Godfather Of Champions

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

After he bade farewell his teammates in Wilford, Eastwood held a press conference where he would officially announce the news of his retirement to the media and the outside world. Not one media outlet was aware of the news beforehand, although some of them might have guessed it.

The press conference was held at the City Ground stadium. There was already some media buzz ahead of the press conference—Eastwood would not have announced good news at the press conference. Some of the Forest fans who cared about Eastwood gathered outside the stadium and anxiously waited for the latest news from the press conference.

When an impeccably dressed Eastwood appeared in front of the reporters, accompanied by Twain, the raucous press conference suddenly quieted down.

Sitting in his seat, with countless microphones and recording pens in front of him, Eastwood was not in a hurry to speak. He needed some courage to make his decision public for the first time.

Twain sat next to him and gently patted him on the back.

The room was silent. After a while, Eastwood took a breath and spoken in his distinctive accent, "I have made a decision. When I had my surgery in the United States, my doctor told me that even if my knee recovered, I wouldn't necessarily be able to continue to bear the pressure of professional football. I thought about it for a long time, and I have decided to retire."

While some people had already guessed the reason for Eastwood's surprise press conference, they were still shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth in person. There was an uproar at the scene.

After he had said his piece, Eastwood was no longer concerned with the reporters' intense reaction. He got up and walked out together with Twain. Some of the reporters who reacted first squeezed to the front row to ask him some questions, but he waved them off and said, "I have nothing to say, thank you everyone."

With that, he left with his head lowered.

Someone took aim at Twain.

"Mr. Twain! Mr. Twain…"

"I'm sorry, I have nothing to say too. That's the way it is. We'll arrange a farewell ceremony for Freddy in one of the home games in the league tournament in more than half a month later. That's it, thank you everyone for coming…"

Twain waved his hands and declined any further questions from the reporters.

"The Romani striker announced his retirement!"

"With three serious injuries to his right knee, it's the end of his career!"

"Tony Twain lost a major player. Eastwood waved goodbye in tears!"

"A list of three serious injuries in Eastwood's career. His retirement bound to happen as early as a decade ago!"

"The cause of Romani's retirement was someone else, and not the former Nottingham Forest captain!"

…

All sorts of shocking and attention-grabbing headlines appeared in the media.

All of a sudden, everyone knew the news of Eastwood's retirement. Numerous reporters flocked to Wilford in hopes of scouting out further information. Although Eastwood had never really been among Europe's top strikers, the two winning goals he scored at the two UEFA Champions League matches spread his fame across Europe and the world. There were even media reviews of his career which reported that without Eastwood, Tony Twain definitely could not bring back those two championship trophies.

The Nottingham Forest fans had long regarded him as the best striker in the world, and their love for him went without saying. When they heard that Eastwood was retiring, they could not accept it for a while. Every day outside the Wilford training base, there was a large number of fans holding Eastwood's portraits, posters and slogans to urge Eastwood to stay. Unfortunately, the hero in their minds was not in the training ground but recuperating at home.

The atmosphere at the training ground was not the same as it used to be. Everyone felt bad seeing so many signs with slogans to urge Eastwood to stay. But the boss was right. Since they were like brothers, then they must respect a brother's decision. Eastwood had chosen his path which no one else had the right to interfere.

Fans flocked to the online message forums to post emotional messages in the hope of persuading Eastwood to change his mind.

But none of it was going to work.

Some reporters wanted to interview Eastwood directly only to find that the other man had turned off his cell phone.

As a professional player, it took more than courage to make a decision to retire at the age of thirty. Even if he had made the decision, it would have been really hard for him. Eastwood was feeling down during the twenty days of recuperation at home.

His wife, Sabina took it all in and sometimes she joked with her husband as she played with the cards in her hands, "The Fate says you can still go back and play football."

Eastwood glared at her and said, "If I were to fall for what you're trying to do, then I'm not a Romani. Don't bring it up, Sabina. I'm not going to change my decision…"

"You've been playing football for so many years and suddenly one day you don't want to play anymore. Don't tell you can get used to it?"

