Godfather Of Champions

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

Twain threw an extremely thorny problem of acting as a psychological counselor to George Wood to Eastwood.

Eastwood seriously thought back on it, and he found that Wood almost never had such an experience. Sometimes it really made people wonder if his heart was really oaken, as hard and stubborn as iron.

All along Nottingham Forest relied on such an oaken heart, operating at a steady and high speed. Now that the heart had issues, the team's performance was naturally affected.

Eastwood was troubled by his own inexperience. Never mind that he was a little upset with Wood. Even without this matter, he did not know what to do when faced with Wood.

He contemplated on the matter all day long. From his frown during the day, it seemed he did not come with a good idea.

Eastwood had intended to look for Wood directly and get straight to point to say, "Let's talk about your recent decline…"

But he had second thoughts about doing it in this way, which seemed to be ineffective. He could not determine if Wood would even listen to him at all.

Feeling vexed, he ended his first day as a coach.

Back home, he still had a worried frown on his face, which alarmed Sabina. She asked, "Did something make you unhappy in your first day as a coach?"

"Nothing made me unhappy but there was an annoying matter…" Eastwood recounted the task given by Twain.

Sabina looked at her husband with a seemingly smiling face, "You men are such strange creatures. Freddy, do you really hate Wood?"

Eastwood thought for a moment. He did not hate him to the core. Otherwise he would not play in this team until retirement. But it would be a lie to say that there was no feeling. Anyone who had encountered such a thing, could not treat it as if nothing had happened.

"Hate? I don't know… But I certainly don't like him." Eastwood shook his head.

"Did you ever have a quarrel with Wood in the team? Had you ever come to blows with him or been in conflict?"

Eastwood wondered why his wife asked such questions. He said, "Don't you know me, Sabina? I'm not that kind of person… I just don't talk much to him."

Unknowingly, a deck of cards appeared in Sabina's hands as she asked, "Would you like to consult the cars?"

Eastwood quipped, "Save that for the tourists, Sabina."

Sabina ignored her husband as she played the cards in her hands. A moment later, she looked up and said to Eastwood, "I think you should look for Wood and have a fight in person."

"Is that what you've figured out?" Eastwood felt he really should not have discussed work with his wife.

"That's why men are stupid creatures." Sabina slowly fiddled with the cards on the table, "If Llewellyn makes a very serious mistake, I'll just give him a beating and not treat him coldly. And he would be happy to accept the beating, rather than not talk to his mother for the rest of his life."

Eastwood dismissed his wife's remarks and said, "Llewellyn is your child. But George Wood is not my son."

"Sometimes men and boys have something in common. If you feel embarrassed to fight in person, you can make an appointment with him to find a time and place in private, like a knight throwing down his gauntlet." Sabina snapped her fingers and kept the cards. "I'll go see if Chartwainay is asleep."

Eastwood was left alone in the living room. He had ridiculed his wife's rotten idea at first. But after he mocked the idea in his mind, he found that there seemed to be some truth in this approach…

Since I don't know how to talk to Wood, it's better to take the tough approach right away.

Based on his understanding of Wood, the other party was not a man who beat about the bush. If I say a lot of highfalutin stuff, it will be ineffective and a waste of efforts.

All right… I'll look for an opportunity.

Eastwood kneaded both hands and his joints made cracking sounds.

Before going to Wilford, the next day, Eastwood rehearsed his "ferocious" expression in the bathroom mirror for a long time.

He was a mild person and popular. He always had a smile on his face in the team and joked with the people around him. Everyone also liked such an optimistic and cheerful teammate, so few people would ever give him an attitude. Thus, the impression was Eastwood was a nice man who would never be fierce to anyone.

It was really hard for him to play the role of villain now…

"Wood! What are you doing?!"

Eastwood shook his head. His tone did not seem to be aggressive enough.

"Didn't you eat last night? Don't you have any strength in you?!"

"Look at your movements. Are you really training?"

"All right, actually your performance is not good enough… No, no! It's terrible! Bad! It sucks!"

…

Eastwood finally shook his head and walked out of the bathroom. If he still did not come out, his daughter, Chartwainay, who had called him for breakfast, would knock till the door was broken.

Sabina kept smiling at her troubled husband during breakfast.

When she sent him off for work at the door, Sabina kissed him on the cheek and said, "Good luck."

"I don't feel confident that…" Eastwood spoke without certainty.

