Godfather Of Champions

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

When Chen Jian was debating with his agent in Netherlands about his future, Nottingham Forest was facing their opponent who was second from the bottom in the league—Newcastle.

This match took place at the same time as Arsenal's visit to Tottenham.

The north London derby between Arsenal and Tottenham might be the toughest match that Arsenal had left in the remaining eight games of the league. That was because it was not an ordinary league match, this was a derby.

Twain was also paying attention to this match, Kerslake was listening to the latest match information on the radio with his headphones. If there was any new happening, he would tell Twain beside him immediately.

The Nottingham Forest players also understood what this match meant to them. They also paid a lot of attention on Arsenal's game. The whole team could be said to be very distracted.

This was not a situation that Twain wanted to see; hence he had no choice but to keep reminding his players to focus before the game.

The match had entered the second half and the score line between Nottingham Forest and Newcastle was still 0:0. On the other side, Arsenal was leading Tottenham 1:0.

These scores were a little depressing.

Twain also felt that it was not good to keep caring about other people so he stood up from his seat, away from Kerslake's "oral broadcast", and shouted to the pitch for his players to focus and to score.

At the same time, on the other side at Tottenham's home ground, White Hart Lane, even though his team was leading 1:0, Wenger was having a tough time.

Sometimes, the score did not reflect the actual state of the game, especially in games such as a derby.

Even though Arsenal was leading by a goal, they were under heavy pressure from Tottenham.

The Tottenham fans also knew the importance of this game. Some people even hung words of encouragement in the stands for Nottingham Forest playing in the north, "Leave the league to Forest, give us the FA Cup."

As archrivals of Arsenal, they did not mind pulling Arsenal down nor do they mind watching Arsenal lose the crown. The opponent's pain is their greatest pleasure and happiness.

Wenger stood at the sideline anxiously, constantly calling for his team to remind them to watch out for the counter. His brows touched from his frown and he looked very serious.

On the other side, Twain gritted his teeth as he glared at the pitch with his fists clenched and body tensed.

As managers, the pressure on the two of them were intense.

If Arsenal won this game, they would have basically won the league already. Nottingham Forest only had a mathematical possibility in theory—hoping for Arsenal to lose 0:8 in the last game and for Forest to win 6:0. The odds of that happening was too low…

Twain looked at his watch, there was 27 minutes to the end of the match. In other words, there was only 27 minutes to the end of the season.

Carl Spicer was at St. James Park himself as he wanted to witness Twain's failure with his own eyes.

Twain was hesitating about whether he wanted to make a substitution. Newcastle was determined not to give Forest the three points in their home ground. They basically gave up attacking and defended with everyone. Bentley's passes could not even get in. In this kind of situation, should he sub Bentley out?

Two more minutes passed, Forest laid siege on Newcastle's goal. However, the bark is worse than the bite. Twain made his decision and he asked Kerslake to call Moke back from his warmup.

Newcastle was obviously defending against crosses, then let's give them something different.

Moke ran to Twain and called out, "Boss."

Twain who was watching the situation on the pitch turned to look at Moke then pulled him over. He pointed to the pitch and told him, "I need you to get on and use your penetration abilities to create some trouble for the Newcastle backline. Do you understand?"

Moke nodded, "I know what to do Boss."

"Remember, you must cause chaos in their backline."

"Sure thing, Boss."

"Go!" Twain slapped Moke on his back.

The fourth official raised the LED board for a substitution on the sideline. Nottingham Forest making a change, number 7 Bentley off, number 17 Moke on.

At White Hart Lane, Tottenham Hotspurs also made a substitution. 34 years-old, old guard Michael Owen coming on for Croatian defender Corluka.

When they saw 34 years-old Owen coming on, some people from the visiting Arsenal fans broke into laughter.

Did Tottenham Hotspurs have no other players to use? They actually sent someone who could barely run on.

The commentator could not guess what Harry Redknapp wanted to do with this substitution either.

