When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 62 We are the champions! (Third update, 7000 words)
Canal+ lead commentator Thierry Rolland delivers the opening remarks:

The camera pans across the sea of ​​red and white at the Stade Louis II, the background music fades, and Thierry Rolland's voice becomes hoarse and high-pitched:
"Ladies and gentlemen! At this moment—the entire Principality of Monaco holds its breath! This jewel nestled between the Mediterranean and the Alps, this dream city renowned for its roaring F1 engines and glittering casinos, today, its heartbeat belongs solely to football!"

The camera suddenly cuts to the giant tifo in the North Stand—an epic scroll made of 3000 colored cardboard pieces, depicting the team's journey from their first Ligue 1 appearance in 1953 to their first Ligue 1 title in 1961, from the brilliance of the Wenger era in 1988 to their first appearance in the European Cup Winners' Cup final in 1992, even after a loss to Werder Bremen, and then to 2003—where 18-year-old Roy, Monaco's new core, with his flowing black hair and red and white jersey, is placed at the very center of this legendary display!

"Look! This is not just a match, it's history hanging on the page! Monaco—72 points, just one match today, just one draw, just one point, and they can reclaim their eighth Ligue 1 title, etching the red and white name once again after three years!"

The camera panned across the Montpellier players warming up, and the commentator said:
"And their opponents? Montpellier—mid-table, with nothing to play for! Lyon? Ha! Last round they actually capsized in the quagmire of Guingamp, and the humiliation of 64 points means that even if they win all three remaining rounds, they can only kneel on the threshold of 73 points and watch Monaco be crowned today!"

(Suddenly, a slow-motion replay of Roy's season highlights—16 goals and 6 assists in 11 games! A bicycle kick that shattered Marseille, and a powerful shot from the left side of the penalty area that left the Lyon goalkeeper kneeling and questioning his existence!)

"And the creator of all this? That 18-year-old young demon king—Roy! Half a season, 16 goals! Not far from Pauleta's current record of 21 goals! Golden Boot? Best Rookie? Best Player? No—he is no longer a 'candidate,' he is the storm itself!"

(Close-up shot of the banner in the south stand—"MERCI DESCHAMPS!", Deschamps with his back to the camera, the hem of his suit jacket billowing in the sea breeze)
"And behind all of this stands that man—Deschamps! From lifting the trophy as the core captain of the French team in 2000 to reigning supreme as the young coach in 2003! He has infused the strength, elegance, and speed that flowed through the veins of the French team into the veins of Monaco, and today, he will personally draw the final stroke of the crown!"

"Ladies and gentlemen! At this moment, the Stade Louis II is more than just a stadium—it is a temple, a coronation, a legendary reunion across time! Look at the VIP seats tonight—George Weah, Petit, Henry—Monaco's golden generation, the heroes who wrote history here, have all returned tonight! They are not here to watch the game, but to witness—the birth of a new era!"

(The camera pans across the VIP section, where Weah smiles and applauds, Henry points to Roy on the field and says something to Trezeguet, while Pettit clenches his fists and looks serious.)
"George Weah—the legend who rose from Monaco to the Ballon d'Or, is his eye now glancing back to his 1992 European Cup Winners' Cup days? Petit—the famous long-haired player, does the glory of the 98 World Cup victory remind him of his glorious years here? Henry—the king of Highbury, but Monaco will always be where his dream began! And Trezeguet—the Golden Boot winner of the 2000 European Championship, also from Monaco, tonight represents Juventus against Perugia, and a draw would secure Juventus their 27th Serie A title!"

(The camera cuts back to the field, Roy looks up at the VIP section and his eyes meet Henry's.)
"These legends have gathered here tonight, not only for Monaco's eighth championship trophy, but also for Roy—this 18-year-old prodigy, who is continuing their story with a terrifying record of 16 goals and 6 assists! Weah's speed, Henry's elegance, Trezeguet's composure—Roy seems to embody all the legends, and today, he will use a victory to etch his name into the temple of Monaco!"

