The pinnacle of defensive counterattack was to let the opponent press you for 89 minutes and 50 seconds. During that period, you would be battered and in constant danger. It looked like you would concede the goal every minute and every second. You would be at a complete disadvantage whether it was in terms of the situation or technical statistics. But …
This "but" was the essence of defensive counterattack.
But you would not concede the goal and then use a counterattack in the last ten seconds to succeed with a sneak attack to fix the score at 1: 0. You won.
Therefore, defensive counterattack was always associated with the "1: 0 doctrine" and "conservatism." It was considered the representative of ugly football, hated by the fans and disdained by the critics.
But Twain liked it.
Because it could bring him victory.
※ ※ ※
"Gareth Bale! This is his first goal in the Champions League! It came so easily … He's unmarked and just needs a light block … He succeeded! "
The little monkey, Gareth Bale, had envisioned such a scene countless times before he scored. What would it be like if he scored a goal in an important game like the Champions League? He had also designed all kinds of celebratory actions after scoring a goal. There were so many that he could hardly remember them all.
But when the goal really came, he forgot the preparatory actions he had prepared before. He just opened his arms and knelt on the ground, looking up at the sky. The brilliant floodlights cast down from the night sky, and countless white halos focused on him alone. Surrounded by darkness, there was only the constant noise and applause … At that moment, he was the protagonist on the stage.
Looking up at the night sky, a figure appeared in Bale's field of vision. It was his teammate, Eastwood. He leaped high in the air and pressed Bale under his body before he could react.
"Wow —"
Then more Forest players swarmed over and pressed the two men to the bottom. This was their favorite way to celebrate, whether it was by pressing on their teammates or the coach …
George Wood did not join in the fun. He stood outside the crowd, clenched his fists and waved hard.
The Forest team's substitutes' bench had become a sea of joy. Everyone was hugging and hugging everyone around them. The score was really inspiring. The Forest team was in a good situation after scoring two goals in the away game and leading Chelsea in the score.
In contrast to the joyous atmosphere on the Forest team's side, the Chelsea substitutes' bench and the technical area were silent. Mourinho bit his lower lip and stared at the big screen. It was replaying the entire process of the Forest team's goal.
George Wood's sudden insertion disrupted Chelsea's defensive plan. Terry dared not ignore the man who had been very active in the game, but he ended up ignoring another man …
Gareth Bell!
Mourinho murmured the name in his heart. He was really his own jinx. The first goal of his professional career was scored against his own team. The first goal of the championship was also scored against his own team's goal … Damn it, Tang En must have deliberately brought on this person!
※ ※ ※
"Nottingham Forest's youngsters are growing up. Those young geniuses who were brought to the youth team by Tony Twain and promoted from the youth team to the First Team are now the key to deciding the outcome of the match. George Wood, Gareth Bale, Piqué … We can expect more. "
There was not much time left in the match, so the commentator began to make a concluding statement. On the field, Chelsea launched a frenzied counterattack. The Forest team played the iron bucket formation that they were best at. Eleven players shrank within the thirty-meter area and did not come out. They blocked Chelsea's long shots with the elegance of blocking the bullet holes.
The Nottingham Forest people off the field had already stood up from their seats and stood side by side on the sidelines, counting down for the game.
Twain was clustered in the middle by Dunn and Kerslake. He glanced next door. Mourinho sat in the technical area and did not make any other movements. His face could not be seen clearly, and there was no way to know what expression he had at the moment. It must be exciting, right?
Kerslake, who was next to him, could not wait to raise his arms and make a gesture of celebrating victory. There were many people around him who did the same.
Although the Forest team was still in a sorry state on the field, these people were not worried. Because they had seen such scenes many times.
The referee decisively blew the whistle to end the game after Shevchenko's shot went wide.
At that moment, the cheers of the visiting fans rang out in the Stanford Stadium, but the cheers were soon drowned out by the boos of the Chelsea fans. The Blues fans would not tolerate the opponent celebrating a victory on their territory.
They want to stab us again after winning? No way!
"Nottingham Forest has won the first game. This is a precious away victory! Although the strength of both teams is similar, and it's normal to see who wins and who loses, it's still very surprising to see the Forest team take down Chelsea in an away game. Mourinho continues his embarrassing record of 'not winning against Twain.' In the showdown between the two managers with different personalities, Twain has won the first game. But whether he can win in the end still depends on the second leg of the game at Nottingham City Stadium. "
The people around him ran up to celebrate, while Twain turned and walked toward the Chelsea technical area.