George Wood changed his clothes in the locker room with a black face. He had been in a bad mood lately. People around him did not dare to talk to him. Even an old friend like Bale tried not to provoke him at this time.

Everyone knew what kind of pressure the team captain was under. The outside media were going crazy in their speculation that George Wood was responsible for Eastwood's early retirement. It was as if they wanted Wood to step forward and take responsibility for Eastwood. If this were to happen in South Korea, it was reckoned that they would all directly ask George Wood to cut off his finger as an atonement…

Actually, everyone was aware that Carl Spicer was right in that the first time Eastwood was seriously injured, it was due to Wood's foul. However, all in all, it was an unintentional mistake. It was too mean to bring it to the surface again after ten years… To put it more seriously, it was done with malicious intent.

The media would not delve into the reasons behind the injury at the time. They only knew that this matter was very newsworthy, so they did a lot of follow-up stories…

As for the readers, they also lacked basic judgment. Or they simply did not want to judge who was right or wrong. They just wanted to watch the drama and feel that life was good.

To make matters worse, the next game was the tenth anniversary of when Tony Twain officially took charge of Nottingham Forest. The team was keen to pay tribute to the boss with a win in that game. But the team's current condition and a mighty opponent like Liverpool had made that game looked bleak.

Liverpool was also keeping a close eye on the Forest team's developments. Benítez must be pleased to see that cracks and unrest had emerged within the Forest team. Because he and Twain had fought each other for so many years, he had found that the easiest way to beat Twain was to hope that something would go wrong inside the walls of the indestructible castle.

George Wood's form was up and down. This was indeed a great and rare opportunity…

Liverpool's local media had already harshly spoken out that they wanted to upset Tony Twain's tenth anniversary at Anfield.

"How long he has coached the Forest team has nothing to do with us. We just want a victory."

Wood was the captain and of course he was aware that his form affected the team. But he just could not let the matter go like it was air. He did feel guilty about Eastwood, and he had felt guilty for the last ten years. It was just that he was not good at showing his emotions, especially after he became the captain. He always wanted to leave his teammates with the image of a "dignified" team captain. Some words were not easy to say out loud again.

Wood spent the day in training with a heavy heart again.

Kerslake looked anxious at the side. He said to Twain more than once, "I think George listens to you the most. Why don't you speak to him in person and it will all be okay? Why are you doing this?"

Twain put on a profound expression and said, "There is a saying in China—whoever started the trouble should end it."

"What do you mean?" Kerslake did not understand Mandarin.

"As a man sows, so he shall reap. The two of them are a doomed pair." Twain sighed, "They are entangled with each other."

"What are you doing, Tony? You've got another knock on the head?"

"Oh, you just wait and see. No one can get involved in the matter between them." Twain finally said something that Kerslake could understand. "It's so tiring to talk to you!"

"All you have to do is to just talk sense."

After the training, Wood routinely gave himself another half hour of practice. The rest of the players went back to the locker room. The members of the coaching unit had long been used to the scene, so no one stayed on the field to watch Wood.

When Wood was alone on the field, he decided to forget the troubles for the moment and train carefully. The quiet environment helped him to do so.

Just as he was about to start, a football hit him in the back of the head.

The knock to the head was not light. It could be a volley shot in a game. Wood was a little dazed from the impact. He put his hand on his head and turned around to glare at the "culprit."

"It looks like I still have my footwork. Should I consider withdrawing my decision to retire and return to the field?"

Eastwood completely ignored Wood's angry glare and stood in place as he stroked his chin, talking to himself.

After he saw that it was Eastwood, Wood's anger suddenly began to dissipate. It had always been the case in the team. Eastwood always gave Wood a little bit of attitude, but Wood was fierce toward Eastwood.

"Don't look at me. It was no accident. I did it on purpose." Eastwood stormed over to Wood, picked up the bouncing football on the ground, and shook it in front of Wood with one hand.

"I never hide my dislike of you, have I?" Eastwood asked. He did not expect Wood to answer, but Wood nodded. It surprised him a little.

"Well… All right. I don't have any interest in knowing what you think of me. It was really a miracle that we could play together for ten years. You know, every time I see your face looking like nothing has happened, I just want to pounce on you and give you a punch. That thought became especially strong when I was last injured… Unfortunately, I'm no match for you."

Wood did not defend himself, nor did he retort. He just listened quietly.

Eastwood was actually quite nervous, too. He was reciting the lines he had spent a day preparing… At the same time, he had to make his tone sound like it was a complicated mixture of anger and disdain. It was the best method that he could think of and do—to have a good talk with Wood without having to fight like a man. But he could still express his anger like a man and make Wood feel it.