"Why would I not be used to it? I haven't played football during this period. I'm doing fine, aren't I?"

These days Eastwood was really not in contact with football. After he was able to walk freely without the crutches, he had been in the stables to care for his horse, Blanc which had been with him for ten years.

Sabina grinned and stopped talking about it. "You're going to the stadium tomorrow. Aren't you going to bed early?"

Eastwood shook his head and said, "I'm not one of the players who are going to play in the game."

Sabina kissed her husband on the forehead and said, "Then I'll go up and see if the children are asleep yet."

"Okay." Eastwood replied somewhat distractedly.

When he was alone in the living room, Eastwood buried his face in his hands. Sabina had said something right—Now that he suddenly did not play football, he really could not get used to it.

He had just been injured at the time when he called his boss. At that moment, he thought he was really tired of living like this as he looked at his knees. He even thought he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. At the time, he decided to bid farewell to the past ten years without hesitation. He was convinced that he had made the right choice.

He still thought he was right to retire. But his heart was no longer as determined as it was half a month ago. Sometimes when he closed his eyes. a tsunami of cheers from the City Ground stadium would ring out in his ears, and everyone was calling his name. When he was fast asleep, he dreamt that he had returned to the field and had a pair of healthy knees. Then he would run on the field to score goals and enjoy the cheers of the fans.

When he woke up from the dream, he realized that he really could not live without football.

He really could not continue to play with his knees again, but the boss gave him a coaching job. He was still happy. At least he was not thousand miles away from football and had nothing to do with it. He was still able to fight alongside his brothers. He only changed his identity.

Football is no longer simply a hobby or a job for me.

Football is my life.

Eastwood had already risen from bed when the early morning sun still loomed behind the clouds. The rustling sound made as he got dressed, woke his wife up.

Sabina groggily looked at his busy husband and asked, "Didn't you say you're not playing?" What're you doing up so early?"

"Going to ride the horse to warm up." Eastwood's answer was the same as when there was a home game.

Sabina heard this and sat up from the bed, "But you're not playing…"

"Go back to sleep, Sabina."

His wife ran her fingers through her messy hair on top of her head, shook her head and muttered, "I'll make you breakfast."

The faint sunlight shone at an angle through the window. Dust motes danced within the column of light, and the dusky stable appeared very quiet. The silence was soon broken by the squeak of the door.

Eastwood stood at the door, took a deep breath, and sniffed the familiar scent.

The creature in the stable sensed that someone was here. It gave a snort as a way of greeting.

"Blanc." Without the lights on, Eastwood waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the interior before he walked in.

It gave another snort.

Eastwood stopped in front of a black horse. He reached out his hand to stroke the black horse's neck. His caress was gentle, as if he was touching his lover.

The black horse, Blanc also leaned his head next to his master and stamped its hooves affectionately.

Eastwood did not answer his wife's question just now. He just told Sabina to go back to sleep Because he could not explain to his wife the mood he was in—he would only ride Blanc in his own field in the early hours of the day when he had a home game. Otherwise, he would not do it. So why did he want to do that today?

He was not muddled. He knew he was just going to the stadium to say goodbye before the game today. He was not going to play football. But his body wanted to do some laps by riding Blanc at this time. Was it a physical habit?

Eastwood untied the strap to hold the horse, put the reins on Blanc, and slowly led it out of the stable.

The outside was clearly brighter than the interior. He and the horse looked at each other. Eastwood looked at Blanc with a smile and said, "Hey, old friend. I'll retire today, so you're retired too. Shall we ride one more time?"

While he was still at Grays Athletic, he rode the nine-year-old Blanc on the road to warm up. He lived in a modernized caravan and parked his home inside the woods within the green belt. Everyone else had looked at him in a strange way. But he never cared. He prided himself on being a Romani. Now that he had money and children, he did not have to live in a caravan, but he still kept the strange habit of riding early in the morning of every home game to warm up.

A reporter once interviewed him before and asked why he could always score winning goals at the most critical times to help the team win. He always gave his lucky pony, Blanc as the reason.

