Godfather Of Champions

A large-scale cultural performance was underway on the field in Luzhniki Stadium, but Shania, who sat in the VIP box, paid no attention to it. She came here just to watch the game and did not even go shopping.

She just wanted the game to start early now, because if the game did not start, Uncle Tony would stay in that mysterious locker room and not come out.

Fortunately, the cultural performance soon came to an end. As the fans at the stadium took the cheers up another notch, the players of the two teams’ starting lineups finally filed out of the tunnel.

The glittering silver trophy was placed directly opposite the exit, separating the two teams. The Chelsea players could not help but turn their heads as they passed by the trophy. This was the first time for a lot of people in the team to be at close contact with the honor. Would they pick up the trophy with their own hands after ninety, one hundred and twenty minutes, or more?

The Nottingham Forest players also looked at the trophy, with a feverish glow in their eyes. The boss is right. No team has been able to defend its title since the restructuring of the Champions League. So why can’t we make history and create a miracle again? Nottingham Forest is a miraculous team. We are here on this stage to create history and miracles. Why else are we here for?

As the players from both teams entered, Twain came out from the side with the rest of the coaching staff, as well as the substitutes. The group of Nottingham Forest fans close to the Forest team’s technical area, all cried out excitedly when they saw Twain came out, “Tony!! Hey—-Tony!”

Twain heard their shouts, turned and waved, with a serious expression on his face.

“You know what we want! Champion! Champion Champion—”

This group of fans howled as they watched Twain arrived at the technical area.

Then Twain stood there. The rain was slightly lighter, but it still gradually dampened his clothes and hair. He did not intend to sit back in the technical area to shelter from the rain. His players were lined up on the pitch to take pictures and perform some of the necessary ceremony before the game.

※※※

“He’s so cool.” Sitting next to Shania, Gloria whistled.

Shania looked warily at this Hollywood successful career woman who had come with her to Moscow to watch the game.

Noticing Shania’s small gesture, Gloria smiled, “Don’t you think so?”

“He’s a fool, so not cool at all.” Shania pursed her lips.

Gloria went from a smile to a guffaw.

“You’re both fools, haha!”

Shania pouted. It was not that she did not want to make a retort, but it looked like she was unable to refute …

“Do you need my help, Shania?” Gloria winked at Shania.

Shania knew what she was talking about, but she shook her head and said, “No, thank you, Clarice. I want to work it out on my own …”

Gloria saw this young girl’s insistence and said no more.

※※※

George Wood, the captain of Nottingham Forest, lost when he did the coin toss with Chelsea’s captain, Terry. As a result, Chelsea were given the right to pick the side, while Nottingham Forest was given the right to kick off.

The groups of cultural performers had long since dispersed. The players on both sides had finished their photo-taking, and both teams stood in accordance with their formations on the field. A big battle was on the verge.

It was not until the kickoff whistle sounded that Twain turned back to his seat. The suit he wore had long been drenched by the rain. Dunn handed over a dry towel to let him to wipe the water off his face.

“It’s exactly as we predicted.” Twain smiled and said to Dunn after he observed Chelsea’s starting eleven players. He mentioned “we.” But in fact, Dunn guessed right for all the contested positions. The standard of a genuine football coach was indeed different.

“I’m afraid to blindly select to ‘surprise’ in this kind of final, it will not yield good results.” Dunn had his own reasons and considerations. “Grant is not a gambler, or more accurately not a pure gambler. At this time, he still cares more about ‘stability.’”

Twain nodded in agreement.

※※※

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final game of the 07-08 season Champions League! The two teams are Nottingham Forest and Chelsea from England. This is the first time the latter team has advance to reach the Champions League final in the club’s history while the former is the defending champion. This is an ‘English civil war.’ Chelsea and Nottingham Forest have a lot of feuds in their domestic league, such as the most famous being since the return of Nottingham Forest to the Premier League, led by Tony Twain, Chelsea has never beaten them in the league or the Champions League. Perhaps this could be a small curse? In this sense, Chelsea may have a certain psychological disadvantage up against Nottingham Forest in this game.”

