Godfather Of Champions

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

Although Beckham had properties in London and Manchester, he still bought a luxury mansion in the outskirts of Nottingham after he signed a contract with the Forest team. It was left empty for half a year, and now it was finally filled with people.

His wife, children, and helpers came to live in it, which made the initially cold and cheerless mansion feel alive.

It was August 10th. Victoria was already busy in the sunny kitchen before Beckham got up.

When Beckham awoke, he did not get out of bed immediately to wash up. He was lost in thought for a while.

He had been on the Forest team for a month and a half. He had moved to and lived in the city for more than ten days. But he was still a little disoriented and felt as if he was still in Real Madrid when he got up every morning.

Tomorrow was the first round of competition in the Premier League for the new season. He was back after four years, and he really did not know how to describe the feeling.

Beckham rubbed his face with both hands when he heard Victoria's shout from downstairs. He jumped out of his large bed and went to wash up.

He was no longer a Real Madrid player, nor a Manchester United player, but a Nottingham Forest player.

There had been a lot of changes in the English Premier League arena in the time he had been gone. Who would have thought that Nottingham Forest would suddenly rise in 2003? The Forest team was still struggling in the Football League First Division - now known as the English Football League Championship - and no one had heard of Tony Twain. At Manchester United, things had remained the same, but the people had changed. Van Nistelrooy, Roy Keane, Nicky Butt and Phil Neville had all left. Only Ryan Giggs and Gary Neville from the original class of 92 were still in Manchester United. What about the others? They were scattered among the teams in the Premier League. He would inevitably have to compete against his former good friends in the new season. It was also inevitable that he had to compete against Manchester United.

If the game was held at the City Ground stadium, it was fine. If he had to go back to Old Trafford, how would the fans there treat him?

Perhaps he should ask Ruud, who had already returned to Old Trafford and played on behalf of the Forest team. He had to have the relevant experience.

※※※

Twain was woken up by Shania's scream next to his ear. He patted Shania's head, as if to swat at an alarm clock and Shania immediately stopped screaming.

"This alarm clock is pretty smart…" Twain muttered as he sat up in bed. He had the habit of sleeping only in his underwear and not pajamas. Since he had lived with Shania for a long time, both of them were used to it. Shania did not feel awkward when Twain sat on the bed with his torso bared.

"Get up quickly. I made you a Brazilian-style breakfast!" She bounced off and ran out.

Twain washed in the upstairs bathroom in his underwear and then got dressed before he went downstairs. The newspaper was placed on the couch instead of on the table.

Shania disliked Twain reading the papers during mealtimes. Her father did the same, which caused her to always complain that it was a common problem for men. As long as she was in Nottingham, she would take the opportunity to get up early and make breakfast for Twain, put the paper on the couch, and then supervise while eating.

Shania's cooking skills had not improved at all. Twain had said before that her cooking was not good, and she replied that it was because the British food did not taste good. Today's Brazilian breakfast also had a unique taste. What had improved was the tolerance of Twain's stomach. He did not feel that her food tasted bad. It just tasted a little weird at most.

Ever since Shania volunteered to make breakfast for Twain, he had another reason to read the newspapers at the dining table — as a diversion.

The trick did not work because Shania was very strict. Moreover, Twain knew that reading while eating was not a good habit. It was something his parents repeatedly taught him when he was a child. It was as common washing hands before and after meals.

"Do you not have any assignments?" Since he was not allowed to divert the attention by reading the newspapers, he would just chat with Shania.

Shania shook her head in reply. "I have declined them if there were."

"Hey, you have started to learn how to act like a big shot at a young age." Twain laughed.

"Even if I do not walk the runway shows now, I have enough money to not worry about my expenses for a year." Shania tapped the coffee cup in front of her with a spoon. "After signing endorsement deals with big businesses, I stopped working a lot of the small and irrelevant runway shows."

"I'm going to Liverpool in the morning and don't have time to spend with you. What are you going to do?"

"I'll go to Liverpool too!" Shania raised her hands and startled Twain.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not going with you and your team. I'll have Mr. Fasal accompany me to go do some shopping… I'll also watch the game! I have decided that as long as I do not have an assignment, I will watch all your away games live!"

Twain was even more alarmed.

