Godfather Of Champions

Chapter 600: A Little Bad Luck

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

Chelsea used Makelele’s sudden divine shot to break the deadlock, and Nottingham Forest trailed behind at home. Some of the Forest players found it unacceptable, and quickly launched a counterattack after the goal concede, but the counterattack was an impulsive move and had not been carefully planned. Chelsea was too flustered to ward off the attack at first because of the Forest team’s fierce offensive, but once they managed to hold their ground for a few minutes, they easily handled the Forest team’s disorderly attack.

What made the Forest team unable to accept the goal was not that they lagged behind Chelsea at home, as such a situation was common. The real reason for their upset was that the goal was scored by Makelele!

They were in exactly the same mood as Twain. We had the best defensive layout, and everyone worked hard to make sure the opponent’s offensive points were in the palms of our hands and that their offensive players did not get any decent chances. It showed that our defense had done a very, very good job. But...

But! Who would have thought Makelele would hit such a wonderful long shot? Who would have thought of that? No one! The most unlikely player had scored the most beautiful goal... How can we keep from losing our cool?

When faced with the Forest team, Chelsea played defensive counterattack to make them come out to attack and press on. Then they would fight back through the midfield with a quick and concise pass.

After Edwin van der Sar, George Wood, and the others were busy for a while, in addition to Twain yelling from the sidelines, the Forest team finally regained its cool. They began to gradually recall the formation that had pressed ahead too much, and slowly wound around the midfield with Chelsea.

The game returned to the state of dissatisfaction for the commentator.

A moment ago, the Forest team suddenly flipped out to press ahead and besiege the Chelsea’s penalty area to begin bombardment. Chelsea easily managed a quick counterattack to cause the Forest team’s rear defensive line to panic for a while. The commentator got excited as he waited a long time to see such a game and comment on such a confrontation.

Therefore, it could be said that Twain was not popular in the commentators’ circle. Most commentators, except for John Motson, did not like to do commentary for the Forest team’s games because it was nothing short of torture looking at them from a neutral and objective perspective — the victory-only theory made the games dull most of the time.

Twain finally stopped after he saw that the team’s defense was organized again. He was no longer on the sidelines like a jabbering and gesticulating monkey.

He went back to the technical area and shook his head at Dunn. “Dunn, it still did not work to ignore the midfield and do the direct long pass, especially in the face of an opponent who intends to defend with a goal ahead.”

Dunn nodded, but did not speak.

For every game, he would be here to carefully observe the situation on the field as an assistant manager. Then he would carry out a “simulation exercise” in his mind — if it were him, what he should do, what the consequences would be in doing so, the pros and cons... Then he would compare notes with the adjustments made by Twain in the end.

It was just that he had voiced it this time, and it turned out that his estimation was wrong.

※※※

By halftime, the score on the field had not changed. It was still 0:1, with the home team, Nottingham Forest, temporarily behind.

The players returned to the locker room and had gradually calmed down. They had experienced many similar situations, and it would not leave them dejected. Twain was also in the mood to joke with them. “Well, I have to admit. After Makelele scored the goal, I finally got a taste of how Mourinho felt after George Wood scored in the first leg of last year’s Champions League semi-final...”

He spread his hands and there was a burst of laughter in the locker room.

Someone even winked at George Wood sitting in the corner.

“We should actually see that they didn’t have a good chance other than that goal. But as a result of the goal concede, the advantage is no longer on our side. When the second half begins, we will start to fight back. On the condition that our defense must be solid... we will counterattack! But this time... we don’t go on the flanks.”

Not many people would dispute that Nottingham Forest’s strength in the flanks was number one in the English Premier League. Although the king of assists, Ashley Young, was gone, Franck Ribéry, Martin Petrov, David Beckham, and Aaron Lennon were still efficient attacking players on the flanks that intimidated their opponents, and they had different characteristics and excellent skills.

Twain was also focused on the role of the flanks in the offense, with a lot of the Forest team’s offense launched from the flanks. When their opponents studied the Forest team, they also focused on their flanks, whether it was offensive or defensive.