However, during the pre-match press conference, Grant had already flatly denied such a bullshit psychological disadvantage. He did not want to talk about this embarrassing record at all. The reason was simple. He did not feel disgraced that he had not defeated Nottingham Forest before, but that this rotten record was left to him by his predecessor, Mourinho. So, he felt he had no obligation to make up for this for the dismissed Mourinho.

He also made no mention about such topics as how many games Chelsea had not beaten Nottingham Forest in the locker room before the game. Perhaps this might provoke a strong fighting spirit in the players, but Grant was afraid that it might backfire instead and cause the players to slip into a real psychological disadvantage. After all, he was not an expert who was eloquent enough to mobilize the emotions of his players in the locker room.

He told his players that Nottingham Forest’s most threatening offensive means were their two flanks. Consequently, Tony Twain was certain to consciously strengthen the team’s offense on the sides in this final. Chelsea had to focus on the wings during defense, and they had to pit against them—if Nottingham Forest goes the wings, we will go through the wings too.

As Grant had expected, Nottingham Forest took advantage of the expediency of their kickoff at the start of the game, and resolutely launched an attack through two wings from the start.

At fifth minute, after Gareth Bale actively plugged ahead he passed the ball from the back of the wing. The football hit Essien, who was the guest player for the right back position, on the leg and changed direction to drilled straight toward the nearest corner of the goalmouth. Fortunately, Čech had not moved his position and immediately fell to the ground to stop the football. There was no loss except that it startled the Chelsea fans and made them gasped.

“Argh!” Bale looked frustrated. He held his head in his hands. If the ball had unexpectedly gone in, the final might have been easier to compete in.

He was still upset but George Wood had already called his name from a distance, “Go back, Bale!” He asked Bale to return to defend because this ball did not get out of the end line but was caught directly by Čech. Van Nistelrooy interfered with Čech in front of him to keep him from launching a quick counterattack. But he could not overdo it for fear that it would attract the referee’s “special attention” for himself.

Čech bypassed van Nistelrooy and indeed threw the football to Essien, who was going to counterattack from that side.

Grant had instructed the entire team to pit against Nottingham Forest’s flank offensive and fight measure for measure before the game. What did he mean by measure for measure? That was, if Nottingham Forest started the attack from the left, then once they intercepted the ball, they would immediately counterattack on their right which was the Forest team’s left to take advantage of the void after the Forest full back had plugged in. Success would be a chance to directly threaten the opponent’s goal. Even if it was not successful, it could also make the Forest team’s two full backs sprint back and forth and exhausted themselves from running. They simply could not withstand for ninety minutes in such a high-intensity game. It would be Chelsea’s chance once their strength dropped, their movements collapsed, and their attention lacked focus.

Once he saw Essien got the ball, Ribéry rushed up to the front field to intercept and interfere while Gareth Bale did not dare to delay further at the front. He turned and darted back to defend.

Twain certainly anticipated that Grant would do that. It was not a remarkable tactic. The whole world dealt against teams that liked to use the full backs to assist in offense with this move. Nottingham Forest’s flank offense was known all over the world, and these two offensive full backs were known to the world. Only a fool would not take advantage of the gaps behind them while they plugged ahead to assist. But they could not restrict the two full backs for this reason and instruct them not to assist. That would be equaled to cutting themselves off at the legs. Therefore, Twain’s strategy was layer upon layer of defense. From the forward line in the front field to the midfield and then to the rear defensive line, they would carry out counter-pressing and interference, to give the full backs who came up to assist, enough time to return to defend.

As for their stamina, he was not very worried since both Gareth Bale and Rafinha were young players with their fitness and speed in ascendancy. They would not be particularly tired as long as the team took control of the situation on the field.

※※※

This was just a tentative attack for Bale. Following which, Chelsea also attempted to attack, and then the two teams began to tacitly focus on defense. No one wanted to concede a goal at the start of the game. This was the final. A goal concede implied too many possibilities. Neither Twain nor Grant wanted the game to possibly develop beyond his expectations.

Although they were focused mainly on defense, the game was not dull. No one scored yet but the two sides scrambled quite fiercely.