Shania was not an ordinary young girl. She was a red-hot supermodel throughout Europe and her print advertisements frequently appeared in the most bustling commercial areas of the big cities. Her television advertisements ran one after another on major television stations. Even ordinary people who did not know about the fashion industry had seen her face. With such a person tagging along with his team… wouldn't the media be happy? England's most advanced development was not their Premier League, but the pervasive paparazzi

He very much wanted to put on a stern face and say "no," but on second thought, Shania was still a child. She had given up almost all the hobbies that a child should have for her modelling job. Her childhood was spent in a variety of training rooms. Now that she had money and status, she no longer needed to constantly be on the move and exhaust herself for her livelihood. What was wrong with having fun? It was making up for a lost childhood.

"Uh… then you need to watch out for the paparazzi," Twain cautioned. "The English media is not like the other countries."

Shania rolled her eyes, then bit the teaspoon and smiled happily as she nodded. "Don't worry, Uncle Tony. I have a lot of experience."

Twain felt reassured and continued to eat. He took a few bites, and suddenly raised his head to look at Shania. "Be careful."

Shania froze, then smiled and nodded.

※※※

"George, what time is the team meeting?" Sophia put away the cutlery that had just been used in the kitchen.

Wood packed his backpack in his room and poked his head out to answer when he heard his mother's voice. "Ten-thirty."

The bright sunlight shone through the windows at angle and spread over George's hands and backpack, which made it a little warm.

When he came out of the bedroom with his backpack, his mother came out of the kitche. "Are you leaving now, George?"

Wood looked at the fine beads of perspiration on her mother's forehead and then put his backpack on the floor. "No, I'm not in a hurry, mom."

He walked past Sophia and went straight into the kitchen. He began to take over his mother's unfinished chore.

"Hey, put it down. I'll do it." Sophia quickly turned around to grab the plate from Wood's hand.

Wood did not listen to his mother's words. He kept Sophia behind him with his wide back and guarded the plates in his hands and in the kitchen sink in front of him just like he boxed out to guard the ball on the field.

Sophia knew she could not persuade the stubborn Wood. She was also glad to see her son help her with the housework.

She stood at the side to watch.

"George."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me the truth, do you have a girlfriend? A big star player like you must be very popular, right?" Sophia said with a laugh.

However, Wood firmly shook his head. "No, mom."

"Find a nice girl, George. It's a good time to fall in love when you're young."

She did not expect Wood to shake his head again. "I don't want to find…"

"Why?" Sophia was a little surprised.

"It's just nice to have you, mom."

Sophia could not help but laugh. "Silly boy, a girlfriend will become your wife in the future and accompany you for the rest of your life. How can I do that?"

Wood kept silent for a moment, then lowered his head and mumbled, "before… that, I will just stay with you, mom."

When she heard the answer, what could Sophia do besides to smile? She did not know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing for a mother and son to be so close, but she could not accompany Wood for the rest of their lifetime. He had to find a girlfriend. Even if he did not get married, he needed to understand what romance was like.

She had a word kept away in her heart that she dared not utter. Every time she mentioned death, George would fly into a rage, glare at his mother, and forbid her from saying the word.

However, his mother's poor health was a fact. Even if the Forest club paid for her surgery, a broken body was still broken, unlike changing a part in a machine. How would George cope on his own once his mother died?

She hugged Wood gently from behind and rested her face against Wood's broad and sturdy back.

"George, George, my silly boy." She murmured in a low voice.

※※※

"Gareth, why are you still dawdling?!"

Outside the door of an ordinary house with red roof tiles, a stout and short middle-aged man stood in the glaring sunlight. He had just raised his head and shouted toward the upper floor. He repeatedly glanced at his watch with impatience.

"You started packing your backpack half an hour ago, and you're still not downstairs! What do you have in there? An atomic bomb? A carbine? Or a bunch of Oasis CDs?"

"Coming! Coming!"

The sounds of footsteps came from the stairs inside the house.

"Goodbye, Mom."

"Goodbye, son."

There was a sound of a kiss.

The door in front of the man opened. A tall young man poked his head out. The man standing by the door grabbed his backpack to pull him out and zipped his backpack open without an explanation.

"Oh, damn it…" He groaned. "Sunscreen, hair gel, mirror, comb… Why don't you just bring a bag of sanitary napkins? You are…" The stout man looked up at his son's appearance and froze for a moment. Then he angrily grabbed the sunglasses off his son's face.

