When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 94 The "Robbery" Combination

41 minutes.

When Roy received the pass near the center circle, Van Bommel, Van der Schaaf, and Park Ji-sung immediately formed a triangular encirclement.

With a gentle flick of his right foot, the ball passed between Van Bommel's legs, and at the same time, he darted out from the Dutchman's left side.

Van der Schaaf hurriedly covered, but Roy cleverly flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it precisely between the two defenders and finding Giuly who was making a run down the right flank.

Kuri dribbled the ball at breakneck speed, with Lee Young-pyo hot on his heels.

Juli suddenly stopped abruptly, and Colin almost lost his balance and slipped.

In that instant, Giuly delivered a low cross, and Roy, understanding perfectly, surged forward to receive it. Oier fought and retreated, fearing that Roy would break through his defense.

Just as Oier was about to press forward, Roy suddenly stopped, gently pushed the ball with his right foot, and sent it rolling towards the edge of the penalty area.

Morientes unleashed a powerful shot! The ball flew straight into the goal like a cannonball, deflecting off Buma's leg. Despite Wojnarowski's best efforts, he could only watch as the ball went into the net!
Monaco scored another goal with a textbook-perfect counter-attack!
0-2!

After scoring, Morientes paused for a moment, then spread his arms and ran towards the corner flag.

After Morientes scored, a complex expression flashed across his face.

Instead of celebrating passionately like other Monaco players, he stood still and gently punched his left chest twice with his right fist.

This gesture is more like a self-encouragement than a show of loyalty like kissing the team badge.

He turned and gave Roy, who had provided the assist, a thumbs-up with the polite smile of a professional player.

Roy was the first to rush over, excitedly ruffling Morientes' hair: "That was a fantastic shot!"

Giuly put his arm around the two of them from the side and shouted in Morientes' ear, "Real Madrid will regret this goal!"

Upon hearing this, the Spanish center forward simply shook his head slightly and patted his teammate on the back in response.

In the southeast corner of the Philips Stadium, a small section of the Monaco fan area erupted in long-suppressed cheers.

Around 200 away fans who had traveled with the team jumped up in unison, waving hundreds of red and white scarves that stood out against the sea of ​​red from the Eindhoven fans.

Hiddink stood on the sidelines, his face as gloomy as the sky before a storm.

He loosened his tie and stared intently at the Monaco players celebrating on the field through his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath. The Dutch coach suddenly turned around and shouted at the substitutes' bench, "Venegor! Warm up! Now!" The roar even drowned out the boos from the home fans. Venegor, who was called out, jumped up as if he had been electrocuted, almost tripping over his own shoelaces.

The referee blew the halftime whistle, and the Monaco players, leading by two goals, hurried towards the locker room.

Evra charged into the locker room first, grabbed a water bottle from the floor as a microphone, and started an impromptu rap:

"Yo! PSV Eindhoven has fallen, Deportivo La Coruña can't stop us, and the Greeks are no match for us either. Our path to the Champions League is getting bigger and bigger! When we meet Milan and Real Madrid, we'll make them cry as they go home!"

The locker room erupted in chaos.

Giuly laughed so hard he slapped his thigh, Roy smiled and shook his head to the rhythm, and even the usually serious Deschamps couldn't help but smile.

Morientes was sitting in the corner tidying up his socks when he heard "Real Madrid," and his hands paused slightly.

Suddenly, the subwoofer was turned off with a snap.

Deschamps stood in the doorway, his suit jacket already off and draped over his shoulders: "Well sung, Patrice. But..."

He pointed to the tactics board, "PSV Eindhoven will launch a vicious counterattack in the second half. What we need to do isn't rap, but..."

"Bring in two more!"

The whole team shouted in unison, and even Squillaci, who was icing his knee, raised his fist.

Deschamps nodded, his lips twitching slightly, as if trying to maintain the authority of the head coach.

As he turned around, the hem of his suit jacket swayed slightly with the movement, revealing the back of his shirt, which was already soaked with sweat.

"Actually, that rap was pretty catchy."

He lowered his voice to his assistant coach, Jean-Pettit, while his right hand pretended to adjust his tie, concealing the upward curve of his lips.

This subtle expression was keenly caught by Roy in the corner of the locker room, and the young man immediately winked at Evra.

Assistant coach Jean Petit, his face flushed from trying to suppress a laugh, cleared his throat and deliberately raised his voice: "The coach said we need to stay focused in the second half!"

As a result, he couldn't control his tone at the end and almost cracked his voice. The locker room immediately erupted in laughter.