Nottingham Forest’s slight adjustment in its formation made Chelsea unable to adapt and played somewhat awkwardly. Van der Vaart positioned himself more to the front and could almost be counted as a “shadow striker.” In this way, he was clearly a bigger threat to the Chelsea goal than if he remained with George Wood at the back. In addition, Ribéry and Lennon withdrew inside to the flanks of Chelsea’s entire formation. This position caused Chelsea to feel very uncomfortable defensively—between the center back and the full back, it was a little like the undetermined merging of the urban and rural area.

As a result, the initiative on the field was firmly in the hands of Nottingham Forest during this time. Fifteen minutes later, Nottingham Forest began to use this initiative to increase the intensity of the attacks.

In the sixteenth minute, Ribéry’s shot was thrown out by Čech after he forced a breakthrough from the flank after he received a pass from Wood.

In the next two minutes, Bale plugged in to assist again. He lifted his leg to pass after he received the diverted ball from Ribéry. Unfortunately, no one could get into position in the penalty area and the football overshot above the penalty area to fly directly to the other side. Chelsea intercepted the ball and simply counterattacked.

Ashley Cole orchestrated a counterattack after he received the football.

He first did a feint to bypass Lennon who rushed up, and then decisively passed the football on to Ballack after he saw the Forest player’s intention to counter-press.

Ballack leaned back to block van der Vaart after he got the football and glanced at the situation on the field.

Chelsea had to admit they were caught off guard by the Forest team’s turnaround. But Twain also had to admit that it was a little risky in doing so—they were too dependent on George Wood. With van der Vaart, Ribéry and Lennon all moved forward in their positions, the latter half of the midfield was basically defended by Wood alone. As long as the other side used the passes to divert him, the opponent could pass through the midfield without resistance and directly face Nottingham Forest’s rear defensive line. For Chelsea, which had many long-shot masters, facing the rear defensive line also meant going within the firing range.

Makelele and Lampard were running forward, and George Wood chose to defend against Lampard. After all, Lampard was a lot more threatening than Makelele when it came to offense.

Ballack saw this scene and immediately twisted the ball up from under his feet to pass a high ball to directly fly toward … Makelele!

Wood ran halfway when he saw this situation. He hurriedly braked and turned around to pounce toward Makelele.

“Chelsea’s counterattack! As long as Makelele can pass the ball to Lampard, he will have room to play!” The commentator cried aloud.

The football was still in the air when Makelele saw George Wood came charging up. He knew Wood was strong and that this offensive could never be stopped here. Otherwise Nottingham Forest would surely take advantage of the opportunity while they were all plugged ahead to directly attack their goal from the middle.

Fight on!

The two men jumped at the same time during the high-speed run and rushed towards the football.

It looked like Makelele would get to the ball first. His wealth of experience had helped him. The charging Wood was less nimble in the air than on the ground. If the other person was destined to get to the ball, the only way to stop it was—he bumped Makelele on the forehead!

A muffled noise sounded, and the football bounced out as the two people tumbled to the ground. No one stood up.

Referee Ľuboš Micheľ’s whistle rang out. Judging by his hand gesture, it was George Wood’s foul. This penalty sparked displeasure among the Nottingham Forest players. They thought that with the collision of two players in this 50-50 ball, how could he have decided that it was the Forest team’s foul?

The Chelsea players were also equally mad. Such a ferocious impact was a simply murderous attempt on Makelele! What were the Forest players protesting about?

The two teams quickly swarmed together and looked like they were going to break out in a big fight. The tense atmosphere brought about by the final match spread from the first second of the game and was now close to a boiling point.

“Bastard! What are you doing?!” Chelsea’s Malouda pushed away the approaching Ribéry and yelled, “Do you want to fight!?”

“You f**king hit our men!” Ribéry wanted to rush up and punch this black guy, but he was tightly gripped by Lampard.

“Push them away for me!”

“Bale, what are you going up there for?”

“Damn it, calm down!”

“Take a look at our player. Who was the one who fouled?” Van Nistelrooy protested loudly to the referee as he pointed to George Wood, who was slowly turning over and sitting up.

The referee followed his gaze and looked down. He then hurriedly signaled for the stretcher to be brought onto the field.