Now the Forest team already experienced their opponents’ research giving them trouble during the games.

“We don’t go on the flanks this time. We’ll go in the middle.” Twain smiled as he looked at George sitting in the corner. “George!”

Wood stood up obediently and looked at Twain wordlessly.

“You remember what Demetrio said to you before he left?”

Wood nodded.

“I’ll hand this over to you.”

Twain drew an arrow that went straight from their own back half of the field to the opponent’s penalty area on the site plan of the football field on the tactical board. He turned to Wood. “When we attack, I want you to... go forward like this. Van der Vaart is in charge of organizing the offense and he will choose the right time to pass the ball to you — if you run into a void. If you’re marked, you’ll help him to rip apart the other team’s Makelele and Essien, as well as all the other defensive players. And you guys.” Twain threw away the pen and pointed to the others. “Don’t think you won’t run if you don’t have a chance. Nottingham Forest’s opportunities for a shot are created by running. Form a big gap within their organized defensive lines! Now that we’re behind and they’re ahead, I bet that guy Mourinho is going to make the team resolutely play defensive counterattack in the second half and deal with us like we did against other teams. Hence, we can’t wait for the opportunity to appear as usual, we have to create our own opportunities. So, run... keep running for me. The two side midfielders will switch positions, the strikers will cross and switch, the strikers and attacking midfielders will exchange positions. In short, we cannot let the opponent guess our actions and intentions. The two full backs should plug in more firmly too.”

Bale and Rafinha nodded. They started in this game, and these two full backs who liked to attack wanted to hear that phrase.

“Nicklas.” Twain looked at Bendtner.

Bendtner and Chimbonda were recalled from the reserves by Twain before the second game against Be?ikta?, a game in which he needed Bendtner’s height and header shots, as well as strength. The tactic he arranged to deal with the Turks was high aerial shots, as the opponent’s main center back was injured in the league game, so Be?ikta? lacked aerial defense. Twain seized on this point and arranged for Bendtner to start, putting van Nistelrooy on the bench. Bendtner, who had bottled up an unimaginable amount of energy, did not disappoint Twain, and the final score of that game was 8:0. Bendtner alone scored four goals, did three headers, a slide shot, and completely routed Be?ikta?’ defenses. Not only that, he even used his height and headers to create shots for his teammates, directly assist with a goal and indirectly assist two goals. When he was brought off in the 83rd minute, all the fans in the stadium rose to applaud him.

Twain was well aware of the clever use of “the carrot and the stick”, so he praised Bendtner at the post-match press conference and let him start in this league game. As for Chimbonda, he played against Be?ikta? in the second half as a substitute and sat on the bench for this game.

“Nicklas, your job is not to score goals. If we attack, you’ll run forward and press up. The opponent’s defensive line is bound to follow you and retreat. You just push their defensive lines back and create opportunities to score for our players plugging in from the back.” Twain drew on the tactical board to help Bendtner understand what his mission was in this game.

Bendtner did not make a sound and did not nod his head to indicate that he heard it clearly. The expression on his face seemed to show a little reluctance. He had yet to recover from the state of scoring four goals in the Champions League game. He found it hard to accept his role as a cover. Twain could see it, but he did not have the time and effort to take care of it. Winning now was the most important thing. He did not want to lose to Mourinho.

He just added another sentence. “You’re a tactical center forward. Do you understand?”

This time, Bendtner nodded.

Ribéry was still absent due to his injury for this game. Petrov started on the left flank and Lennon was on the right flank. The two players were fast and good at breakthroughs. However, Twain did not ask them to cross from the byline, but to cut inside the penalty area when appropriate. If there was a chance to even dribble the ball to break through, they should disrupt the opponent’s defense.

With this arrangement, Bendtner, as the tall center forward, could only act as a cover in front of the goal. The Forest team’s offensive point was not with him at all, but laid with the midfielder plugging in from the back, as well the shadow striker, winger, and attacking midfielder like the Russian, Arshavin.

