Godfather Of Champions Chapter 1004 - Long Live Your Majesty

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

"At this time there are still people begging for tickets…" In the camera footage, a number of Forest fans stood outside the Crimson Stadium holding up "I need tickets" signboards.

"It feels like a World Cup final."

"It is all to see Tony Twain's return, and it's so hard to locate a ticket… Despite having left the Forest team more than four years ago, Twain has still retained his popularity."

"If the Forest team's results haven't been so terrible in recent years, maybe there wouldn't be so many people who miss him."

"This sounds a little sour. If we think this way, if it wasn't for his departure, Nottingham Forest would never have become a big joke in the Premier League. Then he would be the guarantee to win the championship title and the trophy. That's why we chose this game as a live national broadcast. With him around, the ratings will be high."

The two BBC television crew members were sitting in the broadcast van, watching the monitor and chatting.

In front of them was a wall of monitors, and a dozen of them showed every corner of the stadium. On the monitors that showed the entrance to the stadium and square, ticket seekers could be seen everywhere.

Inside the stadium, fans had already entered the stadium more than an hour in advance. They were hanging banners in the Robin Hood grandstand to prepare for the game that was about to start soon.

Pierce Brosnan realized something.

Since he became a sports reporter for the Nottingham Evening Post, he had attended every Nottingham Forest home game. However, the circumstances today made him feel special because he saw a lot of old, white-haired fans among the entering crowd. Most of these fans were older men who had followed the Forest team for decades. They had witnessed the Forest's most glorious years and seen the team's darkest times.

However, as he grew older, he would rarely see them come to the stadium to watch the games these few years. Although they bought season tickets every time, they really did not have the energy to go to the stadium. That place, which was full of noise and passion, was a great enemy to the health of the elderly.

However, today, he saw many white-haired fans at the entrance.

A media outlet from London was at the entrance, conducting interviews. They naturally noticed the older fans who had come together.

"At your current age, wouldn't it be better to watch the game at home?" A young female reporter stopped a few of the old men and held her microphone out.

Several old guys looked at each other and grinned, revealing the gaps in their teeth.

"We're here to see an old friend," the tallest among them answered.

"An old friend?" The female reporter thought it odd. She was not from Nottingham and there was no way for her to understand how the Nottingham Forest fans felt about Twain.

Seeing her puzzled look, a short and fat old fan smiled at her and said, "Young lady, you're not local, are you?"

The female reporter shook her head and replied, "I'm a Londoner."

"You must not be a Nottingham Forest fan either, ha! Other than Tony, who else can be an old friend of Nottingham Forest?"

Seeing the female reporter's sudden look of realization, several old guys put their arms over each other's shoulders and sang with the other fans around them the song Nottingham Forest fans wrote for Tony Twain as they walked into the entrance tunnel.

"…We have a cyborg and he has a nuclear-powered heart! He never tires and absolutely does not accept defeat… He's hated by people, but we love him! Because he can bring us championship titles and the enemies hate him, hate him! Tony, Tony! An a**hole, loved and hated by people, ha ha ha!"

"This song sounds weird…" The female reporter muttered with a frown. "It's completely tuneless. It's just shouting…"

"That's the way it is," a man next to her said. "It's just some things that the fans yell out at the stands with a little bit of melody added in. The fans thought there was no melody worthy of Tony, so they simply expressed their feelings in the plainest way."

The female reporter looked at the person who spoke unprompted in disbelief.

The other party calmly reached his hand out toward the quizzical-looking female reporter and said, "Pierce Brosnan. I'm a reporter from The Nottingham Evening Post, and I know Tony Twain better than any other reporter. It's a pleasure to meet you."

If Twain knew that Brosnan was going to pick up a girl using his own name, the look on his face would have been awed.

However, he currently was not in the frame of mind to think about others. He was only focused on his own home game.

Was he nervous? No, but his heart did beat a little faster because of excitement.

It was like a trip to his homeland, which he had left decades ago. It was his first time as the Nottingham Forest manager, directing a game at the Crimson Stadium. Previously, he was at the Crimson Stadium as the England team manager. Although the fans also gave him a lot of support at the time, that feeling was not the same as now after all.

The England team only occasionally borrowed the Crimson Stadium. Its real home ground was the Wembley Stadium.

Now the Crimson Stadium was his home ground.

In the beginning, he had tightened the belt for several years to build the stadium. He plundered all over the world for those bargain players and then had to sell the outstanding players whom he had painstakingly nurtured in exchange for funds to the club. However, when the new stadium was built, he did not lead the Forest team to play a game here before, which was something he had regretted.

