95 A Fateful Showdown Part 1 (1/2)
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?”