Godfather Of Champions

"The game has progressed for eighty-six minutes and the home team, Nottingham Forest, has been awarded a direct free kick in the front field. This is a precious chance; almost all the Forest players have rushed up to watch."

"Arteta gives the football to the young Gareth Bell. This is the first time he has stood in front of the football to prepare for a free kick since his debut. Gareth Bale, aged sixteen, is an outstanding player from the Forest Team Youth training camp. He can play the two positions of left back and left midfielder. He's capable in assists and very good at free kicks."

"Let's see if young Bale can score the first goal of his career in the game against Chelsea! This is the crucial goal that decides the victory! The pressure must be high for him."

"...But the kid's performance has already surprised us repeatedly. If he can really withstand the pressure and score this goal, I wouldn't be surprised."

"At sixteen years old, the Welsh kid, Gareth Bale, stands before the ball. In front of him is the wall of five Chelsea players. This may be the free kick that will determine the final outcome of this game and a goal that will determine Bale's future."

The commentator stopped his commentary. The spectators in the stands and at home held their breath.

On the tiny television screen, Bale stepped back. As the referee's whistle rang, he ran and swung his leg to take a shot.

The football drew an arc over Makelele's bald head, skirted Čech's outstretched fingers and brushed past the goalpost into the goal!

Countless arms stretched out, and no one could hear the sound of the commentary coming from the television. Even the image on the screen swayed violently. The entire City Ground stadium was in a frenzy.

"GOOOAL!" In the stands, Bale's father turned to hug a man fatter than he was.

"GOOOAL!" Countless red-clad Forest fans jumped with their arms aloft in the stands.

"City Ground stadium is shaking. Gary, can you feel it?" Motson asked in the commentator's box.

"Of course, John. Bale has ignited this red volcano, and it's gorgeous! It's perfect! At sixteen years old, Gareth Bale's performance in this game is impeccable!"

"Wait, Gary, there's something even more gorgeous." Motson suddenly arose and looked down.

In the television footage, Twain, who had rushed out from the technical area, suddenly did a 360-degree side somersault and landed firmly. He vigorously waved his fists as if he was the one who had scored!

Lineker laughed.

Surrounded by his ecstatic teammates, Bale might or might not have seen the scene on the sidelines from the field.

"Tony Twain must have been in the circus. He did that with such ease!"

"The newspapers' editors are gonna have a headache deciding who is going to make the headlines."

"Tony? Tony?" David Kerslake called out to Twain who was still brandishing his fists.

"Yes?" Twain looked back at his partner.

"How did you think to do that?"

"I promised Bale that if he scored the goal, I'd give him a much cooler celebration. What do you think?"

"It was awesome!" Kerslake laughed, "We've won, right, Tony?"

Twain turned to look at the electronic scoreboard. The score displayed had changed from "2:2" to "3:2". He looked down at his watch. There was not much time left until the end of the game.

"I don't want to give a verdict when the game isn't over yet, but..." He nodded at Kerslake and said, "You're right, David. We're all set for victory!"

※※※

Bale's goal was a huge blow to Chelsea's morale. They were overtaken by the other side when there were four minutes left in the game. Even Mourinho did not have a better idea at that point.

Instead, the Forest team was braver as they fought on. They still had the opportunity to break through Chelsea's goal in the final stage of the game. If it were not for Čech's heroic performance, the game would have made Mourinho lose face.

When the referee blew the final whistle at the end of the game, the City Ground stadium became a sea of joy. The Forest team's supporters sang their team songs at the top of their lungs to celebrate their team's victory over Chelsea again.

"The game is over! After a fierce fight, Nottingham Forest defeated Chelsea by 3:2 on their home ground! Since their return to the Premier League, the Forest team has maintained their unbeaten record against Chelsea. Mourinho still has not beaten them."

"With this game's victory, the Forest team's points rise from twenty-two to twenty-five points. After the start of the season, Chelsea, who has been unbeaten for ten rounds, suffered their first defeat. Their points remained the same and the second-placed Forest team narrowed the gap to only three points. The league is starting to look good!"

This time, Mourinho, who had been defeated, did not turn around and leave. Instead, he took the initiative to shake hands with Twain according to the usual custom.

"Till Stamford Bridge," Mourinho said this when they shook hands. Twain knew he was already planning his revenge for the home game.

"Looking forward to it," he replied.

Mourinho paid no heed. He let go of his hand and walked away.

Twain did not mind. Now he had no time to pay attention to the loser's feelings. He turned and walked toward the field. At that moment, he wanted to celebrate victory with his players.

Bale became the focus of the crowd. Everyone gathered to congratulate him on his first league goal. He saw that Twain had also come up.

"Congratulations, Gareth." Twain winked at him. "Did you see my celebration?"

Bale nodded heartily and laughed continuously. "It's definitely awesome, chief."

"Your performance was much better." Twain smiled and touched Bale's head. The seedling that he had personally brought from Southampton to grow in Wilford had finally blossomed. "Have you practiced your autograph?"

All the surrounding teammates laughed.

Every Forest player was in a good mood.

"All right, boys!" Twain stood in the crowd and said loudly, "Go and thank the fans! Gareth, don't forget to thank your father!"

The players lined up as a team and waved to give thanks to the red formation in the stands.

Twain turned and walked away.

He walked very slowly and even seemed to be strolling aimlessly. He just paced on the field.

He wanted to enjoy the atmosphere here, the atmosphere after winning the game...

The reporters had already gone to the mixed zone to interview the players who had left the field. Twain was not worried about being disturbed. The stadium staff was cleaning up the debris in the field and stands. After an exciting victory, there was always a lot of litter.

Twain was fond of the calm after the din had passed. He walked back and forth with his hands in his pockets. He was in no rush to get to the press conference.

Suddenly a man approached him.

"If you want an interview, you have to go to the mixed zone," Twain said. He pointed to Pierce Brosnan, who had walked over from the player's corridor.

"I'm not here for an interview." Brosnan smiled. "Look."

Twain looked at his chest, and sure enough, his press card was kept away.

"What do you want then?"

Brosnan looked at the gradually emptying out stands and took a deep breath. "I like the calm after the excitement, so I came down for a walk. What are you doing here, Mr. Twain? The press conference isn't here either."

"I'm the same as you." Twain looked around the stands.

"It was a terrific game. Everyone and every segment was wonderful, including that side somersault celebration of yours."

"Thanks for your compliment, Mr. Reporter. Are you going to say that in the papers, too?"

"Why not?"

Twain did not elaborate. He just looked at the busy stadium staff.

"Mr. Twain, you know, occasionally I think of the press conference you gave at the hospital gate." Brosnan laughed.

"Well, we were still newbies at that point."

"I really didn't think that there would come a day when we would stand here together to chat after you defeating Chelsea."

"Maybe someday, after we beat Real Madrid, AC Milan, Inter Milan, Barcelona, Bayern Munich… We'll chat like this again."

"I believe you."

"Well, I have to go now." Twain waved and walked toward the player's corridor.

Pierce Brosnan gazed at the man's figure, lost in thought. Ah, it really isn't right to connect the man who embarrassed me at the press conference and put me on the spot, with this man.