Owen was already 34 years old and he was frequently injured this season. He did not play many games for the team at all. Why would he send someone whose fitness and form cannot be guaranteed on?

"Hey, Tony, there's a substitution over there," Kerslake told Tony with his hands pressing on his headphones.

"Hmm?" Tony did not really care much about the substitution at White Hart Lane, he was paying attention to Moke's performance. He dribbled the ball into a dead end again earlier, making his manager stomp his foot in annoyance.

"Tottenham's substitution. Owen's on."

Twain was familiar with this name. He was stunned for a moment before coming back to his senses, "Owen? Michael Owen? The one who played for Liverpool and Newcastle before?"

Kerslake nodded his head.

Twain rolled his eyes and said, "Is he not retured yet? I thought he already retired since I've not seen him this season."

"He's frequently injured, He hasn't even finished a complete match yet this season, "explained Kerslake.

"What's old Harry thinking about? Forget it…" He sighed and pointed to the mini radio in Kerslake's arms, "Keep that lousy thing. There's no need to care about the others. We'll just have to play our own game…and have no regrets."

When he heard that the one who came on was that old guy Owen, Twain even had such a thought—Harry Redknapp is planning to give the League title to Arsenal. Therefore, he had already decided to take his revenge on Tottenham Hotspurs in the FA Cup Finals. Not only must he win, he wanted to give them a proper thrashing and shame them.

Kerslake moved his lips and put his hands inside his clothes, but he did not switch off the radio. Deep inside, he was still anticipating a miracle…

December 14th last year, Michael Owen celebrated his 34th birthday on the hospital bed. At that time, he just suffered a rather serious injury in training and everyone said that he would definitely retire then. In the end, he did not announce his retirement, instead, he claimed that he would do everything to recover and return to the field. Many people thought that it was a joke at that time.

But now, he had indeed returned to the field, even though the season had only one game and 21 minutes left.

The Arsenal goal was right below the visiting fans' stand. He could hear the mocking coming from the stands clearly.

"Hey, old man! Why are you not retired yet?"

"Can you still run, Michael?"

"Be careful, don't get injured again! If you must fall, remember not to fall in our penalty area!"

He ignored them.

He experienced peaks and lows in his professional career, and he had seen everything before. Such taunts could no longer affect his morale.

"This is really an aging strike force…" The commentator shook his head as he looked at this scene, "32 years old Pavlyuchenko and 34 years old Michael Owen. Could Harry Redknapp be planning to break through Arsenal's defense with such a strike force?"

Wenger turned to take a look at the Tottenham Hotspurs' manager Redknapp, who was standing at the sideline too. The old man looked calm and had no expression on his face.

He was behind but he seemed to be calmer than Wenger, who was leading.

Many Tottenham fans could not understand Michael Owen's introduction too. They thought that Redknapp had given up on the game, otherwise, why would he introduce an old man? Boos targeted at Owen rang out from the stands.

To Owen, this was a betrayal…even his own fans were booing him.

Moke successfully broke though the defense of the Spanish left-back, Jose Enrique, but he had no intention of passing the ball. Instead, he continued to dribble into the area and this caused the Newcastle defense to fall into a state of panic.

Argentine defender Coloccini left Ibišević alone and came forward to cover. Moke did a quick stepover and pushed the ball towards the byline. Coloccini did not fall for the trick and simply followed him, not allowing him to cut in.

With his back towards Coloccini, Moke suddenly nutmegged the Argentine with a backheel and turned 180 degrees using Coloccini as a pivot and cut in near the byline!

Coloccini stretched out a leg to tackle the ball out of reflex but he saw Moke move the ball away in front of his eyes, and his foot managed to catch Moke's foot…

One could have used guessed using his knees what happened next.

Coloccini felt a chill within him.

Moke fell with a shout.

The goalkeeper, Tim Krul grabbed the ball and he heard the referee's whistle too.

"Penalty!" The commentator shouted excitedly. Nottingham Forest could not score after laying siege to the goal for more than 70 minutes, but they managed to get an opportunity to score from a dribble.