After he finished setting up the specific tactics, Twain gave the players a break to get ready to play. He himself walked out of the locker room.

There was an intersection outside the home team’s locker room. When someone turned right, they would walk into a corridor, and then after a right turn, they would be at the door of the visiting team’s locker room. When it was time to make their appearances, players from both teams would come out of the doors of their respective locker rooms, walk through the corridor and into a spacious hall, where they gathered and waited for the referee. Then they would walk forward, with the referee, through the tunnel to the field.

That was when the entrance ceremony began.

Twain walked to the hall, which was empty except for some stadium staff. The noise outside the stadium was still clear, but it was unorganized and chaotic. Most fans choose that time to go buy some drinks and food or use the restrooms, plus it was raining, so there were not many fans in the stands.

Twain wanted to smoke, but he did not smoke in the stadium. He did not want to send any negative signals to the players and others. He turned and walked towards the restroom reserved for coaches.

※※※

Mourinho stood in front of the big mirror above the sink in the restroom and gazed at himself in the mirror. He had just washed his face with cold water, and beads of water still hung from the tip of his nose and eyebrows.

The atmosphere in the locker room made him uncomfortable. The team that was originally united in their fight for the championship title was falling apart and divided at heart.

Although they were ahead, the atmosphere in the locker room was not lively during halftime. The rumors apparently affected the people inside Chelsea. The pro-Mourinho players, like Drogba, had long been averse toward Abramovich, so he could not see eye to eye with Shevchenko, who had been bought due to Abramovich’s single-mindedness.

He was also proud. When Shevchenko first came to Chelsea, bringing with him the aura of the world’s top striker, there was speculation that Mourinho would let Shevchenko be the mainstay and sacrifice Drogba. Therefore, when someone asked Drogba what he thought of the competition with Shevchenko, Drogba haughtily said, “Shevchenko is a great striker, but I’m not afraid to compete with him. I’ll prove what I’m capable of.”

Shevchenko’s performance was unsatisfactory in his first season at Chelsea and was dubbed a “subpar import” by the English media, and even made a list of the top fifty subpar imports in the Premier League. Whereas Drogba, the center forward who was underestimated and thought of as having rough technique, still maintained his high goal rate and saved the team in many critical moments. His form remained as stable as ever.

The speculation that Shevchenko would squeeze out Drogba before the season did not materialize. Then, people were worried about whether Shevchenko would return to the embrace of AC Milan after a dark and gloomy season in England.

Drogba was brought to Chelsea by Mourinho from the France Ligue 1 and groomed into a world-renowned center forward. His most brilliant achievements so far had been with Chelsea, and acquired under Mourinho’s leadership, so his feelings for Mourinho might be comparable to Ribéry’s for Twain.

Basically, most of the players who were bought by Chelsea after Mourinho took office stood behind the manager, while Ballack and Shevchenko were unlikely to have any good feelings toward Mourinho because they were not liked by Mourinho and were not used in important positions. Then there was Grant, the one man who always stood behind Mourinho, as if he had been placed by Abramovich to keep a close watch over him. The hidden relationships in the locker room were so complicated.

Mourinho was not a na?ve kid that thought a teammates should be friends. He liked the feeling of having a monopoly in power. Now there were people in the locker room who did not listen to him, and that made him angry and helpless.

He was furious because he was deprived of his power, whereas he was helpless because he could only accept this outcome.

After he laid out the tactics of the second half, he came out to get some air. He washed his face in the restroom to clear his head.

He had already lost control of the locker room. Some people appeared to listen to him, and he did not care what they thought behind his back.

A paper towel appeared in front of Mourinho’s eyes. He snapped out of his thoughts and saw another man in the mirror.

“Why are you crying when you’re ahead, Mr. Mourinho?” Twain’s sharp and unkind voice rang out.

“Have you ever seen tears run above your eyebrows?” Mourinho retorted. “Maybe your physiology is not quite the same as ours, Mr. Twain?”

Twain did not fight back, but instead laughed happily.

“Are you still so happy to be behind?” Mourinho continued to scoff.

