When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 64 Well, Ligue 1 is the best (4000 words)
The morning sunlight streamed into the apartment through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Roy woke up on the messy carpet, while Du Chen was still curled up in his arms, fast asleep.

He rubbed his temples and reached for his ringing phone.

"Dear Ligue 1 Best Player".

Claire Bertrand's shrewd manager voice came through the microphone, tinged with a mischievous smile:
"While you're sipping champagne and catching up on sleep with your beautiful girlfriend, you've landed an 800,000 euro endorsement deal. Guess which brand it is—by the way, it's 200,000 euros more than Rezeguet's endorsement fee for working with similar Italian brands."

"What Ligue 1 Best Player? It's probably Ligue 1 Best Young Player, right? What brand is it?"

She paused deliberately for three seconds, "—Congratulations on becoming Pampers' French brand ambassador; you're about to become the most beloved football-loving dad among mothers across France."

Roy almost dropped his phone on Du Chen's face.

At that moment, he noticed a text message on the screen from the club's media officer:

Congratulations! The French Ligue 1 Players' Union has named you the Player of the Season!

Roy paused for two seconds, recalling last night's celebration—champagne, screams, and his teammates tossing him into the air in a frenzy.

And now, he has been officially crowned King of Ligue 1.

“Just kidding,” Claire finally couldn’t help but laugh out loud, “It’s Cartier.”

“My dear champion, those guys at Cartier have studied you thoroughly with a magnifying glass!”

She cleared her throat and switched to an exaggerated business tone:
"They believe your face, which combines Eastern mystery with Latin passion, perfectly matches the 'elegant rebellious' tone of their Pasha series. Did you know? Their marketing director said it's 'more heart-pounding than when Tiger Woods wears Santos!'"

I've made something of myself; I can now compare to Tiger Woods.

The rustling sound of pages turning came from the background: "The contract details are here! First, you'll be the Pasha series' promotional ambassador—that old relic that debuted in 1985 and desperately needs to be rejuvenated. Second..."

She suddenly lowered her voice, "They'll customize a special 18K gold model for you, with 'MONACO 2003 CHAMPION ROI' engraved on the case back—Deschamps would go crazy if he knew the trophies in the locker room weren't worth as much as your watch!"

“50 euros a year,” Claire suddenly recited in a rap-like rhythm, “plus extra payment for each Asian tour, and an extra 5 euros for every time the Asian ladies see you wearing Cartier. And by the way—”

She mimicked the financial director's sarcastic tone, "This money is enough to buy half of Monaco's youth team, not including your ear that Du Chen pinched red."

On the other end of the phone, Claire deliberately dragged out her words: "Of course, I can't imagine how much more money you could earn every year if you wore that red jersey with the number seven on it. Are you afraid I can't keep track? There's no need to be so considerate."

She mimicked Ferguson's thick Scottish accent: "That child is worth £200 million!"

With the French Ligue 1 season nearing its end, various award selection events are being launched.

The Ligue 1 Players' Union has announced its best player award, with Roy beating Bordeaux's Portuguese striker Pauleta to win the title. Other nominees include Monaco's midfielders Giuly and Rothen, as well as Marseille's Belgian center-back Van Buyten.

Although Roy conquered the league in just half a season (12 games, 18 goals, and 6 assists), the selection process was not without controversy.

Bordeaux's Portuguese striker Pauleta, last season's Player of the Year winner, continues his consistent output this season with 21 goals, leading Bordeaux to a solid fourth place and even a chance to qualify for the Champions League. Pauleta originally had a chance to win the award for the second consecutive year.

Pauleta displayed impeccable manners upon learning the result:

"Roy deserves this award; his performance was amazing." But he also subtly added, "However, the top scorer award is still the most coveted honor."

Clearly, the 30-year-old Portuguese veteran has no intention of relinquishing his throne easily. With two rounds left in the league, he still has a great chance to defend his Golden Boot title.

Bordeaux manager Pope also strongly supports his favorite player:
"Pauleta is a true top striker, scoring 20+ goals for three consecutive seasons. Such a player is one in a century."

However, the data doesn't lie:

With an average of 1.5 goals and 0.5 assists per game, and an average of 2 chances created per game, Roy's offensive efficiency is terrifying.

Dominance in crucial matches – Against strong teams like Paris Saint-Germain and Lyon, he was directly involved in all the key goals, almost single-handedly turning the tide of the title race.

In absolute comparisons.

Roy's phenomenal breakout in a short period of time directly raised the team's ceiling, but the sample size was small (only 12 games).

Pauleta provides consistent output, ensuring the team's minimum performance level, but he lacks the kind of game-changing performance that Roy can deliver.