"You're so physically strong…" Eastwood appraised Wood up and down, "You're never tired and never know what an injury feels like, and how it feels after the injury. No one can hurt you and can make you miserable. You're basically not a human being… If someone else wants to assault you, he's the unlucky one in the end. While you nonchalantly wonder why the other person is hurt…" Eastwood became more agitated as he spoke. At first, he just tried to make himself look angry, but he became really angry in the end.

That's right! Why is everyone human while you, George Wood can have such an enviable physique? And I, Eastwood have such fragile knees? Why!!

"You… You think I willingly choose to retire?" The football in Eastwood's hand was long gone. He stepped forward, closed in on Wood and glared at the other man. "I'm only thirty years old! The golden age of a professional footballer is not over yet. Why should I retire? Do you think I'm satisfied to stand in the middle of the City Ground stadium, enjoy the final cheers and say some moving bullshit? I don't want this shitty farewell! I'd rather play football all my life!"

He had completely deviated from the lines he prepared…

"Then when I look at you again! Look at you again!" Eastwood suddenly grabbed Wood's collar and growled with his mouth open, "You have such a healthy body, so enviable …but you're playing like shit! If I had such a healthy body as you, do you know how hard I'll train and play? How grateful I will be? You bastard! You suck! Are you mocking me? 'Look, I have a strong and healthy body but I'm deliberately playing like shit, just so that I can sicken a fool like you who have to retire at the age of thirty!"

"I…"

Wood finally opened his mouth and wanted to say something.

But his voice was drowned out amid Eastwood's raging storm.

"Now I really want to beat you up! Even if I can't defeat you, I want to fight you!" Eastwood gave a hard push with both hands and really shoved George Wood to the ground. He glared furiously and trembling all over. He raised his fists, but he did not smash down in the end.

"I'm really a f**king coward…. I'm a coward who gave up his professional career for fear of getting hurt again. I'm afraid to keep playing football." Eastwood seemed to be drained of all his energy at once. He bowed his hand and muttered, "I'm only thirty…"

He suddenly looked up again and stared at Wood, lying on the ground. He said, "Do you know what it's like to be hurt there? The part below the knee doesn't seem to belong to your body anymore, you can't feel anything. Lying in bed in the middle of the night, when I remember that I can't play football anymore… Do you know how that feels?" At this point, he suddenly paused, and a look of realization dawned on his face. "Yeah, why am I telling you these? Why am I saying all these to a robot that has never been hurt? Am I confused from the anger?"

He shook his head. He was going to turn around and walk away.

"Not only am I a coward, I'm also a fool…"

"You…"

Wood got up from the ground and said somewhat helplessly, "Why don't… you hit me? If it can… allow you to… feel good…"

Eastwood suddenly turned around and rushed toward him. He almost stuck his nose in his face and roared, "What is this? A winner's sympathy for a loser? I don't f**king need your sympathy!"

He took a step back again and continued to stare at Wood as he said, "I chose to retire. It f**king has nothing to do with you! Why are you pitying me? You're a scumbag! What's with the look on your face? Is this how you look when you see a pitiful idiot? You think I'm pathetic, don't you? Ah, I know, I know what you're thinking—it's so sad that he can't play football…"

"No, I don't…"

"Shut up! So, what if I retire? So, what if I can't play football? I'm the coach now. You'd better watch out, you bastard! If you dare continue this kind of shitty performance, next time I will cuss you out like the bastard you are in front of the whole team! You think I won't do it?" Eastwood gave a cold laugh, "I never like you. You'd better not let me get the chance, boy."

After his harsh words, Eastwood quickly left the training ground. If he did not leave, he was afraid he would burst into tears.

He really hated Wood, not because Wood had injured him in a tackle. He hated that Wood had such a healthy and strong body and yet his own knees were so fragile… He hated the injustice of his fate and his powerlessness.

When he grabbed Wood's clothes and roared, there was also a voice in his heart that roared, unwilling to resign to his fate:

I want to keep playing football! I want to keep playing football …

Why? Why am I retiring at the age of thirty? Why can't I have a healthy body like that bastard? Why… Why should I say those nonsense to him here?

Eastwood, who was back in his car, did not drive away. He sat in the driver's seat and hung his head, feeling deeply tired.

Meanwhile, George Wood stood on the training ground and looked at the football that Eastwood threw at his feet in a daze.