Now he was about to make up for it. He would be coaching and leading the team in this stadium that had been constructed with his whole heart and soul until the end of the season.

"It's time for us to go, Chief," Eastwood stood next to Twain and called out. He noticed that Twain had been lost in a state of contemplation just now. What was he thinking of?

"Huh? Oh… The players are all down?" Twain looked up at Eastwood, the assistant manager, in front of him.

"Yes, they are all on the bus."

Twain got up and put his coat on.

"Let's go, Freddy."

"Tony Twain has already boarded the bus. The bus is slowly pulling out of the hotel… Heading for the Crimson Stadium… We're going to keep track and continue the coverage for our audience," the television reporter waiting outside the hotel spoke excitedly as he looked at the camera. Behind him, the Nottingham Forest red bus was leaving the hotel.

It was only ten kilometers from the hotel to the stadium, but the police cars cleared the way. The bus was surrounded by the reporters' cars, which were following and filming. Such a spectacle had not been seen by the Forest players for years. They all knew who the focus of the reporters' pursuit was.

Twain, sitting in the front row seat of the bus, was chatting in a low voice with Kerslake and Eastwood.

Through the window on the left side, they could already see the red roof of the Crimson Stadium.

"Welcome home, Chief!" Eastwood spoke as he pointed to the Crimson Stadium in front.

Kerslake, next to him, also laughed. He was finally home.

The red bus caused a commotion as it drove into the square. The police officers in charge of maintaining order at the scene were almost unable to hold on due to the impact. The fans who had not yet entered the stadium, as well as the fans still waiting for tickets, flocked toward the Nottingham Forest bus in droves. They shouted Tony Twain's name.

"Tony! Tony! Tony! Tony!"

"Welcome back, Tony!"

"Isn't nice to be back home, Tony?"

"Tony, we love you!"

"Haven't seen such madness in a long time…" Eastwood muttered as he looked at the excited fans outside.

Thiago Silva looked out of the window with a gloomy expression. He was a popular star player at the Forest team, but the excitement caused by his appearances could never be comparable to this.

He remembered that some time ago when those old players talked about Twain, they referred to him numerous times as "The King, His Majesty." At the time, he sneered at it, thinking it was just Twain's self-promotion, and that the man just liked to toot his own horn.

However, looking at the scene today, the faces of those fans… It was just a small portion of the crowd outside the stadium. Many more fans were already in the stadium, waiting there.

Can I really go up against this guy? Can I really expect that kind of opportunity? He thought.

A seed of doubt grew in his mind, challenging his previous thinking.

No!

Soon he was back in a calm state of mind. The more these fans adored him, the more they liked him, the bigger the blow they'd suffer once he lost a game on the home ground, and the more disappointed they would be toward him. Here was the balance between heaven and hell. They could send him to heaven, but they could also let him go to hell.

Although Silva did not understand Mandarin and was completely ignorant about Chinese culture, it was remarkable that he understood the principle of "the water that bore the boat could also capsize it."

The bus was parked at the entrance and the players alighted one after another. They were surrounded by reporters and fans, and the policemen were struggling to stop the overexcited crowd. Twain was on the bus, waiting for everyone to get off. If he were to be the first to alight, the players behind him could forget about getting out of here. The scene would become chaotic.

The situation was such now. Twain, escorted by four police officers, squeezed through the crowd toward the entrance of the tunnel. Along the way, people kept reaching out toward him with microphones, cell phones, tape recorders, and interview equipment, trying to touch him.

The path was only a short ten meters, but it was unusually tough for Twain to walk through…

"How does it feel to be home, Tony?" When he finally got to the entrance of the tunnel, there was a loud cry behind him.

He did not look back. He just raised his right hand and gave a thumbs-up. Then he quickly went in at the urging of the policemen.

"It's so crazy… just like a rock star coming here to give a concert!" A beautiful young reporter lady could not help exclaiming as she looked at the scene in front of her.

Standing next to her, Brosnan smiled and said with a little pride, "The most successful manager in English football history has come home, so of course his fans will welcome him."

The female reporter looked back at him.

"But you can't imagine how this successful manager was down and out in the beginning, ha!" Brosnan laughed. "When he first appeared, all he got were boos and middle fingers."

The lady reporter shook her head gently and said, "It's hard to imagine…"

Brosnan pointed to fans who still refused to leave and said, "To them, Tony is synonymous with an entire era. From 2003 to 2018, 15 years' worth of memories is here."