(The giant tifo in the North Stand is lit up again, blending portraits of legends from different eras with current players.)
"Look at that stunning mural in the North Stand! From Weah to Henry, from Trezeguet to Roy today—Monaco's legacy has never been broken! And Roy on the field is telling everyone with his unwavering gaze: history is meant to be inherited, and also to be surpassed!"

(The camera zooms out, and the entire stadium is boiling in a sea of ​​red and white.)

(The aerial camera zooms out, and the entire city transforms into red and white blood vessels—the casino neon lights switch to team logo colors, the yachts in the harbor spell out a giant "8," and even the Prince's Palace hangs a championship flag.)

"From Porto Hercules to the Monte Carlo circuit, from Michelin-starred restaurants to back alley bakeries—Monaco is ready! Trophies await, champagne is chilled, and history—is trembling at the tip of the pen!"

(The camera pans across the standoff before the kickoff at the center circle)
The Monaco players couldn't hide their excitement—Giuly was lightly tapping the turf with the tip of his shoe, a smile playing on his lips, as if he could already hear the sound of a champagne bottle being opened; Roy looked up at the giant mural in the north stand that depicted his portrait, his 18-year-old pupils reflecting a mixture of fire and sea breeze.

But amidst the red and white jubilation, the Montpellier players looked grim. Their captain even refused to shake hands with the referee, merely touching his fingertips briefly—no one wanted to be a backdrop for the championship parade, especially when the opposing team had been a mid-to-lower table team like themselves before last season.

Pulso nudged Roy on the shoulder and whispered:
"With such a grand setup, it would be embarrassing if we lost today. (Glancing at Weah and Petit in the stands) Those old men would probably tear our jerseys to shreds and use them as rags!"

Roy simply said, "Come on, guys! For the fans!"

Canal+ commentary captures the details:
"Look at the expression on Montpellier coach Gérard Bernardet's face! (Close-up of his taut jawline) This veteran coach's pre-match roar in the locker room could be heard all the way down the hallway—'If you dare to throw the game, your entire team will walk back to Montpellier tonight!'"

(Suddenly silenced for two seconds, leaving only the heart-pounding drumbeats of the fans)

"So—Monaco! Go! Go and take this point! Go and make the legends stand up and applaud for you! Go and let the red and white flames ignite the Mediterranean night sky! Go and tell all of France—you are the champions of the year!"

(The commentator's voice cracked as the whistle blew)

"L'ATTAQUE, MONACO! LA GLOIRE! (Attack, Monaco! Seize glory!)"

As the whistle blew, the entire stadium erupted in deafening cheers.

Canal+ commentator Thierry Rolland went from cracking his voice to losing it in just eight seconds.

"Kick-off—Pulso passes to Roy—Roy passes to Giuly on the wing—Giuly makes a long pass—Roy starts running—God, he's like he's been struck by lightning! Carrotti is still tying his shoelaces! Riu just touched the post! Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal!!! BUUUUUUUUUUT—How many seconds did he take?! How many seconds did he take?! Tell me the stats?! 8 seconds!!! 8 seconds!!! A new era in Ligue 1 history! The Monaco demon king's lightning has cleaved through time and space!!!"

Giuly's long pass over the top fell like a missile, and Roy suddenly twisted his hips while sprinting, using the instep of his right foot to volley the ball away in mid-air—the moment he touched the ball, he and the ball changed direction, and when the defending Carrotti looked up, he only saw the back of Roy's number 25 flying past.

The commentator took a deep breath and continued to roar:
"That right-footed shot from outside the penalty area! The net was still trembling while the Montpellier goalkeeper's knee had only just bent! Look at the replay on the big screen—Roy was two full body lengths faster than Barbosa at the moment of his start! This isn't football, this is a supernatural phenomenon!!!"

25 yards from the goal, Roy suddenly locked his right ankle, his calf muscles compressing like a spring – “Bang!” As the ball left his foot, goalkeeper Riu’s fingers had just left the post.

The ball barely spun during its flight, like a white streak of light slicing into the corner of the net!
The net was still shaking violently. Riu's knees had just finished squatting down, and all that remained in his pupils was the afterimage of Roy leaping and turning around in celebration.