“No, it has nothing to do with the score and the game.” Twain smiled, then pulled out a cigarette and handed Mourinho one.

“No, thank you, I don’t smoke,” Mourinho refused with a stiff face.

Twain shrugged his shoulders and lit one for himself.

Mourinho looked in the mirror, wiped the water off his face with the paper towel, and dried his hands before throwing the used paper towel into the bin.

“Thank you for the paper towel. Bye.”

Mourinho did not want to be in the same room as Twain, so he said goodbye to Twain and turned to leave.

“Mr. Mourinho...”

“Yes?” Mourinho stopped in his tracks and looked back at Twain.

“...Goodbye,” Twain waved. “See you on the field.”

※※※

The second half resumed, and the rain did not stop. Mourinho still stood on the sidelines, despite the downpour and wind. Twain also went from pacing back and forth in the first half to stand on the sidelines in the rain.

The Forest team began to fight back. With the cheers of the home fans, the momentum of their counterattack caused Chelsea to temporarily give up their intention to fight back and defend with all their might.

Based on their understanding and analysis of the Forest team, Chelsea focused the defense on the two flanks. When they saw Bale and Rafinha, who did not assist much in the first half, frequently pressed on after the start of the second half, they strengthened their resolve to defend the flanks.

The Forest team concentrated on their dominant force on the right, intending to attack in one moment and in the next moment, they would do long passes to the left to seek empty gaps. It appeared to be the same as usual.

Just when everyone thought the Forest team’s flank offense would be smashed to smithereens up against Chelsea’s impenetrable defense, George Wood inserted himself.

He was unmarked!

“Pass the ball to George!” Someone in the stands eagerly screamed.

Van der Vaart did not look up to find his teammates. It would be too obvious that he intended to pass, so he just scanned from the corner of his eye and found that Wood had plugged in from behind. Moreover, there was not a Chelsea player around.

He passed out the football without hesitation. Then he ran forward on his own, intending to execute a beautiful two over one pass with Wood, if he could comprehend it.

The football rolled towards Wood. Just as Wood lifted his leg, intending to receive it, he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a loud bang.

The referee’s whistle rang, but the sprawling boos from the home fans in the stands sounded even faster.

“Foul!” the commentator barked.

George Wood was tackled to the ground from behind before he could receive the ball. He flipped over and discovered that the man who had put him down was the small-built Makelele. He was not actually hurt, so he was going to get up from the ground. But before he could do so, he was pressed to the ground by van der Vaart, who dashed over and looked anxiously at his legs.

“I’m not...” He wanted to reassure his worried teammate.

“Shut up!” Van der Vaart urged in a low voice with his head down. “Lie on the ground and pretend to look like you’re in pain! Quickly!”

Not waiting for Wood to say anything, more teammates came running from all directions and surrounded him. Someone even made a gesture to signal for a stretcher to come over. The others were responsible for protesting to the referee and yelling at the Chelsea players that their men acted too boorishly.

“It’s such a powerful tackle... George Wood fell to the ground in pain. He looks hurt, and not lightly... Since his debut, George Wood has never missed a game in the Forest team due to injury or illness. Can this be his unforgettable first time?” The commentator gushed, and the television broadcast cooperatively showed the replay of Makelele’s foul in slow motion. It looked really rough, and George Wood’s entire person was overturned.

The perpetrator, Makelele, stood outside and acted nonchalant with a relaxed face. He shouted in French across the crowd.

“What’s that bastard yelling about?” Gareth Bale did not care if Makelele was a senior on the field. He was not in the mood to respect the old when his comrade was hurt.

Ribéry and Chimbonda were not on the field, so the Forest team now had no Frenchmen. However, Kompany was still able to understand French as a Belgian. Both he and Bale were the people who “protected” Wood. He translated, “It sounds like... ‘Get up, kid. I did not hurt you. You know it... yourself.’ Huh?”

The two men looked down at Wood, who was lying on the ground and Wood looked at them.

“I’m really not hurt,” he said. “He shoveled the ball first and then overturned me...”

