Godfather Of Champions

Chapter 95: A Fateful Showdown Part 1

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

Wood soon returned to Twain's side, and as he looked at Twain, Twain looked down at his watch. "So soon? Has it been three minutes? All right. Let me tell you what you should do when you get on the field." He grabbed Wood and pointed at Fàbregas who was running and passing the ball. "Look, the opponent's number 25, do you see him?"

Wood nodded. "I see him."

"He's Arsenal's midfield commander, the center of the team, and the key to whether Arsenal is able to beat us in this match. His name is Francesc Fàbregas. Remember his name, his face, and his number. Then go up and mark him one-on-one, watch him closely, freeze him. Don't let him easily receive the ball from his teammates' passes. Don't let him pass the ball easily. If he wants to drive the ball to break through, tackle him. Do you understand?" Tang En turned to look at Wood. The lad seemed to be looking forward to playing in this match. He could not stay calm beside Tang En, bouncing and upbeat throughout, as if he were still warming up.

That was the way he should be. He was always stone-faced and had a robotic appearance. Who would like that? A normal lad was expectant, could be stirred up and excited.

"Yes, I understand."

Suddenly, Tang En's attention was drawn to Wood's bare legs. He frowned and asked, "George, where are your shin pads?"

"I didn't put them on."

"Why aren't you wearing them?"

"I don't like them, they feel uncomfortable."

"That can't be done, go put them. Wearing shin pads is to protect you from injury and harm."

"I won't get hurt."

"Come on, don't talk nonsense. Put them on, or I won't let you play!" Tang En said sternly.

The trick worked, and Wood ran back at once. Watching him carelessly stuff the shin pads into his socks, Tang En shook his head helplessly. Maybe what this kid said was true… there was no one in the world who could hurt him on the field.

When the opportunity of a dead ball came, the Forest team made a substitution. George Wood, wearing number 55, was brought on to replace number 18, James Beaumont.

Brady saw the Forest team make a substitution, and he glanced at Wood's number. "Number 55?" Generally speaking, a player with such a large number, aside from personal preference, did not occupy an important position on the team. He was normally a substitute for the substitutes. All the good numbers had been chosen by the others and when it was his turn, only the numbers after 30, of little value or interest, were left. To wear such a number was as good as announcing to everyone: I am a substitute. I have no ability!

He did not understand why Twain had put this person in.

"Who knows who number 55 is?" He turned to look at the coaches and the team doctors. Everyone shook his head in reply to his question.

No, not only the Arsenal coaches, but no one in the whole world knew who that tall, built number 55 lad was. What position did he play? What was his style of play? How were his kicking skills? What were his strengths and weaknesses? How was his temper? Was he a genius or a loser? Was he a future star player or an ordinary player, doomed to mediocrity?

To the football world, George Wood was a blank canvas. He could be painted on with intricate color and detail, or he could be randomly smeared with a few strokes and then be crumpled up into a ball and thrown in the trash.

Now, in front of the powerful team Arsenal, in front of the insightful Le Professeur, Arsène Wenger, Wood would give his career the first stroke.

What suspense!

When he got on the field, George Wood went straight across half the field to the Arsenal player, Fàbregas, and then stood still, staring at him...

Tang En rolled his eyes, and he heard the sigh of Kerslake behind him.

Everyone at the Arsenal technical area laughed. Brady gave the most exaggerated laugh. His facial muscles convulsed, and he could not speak properly. "Well, well, we now know he's the guy in charge of defending against Fàbregas. Ha ha!"

On the field, Fàbregas looked strangely at the player who was taller and stronger than himself. He judged that he was of mixed ethnicity and handsome.

Number 55? You send a player with such a high number to guard me?

He took his eyes off Wood and fixed his gaze on the Forest manager, Tony Twain.

Hey, Mr. Manager. Is this some kind of joke?

Off the field, even the Forest fans could not understand Twain's substitution.

"Hey! Who's that number 55? Does anyone know?"

"Is he a fool? Standing in front of the opponent and just staring him down?" Someone complained loudly. "What is Tony thinking? Bringing on a big idiot to defend against the opponent's number 25?"

As soon as the man finished speaking, John grabbed hold of him. Big John's angry, wide face appeared in front of him. Like a 22-inch widescreen monitor, it had quite a visual impact.

"Shut your mouth! Don't underestimate him!" John growled.

