Chapter Ten: You'll Never Walk Alone

The final minute had arrived. Even Frankfurt, noticing Hannover 96’s passive response, began to relax. The most obvious sign was when center-back Shen Zaiyuan passed the ball to midfielder Schurr with a bit too little force.

Given the shift in the game’s dynamics, Schurr, now essentially playing as a deep-lying playmaker, was already positioned quite deep, but still had to run back a bit more to reach the ball. Lifting his head, center-back Shen Zaiyuan raised a hand in apology.

Yet, just as Schurr shook his head and was still more than three meters from the ball, a foot suddenly appeared in the ball’s slow path and intercepted it. Schurr looked up—number 37, MOMO.

Both teams, having relaxed, instantly tensed up again because of MOMO’s interception. It was like drifting off to sleep only for someone to shout loudly in your ear.

The Hannover 96 fans erupted. Some shouted encouragement, others called for a goal, and others broke into their song, "The Love of ‘96." The small group of Frankfurt supporters, of course, tried to drown them out with a chorus of boos.

Back in China, some fans had reached for their remotes, ready to turn off the TV, while others had stood up to wash and prepare for bed. But this sudden turn of events jolted them wide awake.

The atmosphere was cacophonous, like a thousand, ten thousand flies buzzing incessantly around your ears. With a dribbling speed stat of 8, MOMO wasn’t particularly fast, and Frankfurt’s back line was densely packed. With their defense contracted, MOMO could only keep the ball close at his feet.

Center-back Shen Zaiyuan was closest to the interception and rushed over from an angle, launching into a decisive sliding tackle. But just as he went to ground, MOMO pushed the ball ahead and, with a burst of acceleration rated at 15, left Shen Zaiyuan sliding past behind him.

“Damn it, damn it! Where’s Doll? Where’s everyone else?”

Peter Neururer had already reached the edge of the pitch, anxiously watching MOMO surrounded by Frankfurt players. He simply could not accept the prospect of losing at home to Frankfurt—not here, not now.

Rada and Lasiewski were flanking MOMO on either side, closing in rapidly like the edges of a triangle, with MOMO heading straight for the tip.

MOMO chased down the ball just as it rolled ahead, and with another burst of speed, he pushed it between Rada and Lasiewski before they could close the gap, sending it into the box and accelerating again.

All eyes in the stadium were on MOMO as he squeezed—almost forced—his way between the closing defenders. Lasiewski even managed to grab and stretch the corner of MOMO’s number 37 shirt, but nothing could stop him.

Goalkeeper Heinen was already rushing off his line, aiming for the ball rolling slowly toward the penalty spot. MOMO felt out of control, like a car skidding on ice—his legs barely obeying him.

But he had to maintain control—he must! He knew this was the last, best chance in the match. Maybe his balance stat of 8 helped him; maybe not. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he steadied himself and charged for the ball.

Heinen and MOMO reached the ball nearly simultaneously, but MOMO’s explosive acceleration got him there a split second sooner. Heinen managed to get a body part in the way, but not enough to pin the ball down.

Heinen turned his head to see the ball rolling slowly toward his right—luckily, not the left, he thought, since the right offered a longer path to goal. MOMO stretched out and managed to poke the ball beyond Heinen, but in doing so, he lost his balance.

MOMO went down, his gaze fixed on the ball creeping toward the goal. So slow—so agonizingly slow! But if he could choose, MOMO would have gladly watched it roll gently into the net.

But a foot appeared in its path—center-back Rada’s. He had made it back in time and, instead of trapping the ball, launched it clear with a powerful kick.

Defenders sometimes score own goals during desperate clearances, but not today. Rada was steady; the ball sailed safely over the bar and into the stands. MOMO struggled to get up, but before he could fully rise, the ball was already out of play.

So MOMO simply remained kneeling on the ground, as if weighed down by guilt. The whistle sounded—the referee did not allow the corner kick. MOMO’s series of attempts had already run over time; there would be no more chances.

Frankfurt had beaten Hannover 96, 2–1, on their home turf. Yang Chen scored twice, leading Frankfurt to victory.

“This wasn’t your fault; you played very well.”

It was Frankfurt’s goalkeeper, Heinen—MOMO recognized his voice. Some Frankfurt players were celebrating, while others gathered around MOMO to comfort him—a bitter irony, to be consoled by the enemy.

As for the Hannover 96 players, they surrounded Doll, who had pulled a muscle at the very moment MOMO gained possession.

Amid Frankfurt’s celebrations, many of Hannover 96’s supporters had already left the stadium, but those seated near the Frankfurt goal remained. Suddenly, they broke into song—a song that seemed to breathe new life into MOMO.