Van der Vaart interrupted him again. “If you don’t lie on the ground a little longer, how are we going to get a card on him?”

A small commotion broke out on the field. Such commotions almost always appeared in games between the Forest team and Chelsea, often more than once. The fans in the stands booed agitatedly, which was followed by rowdy jeers.

The referee eventually showed Makelele a yellow card. The Forest players next to them were still pretending to protest angrily. “It should be a red card for such a foul!”

The team doctor, Fleming, brought his people over with a stretcher and squeezed into the crowd. He knelt down and tweaked Wood’s ankle. “It’s not broken.”

“I’m not hurt...” Wood said helplessly.

“Shut up!” Fleming took a medicinal spray out of his bag and sprayed Wood’s legs. “Carry him down,” he said to the two people behind him.

Wood did not want to comply. He was not hurt, but he was going to be carried off the field. In his mind, being carried out could only be the treatment for his opponents. If he were to be treated this way, it would be a disgrace. He vehemently objected. “I said I’m not hurt!”

Fleming was aware that Wood was unhurt, and he knew Wood’s temper, so he waved away his staff members. “Well, we won’t carry you off. Come with me, but remember to walk a little lame, not too obvious... Don’t go too fast. All right...” He held out his hand and took Wood’s hand as he acted like he had to use a lot of strength. “...Get up!”

Wood stood up.

“Remember what I said, walk slowly!” Fleming whispered beside Wood, which looked like concern about his injury to everyone’s eyes.

Loud applause erupted in the stands at the City Ground stadium when they saw their team captain get back on his feet.

“George Wood walks off the field and does not seem to be seriously hurt...”

Wood stood on the sidelines and made a gesture to the referee to request for admission to the field. The referee waved. He stepped on the ground and jumped back. There was no a hint of injury.

Twain was a little nervous when he saw Wood lie on the ground for a long time. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that Wood could come off on his own. Then the corners of his mouth curled up when he saw Wood rush back to the field.

He did not expect Wood to run back in such a healthy way. Fleming was a little surprised and annoyed. He gave Wood’s back a hard stare and walked back.

Twain reached out to him and asked, “Is the kid all right?”

“Healthier than a bull in rut,” Fleming said bluntly as he high-fived Twain, and then walked back to his seat.

Twain looked back at Chelsea’s Makelele and smacked his lips. “Unfortunately, it’s just a yellow card...”

※※※

In addition to the yellow card, Nottingham Forest gained a direct free kick at the front of the penalty area, which would be taken by Bale.

Bale set up the football and asked Wood, “He really didn’t shovel and hurt you?”

“No,” Wood answered the question with a straight face.

“Well...” Bale turned his head to look at Chelsea’s goal. ?ech nervously directed his teammates to line up for the human wall, to block the area in front of the corner nearest to the goal. Everyone was aware of Bale’s free kick skills and that was the left-footed player’s favorite position, but there was some emptiness with the anger gone.

The referee whistled and Wood, who looked like he was covering Bale, did not move. Bale started his shot.

The football drew an arc and beautifully glided past the human wall to fly toward to nearest corner of the goal.

ech did his best to pounce from the far corner but he did not touch the football.

Gareth Bale’s free kick was low and skimmed the top of the human wall to fly over, so its speed was faster than the average free kick. Coupled with the unfathomable curvature, it was difficult for the goalkeeper to judge.

The football seemed to be about to plunge into the net, but instead, it slammed into the crossbar and bounced out of the end line.

There was a loud sigh across the City Ground stadium. Everyone could not help but hang their heads. They wrung their hands and sighed for the beautiful free kick.

Twain was just like them. He held his head in his hands as he crouched on the ground. “What a damn shame!” he shouted.

Compared to Twain’s hyperactivity, Mourinho still had that same pose, and was not too surprised by Bale’s free kick hitting the crossbar.

“The score is still 0:1! Chelsea had a narrow escape! Maybe Mourinho can really beat Tony Twain in this game. Luck is on Chelsea’s side in this away challenge...”