"You're a professional footballer, not a pretty boy! Look at your hair, as hard as steel needles. Are you going to murder the opposing players on the field? How much hair gel did you use?" He had to reach out to smoothen his son's hair, but his son nimbly dodged him.

"Hey, Dad. It's taken me a long time to get this hairstyle!" The little monkey, Gareth Bale argued disgruntledly.

"Have you been doing this for the last hour?" The man sounded angry.

"You just said it was half an hour," Bale protested cautiously.

"Shut up!" The man gave his son a hard look. "Don't think that now that you've got a European title, you can talk back! I'm telling you, even if you get the World Cup, you're still my son!"

"Yes, yes, yes…" Bale obediently nodded his head.

"How many times have I told you? You are a professional footballer and should concentrate your energy on how to train hard to improve your ability, rather than on your personal grooming… Looking at your appearance, everyone would think you're some kind of groupie who worships a pretty boy star. Who's going to treat you as a footballer? People's time and energy are limited. When you put too much energy on your outer appearance, you will not have enough energy left for training and competition. You're still young and have a long way to go. Did you not look up to George the most? Look at him, when did he ever care so much about his image? He is always the hardest working player, you have to learn from him…" Bale's father began his lengthy lectures again. His lips fired nonstop as if they were a Gatling machine gun. The spit flying in front of Bale made him look up in worry that his father's saliva would land on his hair.

The action drew more intense "firing" from his father. "What are you doing? Are you rolling your eyes at me? Are you dissatisfied with my words! Why do you think we gave up our house in Cardiff and moved to Nottingham? It's all for you, Bale! Why is your head lowered? Look me in the eyes!"

Bale raised his head in resignation. "Dad, if you keep talking, we're going to have to drive to Liverpool ourselves."

Meanwhile, his mother's voice rang out from inside. "Honey, haven't you left yet?"

"Ah…" The stout man raised his wrist to look at his watch. They had indeed delayed long enough. But whose fault was it that they were delayed? He glared at his son and made his way to the car parked by the side of the road. "You spent an hour to fix your hair which will only take thirty seconds on the field to mess up."

"It was only half an hour, dad…"

"Shut up and get in!" The stout man slapped the car door hard. "If you are replaced mid-game because of a bad performance, watch out because I'll sort you out when you return!"

"Dad, the starting list hasn't been released yet…" Bale opened the car door and got in before he reminded his father.

"Shut your mouth! My son must be in the starting lineup! Gareth Bale is a genius! I guarantee you that that Italian will not be able to adapt to the pace of the game and weather here, plus the food. He will be heading home after a season!"

"But there's still Leighton…"

"Well, he's a nice kid, but as far as talent is concerned… he's not as good as you!" His father turned around and grinned at Bale. Then he twisted back to start the car.

"Fasten your seat belt, son. We're in a hurry!"

The silver-gray Ford charged out like a wild horse, accompanied by the roar of the engine.

※※※

Twain stood next to the red bus with his hands behind his back and sunglasses on his face. The glare of the sun let him wear his sunglasses with confidence as no one would secretly judge him for pretending to look cool.

Sweating profusely, Kerslake outside bus door, checking the attendance. Dunn was already on the bus and enjoying the air conditioning without any regard for the matters outside.

Since Dunn was promoted to the assistant manager of the First Team, Kerslake was in charge of dealing with trivial matters and was responsible for matters to do with the players. He had to collect data on the performance of each player in the games; report on the number yellow cards on each player and if they could be suspended in the next game; supervise the team's situation during training… It was also his responsibility to check the attendance of the team during assembly.

Dunn's work was simpler. He was responsible for instructing players, one-on-one, about the tactics and tasks for the games.

"Only George Wood and Gareth Bale are not here yet." Kerslake checked twice and then turned to update Twain.

Twain nodded. The two men continued to wait in the sun.

Soon, Wood appeared in front of him. He came running with his bag on his back. Once he saw the bus and the two men standing outside the bus door, he quickened his pace, as if it was his final sprint in a 10,000-meter run. It was his special way of warming up.

Wood rushed toward the two coaches like the wind and stopped. Twain looked at him and the soaking wet t-shirt on his body. "Do you still have any clean clothes in your bag?"

Wood nodded. There was another change of clothes for after the game.

"Take this off and get changed." Twain pointed at the wet t-shirt.

Wood obeyed and took off his shirt, revealing his hard muscles. He took out his clean t-shirt from his backpack as if there was no one else around, and then got changed.