As Brosnan spoke, he was also caught up in his own memories. Back then, he was a rude and impetuous intern reporter. He was a 24-four-year-old young man who just graduated from college. He did not know anything and had no experience. He was ridiculed and sneered at by Tony Twain at a press conference. They have almost become enemies. Who would have thought that in the future he would write an autobiography of this person?

The female reporter looked back at the middle-aged man. His eyes looked to the distance without any focus. A faintly discernible smile hung at corners of his mouth.

"It includes your memories, doesn't it, Mr. Brosnan?"

Brosnan turned his eyes back and nodded at the young intern reporter who had just graduated from college, as he had done back then.

"Yes, Miss Alina. Memories of my youth."

"Defensive counterattack, guys!" Twain clenched his fists in the locker room and seized the moment to repeat the main points of yesterday's tactical meeting for his players. "Long balls! Don't care how the laymen criticize this. You know what we need most right now. Not good-looking offensive cooperation and not gorgeous passes with your heels, but goals and victory! Middlesbrough will be pressing on us in the midfield. George, you'll get their special care…" Twain pointed to Wood, who was changing his clothes.

Wood nodded and continued to put his jersey on.

"So, I ask you all not to hold the ball too much in the midfield. There is a great deal of risk in passing the ball more than three times in the midfield. I don't want to see a scene where you pass the ball back and forth in the midfield and then send it to the opponent's feet only to let them counter-press. Whether it's George or Fernando, I mean Gago, we have to solidify the backfield in the game. Do not pass the ball past the centerline easily. Make use of long passes to organize attacks. The two sides…"

He also pointed to the two midfielders, Chris Cohen and Wijnaldum, who were in the starting lineup today.

"Your task today is the most important. You need to keep sprinting back and forth. During an attack, you must press forward. During the defense, you have to withdraw. If you can't do it, I'll bring you off! Anyway, I have a lot of people here who want to play."

There was a burst of laughter in the locker room.

Twain also laughed. The atmosphere was very harmonious. There was no trace of nervousness. It was the pre-match atmosphere he wanted.

"The two strikers…" This time he stopped his hand movements. The two people looking at Twain were Mitchell and Balotelli. They were the starting strikers for the game. "Aaron, you have to try to push the opponent's rear defensive line forward, press them to the front of the goal to create enough space for Mario."

Twain did not deceive Balotelli. He did give Balotelli enough trust in the game, as well as the corresponding responsibility.

"Mario, thanks to the ups and downs in your performance in previous seasons, our opponent will not mark you too tightly…" Hearing his remark, some people were worried that Balotelli would be unhappy, but to their surprise, in the face of Twain's teasing, Balotelli laughed along with him and did not care what Twain had said. It was a rare sight. Generally, Balotelli was very sensitive and cared a lot about others' evaluation of him. If anyone dared to say that he was an inferior imported player with poor capability, he would certainly make the other party suffer. Now, from the looks of it, it seemed the boss had already dealt with this challenge in the locker room. "And they think that you're used to playing on the right side. This game is your chance to prove yourself again, mate. We all know you're a genius, but people out there don't think so. Show them what you've got! You're 'Super Mario!'"

Finally, he touched on the rear defensive line.

"Guys, you're the starting defenders for this game. You're the key to the game." Twain stood in front of the four starting defenders, who were respectively the left-back, Joe Mattock, the right-back, Nkoulou, and the center backs, Sakho and Jørgensen.

"I want you to strictly defend your zones. The full-backs are not allowed to assist with the offense and move forward. Except in the placekicks, do not use close marking defense. However, you have to be careful when defending in the backfield - do not blindly make a move to lift a siege. The defense is the source of offense. All attacks come from defense. You are not only defenders who break the opponent's attacks, but you're also the first stop of the offense. Therefore, I don't want to worry that you will waste any chance of attack. After intercepting the ball, pass it over to the midfielders and let them organize the attack."

"No problem, boss," Mattock answered Twain on behalf of all the defenders.

Twain put his hands together and said, "That's all that needed to be said. If I say more, you will dislike me for being long-winded. Finally, I want you to know one thing: although we lost the last round of the league tournament, it is not a reason to abandon ourselves to despair in this league round. In any case, my request to you is very simple - I don't want anything but victory."

Once Twain had said all that, there were still more than ten minutes to go before the game began. He gave the players a break and was asked to step outside.

The person who asked him to go out was not a staff member, but the club chairman, Evan Doughty.

Next to him stood a young man who seemed to be in his twenties.

"My son, Bob. Come and meet your idol, Tony Twain," Evan pulled the young man next to him, pointing to Twain as he spoke to him.

"Hello, hello! Mr. Twain, I'm your admirer…" The young man rushed forward to shake Twain's hand.