57 minutes.

Roy received the ball on the edge of the penalty area. Facing the double-team of Park Ji-sung and Van Bommel, he changed direction twice in a row and suddenly flicked the ball between the two with his heel!
Rothen received the ball on the left wing and swept it across the face of goal without adjusting!
Pedretti made a run from the back and unleashed a powerful shot!

The ball flew straight into the top corner! 0-3!

Deschamps clenched his fist and roared, and the substitutes' bench erupted in cheers!

Hiddink's face turned ashen, and he immediately signaled Robben and Kezman to press forward, preparing to go all out!
PSV Eindhoven fans fell silent, while commotion first broke out in the north stand of the Philips Stadium.

A middle-aged man wearing Van Nistelrooy's old jersey quietly rolled up his scarf and left the field, triggering a wave of red seats turning over.

Some die-hard supporters were still waving flags, but the cheers had become fragmented.

In the 76th minute, Deschamps made a gesture, preparing to bring on Ribery.

Ribery stood on the sideline, waiting for a substitution after the ball went out of play.

The scar on his face was particularly noticeable under the stadium lights, and his eyes gleamed with eager anticipation.

At that moment, Robben was bent over, his hands supporting his knees, panting heavily.

The frustration of being down by three goals made him frown, his blond hair soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead.

He glanced up at the sidelines and saw Ribery taking off his substitute vest, preparing to come on.

"Ha, another arrogant brat."

Robben sneered inwardly, but his gaze lingered on the past for an extra second.

This scarred guy ran with a wildness about him, like an untamed wolf.

The young Frenchman with a scar on his face ignited the stadium the moment he stepped onto the court.

In the 81st minute, Ribery received a pass on the left wing.

Facing Colin's defense, he suddenly stopped, gently flicked the ball with his right foot, and quickly followed up with his left foot—the classic "frittata"!
Colin was thrown off balance and fell to his knees.

Robben watched this scene from afar, his pupils slightly contracting.

"This kid's got some skills."

He gritted his teeth, a competitive thought inexplicably rising in his mind.

"Don't let me run into you in the next Champions League."

Ribery swept past like the wind! He dribbled straight into the penalty area, and in a desperate attempt to cover, Vennegor tripped him. "Are you fucking asking for it?!"

Ribery sprang to his feet, his scar on his face turning red with anger.

He shoved Vennegor's chest with both hands, the force so great that the Dutchman stumbled back two steps before regaining his balance.

"You son of a bitch—!" Vennegor roared as he charged forward, his right hand already gripping Ribery's collar.

Ribery didn't back down, grabbing Vennegor's wrist with his left hand and pulling his jersey with his right: "Want to fight? Come on!"

The two men were locked in a standoff like two angry bulls, their foreheads almost colliding.

Ribery's nose almost touched Vennegor's face, and he could clearly see the burning anger in the other's pupils.

Roy darted between the two men and shoved Vennegor in the chest with his right hand, the force so great that the Dutchman staggered back two steps.

He slowly extended three fingers, waved them in front of Vennegor, and a dangerous smile curled at the corner of his mouth:

"Did you see that clearly, Mr. Tough Guy?"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was barbed: "This is the third goal you've conceded tonight. Are the Dutch really such cowards?"

Vennegor's face flushed crimson, veins bulging on his neck: "Fuck you Frenchmen! You—"

"Shh," Roy suddenly made a shushing gesture, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you know why the Netherlands always fails to win the championship?"

He pointed to the scoreboard, "Because fouls don't show up on the scoreboard, haha!"

This statement was like a slap in the face to Vennegor.

Just as the Dutchman was about to erupt, the referee rushed over.

Roy immediately raised his hands in an innocent gesture, but as he turned away, he added in a voice only Vennegor could hear, "Want me to teach you how to play football? Free lessons."

Van Bommel rushed over to stand up for his teammate, but Pedretti immediately stepped in to defend him.

"What, Captain, are you going to be a thug too?"

Roy turned to Van Bommel and grinned, "Don't you Dutch people just have a sore loser attitude?"

Just then, a bolt of lightning swept across half the pitch – Robben! He angrily pushed his way into the crowd and shoved Ribery hard. The scarred-faced kid couldn't take that, and raised his hand to slap him back.

"Hey hey!"

Roy reacted quickly, stopping Ribery and simultaneously shoving Robben, causing him to stumble.