Monaco manager Didier Deschamps' assessment was spot on:

"Roy is no ordinary genius; he's a monster who can directly decide who wins the championship."

The French Ligue 1 Players' Union judges ultimately concluded that Roy deserved the best player award more—the essence of football awards is to reward "the person who changes the game," not "the most consistent player."

He put up epic stats in just half a season and carried every game in crucial moments, a dominance that far surpasses Pauleta's "steady pace".

To deny him because of the few appearances he played is tantamount to denying Maradona's miracle in the 86 World Cup (scoring 5 goals and 5 assists in only 7 games).

Best Coach: Sochaux's manager, Lacombe, has led this small team to the best home record in the league and even has a chance to qualify for the Champions League.

Best Goalkeeper: Lyon's Coupet. The French international's consistent performance helped his team stay close to Monaco until the final rounds when they were finally overtaken.

Goal of the Year: Ronaldinho's magical dance in the February match against Guingamp.

Claire's voice suddenly rose eight octaves from the other end of the phone: "Listen, my champion, those old foxes at Cartier aren't just giving you a gold watch—they're going to throw you into the meat grinder of Cannes, the world of fame and fortune!"

She deliberately read it in an exaggerated, scripted tone:

"The 56th Cannes Film Festival opens on May 14th, and the jury president is Patrice Charlene, the director of 'Queen Margot.' Do you know what that means?"

She suddenly switched to gossip mode, "It's the guy who criticized Cantona's acting as a wooden stake last year! I reckon you'll see Cantona on set, but he probably won't give you a friendly look anytime soon."

The rustling sound of papers turning filled the air: "And then there's Jeanne Monroe, the old lady's affair with Truffaut was more dramatic than any movie."

"Here comes the point!"

She suddenly raised her voice eight octaves, “Cartier is going to set up a diamond tent next to the Palais des Festivals, and you and your girlfriend walking the red carpet together would be the best living billboard. You have great taste, she’s practically a supermodel in the making, even better dressed than Isabelle Adjani. I suggest you cosplay the look from ‘Last Year at Marienbad’—anyway, Jiang Wen is sitting on the jury, he’d definitely love this kind of play within a play!”

"Is he one of your fellow townsmen? Maybe he'll invite you to play a role like a Qing Dynasty football player."

You know nothing. The Song Dynasty was the real powerhouse.

Suddenly, the sound of typing came from the background: "Oh damn! Just got an email, that 23-year-old Iranian female director is also coming to the Cartier party. Damn it, she wears a black robe to accept awards. Do you think we should prepare an Arab robe for you as a backup?"

Roy was stunned by Claire's series of sarcastic remarks. He was a little angry and wanted to say, "Hey! You know I'm the Ligue 1 man, you have to respect me."

But on second thought, Claire's way of speaking did indeed make him feel a sense of friendliness.

Moreover, the reason he felt uncomfortable was because he himself was that kind of person.

Roy tightened his grip on the phone, his knuckles turning slightly white.

He took a deep breath, his lips twitched twice, but it ultimately turned into a helpless chuckle: "Okay, Mom!"

2003 5 Month 13 Day.

At 21:00 PM, the blue light from the TV screen flickered in the dimly lit living room. Roy and Douchen-Klos were curled up on the sofa, half-eaten pizzas spread out on their laps.

Aerial footage of the Champions League semi-final is sweeping across the San Siro stadium, which is being washed by rain. The red and black and blue and black waves formed by 79000 fans are surging in the rain, and Berlusconi's silver-gray hair is faintly visible in the VIP box.

Look at that!

Du Chen nudged Roy's thigh with his toe, then suddenly pointed to the screen—a close-up of Maldini, with subtitles indicating this was his 45th Milan derby, while Costacurta was making his 100th European appearance. Cooper deployed a 3-5-2 formation, with Zanetti leading the three defensive midfielders;
Ancelotti continued with the 4-3-1-2 formation, with Shevchenko lurking behind Inzaghi.

Roy whistled: "When this old guy first played in a derby, I was still in diapers."

In the 7th minute, Pirlo unleashed a sudden long-range shot from 30 meters out, the ball grazing the crossbar and flying out, giving Toldo a scare.

Roy sat bolt upright: "That arc is so cool!"

Before he could finish speaking, Di Biagio kicked Gattuso to the ground.

"puff--"

Du Chen suddenly burst into laughter and fell into Roy's arms, pointing at the two wrestling on the screen: "Why do you professional players fight like kindergarteners fighting over candy?"

In the video, Di Biagio's shoe print is still on Gattuso's sock, and the Italian butcher is swearing at him with his forehead pressed against Gattuso's nose.

Roy: "That's called tactical conflict."