When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high,
And don’t be afraid of the dark.
At the end of the storm is a golden sky,
And the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you’ll never walk alone,
You’ll never walk alone...

It was Liverpool’s anthem, "You’ll Never Walk Alone," a song beloved and sung by fans worldwide. As the melody swelled, those who had been leaving, those already outside, and even faraway fans in China—and even some Frankfurt fans—noticed MOMO, still kneeling on the pitch.

Those lost in defeat, those savoring victory, finally saw the player who had fought with everything he had until the last moment. The singing grew louder, echoing throughout the AWD Arena.

Some angry fans quieted; others, already outside, considered returning for one last look. Some joined in the singing, as if something had been awakened within them.

Far away, Chinese fans could see nothing more. The last broadcast image was of MOMO kneeling on the ground as the anthem played. Some recognized the song, others didn’t. Some mocked MOMO for his despair; others wondered if only he were Chinese—how wonderful that would be. Tomorrow’s headlines would tell them the answer, but none of that mattered now. Yang Chen approached MOMO, sighed, and offered comfort.

“You did well. Don’t let one failure weigh on you.”

MOMO looked up, recalling those two World Cup qualifiers—remembering the pain of hitting the post twice, the agony of burying his face in his hands. His voice was thick with emotion.

“I blame myself for not being strong enough. If I’d played better, this goal might have changed everything.”

The Frankfurt players exchanged glances. Yang Chen, too, felt MOMO’s words were ill-timed, but eventually managed to calm his teammate, then reached down and pulled MOMO to his feet. Towering over MOMO by more than a head, Yang Chen cut an imposing figure.

“Then keep working! You can’t grow stronger by staying on your knees.”

After the match, Peter Neururer had little to say—he couldn’t demand more from a player on the verge of a transfer. In truth, MOMO’s performance was already worth far more than his current wages and jersey—he’d more than earned them.

Meanwhile, Yang Chen was surrounded by a group of Chinese reporters. When one asked why he paid so much attention to Hannover 96’s MOMO, his reply stunned everyone.

“Don’t you know? MOMO, like me, is a Chinese player.”

At the time, Yang Chen was the first Chinese player in one of the top five European leagues. The news that Shao Jiayi would be joining 1860 Munich was already big news, but now, it turned out there was another young Chinese player.

Further investigation by Chinese media brought even more surprise—Real Madrid? But how did MOMO end up at Real Madrid, with no trace of his identity or records? Domestic football papers began running feature after feature, and more Chinese fans started following MOMO.

Ironically, MOMO was still just a rookie with two goals in three matches, yet the papers were already comparing him to football stars. In reality, even Hannover 96 fans barely recognized him, and only a small column mentioned Frankfurt and Hannover 96 singing "You’ll Never Walk Alone" together.

The next match would be Round 32, against third-placed Bielefeld. On December 3, 2001, at the AWD Arena, the two sides staged a goal-fest, eventually drawing 4–4.

At first, Hannover 96 established a two-goal lead, but in the end, while defending Bielefeld’s top scorer Wichniarek, a Hannover defender deliberately handled the ball and was sent off with a red card. Eventually, through the efforts of Wichniarek, Dutchman van der Ven, and central midfielder Borges, Bielefeld equalized: the first scored a penalty and a header; the other two each netted a goal, ending in a 4–4 draw with Hannover 96.

Among the impressive players that day—whom MOMO got to know well as future opponents—were Linke, sent off for handball; defender Zural, who scored the equalizing header; and finally the Czech winger Jan Simak, who converted the late penalty.

This time, heading into an away match, Peter Neururer was feeling the pressure—Hannover 96 had drawn one and lost one in their last two matches. The media was already speculating that Hannover 96 might lose the 2. Bundesliga title.

To make matters worse, Doll’s injury meant Neururer had no clear replacement, so he switched the formation from 1-1-4-4 to 2-4-4. For the starting lineup, he planned to field Karl and Freddy Bobic.

But leaving Neururer’s tactical dilemmas aside, MOMO earned over 200 training points from his recent performances, and with nine days until the Bielefeld match—April 22, 2002—he had time to improve. There were still many areas MOMO needed to work on: ball control (dribbling speed, reception), speed, shooting—all needed improvement.

Fortunately, MOMO was on good terms with Freddy Bobic, who could help him hone his skills. In truth, MOMO didn’t obsess over attributes—those numbers didn’t mean everything. Just like in Pro Evolution Soccer, a true master could make even the weakest players shine, while a beginner could struggle to score with Messi or Ronaldo. That’s the difference between reality and games—the key is not the game, not the numbers or code, but living, breathing people.

[The 515 festival is coming! I hope to climb the 515 Red Envelope Leaderboard and give back to readers with a rain of red envelopes on May 15. Every little bit counts—thank you for your support!]