This “Ironman”, “Tough Guy”, “Alien”, “The Terminator” and “Shrek”, who hardly ever suffered any harm during the games, now covered his eyes with his right hand as red blood seeped through his fingers. While Makelele weakly curled and sat up as his hands covered his head with a painful expression.

It looked like the two people were badly hurt.

※※※

“Damn it, damn it, damn it—damn it!” Twain agitatedly paced up and down in front of the technical area. The team doctor, Fleming ran up with his men, followed by a stretcher. “Tell them to calm down! The game has only started for twenty minutes! Damn it, it’s not the first time they’ve played in a final. How is it that each of them is like a barrel of gunpowder, ready to explode at the first spark?”

“Maybe it’s because George actually got hurt …” Dunn said in a low voice.

There was such a “legend” in Nottingham Forest that was not known to outsiders: George Wood was a monster that would never get hurt. No one in the world could break him at all on the football field and on the training ground. While it might be exaggerated to say so, there was a sense of security as his teammate to watch Wood never completely at a disadvantage no matter which opponent he was up against.

Could it be that this monster’s weakness was his head?

“You look at how he and Makelele are doing. Who seems to be hurt more seriously?” Twain pointed to the field and asked aloud.

George Wood sat on the ground with his head down as his hands held his bleeding wound. Other than that, there was no other strange area. Makelele, for his part, curled up with his hands on his head and seemed to be shaking—was he twitching from the shock?

Oh my god!

The team doctors of both Chelsea and Nottingham Forest had already stormed into the crowd. Their arrival helped the hard-pressed managers to separate the players and temporarily calmed their moods—they had all focused their attentions on their injured teammates. George Wood shed blood for the first time, while Makelele had a concussion.

“This was a very, very intense impact. Both sides did not seem to care about themselves and others. They only had the football in their sights …” The commentator’s tone was not as excited as before. The two people’s current condition was unknown. It would be terrible if something bad were to happen.

※※※

Fleming knelt in front of Wood, pried open his hands, and the blood dripped down his cheek onto his clothes.

“The knocked opened a gash …. Does your head hurt?” He asked.

“No.” Wood said in a deep voice like he was gnashing his teeth.

Right next to him, Chelsea’s team doctor laid in front of Makelele and extended three fingers as he shouted, “Claude, how many fingers am I holding up? How many?”

“Three …” Makelele’s faint voice reached George Wood’s ears too. He did not care that Fleming was examining himself as he turned his head to look over. Chelsea’s team doctor was slowly turning his body over to let him lie flat. In the process of turning over, Makelele saw George Wood, and the two men met gazes. Makelele murmured something and closed his eyes to rest. George Wood did not hear clearly.

“He said: ‘Man, your head is so hard.’” Ribéry crouched down and peered closely at the bleeding corner of George Wood’s eye. He asked, “How are you feeling, George?”

“No feeling.”

“Your head is really hard!” Ribéry curled his lips.

“All right, Franck, don’t get in the way of our work here!” Fleming pushed Ribéry away.

“I’m just showing a bit of concern to our superman captain.” Ribéry gave a shrug and opened his arms as he shouted to the other teammates, “Well, he’s okay. Our captain is a total monster!”

“Whoo-hoo—”

The little monkey Bale smiled.

Things were simpler with Makelele’s side. After lying flat on the ground for a while, Makelele recovered from the dizziness after the impact. He no longer spoke nor acted feebly. He sat up slowly and stood up again. He won a standing ovation and cheers from the Chelsea fans in the stands.

“Makelele! Our tough guy!!”

“Claude, you’re the best!”

※※※

When he saw the cheers that Makelele received once he got up, George Wood also suddenly stood up from the ground which startled Fleming, who was examining him.

“Hey, George! What are you doing?!”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s not up to you to say whether you’re ok or now. I’m in charge.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Does your head really not hurt?” Fleming asked.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Any dizziness?”

“No.”

Fleming extended a finger and checked, “How many fingers are there?”

“One.”

“One plus one equals to how many?”

“Two.”

“Two times two equals to?”

“Four.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the Champions League finals.”

“Well, Ribéry is right. Your head is really hard. But you still have to be brought off the field to stop the bleeding, change your jersey, and … stitch up the wound.”