He raised his fist as if to strike, but at the last second he suddenly changed his move, reaching out to touch his thick black hair, then pointing to Robben's receding hairline:

"Kid, you should spend more time taking care of your hair."

Roy deliberately raised his voice, "Your hairline has receded so much at such a young age. I heard you're competing with me for the Golden Boy award? Tsk tsk, looking at your hairline, I thought you were competing with Maldini for the Lifetime Achievement Award!"

The referee rushed over and showed two yellow cards in quick succession to bring the situation under control.

Vennegor and Ribery each received a penalty, while Robben and Roy received verbal warnings.

In the 86th minute, Squillaci tripped Kezman just outside the penalty area, and the referee promptly awarded a free kick.

Van Bommel stood in front of the ball, while Monaco players nervously formed a wall.

No one noticed that center-back Buma was quietly sneaking up from the back row.

Van Bommel feigned a running start, but suddenly stopped at the last moment.

Buma strode forward and slammed his right foot into the bottom of the ball!
The ball flew out like a cannonball, hitting the foot of a jumping Monaco player and changing its trajectory. Despite Roma's best efforts to save it, they could only watch the ball go into the net.

1-3, PSV Eindhoven finally pulled one back.

Hiddink, standing on the sidelines, did not celebrate but quietly walked back to the coaching bench and sat down.

The veteran coach knew better than anyone that the goal came too late.

On the other side, Deschamps leaned close to assistant coach Petit and whispered, "See that? Their free-kick routine."

Petit nodded slightly and quickly made notes in his notebook.

In the five minutes of stoppage time, Kezman got a one-on-one opportunity in the final moments.

Perhaps because he was too eager to prove himself, his shooting motion was noticeably distorted, and the ball rolled limply into Roma's arms.

The final whistle blew, and the score was 1-3.

Monaco players embraced in celebration, while PSV Eindhoven players collapsed onto the grass.

Robben walked quickly off the field with his head down, skipping even the usual handshake.

The lights at the Philips Stadium seemed to dim a bit that night.

French television channel TF1, "Nuit des Champions".

The studio backdrop displays the Group C standings, with Thierry Rolland and Jean-Michel Larquet facing the camera.

PSV Eindhoven 1-3 Monaco

AEK Athens 1-1 Deportivo La Coruña.

Roland's passionate opening:
"But! But! But! Ladies and gentlemen! Look at this Monaco!"

The finger points to the points leaderboard.

The standings after the first round.

Rankings | Teams | Points | Goal Difference
1. Monaco 3 +2
2. Deportivo La Coruña 1-0
3. Athens AEK 1 0
4. PSV Eindhoven 0 -2
"3 points! 2 goals difference! Deschamps' young men destroyed PSV Eindhoven like a whirlwind! Roy is still in red-hot form! Morientes' powerful shot, Giuly's breakthrough, Rothen's cross - a magnificent reappearance of French football!"

Cut to the replay of Monaco's third goal.

"Look at that teamwork! So fluid and seamless! What if they can beat AEK Athens at the Stade Louis II in the next round?"

Thierry Rolland made a relaxed gesture.

"Then they can practically reserve their ticket to the knockout stage! If they continue this form, they could even start celebrating with four rounds left in the group stage!"

Larke pushed up his glasses and said seriously, "Thierry, don't be too optimistic. Deportivo drew 1-1 with APOEL away, but look at Deportivo's stats: 68% possession and 22 shots. Irureta's team was just unlucky. It was indeed unexpected for the third-placed team in La Liga to be held to a draw by AEK, but the real test will be their home game against PSV Eindhoven next round."

Roland exaggeratedly covered his face: "Speaking of Eindhoven! A home loss, a goal difference of -2! Hiddink's face at the post-match press conference—are we going to the Riazor Stadium next round? Robben and Kezman are going to face the test of Andrade and Naibette? This is almost a battle on the edge of a cliff!"

Larke: "Calm down, Thierry. Their real life-or-death battle is against AEK. If they can't even take down the Greeks, that Dutch plane will crash sooner than expected."

Roland suddenly stood up and said, "So the situation is very clear! Monaco is on a roll, Deportivo needs to prove themselves, and PSV Eindhoven still has one more away loss to fall behind. As for AEK Athens? They're enjoying being spoilers!"

Larke concluded: "The key point is that after the next round, this group may become polarized. Either Monaco will pull away, or it will fall back into a four-team battle. That's the charm of the Champions League!"

Roland's signature finishing touch:
"But! But! But! That's the charm of the Champions League! Suspense, passion, and comebacks! See you next week!"

(End of this chapter)