Today, the "lucky pony" had become the "lucky old horse" and he himself was also thirty years old.

Eastwood patted Blanc on the back and stepped on the stirrup to straddle.

"Let's go, old friend!"

He lightly patted the black horse's behind, and Blanc trotted off with his master.

The cold morning breeze blew in Eastwood's face and Blanc's mane fluttered in the wind. Eastwood felt a long-lost comfort. He was eager to give a whoop on the horse.

"Oh, oh. Blanc! You gallop really hard! In fact, you can still run, you're not old, right!"

Blanc ran around the track, and then Eastwood simply loosened the reins. He threw his arms open, leaned his body back, and closed his eyes to enjoy the wind blowing around him. Lost in a trance, Blanc became his legs. He ran on the field as much as he wanted and tirelessly. No matter how fierce the collision was, it could not stop him in his pace. He ran and ran like this, leaving all his pain and sorrow behind him. As he ran, he threw the sound of the out of his head. He kept on running…

"Freddy, do you want to play professional football?"

In the cold wind, a few water beads spilled from Eastwood's face.

His young daughter, Chartwainay, heard a clanking sound coming from the kitchen when she got up to use the bathroom. Curiously, she went downstairs only to find out that it was her mother.

Still sleepy-eyed, she rubbed her eyes at the door and asked, "Mom? Where's Daddy?"

Sabina turned and saw her young daughter. She said with a smile, "Daddy went horse riding."

"Does Daddy have a game today…" The six-year-old young daughter did not know much about her father yet, but she knew only one thing—once her father was out riding in the early hours of the morning, he must have a match in the afternoon or evening. Then she would have to wait to watch her father in front of the television.

"Yeah, the last game." Sabina came over and gave a kiss on her daughter's young face. "Go back to bed. You're not wearing your slippers. Be careful to not to catch a cold."

"Mommy, have you seen my new football boots?" The voice of her eldest son, Llewellyn came from upstairs, followed by the sounds of urgent footsteps.

"Why are you all getting up so early today?" Sabina looked at her two children in front of her and asked. "I did not see your new boots. You always throw your things around. You can't find them when you want to use them, can you?"

"I asked my friends to play football in the morning." The eleven-year-old Llewellyn reached for a slice of bread on the table but was speedily slapped away by Sabina.

"Go brush your teeth and wash your face!"

"Where's Dad?" Llewellyn did not get on with it immediately. He turned and looked around. "Did he go to the stables early to chat to Blanc?"

"No, he went riding."

Llewellyn whistled. Then he turned around and headed upstairs to wash up.

"Llewellyn, bring your sister's shoes down with you!" Sabina shouted from downstairs.

"Got it!"

Sabina picked up her well-behaved little daughter and placed her on a chair to keep her bare feet from touching the cold floor.

It was a pity that her efforts were in vain.

The sound of the door opening sounded outside the dining room. Chartwainay jumped out of her chair excitedly and ran barefoot to the door.

"Daddy—"

"Chartwainay! Good morning, my little beauty!"

"Good morning, Daddy!" The little girl gave her father a kiss on his face.

"Go wash your face and brush your teeth, Chartwainay. Llewellyn! How long more do you have to dilly dally? Quickly bring down your sister's shoes!" In this house, it looked like Sabina was the head of the family. Eastwood, on the other hand, did not manage anything but eat.

"Coming! Coming!" The eldest son ran down like the wind. He tossed the shoes in front of his sister and ran up again. "Good morning Dad!" The sound of his greeting came by time he was upstairs.

As the family of four gathered to eat, the father announced a decision, "Llewellyn, Chartwainay, you guys will come with me to the City Ground stadium in the afternoon."

Chartwainay did not object. At a young age, she was happy to be with her dad. She did not have much time to socialize yet. Llewellyn was a little surprised and said, "I'm going to meet Hesher and Andy…"

"Llewellyn." His mother's stern voice rang, "Your father wants to be with you all at that time."