In the 23rd minute, a dramatic scene unfolded! When Cordoba cleared the ball, his studs grazed Toldo's face, causing the Inter Milan goalkeeper to bleed profusely, and the team doctor provided emergency treatment.

"Is this how Dutch kids fight over candy?"

Du Chen whistled: "In the Netherlands, even elementary school kids use weapons when they fight."

"What do you Dutch kids use?" Roy regretted asking as soon as he said it.

"A stick."

Du Chen blinked his blue eyes innocently, "Never seen a Dutch derby?"

Let's call it the Dutch dressing room derby.

In the 37th minute, tensions flared! Inzaghi fouled Cordoba from behind, and Toldo rushed up and headbutted him with his chest. The referee issued two yellow cards to quell the conflict.

"Look at Toldo's charge!"

He pointed to the Inter Milan goalkeeper's bulging chest in the still image, saying, "If the referee had been stricter..."

In first-half stoppage time, Seedorf played a brilliant through ball, and Shevchenko dribbled past Cordoba with a ghostly feint, then swept the ball into the top left corner in the instant he lost his balance. Toldo knelt down and pounded the turf.

Ukrainians kiss their jerseys to honor their mentor, Lobanovsky.

Roy sprang up from the sofa, knocking over a pizza box, and exclaimed in his native language, "Holy crap, Shevchenko is so cool!"

No wonder I thought we could sell Filippo; the two of us are the perfect team.

He mimicked the Ukrainian player's spike, saying, "This feint is just like my previous shot."

Du Chen grabbed a cushion and threw it at him: "Give me my pizza!"

During halftime, the two teams clashed again in the locker room tunnel.

In a fit of rage, Recoba shoved Costacurta, and a clear red mark was visible on Maldini's right cheek from Crespo's elbow strike.

In the 64th minute, Ancelotti made a conservative substitution, replacing Rui Costa with Ambrosini, and Milan switched to a 4-5-1 formation.

Roy suddenly sat up straight on the sofa.

Inter Milan is finished.

He tapped the coffee table unconsciously with his fingers. "Milan is about to start setting up the bus."

Tonight he is an Nerazzurri.

Because he was all talk and no action, but he never gave me a formal offer.

Putting aside the fact that he doesn't want to transfer this year, shouldn't you have made an offer?
I don't really want to go; I just want to show my attitude.

In the 81st minute, Materazzi elbowed Pirlo and then kicked Shevchenko in the groin area, but the referee did not show a card, sparking controversy.

In the 84th minute, when Emre's surgical through ball pierced Milan's defense, Martins, like a black lightning bolt, swept past Maldini, and the 19-year-old Nigerian youngster gently poked the ball with his toe—

"boom!"

The sound of the ball hitting the net exploded through the television speakers.

Du Chen felt Roy's arm muscles tense up instantly, and the beer can he was holding in his left hand was squeezed out of shape, with the cold beer dripping onto their intertwined legs.

Six! A whole six!

Du Chen counted Martins' textbook-perfect backflips.

Deafening cheers blared from the television, while the only sound in the apartment was the hum of the air conditioner.

"Honey, is he faster than you?"

"How can it be?!"

85th minute: Kalon broke into the penalty area on a one-on-one, but Abbiati rushed out and blocked the sure goal with his chest.

87th minute: Cordoba's header bounced off the ground, and Abbiati once again made a diving save, tipping the ball out of bounds with his fingertips.

In stoppage time: Toldo rushed forward from his goal, but Emre's corner kick was headed away by Seedorf.

As the final whistle blew, Cordoba knelt down and wept bitterly. Maldini rushed over to hug and comfort him, and the image of Cordoba, with tears streaming down his face, being embraced by Maldini filled the entire screen.

Ancelotti finally relaxed his clenched fist, and the broadcast camera captured that the back of his suit was soaked with sweat.

Statistics show that Inter Milan unleashed six shots in the final 25 minutes, compared to only five in the previous 65 minutes.

The moment the final whistle blew, the television screen was suddenly filled with the message that AC Milan had advanced, and red fireworks effects exploded on the screen.

Roy's lips unconsciously curled up, but his eyes subtly flickered.

"At this time tomorrow, it might be Juventus."

Du Chen keenly noticed this contradiction.

She tilted her head, a strand of blonde hair falling onto Roy's shoulder: "Strange, you were clearly a product of Real Madrid's youth academy."

But they seem to want Real Madrid dead.

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Sorry, I'll definitely finish writing the draft tonight.

If you think it's poorly written, please let me know. I am indeed experiencing writer's block.

Do you think this Champions League segment is lackluster? Since we can't play in the Champions League yet, it still gives us a sense of participation.

(End of this chapter)