The man who mocked Wood was so stunned, he couldn't respond.

Someone next to John asked, "John, do you know that number 55?"

Bill nodded and helped John answer, "George Wood. Tony picked him up from the streets."

"How does he play? What's his position?"

This time Bill shook his head. "We've never seen him play, but Tony thinks a lot of him."

Someone in the crowd whistled to express his dissatisfaction.

"All of you shut up!" Big John pushed the poor man aside and shouted, "No one is allowed to doubt his ability!"

"Why, John?" Everyone was asking at once.

"Yeah, he has not proven himself at all! What ability does he have?"

"Because... He was Gavin's hero! He was Gavin's favorite player, and the most promising player!" shouted the angry man as he stared everyone.

Everyone suddenly quieted down.

Big John cleared his throat, took a deep breath, raised his hands, and set his pose. "Chant with me now! Wood! Wood! Wood, Wood, Wood! Grow into a Forest!"

John clapped his hands hard and loud.

"Wood! Wood! Wood, Wood, Wood! Grow into a Forest! Forest! Forest!"

Clap! Clap! Clap!

"Wood! Wood! Wood, Wood, Wood! Grow into a Forest! Forest! Forest!"

Clap! Clap! Clap!

"Forest, Forest -- Forest!!"

These people followed John and Bill to loudly chant the adapted cheer to rally George Wood.

Apart from the related personnel of the two teams, they had the largest crowd. When they began to chant, they attracted almost everyone's attention.

Tang En looked back at John, who was cheering for Wood with a serious face, and grinned.

Everyone in the Arsenal technical area also noticed this sudden outburst. Brady could not laugh anymore. He was a little dumbfounded. Could it be that this was a significant player? To have so many fans supporting and liking him that they even created a cheer for him. This was not how an idiot was treated!

Number 55, exactly what kind of player are you? Are you Tony Twain's secret weapon?

The attention of the people from the two teams in the technical area was not on the field, and the same went for the players on the field. Almost everyone was turning his head and casting strange and surprised looks at the Forest fans, who were still cheering for Wood as they watched.

The Spanish teenager standing in front of Wood slightly turned his head; his attention was also caught by the cheering fans on the side of the field.

George Wood was the only one on the entire field who had no reaction after hearing the chants. He was still staring at Fàbregas.

Because Twain had said to him, "Mark him one-on-one, watch him closely, freeze him... wipe him out!

Ashley Cole's substitute for the First Team, the French teenager, Clichy, made a forward pass to Fàbregas, and then focused on sprinting ahead, hoping to do a wall pass and a one-two combination with his teammate. But after he ran, he realized that the football had not been passed as expected.

At almost the same time Fàbregas received the pass from Clichy, he was also bumped by George Wood from behind. So, when he was struggling to keep his balance, he naturally could not pass the football to where he wanted to pass, and the football was kicked out of bounds by him.

Fàbregas complained to the referee that Wood's action was a foul, but the referee ignored it.

This level of physical collision in England was almost as common as eating and drinking. If every bump required the referee to whistle a foul, the match would be interrupted dozens of times. Not being able to counter the bump from the other side just meant that one wasn't strong enough.

Seeing how Wood single-handedly and successfully defended against Fàbregas once, Tang En high-fived Kerslake. The boy was performing better than anyone expected. After 10 months of training, he was no longer the kid who was at a loss in his first game and then used his foot to kick and break another player's leg.

Fàbregas was confident, but George Wood was confident, too. Fàbregas had no performance anxiety, and George Wood didn't know the meaning of the word "scared." So what if you have your gifted teenager and the Golden Player of the UEFA U-17 European Championship? My George Wood was born fearless!

To prevent Wood from colliding into him when he received a pass, Fàbregas had to forge ahead to receive the ball and at the same time, turn it around and make a big detour and adjust the attacking direction. This should shake you off my tail, right?

No!

Fàbregas turned around to find that the hot breath of Wood's exhalation had already been sprayed on his face!

This bastard! He was unwilling to let up on his relentless pursuit!

Fàbregas, who found the football under his foot in danger, quickly adjusted his body. His back faced Wood again, and he was finally able to protect the ball. But had he now just made a big circle? Did this not just render the detour that he had made earlier useless?

His opponent was silent, but Fàbregas could always hear breathing coming from behind his back, like he could not shake off a ghost that was stuck to him.