The Forest players on the field was just as excited as they rushed forward to hug Moke, pat his head and hammer his chest. Obviously, these people did not know that Arsenal was still leading on the other side yet.

In comparison, the Nottingham Forest technical area was much calmer, these coaches knew what was happening at White Hart Lane. Even if they scored the penalty as long as Arsenal was able to maintain this score till the end, Forest would still be unable to win the title.

"Forest got a penalty kick," Wenger's assistant leant towards him and told him.

Wenger smiled.

Even if Forest won with a penalty, it would be pointless. As long as they win this match, the title would almost be certainly Arsenal's. He did not want to judge his opponent, certainly not one that was already defeated.

He remembered one thing though, Twain mentioned before that an one-goal lead is the most dangerous score line in this world. It was indeed rather dangerous for Arsenal to just be leading 1:0. He should remind his players to increase their attack and try for another goal. That way, they could celebrate winning the league title in their archrival's stadium. There was nothing that could feel better than that in this world.

He stood up from his seat and he did not care whether Forest scored their penalty kick.

"Ibišević's penalty! It's in!!"

The commentators were very excited, but the celebrations in the Forest team's technical area was very restricted. They merely stood and clapped, they did not even give each other a hug.

On the pitch however, the Forest players were very agitated as they hugged each other, they were only short of piling on top of each other.

Twain looked at his players and turned to look at Kerslake.

Kerslake knew what he meant and answered, "It's still 1:0 on that side."

Twain thought and said, "Don't tell them about the truth."

"But if they ask us…"

"Then say Tottenham equalized!" Twain snapped.

Ibišević freed himself from his teammates' embraces and ran towards the sideline after scoring. He wanted to know about the situation on the other side.

"It's level! It's level!" Kerslake waved his arms and said, "Tottenham has drew level!"

Ibišević looked at Twain suspiciously because he did not see much agitation in his Boss' face.

"Go back and continue the match! Why do you care about how other people are doing?!" Twain had to lecture him loudly, "Make sure you play your game properly first!"

Ibišević and the other players turned to run back onto the field, only Wood stayed there and looked at Twain, without moving immediately.

Even though the coaches told them that Tottenham had levelled, the surrounding people did not look happy and the Forest fans in the stands did not use any special actions to remind them. This "fact' was very suspicious.

"I think we are very bad actors…" Kerslake complained as he walked back to the coaches' seats.

Twain crossed his arms at the sideline, ignoring his complaint.

"Attack. Press up! Press up!" Wenger were gesticulating to his team from the sideline, "Both Owen and that Russian are not speedy forwards, don't be afraid of their counter-attacks!"

Arsenal's defensive line went further and further forward. They even forgot that this was a derby match.

Wilshere's pass got intercepted but Arsenal's defenders did not fall back to defend. They were waiting for their own midfielders to get the ball back and continue attacking.

Tottenham started their move. A streak of white flash ran past the Arsenal's defensive line and received the ball from the air as Modrić pinged a long pass forward from defense.

"Michael Owen?"

Even the commentator was shocked as he questioned what he saw.

Owen turned to look at the Arsenal defenders behind him, then turned to look at the linesman to confirm if he was offside. The linesman did not do anything, only ran alongside him towards the byline.

Owen then looked forward, Almunia was hesitating whether to come out or to stay back.

Owen did not hesitate, he stopped looking around and dribbled the ball forward!

A deafening cheer exploded from the stands as everyone cheered for Owen at that moment. The Tottenham fans prayed that he could be 10 years younger and become the "Wonder Boy" again. The Arsenal fans, however, were cursing him to fall immediately.

"Michael Owen…" Kerslake suddenly stopped halfway back, listened carefully and mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Twain frowned as he asked.

"He's dribbling the ball…onside…one on on…" Kerslake continued to mumble.