"Ah, hello, Bob…" Twain was a little unaccustomed to the enthusiasm that the chairman's son showed him.

Evan also seemed to notice that Twain was a little awkward. He hurriedly pulled his son away and said, "If you want an autograph, wait for the game to be over. You go up first, I still have some matters here."

Bob seemed afraid to defy his father. He turned around and walked away reluctantly.

"It was your father who first introduced you to me as well. He was completely different from you at the time." As Twain looked at Bob's receding figure, his demeanor went back to normal. He smiled as he talked about the past. Fifteen years ago, Evan Doughty could not even differentiate between "a manager" and "a coach." He knew almost nothing about football. Now, however, Bob Doughty was an avid fan…

Moreover, when Nigel Doughty introduced Evan to Twain at the time, he had already intended to retire from the front line to let his son take over. Now he had followed in his footsteps and introduced his son to Twain. It might also be to make clear to Twain that his son would take over in the future. It was just that…

Why did he introduce his son to him instead of to the new manager for the next season? Could it be he still thought Twain could help his son?

"He's in love with football thanks to you, Tony. Ever since you've become the Forest manager, he has fallen in love with the sport after watching a few Forest games with me."

Twain gave a chuckle and said, "Did you ask me to step out of the locker room just to introduce your son to me, Evan?"

"Of course not. In fact, I came to look for you for another matter. However, he found out and wanted to tag along… It's this, Tony. You don't have to go out with the team. You should make your appearance now."

Twain thought it was a little strange and asked, "Why? It's still early for the game to start…"

"We have prepared a special welcome ceremony for you, so you have to make your appearance alone, Tony," Evan looked at Twain with a smile.

"What ceremony?"

"You'll know soon, Tony. Come on, everyone's waiting for you."

Twain looked at the locker room. He turned around and walked over. He pushed the door open and issued a few instructions to David Kerslake, the assistant manager standing at the door, asking him to gather the team and get ready to make their appearance. Then he followed Evan Doughty and walked together toward the tunnel leading to the field.

As soon as he left, the players also walked out of the locker room at Kerslake's urging, and walked toward the tunnel, getting ready to line up for admission to the field.

When Twain reached the entrance of the tunnel, only three referees were waiting there. As they saw Twain walking over, one of them extended his hand to Twain to shake his.

In any case, Twain was the manager who led the England team to win the World Cup. That fact alone was worthy of respect.

Twain shook hands with the referee and found Evan still next to him. Then he turned around and asked, "This isn't what you meant when you said 'special welcome ceremony', is it?"

Evan shook his head and patted Twain on the shoulder to say, "Go on and you'll find out. You've got to walk this part by yourself, Tony. I'm sorry I can't accompany you…"

Twain looked back at Evan Doughty. Doughty gestured to him to keep walking forward, so he stepped outside in puzzlement. Of course, he did not forget to stoop slightly - he was afraid that someone would throw water at him from the stands…

It was the only special welcome ceremony that he could think of, having his poor imagination…

However, it was not the case. There were no water balloons. Twain, who walked outside with his neck tucked in, looked left and right at the stands. He only saw enthusiastic fans.

Meanwhile, the music that was playing on the live broadcast came to an abrupt end and an old-sounding voice shouted excitedly, "And now! Let us welcome… His Majesty!!"

As if it were a flare signal, thunderous cheers erupted inside the Crimson Stadium before the voice faded away. All the fans in the stadium stood up, faced the entrance and called with their hands outstretched as they shouted, "Long live the King!"

Twain looked back in amazement and found that Evan was doing exactly the same thing as the fans in the tunnel.

"Long live the King!!!"

The cheers got louder with every wave.

It was indeed a special welcome ceremony…

Twain returned to his senses. He effortlessly waved in acknowledgment to the fans in the stands and then walked into the stadium with his head held high.

Along with his footsteps, the cheers continued.

With such cheers, he did not pretend to be modest but frankly accepted them. He deserved the address, and he earned the adoration of the fans because he was indeed His Majesty here!

The cheers continued as Twain walked to the center of the field. The players, on the other hand, had just arrived at the entrance of the tunnel. They had already heard the calls of the fans and saw that the boss was in the middle of the field. The old players, unsurprisingly, huddled together and pointed to Twain with smiles on their faces. Meanwhile, the players who had never played for Twain were completely stunned.

At this time, above the Robin Hood grandstand, a giant banner was hanging. The words on the red banner addressed Twain:

Welcome Home, Your Majesty!

"It's really a surreal scene," The television commentator exclaimed. He felt as if he was in a dream. How could this happen on a football field? In an era of the increasing commercialization of football, how many more people could still command such a heartfelt greeting?

