Two days before the Champions League final, the Forest team arrived in Paris ahead of schedule.
"Paris, the capital of fashion. Anelka, how does it feel to be home? "Ribéry asked his compatriot.
Anelka looked at the scenery outside the car window and said mildly, "Not bad."
He was not born in Paris, but his first professional football club was Paris Saint-Germain. He had stayed in Paris long enough that he still had a house in Paris.
"Hey, hey, don't talk in French. We don't know what you're talking about." Ashley Young was depressed.
"There are so many beauties in France …" Eastwood whistled at the fashionable beauties walking by on the road outside.
"Freddy, you're the father of two children. Pay attention to your image." Tang En joked with the players in front, eliciting a burst of laughter in the bus.
Everyone on the team looked relaxed, except for one person.
Tang En took the opportunity to glance at George Wood sitting in the back while he turned his head to talk to Eastwood. He was staring out the window at the streets of Paris, lost in thought. He did not care about what had just happened in the bus.
Tang En sighed in his heart.
Originally, George Wood did not have to come with the team because he could not participate in the final. However, Tang En still insisted on bringing him, hoping to use this method to show that he was an important member of the team. This method looked more like a form of comfort, but comfort was better than nothing. Wood must feel like an outsider. Everyone could look forward to the Champions League final, but he could not.
And most importantly, Tang En could not go and comfort Wood now. He could not walk to Wood's seat under the watchful eyes of the crowd, pat him on the shoulder and say, "It's okay, George. Even if you can't play, you're still a member of the team. "That would put everyone's attention on Wood, which was exactly what Wood did not want to happen.
Other than looking at Wood from afar and sighing in his heart, Tang En could do nothing else.
※ ※ ※
When the team bus arrived at the hotel they were staying in, there were already quite a number of media waiting there.
This final had long been defined by the media as "the decisive battle between artistic football and utilitarian football." Barcelona naturally represented artistic football, while Nottingham Forest, because of its insistence on defensive counterattack and beautiful football with ugly scenes, was considered the representative of utilitarianism.
Tang En was very dissatisfied with this. He did not deny that his team was somewhat utilitarian, but he hated it when the media simply and crudely pitted the two teams against each other. They put Barcelona on a pedestal to worship, but made Nottingham Forest the target of criticism.
What's wrong with an ugly kick? I can win if I play ugly. So what if it was artistic? Even though Barcelona was doing well now, no one knew who would be doing well in a few years.
Twain, who was the first to get off the bus, had just set his feet on the ground when numerous microphones stuck out from both sides of the passageway to his mouth. Questions were thrown at him one after another. There was nothing new about it. Most of them were related to Wood's absence. As the competition approached, the topic of Wood's absence from the finals became even more heated. Everyone wanted to see how the Forest team, which thrived on defense, would deal with Barcelona after losing the team's most important defensive player.
"How do we deal with it? Won't you find out when it's time for the match? "As he squeezed forward, Tang En answered similar questions in a very unfriendly manner.
"May I ask, Mr. Twain? As we all know, your team has always relied on defense to enter the finals. So, will Wood's absence make you more proactive in seeking offense? "someone in the crowd asked at the top of his voice.
Hearing the question, Tang En stopped in his tracks and cast his gaze in the direction of the voice. The question touched his sore spot, allowing him to find a great opportunity and excuse to vent his displeasure over the past few days.
"Who asked this question just now?"
A bald man stood up. "Mundo Deportivo reporter …"
He was about to introduce himself but was interrupted by Tang En. "The Catalan media? No wonder. Why, you look down on defense? You think it's embarrassing for us to rely on defense to enter the finals? Barcelona is very artistic and offensive. If you have the ability, why don't you suggest to Rijkaard that he doesn't line up defenders and goalkeepers on the field? Attack to the end, art to the end? How many years have you been reporting on football? Do you understand football? Where are you from? " Tang En almost followed up with "What's your mother's name?" Fortunately, he suppressed his anger at the crucial moment and did not explode with vulgarities. "Do you know what defense really is? Do you understand the significance of defense to modern football? Are you unhappy that we relied on defense to 'enter' the finals? Are you saying that because you think the team you support will have a headache against our defense? "
Tang En simply did not leave as he scolded. He put his suitcase on the ground and stretched out his fingers to count for the Barcelona reporter in front of him. "Look at what you media are writing — the decisive battle between artistic football and utilitarian football! We're utilitarian? Let me count for you. From the top 16 to the end of the semi-finals, how many goals did Barcelona score? Six! How many did our Nottingham Forest score? We scored five in the round of 16! "He opened his palm and gestured in front of the poor reporter. "By the end of the semi-finals, we scored nine goals! Don't you always like to use the number of goals scored to measure whether a team's offense is strong? We scored nine, Barcelona scored six. Who's utilitarian? Who's offensive? "
Someone in the crowd whistled. It was a sound of gloating and watching the show. Everyone liked to see Tang En do this because it meant they would soon have explosive news to report.
