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Chapter 64

Words:1407Update:22/06/20 13:45:47

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"I remember Michael saying that he didn't want his son to be disturbed by the media." Twain stood in front of Pierce Brosnan, frowning.

"Twain … Mr. Twain, y-you misunderstood." Brosnan bent over in front of Twain. He was so tired that he could not even speak properly. "I'm not here for an interview."

He spread his hands to indicate that he did not bring a camera or a recording pen.

"My phone is out of battery … Actually, I wanted to, wanted to come and give Gavin flowers."

"But you don't know each other." Twain had no intention of giving way.

"Gavin is a Forest fan. So am I."

The two men looked at each other. Twain thought for a moment and asked, "Did you write the reports on the fan riots in the Evening Post?"

Brosnan did not expect Twain to suddenly ask this question. He froze for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I was sent to Newcastle for an interview. I just came back and I heard about this … "

Twain stepped aside and said to him, "Go on, the funeral is almost over … probably."

Brosnan thanked Twain and turned to run inside. Twain looked at the young reporter who had just become a regular reporter and thought to himself … there were good people in the media.

Because Twain lived alone, he did not have much demand for food, so he often solved this problem at Burns' bar. But today, he did not ask Burns to provide him with food. He just drank alone in the bar that had not opened for business yet.

Burns did not try to persuade him. On one hand, he knew that Twain could hold his liquor well. On the other hand, what was there to persuade at this time? It would be fine to let him vent.

Just when Twain was a little drunk, Michael arrived.

"Ah, Michael! You're here … Tomorrow's game, y-you'll be watching, right … right? "Twain's smile was so wide that he could not even straighten his tongue.

Michael Bernard looked at Twain but did not say a word.

The smile on Twain's face disappeared. He stared at Michael and said, "Michael, you … do you have anything to say?"

"Tony, I won't be watching the game tomorrow."

Twain nodded. "I understand. Just now, you …"

"I won't be going in the future either."

"What?" Twain thought he had heard wrong.

"Thank you." Michael took the glass of water from Burns and turned to look at Tang En. "Do you want to hear a story, Tony?"

When Brian Clough's Forest team swept England and European football, Michael Bernard was just twenty years old. Like most other young men, he was as energetic and combative as a stallion in heat. He liked to show off his manliness with his fists.

He and John formed a club, "Naughty Forty," which only accepted fanatical Forest fans. Before Mark Hodge, he was the boss of the club. John and Bill were his right-hand men. Every time there was a fight, the three of them always rushed to the front, unafraid of the bricks and wooden sticks that were thrown at them. They had followed the Forest team to battle all over the country and experienced the team's most glorious years.

If the opposing fans dared to insult the Forest team, they would swarm up and beat them black and blue. Even in an away game, they did not show any weakness. They are proud of their contribution to the glory of the team. They were also proud to have brothers like themselves.

Football hooligans? No, they would never admit it. They thought they were the most loyal Forest fans who loved the team the most.

Michael's life outside of the game did not go well. He changed jobs many times, but it was difficult to last because of his violent temper and impulsive character. But he did not care about that. All he cared about was the glory of his club and the results of the team he supported. He relished talking about the various topics of "Boss" Clough and the players' private lives.

This kind of life lasted for ten years. For ten years, they gathered together to fight and fight for the Forest team. They thought this kind of fight would continue until the day they could no longer wave their fists.

But this kind of life completely changed on the afternoon of April 15, 1989.

"We fought our way to the FA Cup semi-finals that year. Our opponent was the strong Liverpool at the time. But before the game, no one thought we would lose to them. On the contrary, the Liverpool people were scared to death of us. You must find it strange, right? Why? Because we had Clough! The Liverpool people's legs would turn to jelly when they heard this name … "Michael recounted. It was as if he had returned to the time of fourteen years ago.

Twain did not speak. He quietly listened to Michael's story. He did not care that there was no wine in his glass for a long time.

"Before the game, we were full of fighting spirit. Everyone wanted to beat Liverpool, fight our way to the finals, and then bring that sparkling trophy home. Do you know … we haven't won the FA Cup for a whole 30 years. Clough won all the trophies that could be won in this world. All he lacked was the FA Cup. You know how much we longed for it … "Michael stared at Twain. He only continued when he saw Twain nod.

"I still remember that day … It was a sunny day. John and I set off from Nottingham to Sheffield three hours in advance. We were all prepared and just waited for the game to start …" Michael began to speak slowly. The memory was too painful for him. For a long time, it was like a nightmare that haunted him.

"We were in the second grandstand. Next to us was the third grandstand where the Liverpool fans were. At the time, I thought it was a good opportunity. We could keep beating them up in the game … "At this point, Michael paused for a long time. Twain had already guessed what happened next.

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