Henry, standing on the sidelines, covered his mouth and chanted, "Merde, Merde, Merde!"

The word "merde" literally means excrement (exactly the same as the English word "shit").
Deschamps, huddled in his seat, slammed his tactical board onto the grass with a "thud." His left hand was still frozen in mid-air, while his right hand covered his mouth, but what leaked out between his fingers was clearly a muffled laugh.

"Ha! These two lunatics actually did it!"

Assistant coach Jean-Pettit turned and yelled.

Forty-eight hours before the match, Giuly mimicked Roy's tone in the shower: "Shall we dodge them right at the start? Like stealing a wallet!"

Roy draped a wet towel over his shoulder: "Then pass it accurately, don't make my sprint go to waste."

At that moment, Giuly froze in his passing stance, his eyes widening as if struck by lightning, his lips trembling as he repeated, "I really passed it? It actually went in?!!!!"

Montpellier goalkeeper Riou knelt in front of the goal line, his hands still in a ready-to-save position, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he were contemplating the ultimate questions of life—"Who am I? Where am I? Why am I a goalkeeper?"

Center-back Ramond immediately squatted down to tie his shoelaces, even though the laces weren't loose at all, trying to use this action to cover up the blankness in his mind.

Midfielder Barbosa turned to look at the substitutes' bench, his eyes saying, "Coach, this isn't how things are going."

Coach Gérard Bernardet's pre-match boast of "not letting Monaco win easily" still echoed in his ears, but now he could only hold his head in his hands, muttering to himself, "8 seconds. 8 seconds."

The Montpellier substitutes were completely stunned; some even forgot to sit down and just stood there watching the entire celebration.

The camera captured Doutzen Klos in the VIP stands—his blond hair was dazzling, his cheeks, painted with two red and white graffiti, were flushed with excitement, and his fair arm peeked out from the cuff of his Monaco jersey, with a temporary tattoo of the word "ROI" on the back of his hand.

Her mind went into a five-second vacuum.

In 0-3 seconds, her eyes widened, the support flag in her hand froze in mid-air, and her lips parted slightly, as if a pause button had been pressed.

Four seconds later, her pupils contracted sharply, her breath stopped, and the cheers around her seemed to disappear instantly, leaving only Roy's sprinting figure in the world.

Five seconds later, she finally found her voice and was about to scream "Roy!" when she discovered that the entire stadium had already erupted before her—the roar of "ROI! ROI! ROI!" swept in like a tsunami.

Doutzen Kroos's screams were drowned out, but she didn't care. Then she noticed the live broadcast cameras were on her, and she jumped up and started waving flags wildly.

Goal moment: "Oh mon Dieu" (French for "My God")
During the celebration: "C'est lui! C'est vraiment lui!" ("It's him! It really is him!")
After being caught on camera, he exclaimed: "Putain, je l'aime!" ("Damn, I love him to death!")
Behind the privacy glass of a nearby VIP box, Charlotte Cassirer was crushing a raspberry macaron with her hands, red jam dripping from her fingers onto the hem of her Valentino haute couture dress.

She wasn't even wearing a jersey today; not wearing a Montpellier jersey was already the limit.

As Duchen jumped up and cheered, Charlotte's Adam's apple bobbed three times before she finally managed to squeeze out a French whisper:
"La pute aux cheveux jaunes" (That blonde bitch)

Just before halftime, Pulso received a through ball from Bernardi and scored another goal.

Monaco are leading 2-0 at home.

Deschamps pushed open the locker room door, his lips twitching, hands in his pockets, forcing a smile, his voice low but each word trembling:

"No tactics in the second half! Play whatever you want! And then—(suddenly cracks in voice) we'll fucking lift the trophy!!!"

Instantly, the locker room erupted in chaos—

Roy was pouring ice water over his head, then looked up and laughed, "Coach, are you serious? Can I try out as goalkeeper?"

Juli, chewing gum, suddenly burst out laughing when he heard Roy's words: "Finally! I'm going to perform the rainbow flick!"

Evra slammed his fist on the table and laughed wildly: "The coach's gone mad! Anyone who gets close to Roy will turn insane! But I love this madman to death!"