Eight volunteers, who were supposed to carry the stretcher, resentfully ran back with the stretcher.

Makelele continued to stay on the pitch after a detailed examination by the team doctor, whereas George Wood came off the field to receive further treatment in the company of Fleming.

Behind him, the referee had not forgotten to show him a yellow card for the foul. His move had “won” him the boos from tens of thousands of Nottingham Forest fans. Following which, he “won” the boos of the other half of the people—for he showed a yellow card to Malouda, who had pushed Ribéry during the conflict.

After inflicting punishment on each side, this conflict was over. Chelsea drove a free kick at the penalty spot. George Wood walked to the sidelines and was treated on the spot by the team doctors.

“I won’t give you any anesthetic as it will affect your performance later. The sutured wound will hurt a little, so you just bear with it.” After he cleaned up the blood around the wound, Fleming was ready to stitch up the wound. He added, “Also, don’t blink. If not, I can’t stitch it well.”

Wood obeyed and stood in front of Fleming, with his eyes wide open, as if he was glowering at the gods. He let Fleming’s hands flutter above his own eyes with the needles moving in and out of the corner of his eyes. His rugged and angular face had no expression. He neither slightly frowned due to the pain nor did his eyes flashed with fear. The rain droplets gathered in his brow. The formation of the water droplets appeared as if it was going to drop into his eyes. But he still had to widen his eyes and not blink. He faced the field and looked at the two teams playing now without looking away.

This scene was transmitted onto the large display screen at the stadium and television screens via the television cameras. The Nottingham Forest fans got excited, even though it was Chelsea who was pressing on their team.

They cheered loudly, “Wood Wood! You’re the Forest!”

“Captain, you’re awesome—-!”

“With such a captain, we’re not afraid of anyone!!”

※※※

As the team doctor, Fleming was familiar with this kind of emergency treatment on the spot. He had done countless such simple suture surgeries, but he suddenly felt a little trembling in his hands with George Wood standing in front of him. Completely unaware of the cause, he just felt that his right hand pinching the needle was not as steady as before.

After he held his breath with rapt attention to finish the suture and then wiped the remaining blood stains off his face with a towel, Fleming breathed a sigh of relief.

“I almost passed out from holding my breath. George, I can’t even feel your breathing. Was I just stitching the wound on a dead man?” He complained.

“Can I go back on the field to play?” Wood did not heed his complaint and counter asked.

“No, you still have to change your clothes.” A clean set of jersey had been delivered next to him.

Wood did not say any more nonsense and swiftly took off the blood-stained jersey—the originally red jersey had dark red patches where there was blood.

“Take off your shorts as well.” Fleming pointed to his shorts, which also had blood stains dropped on it when Wood sat down before.

Wood bent over to take off his trousers. In an instant, his whole body was left naked except for a pair of white briefs.

As his brawny muscles was drenched in rain, he gave off a shiny silver brilliance under the stadium lights. His healthy and beautiful physique was like a renaissance sculpture of David. Even the simple act of bending over to wear his shorts became exceptionally sexy.

This scene probably caused countless of female fans to scream excitedly in front of the television.

“George Wood got changed on the sidelines, which is certain to be an attention-grabbing gossip the day after the game.” Once he saw that the two players were going to be all right, the commentator was in the mood to joke again. “This serious player was so cool just now!”

George Wood, who changed into the new jersey, raised his hand on the sidelines. As soon as the referee beckoned, he rushed back to the field.

On the other hand, Fleming returned to the technical area with his medical bag.

“It’s not easy for such a young kid to have such a steady mental strength.” He looked back at Wood and exclaimed, “His poise actually made me feel a little nervous … It’s embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Gary. Only such a person would be eligible to lead my Nottingham Forest team on the field.” Twain answered with a smile next to him.

“He is a lion who never gives up, never fears, and is the king of the Forest.”

Amid the rain, George Wood ran back to the field with his head held up and Ribéry extended his hand along his way. Wood high-fived him as he ran past to return to his position.

In the stands of the Luzhniki stadium, loud applause and cheers erupted. In this tsunami of voices, the sound of the rain was simply insignificant.