Llewellyn Eastwood looked at his stern mother and at his smiling dad again, before he nodded and said, "Okay, Dad."

His sister was still young and might not know what retirement meant. But the eleven-year-old Llewellyn could definitely understand. It was really more important than going out with his mates.

Eastwood reached out and rubbed his son's head. "Thank you. Llewellyn. To make it up to you, I will spend more time playing football with you in the future."

"You must mean what you say, Dad." Llewellyn felt that his father seemed to prefer to spend time with Blanc. The horse had long been a regular member of the family. When he was not yet born, his father already had Blanc. Their relationship was rock solid. Sometimes he would feel aggrieved when he thought of this— exactly which one of them was his father's son?

Eastwood smiled and gently pinched his pouting son's cheek and said, "Cross my heart."

The City Ground stadium in the became livelier earlier than usual. The Nottingham Forest fans was informed by the various media outlets earlier that today's game was different. Their favorite striker, Freddy Eastwood wanted to bid farewell to Nottingham Forest before the league match against Arsenal.

Although Eastwood was not a player cultivated by Nottingham Forest, he had been here for ten years and it could be said that he had devoted all his career to Nottingham Forest. It had long been forgotten that he was once a member of the West Ham United youth team.

The first half hour of today's game belonged to Eastwood and no Forest fan wanted to miss it. They arrived more than half an hour earlier than before and waited to say goodbye to the Romani striker who had brought them two UEFA Champions League trophies.

As the players from Nottingham Forest and Arsenal warmed up on the pitch, Eastwood, wearing a casual jacket, brought his family along to chat with the club's chairman.

"It's a shame to retire so early, Freddy." Evan Doughty said as he patted his former player on the shoulder and shook his head, "I still remember the way you reported at Wilford the first day. Towing a caravan with a horse and bickering nonstop with your wife at the entrance… You gave me a fright. Haha!"

Evan laughed, and Eastwood laughed as well. But when he recalled that time, his smile was a little wry. He was only twenty at that time…

"I'm glad you accepted the coaching contract Tony gave you. To be honest, I always felt that the club owed you a lot."

Eastwood shook his head and said, "Please don't say that, sir. It was an honor to play for Nottingham Forest. When I played for Grays Athletic, I never thought I would be able to lift the Champions League and Premier League trophies. Never mind twice."

Because it was the official farewell to Eastwood before today's game, everyone was in low spirits. Although Eastwood agreed to be the team's coach, everyone had more affection for Eastwood as a player.

Even the boss who always liked to say something before the game was not himself today. He just sat at the door without saying a word. No one knew what was on his mind.

The atmosphere in the locker room was a bit awkward.

George Wood was probably the quietest one of all. He kept adjusting the captain's armband on his arm. He would put it on, take it off and look at it in his hand. Then he would put it on again, and take it off again…

He seemed to have a lot on his mind.

Twain looked down at his watch. The uncomfortable silence finally ended.

"Okay, guys. It's almost time. Go on out there. We still have to say goodbye….to Freddy."

Wood was the last player to come out of the locker room. Since he was the team captain, he should normally be walking at the forefront.

After the two teams came out of the tunnel, they did not line up to take team photographs, exchange team flags, do the coin toss or shake hands… They lined up outside the tunnel, waiting for a person to appear.

Arsenal was very accommodating at this time as an opponent which had nothing to do with Eastwood. To show full respect to a legendary striker who was leaving, Twain was grateful to Arsène Wenger for his willingness to do so. Perhaps he should be glad that the game was not played against one of his archrival team…

Eastwood stood in the tunnel, surrounded by the staff who were responsible for maintaining order. He was currently holding his eleven-year-old son, Llewellyn in his left hand and his six-year-old daughter, Chartwainay, in his right hand, as he waited nervously for the signal.

A unified voice had rang out in the stands outside. All the fans were chanting his name in unison which could be heard clearly.

"Daddy? They are shouting your name." Chartwainay listened for a moment and said to her father.