The players who got out of the car saw their manager pointing at a reporter and scolding him. They also stopped to watch the show. Kerslake, on the other hand, urged them to hurry into the hotel and not waste time here.
"My team is not a circus for people to entertain. I have no obligation to satisfy your little hobbies. I only care about the evaluation of my own supporters and the board of directors. The championship trophy is my goal. I don't care if it looks good or not. Artistic football? I'm not Picasso or Van Gogh. Goodbye, Mr. Barcelona. "
After venting the displeasure in his heart, Tang En pulled up his suitcase again and turned to leave the bustling entrance of the hotel.
"Wow, the boss is so cool …" Lennon was dumbfounded.
"I can foresee what the headlines of tomorrow's major media outlets will be …" Albertini said next to him, his tone rather helpless.
※ ※ ※
The finals had not yet started, but Nottingham Forest had already become the focus of the media's attention. To be precise, their manager, Tony Twain, had become the focus of everyone's attention. The Spanish media fiercely attacked Tang En's speech at the entrance of the hotel yesterday, saying he lacked basic respect and was arrogant and full of nonsense.
The media in Nottingham and even England supported Tang En and worked hard to portray him as a manager with a personality. They publicized that he said that because of his straightforward temper.
As for the other neutral media, they happily rushed to report on the matter with the mood to watch the show. Some of the media's titles were very clever: Tony Twain and Barcelona's War.
Readers could see this as Tang En challenging the Barcelona team alone. It could also be seen as Tang En challenging the city of Barcelona like Don Quixote, as well as Catalonia, which stood behind it.
In short, because of Tang En's momentary impulse, the focus of attention and the firepower of the opposing media were all focused on him.
David Kerslake was puzzled by this. He knew that Tang En had a bad temper when facing the media. He also knew that Tang En had been in a bad mood recently. Perhaps it was because of the approaching big match that made him nervous to the point of being overly sensitive. However, the reporter's question at that time did not blatantly attack the Forest team's conservative tactics. He did not understand why Tang En would fly into such a rage instead, as compared to the comments written in the newspapers by other media outlets, he was much more polite.
The next day, Tang En specially called the waiter over and gave him a tip. He told him to go out and buy all the sports newspapers he could buy. Then, he flipped all the newspapers he bought to the page with his photo and news, neatly arranging them on the bed.
Sunlight spilled in from the window and shone on the bed. He could not read French or Spanish, but it did not stop him from admiring his photo.
Like admiring a work of art, he stood by the bed and tilted his head to look at the newspapers that emitted the scent of ink.
So, when David Kerslake knocked on the door and entered, he found the scene very strange.
"Tony, what are you doing?"
"As you can see, reading the newspapers." Tang En did not turn his head and continued to read the newspapers on the bed.
"You're reading like this?" Kerslake walked over and imitated Tang En by tilting his head to look. But other than the eye-catching photos, he could not see anything else.
"Can you read it?" he asked.
"I don't need to. I can guess what they're writing. It's just the same old stuff. Do you want me to repeat it to you? "
Kerslake shook his head. "I was just about to ask you, Tony. No matter how I think about it, there's something wrong with you throwing a tantrum at the entrance of the hotel yesterday. It's very strange. Or rather, I feel that you threw a tantrum too suddenly. "
"Venting my emotions is not like playing in a match. I have to warm up in advance." Tang En walked over and pointed to the newspapers on the bed. "Look, it's all my photos and my name. They're all discussing me. Whether it's supporting me or scolding my mother, all the focus is on me."
"You're famous, Tony. But you don't need to be famous. "
"You think I'm doing it for fame? Then I might as well go to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take off all my clothes and go bungee jumping. "Tang En put away the newspapers and freed up the bed. Then, he threw himself on the bed. He looked at Kerslake, who was still standing by the side, and asked, "How are the players feeling?"
"Not bad."
"Are they nervous?"
"A few of them are, but not all of them."
"Is everything normal?"
Kerslake nodded. "I think so."
"What about the reporters?"
"They're all thinking of ways to interview you."
Hearing his assistant manager say so, Tang En chuckled. "Let them find them."
"Hey, Tony, you haven't answered my question."
"What question?"
"Why did you suddenly throw a tantrum?"
"Why? I just wanted the media to focus all their attention on me and leave some space for the team. Now, it looks like I've done well. At least there won't be anyone asking about those damned tactics and Wood's absence from the match. "
Tang En flipped over and sat up from the bed. "Let's go, David. It's lunchtime. "
※ ※ ※
During lunch, the team was discussing Tang En's anger at the reporter yesterday. Meanwhile, Tang En announced another piece of news: there was free time in the afternoon. The players could go shopping or do other things. In short, try not to stay in the hotel room. Then, they would return to the hotel at 5: 30 and gather at Stade de France for training to adapt to the venue. Because of the television broadcast, the finals had to be played at night. In order to let the team get used to the feeling of enjoying the match, Tang En also set the training time at that time.