Jean-Pettit, standing behind Deschamps, said quietly, "I have to record this; it might be the least 'Deschamps' moment of his life!"

Deschamps had his back to the players, his shoulders shaking – he was actually trying to suppress a laugh, but everyone could see the redness on the back of his neck.

The rookies on the bench exchanged bewildered glances: "So this is what winning a championship feels like? The coach just tanked?"

As the players rushed out of the locker room, Deschamps added one last thing:
"Oh, by the way—whoever dares to get hurt will have to parade around with the trophy in their mouth!"

Long after the locker room door closed, Deschamps's unrestrained laughter finally broke the silence.

The 49th minute of the game.

Commentator Thierry Rolland's voice was tense but excited:
"Montpellier hasn't given up! Assomani outjumps Squillaci to head the ball into the net! But don't rush, Monaco only needs one point to win the title – they are still leading by one goal, and there's still a whole half to go. Their fate is still in their own hands!"

(The camera pans across Deschamps, his face expressionless, as if to say, "It's time to wake up, kids.")
The 54th minute of the game.

Roy received a sweeping pass from Rothen just outside the penalty area, flicked the ball to the right to create space, and then feigned a shot towards the far corner.

Suddenly, he turned his ankle to the left, dribbled the ball with the sole of his foot, and unleashed a powerful shot into the near corner, making it 3-1.

They pulled the score back to safety.

Thierry Rolland's voice instantly erupted:

"ROI! ROI! ROI! He dribbled past the defender like a flamenco dancer, and then—bang! A powerful shot into the near corner! Monaco is only 36 minutes away from the championship! Look at the North Stand, Prince Albert II has already stood up!"

Roy charged toward the corner flag, mimicking a matador waving his cape—a direct provocation of the Montpellier bench.

73 minutes.

Giuly delivered a brilliant lob pass, and Pulso volleyed home to make it 4-1.

Thierry Rolland screamed until his voice cracked:
"WAHHHHHHH! Giuly's pass was measured with a ruler, and Pulso's finish was ruthless! Monaco is only 17 minutes away from the championship! The trophy manager has already started wiping the trophy!"

Pulso jumped onto the billboard and yelled at the camera: It's over!

86 minutes.

Rothen fired a shot into the far corner from the left side of the penalty area, making it 5-1.

The commentator went into a frenzy:
Rothen's goal added the final jewel to this coronation! Monaco is just 4 minutes away from the title! The champagne trucks have already arrived at the sidelines!

(The entire bench stood up, Deschamps finally smiled, high-fived assistant coach Jean Petit, and then hugged the entire coaching staff, including goalkeeper Jean-Luc Ettori and fitness coach Antonio Pintus, his eyes filled with tears.)

In the 90th minute, the final whistle blew! The champion was crowned!

The referee didn't give an extra second, blowing three short whistles right away!
Commentator Thierry Rolland suddenly choked up:

"Listen to the silence at the Stade Louis II. (All fans are silent, with only the heart-pounding drumbeats in the background.) This is the calm before the storm! Let us shout together: Monaco – you are the champions of the 2002-2003 French Ligue 1 season!"

The players on the field froze in place. Roy looked down at the grass, Giuly covered his face, and Evra knelt down to kiss the team badge. It wasn't until the first firework exploded that the entire stadium awoke from its daze, erupting with a sound powerful enough to shatter glass!

The moment the final whistle blew, Monardi's dentures flew out with a "click" as he laughed maniacally.

This 75-year-old die-hard fan gripped the railing tightly with both hands.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha--"

His laughter tore a hole in the noisy crowd, his white beard trembling violently with each laugh.

"Roy's championship jersey is mine! Mine! It's in black and white!" He pulled out a crumpled rental contract from his inner pocket, and on the third page, in the supplementary clauses, it was indeed written in blue ink: "[If Party B wins the championship with the team, the jersey for that match belongs to Party A]".

The old man's index finger ripped the paper with a loud screech.

The surrounding fans clamored to grab a look, but the old man, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, stuffed the contract back into his shirt.