Shaking hands after a game was a form of procedure.
Moreover, he wanted to see Mourinho's expression up close.
Mourinho certainly knew that Twain did not walk over at this time to show his grace. He knew very well what the other party wanted to do, and he would not give Twain the chance.
Twain walked toward Mourinho with a grin. Halfway through, he found that Mourinho had turned straight to the players' tunnel.
The smile on his face froze.
He had given others such a look before. He did not expect to be treated like this today.
His outstretched hand awkwardly scratched his head. Twain shrugged and turned back to the field.
"Little monkey, you did a good job!" He laughed loudly at Bale, who was running toward him. His mood immediately improved.
Don't shake hands, don't shake hands. Don't let me see your expression. I've won anyway!
Bale heard Twain's shout and stopped to chuckle at Twain, not knowing what to say.
Twain noticed that his belly was very big. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to Bale's round belly.
"Heh heh … football, boss." Bale carefully took the football out of his clothes. "The goal I scored. I secretly brought it over. I'm going to keep it. This is my first goal in the Champions League. I just saw the referee looking for it … Don't tell them, boss! "
Twain nodded. "That's right. I'll keep it a secret for you. Hurry up and hide it in the locker room!"
Bale ran around Twain to the tunnel, but was surrounded by a large group of reporters halfway. They insisted on dragging Bale, who had scored the goal, for an interview. Looking at Bale's troubled expression, Twain laughed.
※ ※ ※
Despite losing the game, Makelele still found George Wood, hoping to exchange jerseys with him.
"I've heard some things about you. I heard that you never accept the suggestion to exchange jerseys after losing a game." Makelele stood in front of Wood and said in unskilled English.
Wood nodded and did not deny the rumor.
Makelele took off his jersey and handed it to Wood. "You won today, but it's not certain next time."
Wood also took off his jersey and completed the ritual of exchanging jerseys with Makelele.
He thought that was the end of it. When he turned to leave, he was stopped by Makelele again. He said something in French to Wood, but Wood did not understand a word.
Wood watched blankly as Makelele turned to leave. Ribéry suddenly emerged from the side.
"He said that defense is not about the body." Ribéry translated for Wood. Seeing that Wood was frowning, Ribéry patted his shoulder and comforted him, "Alright, he must be unwilling to lose to you in a physical fight, that's why he said that, George. Come, celebrate the victory with everyone! "
Wood was pulled to the middle of the crowd by Ribéry.
Makelele had already walked into the mixed zone, Wood's number 13 red jersey draped over his bare shoulder. It was very conspicuous in the crowd.
"Well, this is that guy's jersey." Faced with the reporter's question, Makelele nodded. "He's very good, but he still lacks experience."
※ ※ ※
Tang En did not celebrate the victory on the field like the others. Instead, he walked directly to the press conference venue. There was still no one there. He sat on the stage and waited for the reporters in the mixed zone to finish their interviews.
Because there was no one there, Tang En put his feet up on the stage and leaned against the back of the chair. He pushed the chair back, relying only on his two slender legs to support all his weight. With no one there, he could relax.
At that moment, there was a noise from the side entrance. He turned his head to look. He found Mourinho pushing the door open and entering.
Mourinho looked up and saw him. The two men stared at each other.
Crash —
The two slender legs of the chair finally could not support all of Tang En's weight. It tilted to one side, causing the unprepared Tang En to fall from the chair. His head even hit the sponsor's logo behind him.
Suddenly seeing this comical scene, Mourinho, who had kept a straight face, could not help but laugh.
Tang En grimaced in pain and climbed up from the ground. Seeing that Mourinho was still laughing, he was also a little embarrassed.
"You're in a good mood, Mr. Mourinho," Tang En said awkwardly. He picked up the chair that had fallen to the ground, only to realize that the chair's legs had become deformed. It was not obvious when it was placed there, but once he sat down, it would immediately tilt.
After trying to straighten the chair's legs to no avail, Tang En stood up and scanned the audience. The reporters' seats were the same as the coaches' seats. They were all blue, and there was not the slightest difference in appearance.
Looking at the crooked chair in his hand, Tang En walked off the stage and randomly pulled out an undamaged chair from the reporters' seats to swap it with the one in his hand.
He carefully placed the broken chair in a row of seats and took a few steps back. After scrutinizing it for a while and finding no flaws, he walked back to the stage, satisfied.