"This game is the highlight of this round of the Premier League tournament, and Tony Twain is the highlight among the highlights!" Amid the deafening cheers, the commentator had to raise the volume of his voice as if someone had just scored a goal for the home team.

"I have a feeling that if Tony Twain announced that he was running for the British Prime Minister, he would definitely get more than half of the votes in Nottingham, and he wouldn't have to campaign for them!"

"Even if the Queen were to be here, I'm afraid she would not be able to steal the limelight from him… No, not even the Pope could."

"Remember that coronation night ten years ago? It is true that 'His Majesty' was by no means his own invention, nor was it hyped by the media. Twain is indeed His Majesty the King here!"

"Although many people hate him, he still enjoys a king's treatment here. He was right to return. Tony! Look at the many people who adore you. You shouldn't spend your days in retirement, ha!" John Motson laughed.

Standing in the middle of the field, Twain turned in a circle on the spot and waved in thanks to the Forest fans in the stands on all sides. He thanked them for preparing this "special welcome ceremony." To be honest, he was very touched. Although he had left more than four years ago, his subjects still loved him, and that kind of adoration was the main reason why he finally decided to end his retirement and return to the Forest team.

People were emotional creatures. Even if Evan Doughty and Allan Adams had hurt him, the fans and the Forest team were innocent. His return was not for Evan Doughty, nor was it to make money. He just could not bear to see those fans, who used to shout to him in the stands, "Hey, Tony! Bring home another championship trophy!" to be sad. His conscience was clear about the decision.

Therefore, in the face of these fans' wild cheers, it was inevitable and right that he accepted his position.

Among the cheering crowd were Fat John, Skinny Bill and all that group of people whom Twain was familiar with. The white-haired old guys that Brosnan had met before, and even some Middlesbrough fans, also followed the Forest fans in worship. In the eyes of all England fans, this guy should probably be 'His Majesty the King'…

The loud cheers continued for five or six minutes and could be heard clearly outside the stadium.

Those fans in the square who could not get into the stadium also joined those inside and chanted "Long live Your Majesty!", causing the other passers-by to fix their attention on their phenomenon.

The cheers slowly died down and ended as Twain walked toward the visiting team's technical area to shake hands with the visiting manager, Tony Mowbray.

When curious reporters asked Mowbray after the game what he thought of the scene before that day's game, Mowbray said with a laugh, "There's only one 'Tony' today, but it's not me."

He was right. He was completely the supporting actor today. Even though he wanted to be the leading character before the game, that wish was gone when he saw the scene.

In the ensuing game, the Nottingham Forest team was clearly influenced by the scene. The entire team tossed out the previous gloomy appearance and shone with astounding and fearsome fighting spirit. With Twain's long balls, as well as unexpected player and tactical arrangements, the team broke out with a powerful fighting force.

In addition, there was a huge noise created by 60,000 fans.

Middlesbrough surrendered after 17 minutes of resistance in a situation that was similar to a jet aircraft taking off.

They conceded three goals to Nottingham Forest in the second half and were utterly defeated with the score of 0:3 at the feet of the reborn Nottingham Forest.

After the game, the media joked about how they would go down in posterity as the team which personally experienced the return of His Majesty King Tony Twain. When the Premier League's classic moments were mentioned in the future, there must be no shortage of footage on Middlesbrough.

Pierce Brosnan even excitedly used the following caption after the game:

I came; I saw; I conquered.

No one disagreed with this view, because that was the case.

All the doubting voices and arguments about Tony Twain and how "Twain is past his prime", "Twain is no longer relevant" disappeared. The media nation-wide were unanimous in their singing of praises. Big and small media and commentators, as well as famous experts, had declared that the prevailing Tony Twain and Nottingham Forest were back. Under their iron hoofs, their opponent could only cry for mercy. Middlesbrough was unfortunate but honored to be the first victim, used as a sacrificial flag by Twain.

Even though Nottingham Forest still ranked 16th in the table after this victory, even the top-ranked teams felt the chill running down their backs.

People could no longer laugh that they would surely win when up against the Forest team. The wolves lurking in the forest bared their fangs again. Tony Twain and his Nottingham Forest team were no longer jokes. On the contrary, those who once vowed to look down on them were now the biggest jokes. However, Twain did not strike back at those who had previously laughed at him in the media.

The king had returned, and everyone had to pay respects from far and near.

However, Twain smiled and looked serene.

In fact, personally rolling up his sleeves to go into battle and give out punches in his enemies' faces would lower his status …

Chapter end