The red and white confetti thrown first from the north stand formed a mushroom cloud-like vortex in the air, covering half of the stadium.

The referee's final whistle pierced the night sky at the Stade Louis II, and Monaco's substitutes and coaching staff flooded onto the field like a tidal wave.

Roy and Djuri first lifted head coach Deschamps high, and the whole team then tossed Deschamps into the air seven times in succession, each toss accompanied by cheers from the fans in the stadium.

Giuly excitedly took off his jersey, revealing a white vest with the words "Thank you, fans" printed on it, and knelt down on one knee to kiss the pitch.

The DJ switched the song to "We Are the Champions".

Staff quickly set up a temporary podium in the center circle.

A red and white Monaco-themed carpet covered the entire awards area, while white mist created by a dry ice machine swirled around the trophy display stands.

Eight specially designed spotlights surrounded the podium on both sides, symbolizing Monaco's eighth Ligue 1 title.

Prince Albert II of Monaco entered the stadium with members of the royal family, each wearing a limited edition 2003 season team scarf.

French Professional Football League President Frédéric Thierry entered the stadium carrying the Ligue 1 championship trophy, followed by Prince Albert II of Monaco and French Sports Minister Jean-François Lamour.

The Montpellier players lined up on both sides, applauding the newly crowned champions.

Monaco players walked through the tunnel formed by their opponents, giving each Montpellier player a high-five.

The award presenters presented each Monaco player with a specially made championship medal, clearly engraved with the words "AS Monaco Champion 2002-2003".

The players took turns ascending the podium to receive this hard-won honor.

When French Sports Minister Jean-François Lamour hung the heavy championship medal around Roy's neck, his fingertips lingered on the medal for an extra second.

He leaned slightly forward and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "I hope to be able to present you with an award again after the Confederations Cup soon."

Roy smiled.

Amidst the fluttering red and white ribbons, Captain Giuly took a deep breath and steadily held up the heavy championship trophy with both hands.

The silver trophy shone brightly under the spotlight, making his face appear exceptionally luminous.

"Come with me!"

Suddenly, Juli turned to Roy and shouted, his voice piercing through the deafening cheers.

He slightly bent his knees and tilted the trophy toward Roy.

Roy paused for a moment, then understood and stepped forward to grasp the edge of the trophy with the captain.

The entire team quickly gathered around.

Traditionally, the trophy is displayed for three seconds in each of the four stands of the stadium.

With each turn, Giuly whispered something quickly in Roy's ear.

As they turned toward the main stands, Giuly suddenly let go, allowing Roy to hold the trophy alone, while he himself took a half-step back and clapped vigorously.

This unexpected move sparked even louder cheers from the crowd, and flashes of light instantly filled the room.

"Now, let's really start celebrating!"

Giuly laughed and stepped forward again, raising the trophy to its highest point together with Roy.

At this moment, the figures of the two generations of Monaco's core players overlapped beside the trophy, symbolizing the glorious legacy of the team.

After Deschamps nodded in approval, all the players raised the trophy high above their heads together.

At that moment, red and white confetti rained down from the stands even more fiercely, and the stadium roof erupted with dazzling fireworks.

At the same time, 12 yachts that had been arranged in advance in the port of Monte Carlo sounded their horns, and the church bells throughout Monaco rang in unison.

"we are the champion!"

The team's cheers resounded through the sky, bringing this historic night to a perfect close.

As head coach, Deschamps was the last to touch the championship trophy, officially crowning Monaco's glorious season.

Amidst a shower of red and white confetti, the Monaco players embarked on a frenzied champagne battle.

Golden liquor traced shimmering arcs in the air, turning the entire podium into a joyous battlefield.

Roy had his arm around Doutzen Klos's slender waist, his new girlfriend's face filled with adoration, red and white face paint spreading across her delicate features.

Just as Roy was about to lower his head and say something, Gallardo suddenly appeared from the side, holding a violently shaking champagne bottle and pointing it at the two of them.

“Putain!!!”

Roy only had time to utter that one sentence before the champagne cork popped out with a "bang," followed by a fountain of foam.