Originally, after seeing Tang En there, Mourinho had planned to turn and leave. But now, he stood to the side and watched with interest as Tang En did all those things.
After doing all that, Tang En realized that Mourinho was still there. He was a little surprised. "You didn't leave?"
"Why should I leave? Is this your home? "Saying so, Mourinho simply walked over and sat in his seat.
Just like that, the two sat side by side, waiting for the reporters to arrive.
"Didn't you run after seeing me just now? I was planning to shake hands with you after the match, Mr. Mourinho. It's very ungentlemanly of me to leave without shaking hands after the match, "Tang En said, looking at the empty seat in front of him.
"It's still more gentlemanly than giving away the silver medal after the finals." Mourinho did not show any weakness. He also looked forward and said.
The two were clearly having a conversation, but they deliberately did not look at each other.
"I'm really sorry to beat you on your home ground, Mr. Mourinho." Tang En rubbed salt on Mourinho's wound.
Mourinho did not even frown. "No need to apologize, Mr. Tang En. In the next round, it's my turn to beat you on your home ground. "
"Don't be so full of yourself, Mr. Mourinho. Otherwise, it'll be very ugly if you can't achieve it. You see, I never said we'd definitely advance to the finals, even though that's the truth. "
Mourinho snorted and did not want to bother with this thick-skinned guy.
As the two bickered, the reporters came from the mixed zone to the press conference venue. The two did not speak. Instead, they both focused on the special chair in the middle, wondering which unlucky person would sit in the end.
Strangely enough, quite a number of reporters walked past that chair. Some even hesitated for a moment, intending to sit down. In the end, no one stepped into the trap. This made Tang En a little disappointed.
Seeing that almost everyone had arrived, the host announced the start of the press conference. At that moment, the door was pushed open again. A fat reporter, sweating profusely, barged in. Tang En glanced at his reporter's pass. There was a very eye-catching "SUN" on it.
The Sun … was really great.
After seeing this guy barge in, Mourinho and Tang En simultaneously turned their gazes to the empty seat in the middle.
"Sorry …" The reporter from The Sun apologized as he struggled to squeeze through the crowd to get to the empty seat. Everywhere he went, the people who were originally seated had to get up again to make way for him. Otherwise, there was no way to squeeze in — he was too fat.
Mourinho raised his eyebrows, while Tang En put on a straight face and pretended to be serious.
With great difficulty, the reporter finally squeezed in. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and sat down.
Mourinho narrowed his eyes, while Tang En whistled.
"Whoosh —"
The fat man sitting on the floor looked up innocently at everyone. He had become the focus of attention.
※ ※ ※
"Wahahahaha!"
On the bus back to Nottingham, Tang En told the players about the scene at the press conference. Everyone laughed happily.
They had every reason to be so relaxed after winning. Winning against their old rival, Chelsea, in an away game made this group of people firmly believe that they would be the team that would advance to the finals this season.
"Have a good rest, guys. Once you get off the bus, you won't have time to relax. "Tang En stood in front of the bus and looked at the group of people sitting at the back. "There are five rounds left in this season. We don't have much hope for the Premier League title, but we must ensure that we qualify for next season's Champions League. We can't relax until we've secured that. Then there's the Champions League. Now it's the most crucial moment. Winning against Chelsea in an away game doesn't mean we'll definitely go to Athens. It's just that our hopes are greater than theirs. I don't want to see a proud Forest team that underestimates their opponents a week later. Do you remember what I said before? Before we win the Champions League title, none of us have the right to relax. The closer we get to the end, the more we have to tighten our nerves and fall at the place where we are closest to victory. This tragedy should happen to our opponents, and definitely not us! "
"Yes!!" Everyone in the bus replied loudly.
※ ※ ※
At London Heathrow Airport, a slightly plump middle-aged man with grizzled hair waited in the departure lounge to board the plane. He was on the phone.
"Yes, I've just watched the game. It's hard for me to say. It's only the first round … Just sort out the information on both teams. No matter who's facing each other, we'll be the ones to win … The night in Istanbul won't happen again. "
Turning off his phone, the man began to lean against the back of the chair and close his eyes to rest.
His mind was filled with the semi-final that had just ended.
He had originally been optimistic about Chelsea's home game. But strangely, now that he closed his eyes, the deepest impression left in his mind was Nottingham Forest.
Defensive counterattack?
Select text and click 'Report' to let us know about any bad translation.