"Yes, Chartwainay. They're calling Daddy's name. Do you like what you're wearing?" He touched Chartwainay's forehead with his nose. He was referring to the red Forest jersey worn by his daughter, with his name "Eastwood" and the number "11" on the back.

"I like it!"

"Why?"

"Because it has Daddy's name on it!" Chartwainay said excitedly.

Compared with Chartwainay's excitement, Llewellyn was silent as he held his father's hand. He did not think it was a very interesting thing like his sister. Although his father would have more time to spend with him after his retirement, in his heart, he still liked his father running, scoring goals and cheering on the field. His friends would always be envious when they mentioned his father and said to him, "Llewellyn, you have a hero for a father! If only my dad were like your father…""Llewellyn, your father scored again in yesterday's game! That goal was so cool! A lob!""Llewellyn, please help me get your father's autograph…"

He pressed his lips together. The more he thought, the worse he felt. Tears pooled in his eyes as if they were going to fall at any moment.

My father is a hero! I'm a hero's son, I can't cry!

He thought hard.

Feeling his son hold his hand with force, Eastwood turned to his left. He looked at his quiet son with his head bowed and smiled.

After a segment of music was played, the announcer's voice rang out on the live broadcast, "This is not a happy news for us. Our Romani star player, Freddy Eastwood has decided to say goodbye on this day…"

The staff at the entrance signaled to Eastwood, indicating that he could go out.

"Let's go, Llewellyn."

Eastwood then led his son along and carried his daughter as they walked out.

When Nottingham Forest's number 11 led his two children wearing his jerseys as they walked out of the tunnel, a tsunami of shouts erupted in the stadium.

"Freddy! You're our hero!"

"You're amazing, Romani!"

"Goodbye, Freddy! Goodbye!"

"Change your change, Freddy! Please!"

"Don't go, Freddy… Look around you, are you willing to leave this?"

"Freddy, we need you! Tony needs you! You can't do this!"

…

With a smile on his face, Eastwood let go of his son's hand, and waved goodbye to everyone. But there were already two lines of tears on his face.

The Arsenal and Nottingham Forest players stood next to him and applauded him. Some people even gave him thumbs-up.

Chartwainay watched the scene curiously. She might not understand the feelings of these people. But she knew her father was very popular. The expression on Llewellyn's face looked worse. He was almost going to cry in public.

Sabina stood up in the box to applaud her husband, like everyone in the stadium.

In this way, he walked all the way to the middle of the field, bent down to put his daughter down, and took the wireless microphone from the staff.

At this, the sounds in the stadium gradually subsided. They knew Eastwood had something to say, and they did not want to miss every word he said.

"Thank you… thank you very much everyone." Eastwood curbed his emotions and tried to get his trembling voice back to normal. He spoke slower so that everyone could heard his words clearly. "When I was still an amateur player, I never thought I'd have such a farewell one day. I'm so happy that you've all come to see me off…"

After a moment's silence, Eastwood tried not to let himself cry on the spot. No matter how he forced himself to smile, he had no desire to smile in his heart at this time.

"I want to thank the Nottingham Forest Football Club and my teammates. More than anything, I would to thank Manager Tony Twain. If it wasn't for him, I would never have the chance to stand here and say thank you to you all.

The telecast gave Twain a close-up. He stood in front of the technical area with his arms across his chest and a serious expression on his face.

"My professional career had only lasted a decade… But I don't think it was short. In these ten years, I had received all the honors I had thought of or never thought about. I am very satisfied and happy. I am happy every day of the ten years I've played at Nottingham Forest because I'm doing what I love and in the environment I love."

"But now it's time to say goodbye to you and my teammates." Tears streamed down uncontrollably from Eastwood's eyes. "Ten years ago, the chief once told me that I would be a legendary striker for Nottingham Forest… I'm really sorry, Chief, to disappoint you, I'm sorry…"

Eastwood stuffed the microphone into the hands of the staff and leaned down to hug his daughter, Chartwainay.

"…" Kerslake heard Twain swore under his breath next to him, "You're a bloody legend, Freddy."