Du Chen let out a scream and instinctively hid in Roy's arms, but it was too late. The cold champagne had already soaked through her long golden hair, flowing down her collarbone and into her jersey collar.

"Galado! You bastard!"

"Riquelme deserves the number 10 Argentina jersey ten times better than you do!"

Roy laughed and cursed, protecting Du Chen while grabbing another bottle of champagne to retaliate.

Du Chen's screams quickly turned into silvery laughter. She then grabbed Roy's jersey to wipe her face, an intimate gesture that drew good-natured cheers from the fans in the stands.

In her apartment in Boulogne-sur-Mer, Chen Lan dropped the remote control she was holding onto the floor with a "clatter".

The blue light from the television screen reflected the winding tear tracks on her face, making the wrinkles left by years of hard work shine.

The fish soup simmering in the kitchen was still bubbling away.

"My brother is the champion!"

Luo Wen jumped onto the sofa, leaving a black footprint on his math workbook.

Romy drew a crooked trophy on the wall with crayons, and the paint smeared all over her apron printed with multiplication tables.

Chen Lan wiped her face, suddenly remembering Luo Yi's plea on the phone two days ago: "Mom, please ask them for two more days off."

What was her response at the time?

"Your brother needs to catch up on his grades, and your sister can't even do multiplication! All she does is watch cartoons! You can't take care of them forever."

The smiling face of my son, now soaked in champagne, on the screen overlaps with the memory of that boy in Boulogne who practiced until he had a fever in the rain.

Amid the clamor of champagne spraying, club president Campora and Crown Prince Albert walked through the crowd to stand before Roy.

Campora's eyes held a mixture of eagerness and complexity—his lips moved slightly, and after learning that several top clubs, especially Manchester United, had made offers for Roy, he had completely given up on renewing his contract.

But now, Migliorgio suddenly informed him that Roy had decided to sit down and discuss a contract extension. Although Roy had his own requirements (the team must guarantee the strength of the squad) and would most likely have to pay a top salary contract in Ligue 1 and a signing fee equivalent to the increase in Roy's value (an increase of more than 20 million), all of this was still an unprecedented gift.

As a result, Campora thought Roy had gone mad.

Campora's eyes gleamed with disbelief.

He stared at the young man bathed in the spotlight, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily.

"Why, child?"

Because I'm a madman by nature, don't be surprised by anything I do.

This is Roy's true feeling.

A near-arrogant smile curved his lips, and a flame that was both familiar and strange to Campora flickered in his eyes.

But in the end, he restrained himself and once again pretended to be a well-behaved boy.

"Sir, tonight we'll only talk about the celebration, nothing else."

Roy put on a polite smile, and Campora smiled back: "Have a nice night, our champion!"

He then tactfully walked away.

Roy raised his eyebrows, turned to Du Chen and asked, "Where are the champion's spoils?"

Before she finished speaking, her red lips glistened like honey under the spotlight, and her slender fingers ran through Roy's wet hair as she delivered a champion's kiss, sweet as champagne, in full view of everyone.

Meanwhile, in his cramped dormitory room in Ares, Ribery turned off the flickering television.

The moment the screen went out, his calloused right hand unconsciously mimicked Roy's gesture of raising a glass.

The lights from the construction site cranes outside the window shone into his training plan posted above his bed—the extra training exercises circled in red.

During this period, he gave up many of his original bad habits, such as irregular lifestyle, often hanging out with older players in the club, and worked hard to practice.

The feeling of winning the championship was like a burning brand in his mind, both painful and something to yearn for.

"next time."

Amidst the murmurs of Boulogne-Maritime accents and the clamor of drunks downstairs, Ribery grabbed the football and headed for the door.

Under the moonlight, his shadow stretched long on the cobblestone road, as if he were walking towards a future that was both distant and within reach.

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Let me show you the complete championship ceremony. I hope no one will say I'm faking it during the free period.

Today's update is slightly delayed until tonight. It's already written, but I feel it's a bit weak. For the Sanjiang Ranking, quality is still important. The daily word count of 10,000 words will remain unchanged, and it will resume normal tomorrow. Sorry!
(End of this chapter)