This decision was met with cheers from the players.
They had come to the fashion capital, Paris, where beauties were as common as clouds. No one wanted to lock themselves up in the hotel room. The young people all wanted to go out and have fun.
Only Kerslake reminded Tang En in a low voice, "Tony, the match is the day after tomorrow."
"I know. That's why we have to let them relax. Being nervous is not good for the match. It's no longer the era of the hotel, the training ground, and the stadium. They have their own way of entertainment, and we have to respect that. "
After lunch and a short lunch break, the Forest players went out in groups.
Wood accompanied his mother to go shopping. People with girlfriends and wives would, of course, be with their lovers. The single men went out in groups to look for beauties.
Tang En did not stay idle either. He went out to meet Shania. This was an appointment they had made before coming to Paris.
Shania was dressed like a normal little girl. With her makeup removed, she was completely different from the icy beauty on the runway. The only thing she used to hide her identity and face was perhaps a pair of large sunglasses.
The two had arranged to meet in the square in front of the Eiffel Tower. The sun was shining brightly that day, perfect for a date.
"It's the Eiffel Tower again. Almost everyone who comes to Paris will come here. You're so vulgar, Uncle Tony. "Shania looked at the sea of people in the Champ de Mars and sighed. The location of the appointment was decided by Tang En. Back then, over the phone, he did not hesitate to say the name of the Eiffel Tower because that building was the most famous. It had already become a symbol of Paris and France on a global scale. It was also because there were too many people who came to visit that the "romantic French style" could not be associated with it at all. It might have looked fine from afar, but when they got closer, they realized it was full of people, noisy and bustling.
"What? I'm just a vulgar person. " Tang En used his digital camera to continuously take pictures as he answered Shania, who stood in front of him.
Shania glanced at Tang En.
"Do you need to take so many pictures of a tower?"
"Who said I'm taking pictures of the tower?"
"Eh?"
"Although the tower is beautiful, it's not more beautiful than people."
Shania rolled her eyes. The square was full of tourists, and there were indeed many fashionably dressed, sexy, and plain beauties walking past them.
"Shania, take off your sunglasses."
"Why? The sun is very glaring. "Although she complained, Shania still took off her sunglasses. Having just taken off her sunglasses, she could not help but squint her eyes. Then, she realized that Tang En's camera was aimed at her.
"Yeah, you look better without sunglasses. Do you know what you look like with sunglasses, Shania? "
"Like what?"
"A toad."
"Uncle Tony!" Shania glared and pretended to be angry. But when she saw Tang En's hand press the shutter even faster, she laughed instead. "Alright, actually, I don't like wearing sunglasses either. But who asked me to …"
"Who asked you to become a celebrity now? Look, I don't have to wear sunglasses when I go out. "
"Because you wear them on the training ground," Shania retorted.
Tang En took the camera down and closed it. Then, he said to Shania, "Do you want some ice cream?" There was an ice cream shop under the Eiffel Tower.
Shania hesitated for a moment, then pouted and shook her head. "I think not … I'm afraid of getting fat. Models have to maintain their figures at all times. "
Tang En suddenly stuffed the camera into Shania's hands. "Eating a tub of ice cream won't make you fat immediately. I don't want you to be like those models, dieting to the point of starving to death on the runway. Health is more important than anything else. Wait here, I'll go buy some ice cream. "
With that, Tang En turned around and strode towards the crowded ice cream shop.
Shania lowered her head and turned on the digital camera again, then flipped through the photos Tang En had taken earlier. Unexpectedly, she did not see countless photos of unfamiliar beauties in the memory card. There was only one main character in all the photos — her, Judy Shania Jordana.
The way she looked around with her sunglasses on, the way she frowned when she spoke, the way she pouted her lips, the way she flipped her hair, the way she smiled, the way she rolled her eyes, the way she glared angrily … Where was the Eiffel Tower? She could not find it. There was not a single photo of the tall and beautiful figure of the "Iron Lady."
As she looked, Shania laughed.
Then, she raised the camera and faced the ice cream shop. Through the electronic screen, she saw Uncle Tony holding up two ice cream cones with both hands, struggling to squeeze out of the crowd.
This was not the slightest bit like the high-spirited Mr. Tony Twain who commanded the team to charge and break through the enemy lines at the sidelines of the match, the young and most popular manager in Europe, who had a big war of words with the media outside the field …
Shania pointed the camera at Tang En in the crowd, pushed it closer, and pressed the shutter.
(To be continued, if you want to know what happened next, please log on to WWW. CMFU. com. More chapters. Support the author. Support the original reading!)
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