The Englishman, who always shouted at the top of his lungs and played the role of a stern assistant manager in front of the players, could not help but burst into tears.

"Daddy? You're crying…" Chartwainay looked oddly at her father. That familiar face was wet.

"Daddy is not crying, Daddy is… happy." Eastwood forced a smile on his face, "I'll have more time to spend with you, Chartwainay. Are you happy?"

Chartwainay looked at her father for a moment and then opened her mouth to chirp, "Happy!"

"Let's go back."

He picked up Chartwainay again and took Llewellyn's hand.

"Freddy Eastwood, once an amateur player who had a broken leg before when he joined Nottingham Forest on January 1st, 2004, was in his twenties at the time." Motson, who was responsible for the commentary on the match, said enthusiastically, "He's now in his thirties. He's taking his family to say goodbye to the Forest fans. He said that he was not a legendary striker, but in the minds of the Nottingham Forest fans, no one is more legendary than him."

"An amateur player who scored the winning goal in two UEFA Champions League finals to help Nottingham Forest regain the Champions League title after a twenty-eight-year hiatus. His right knee suffered a serious injury before he became a Forest player, but he had been dragging the injured leg on the pitch to play for Nottingham Forest for a decade, scoring a total of one hundred and thirty-seven goals. He is not the player with the greatest number of goals scored in the history of the Nottingham Forest Football Club, but he is definitely a player who scored the most valuable goals in the history of the team! Two goals scored and two UEFA Champions League titles! His experience was enough to be made into a movie for all the football-loving kids out there. He showed people that even if you had been seriously injured, even if you had been drive out of the team you once played for, even if you had fallen into the amateur league and had to sell second-hand cars, as long as you did not give up on your ideal of the heart, you could still create a legend!"

"We salute the legend of the decade! Goodbye, Freddy! Goodbye, Nottingham Forest's Mr. Buzzer Beater!"

As Eastwood led his children slowly down the tunnel, the fans' unified singing voices rang out in the stands. They were singing a song dedicated to Eastwood. It was after Eastwood scored a crucial goal to help the team overcome AC Milan to regain the long-lost UEFA Champions League title after twenty-eight years. The fans composed a hero's song for him.

"With the game down to the last minute, do you think it's over? There's little time left as the referee looks at his watch and your heart goes, 'Forget it, we still have the future.'"

"The cheering song gradually loses its voice, and some people begin to leave early. A bunch of beer cups are strewn about in the stands, and it's a mess!"

"The opposing players laugh at our final struggle, and the opposing fans celebrate their victory in advance!"

"The Forest team's number 11 steps forward and he said, 'No! The game isn't over yet! Don't be too happy!'"

"Don't be happy yet!!!"

"He's like Robin Hood. His arrow shoots through the enemy's heart!"

"The enemies scream in horror, "Who is he?!'"

"Who—is—he!!"

"His name is Freddy Eastwood! He's the Forest team's Mr. Buzzer Beater!"

"His name is Freddy!" He never gives up!"

"Freddy, Freddy! The privilege is yours to fall under his arrow!"

"La la la! Freddy! La la la! Robin hood!"

"La la la! Freddy! Freddy! La la la!"

Whenever Eastwood scored another crucial goal, the song would ring out in the home stands. Eastwood would run wild on the pitch with open arms, with the number on his back flying like a flag over the City Ground stadium and the number "11" on the back like two sharp arrows. He was indeed the "Robin Hood" of Nottingham Forest.

But this time, Robin Hood was shot in the knee by the poison arrow of fate. He could no longer stand up to continue the fight. He fell under the great oak tree where he had once gathered with his comrades-in-arms to rise up to fight. He bade farewell a little unwillingly to those brothers whom he had fought side by side with, leaving behind a legend to let future generations look forward to the future while they fondly recalled the legend—while he was still around, what a heroic time it must have been….

The stirring singing voices sand continuously until their Robin Hood disappeared into the tunnel.

Tears glistened on the faces of the fans present. They applauded "Mr. Buzzer Beater" of their hearts one last time and bade farewell to another legend of "Robin Hood."