he smashes, only about how brightly he burns."

Marciano nodded knowingly: "No one doesn't love Ronaldo."

"Your playing style is indeed somewhat like his, with unreasonable breakthroughs and calm shots."

But in reality, Roy was having a mischievous idea in his mind. The name he wanted to say wasn't Ronaldo Luis Nazario de Lima, but Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro.

This is not hard to understand. In his previous life, Roy was young, while Cristiano Ronaldo was the prime-age Manchester United number seven. Even if Roy was not a Manchester United fan, he would find it hard to resist the aesthetic revolution of "elevator free kicks" and "violent headers" that broke the traditional technical framework and were extremely violent.

Rejecting the dogma of team supremacy, the story uses actions such as "wearing a hat to save the master" and "the final roar" to portray and match Roy's ideal of lone wolf heroism, creating an unconventional superhero narrative.

Later, Roy stopped being a fan because of a certain word. This change in mentality is consistent with the general pattern of "admirers of strength" demystifying idols, especially when idols begin to "lower their own standards".

Roy admires Ronaldo for silencing critics with his performances on the pitch, rather than for personally engaging in debates.

He tried to prove himself the best with data, but his logic was crude.

At the time, Roy's anger stemmed from the fact that "he had become the 'Excel fan' he hated the most—while the Cristiano Ronaldo I love is the kind of person who can smash an Excel spreadsheet with his right foot."

After that, his attitude towards Ronaldo became: more than a passerby, but not quite a hater.

This is a "ex-husband-style" attitude, with the core contradiction being "I can criticize, but others can't, because that would be denying my taste at the time."

When highlight reel fans only boast about the King of the Champions League, Roy will sneer:

"Five Champions League titles? Then I suggest he give one to Benzema—he also has five Champions League titles but has never won a penalty."

Regarding Cristiano Ronaldo's performance in the Saudi league:
"1.2 goals per game? A 54.5% penalty kick rate is incredibly efficient!!!"

When someone makes a ridiculous claim that Cristiano Ronaldo can't dribble past opponents.

Roy is making his fatherly remarks again:

"In 2008, he walked past Ashley Cole like it was the street. You were probably still wearing open-crotch pants back then."

This is a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. For Roy, the Factos incident was similar to discovering that his "idol had cheated"—he hated the shattered filter, not the person himself.

It's another lingering sense of possessiveness. Ronaldo was once Roy's "football superego projection," so when others criticize Ronaldo, it's like indirectly denying their past selves.

Roy's attitude towards Ronaldo is essentially the "ultimate form of turning from a fan to a hater":
Critical inheritance: Acknowledging its historical status, but rejecting the filter of the present.

Cyber ​​custody: "He's a part of my football youth—so only I can criticize him."

Performance art: to criticize Ronaldo in an even harsher way, just to prove "I know him better than you do".

But for now...

Roy is experiencing cognitive dissonance after time travel, and he discovers that in 2003, although Cristiano Ronaldo was worth over ten million, he was still a 'flashy but inefficient' Sporting Lisbon rookie.

The emotions that arise are...

Disdainful: "This kid's dribbling is like a spinning top, and his shooting is like winning the lottery."

He secretly rejoiced: "Only I know he has a bright future. It's like predicting lottery numbers."

Imitation and correction: deliberately avoiding Ronaldo's early flashy but ineffective style, and directly extracting his "violent efficiency" core after 2008.

As a time traveler, he no longer needs "superego projection".

I've already read the script once; there's no point in reading it again.

The so-called "two unparalleled heroes" is just a hypothesis from a parallel universe; the football history of this world only needs one definitive answer.

What? How to evaluate Messi? Let's not comment on minors for now.

He is still a child.

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The next chapter will be a little later; I don't have any drafts left after revising the plot.

(End of this chapter)