"He's dribbling! He's very fast, onside! Totally onside! What's Senderos doing? Why is he raising his arm? Fall back! He's one on one!" The commentator could not help but to complain, "This is not the sprinting speed that a 34 years-old old guard should have! Michael Owen! He seemed to have returned to 16 years ago for a moment…"

Owen was indeed very fast, so fast that Wenger was shocked too.

Almunia decided to come out because Owen was going to enter the penalty area.

He saw Owen's right foot nudged the ball slightly while running just when he rushed out…

The ball flew over his head and ended in the goal behind him.

At that moment, White Hart Lane was silent.

"One on one… Almunia came out… Lob… Goal!! It's a goal!!" Kerslake shouted all of a sudden and jumped up as if he was mad, "It's a goal! Tony!! Tony! It's a goal!! Tottenham has levelled the game! They've really equalized this time!!"

He turned and shouted towards Twain while pointing to the radio in his hand.

Twain did not ask, "Really?" Instead, he snatched the headphones from him and put them in his ears.

"…Beautiful lob from Michael Owen! Almunia could not react at all! I feel for him. The Arsenal team did not expect Owen to still have this kind of sprinting speed! One error of judgement of their defense gave Owen a chance like this. He dribbled with the ball for 30 meters and levelled the match at 1:1 with a beautiful lob!! I heard that Nottingham Forest has taken the lead at Newcastle with a penalty. Tony Twain's team has a lifeline now!!"

At the same time, cheers suddenly rang out from the visiting stands. Those Forest fans who were closer to the pitch waved their mobile phones and radios in their hands and shouted towards the pitch.

"They've scored! They've scored!! Tottenham, Tottenham has scored!"

"Tony!" Kerslake clenched his fist and gritted his teeth as he looked at Twain, "A miracle has happened!!"

Twain did not smile, he was in a slight daze. Has it really happened? Arsenal really conceded an equalizer? Will there be a delay in reporting and Arsenal has already scored immediately? He looked around aimlessly and passed the headphones back to Kerslake, "The game is not over yet, it's too early to celebrate."

He turned around and shouted towards the pitch:

"Score another goal! Score one more! Seal the victory! Watch out for their counterattack… focus!!"

This time, the Forest players believed that Tottenham had really levelled the score and their morale was boosted. For a moment, they actually forced the whole Newcastle team to be stuck inside their own defensive third.

"Owen! Owen! Owen!" The voices from the stands at White Hart Lane boomed into the sky.

The old guard, Owen, extended both arms and ran on the pitch. It had been very long since he last enjoyed such cheers and felt the cool breeze on his face. He felt like he had wings and was flying freely in the sky.

When he got seriously injured this season, some people advised him to retire with dignity. But he said, "Injuries are like my wife. I'm already used to being with them all the time. I will not retire because I want to continue playing, I feel that I can continue playing."

Everyone joked that he was in denial and being boastful then.

But now, everyone who mocked and laughed at him had shut up. What showed on their faces were shock, awkwardness, embarrassment and respect now.

At that moment, even injuries were defeated by this strong old guard. He gave those people who exclaimed, "Hasn't this old guy retired yet?" a tight slap on their faces. The slap really felt good…

Wenger hung his head and nobody could see the expression on his face then. Annoyance? Anger? Regret? Doubt? Helplessness?

None of these mattered now.

Wenger had always believed that a professional player's career and competitiveness would start going downhill after 30. That was why he always did what he could to cleanse his team of all the "old players" above 30 years old, why the young talents that he trained could have so much room for development. There was nothing wrong with that and Arsenal agreed with that club philosophy.

But this scene today was indeed rather ironic. He was defeated by an old guard whom he never placed much importance on. He was totally defeated and he could not even come up with a reason for it…

What could he say? What kind of expression should he show in front of the cameras?

He could only look down in silence.

The next day, when Nottingham Forest won the hopes of fighting for the league title again, and news of Arsenal settling for a draw after the goal from old guard Owen got published in the papers, Owen received a postcard from his own mailbox.

Written on it was:

Your goal saved the life of a person. Thank you, Michael.

It was not signed.