"Very good. Be careful not to catch a cold. Now get up there." Twain pointed to the bus door.

After Wood got on the bus, he greeted his teammates and sat in his seat.

Twain and Kerslake continued to wait for the last man — Gareth Bale.

The sun was boiling hot in the morning during mid-August, which could irritate people baking in the sun. However, the two coaches stood by the bus under the hot sun without any impatience on their faces.

A piercing sound of brakes and motor roar came from the road ahead, and then a silver Ford sparkled in the sun as it rushed into everyone's view with a terrific drift. Kerslake, who was not wearing sunglasses, squinted as the car flashed past.

Twain whistled. "A father that likes to show off."

Bale did not have his own car, so he was always driven by his father when he came to the training base for training. Everyone was no stranger to the silver Ford.

The small car drifted again in front of the bus to make a beautiful stop. The car door had not yet opened, and the voice of Bale's father could be heard. "Look, we are not late! I told you to believe in Dad's skills, your dad was a former kart racer. I only didn't become a F1 driver because I was chasing after your mom. That was really a loss for the F1 world, as well as Michael Schumacher's good fortune!"

Twain and Kerslake could not help laughing. They all remembered the time when the stout man came to Nottingham Forest with his son to sign the contract, and how he was so fond of showing off and had so much self confidence that they were used to it. That was the case four years ago, and it was still the same four years later. It was likely that he would remain so for the next four years and many more.

Bale tumbled out of the car as his legs went soft, hardly able to stand properly.

"Dad, if I don't play well, it's because I sat in your rollercoaster ride… I'm going to throw up…"

With their attention drawn by the speeding car, the players gathered near the bus door and burst into laughter.

That was when Bale noticed that everyone was there and hurriedly staggered as he ran over.

"Boss…" He gave a wary greeting for fear that the boss would punish him. It looked like he was late.

Twain nodded and did not intend to punish him. "Get on the bus."

Bale breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he stepped on the first step, Twain's devilish voice rang again. "Your starting spot is gone, little monkey."

Those teammates, who stood at the side to watch the show, laughed when they saw the shock on Bale's face.

In the midst of his teammates' hoots of laughter, Bale got onto the bus looking miserable.

Kerslake followed and jumped onto the bus, but Twain was stopped by the zealous senior Bale. "Hey, Tony."

"What's the matter, Mr. Bale?" Twain turned and looked at him.

The short and stout man moved up to Twain and then whispered in his ear, "give him a chance, Tony. He did not mean to be late either. It was my outburst to him that caused the delay. It's my fault…"

Twain interrupted him with a smile. "If he plays well, he will have a chance, Mr. Bale."

This answer did not satisfy the senior Bale. But he did not dare to express his dissatisfaction, so he only muttered, "you're not going to let him play. How can he perform?"

Twain patted him on the shoulder and laughed. "Just wait at home and watch the TV, Mr. Bale." Then he turned around and jumped onto the bus. The bus door closed slowly behind him.

"Guys." Looking at the players, who had returned to their seats, Twain raised his arms. "This is the first game of the new season and we are going to Liverpool with our European champion title." He swept his gaze across and waved his hands down. "Do not screw it up for me!"

Mid-July to mid-August was the hottest period of the year, and the middle of August was the last couple days of it. It was sunny in England. The sun blazed across thousands of miles. The road ahead appeared hazy under the blazing hot sun.

It was in this weather that Nottingham Forest's red bus slowly pulled out of the gate of the Wilford training base and headed north.

The blazing summer was not over yet, but the fiery new season had already begun.

※※※

Note:

The Nottingham Forest team's big list for the new season (26 players):

Goalkeepers: Edwin van der Sar (1), Igor Akinfeev (12), Dale Roberts (25).

Defenders: Leighton Baines (22), Gareth Bale (2), Pascal Chimbonda (3), Sun Jihai (21), Gerard Pique (5), Vincent Kompany (33), Pepe (6), Wes Morgan (30), Roberto Ayala (4), Rafinha (14), Fabio Grosso (28).

Midfielders: George Wood (13), Martin Petrov (8), Rafael van der Vaart (23), Kris Commons (20), Aaron Lennon (17), Franck Ribery (7), Steve Sidwell (26), David Beckham (24).

Strikers: Freddy Eastwood (11), Nicklas Bendtner (9), Ruud van Nistelrooy (10), Andrey Arshavin (18).