Chapter 45: The Call of the National Team

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He said the PS laptop has been repaired and should be in my hands by tomorrow or the day after—fantastic. From the initial cold sarcasm to the final question of why such a talented player isn’t called up to the national team, Wattley’s words were laced with subtle barbs. At first, he asked why Momo was so outstanding yet remained unselected by the national team, seemingly defending him. But then he hinted that insiders knew the truth—that Momo’s lack of ability was the real reason for his omission. This, however, didn’t deal much damage to Momo, whose performances spoke for themselves; claiming he lacked talent was a thoroughly false argument.

Yet Wattley’s final remark struck a nerve: was it the national team’s oversight? Chinese officials fear nothing more than accusations of negligence, especially when aired in foreign media. This would surely prompt the powers that be to take notice and summon Momo. Even if the national coach initially resisted dragging Momo into the mire of friendly matches, he would now have to relent. Wattley’s words were ruthless—he seemed intent on turning Momo into a second Yang Chen.

Why did Yang Chen, who shone in his first season, later fade into obscurity? On one hand, other teams had studied him well and developed counter-strategies; on another, poor club management and his high salary made him less affordable. Moreover, frequent national team call-ups and numerous friendlies, including the Asian Cup, left Yang Chen exhausted and unable to maintain form. China is known as the “King of Friendlies,” treating these matches with the seriousness of competitive fixtures, which often proved counterproductive.

(For example, during the 2002-03 Bundesliga’s second city derby, Shao Jiayi, newly signed by Munich 1860 in 2003, was called back for a friendly with Brazil.) In such contexts, those familiar with Bundesliga history—and even Chinese reporters present—felt a chill for Momo. If the news spread, many clubs would hesitate to sign him, wary of investing in a player who wastes energy on friendlies. Facing Wattley’s aggressive provocation, Momo merely smiled. He was no child clueless to Wattley’s true intent, nor would he easily lose his temper by complaining that the Chinese team’s refusal to call him up was a grave injustice.

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In fact, recent friendly matches not calling up the Chinese team’s players had won Momo’s favor toward the new national coach, Ali Han. “I am truly grateful to my country. I believe Chinese football is becoming increasingly professional. Previously, calling foreign-based players back for friendlies was not a wise choice.” The audience scribbled eagerly, unwilling to miss a word—this was good news.

“But now, it’s different. The fact that I wasn’t summoned for recent friendlies meant I could conserve my strength for the league, reflecting a more rational approach in Chinese football. As for Wattley’s remarks, I can only say they sound amateurish. Which country would make a player, thriving in the league, waste energy traveling back and forth for friendlies?”

Even without considering Wattley’s displeasure, Momo’s words spared him much trouble. Originally, the national team did intend to call Momo up; Ali Han’s opposition was futile. But at that time, Momo was injured during a match. (Always finding a pitfall, now filled.) Through the trainer system, Momo compensated for his shortcomings and fortunately missed that call-up. At the next friendly, the national team wavered on whether to summon him, but Momo’s statement simplified their decision.

Wattley, displeased, sat down. After a few more questions, the press conference officially ended.

The next day, in China, Ali Han emerged from his office, brimming with confidence. The football association’s leadership had just issued a notice: Momo and Shao Jiayi were exempt from national team friendlies to preserve their energy for the league, helping them better represent the country. This was like the sun rising from the west—Ali Han’s mood was excellent.

Meanwhile, in Germany, Shao Jiayi grew uneasy. He arranged to meet Momo, nervously asking, “Momo, have you been called up by the national team?” Seeing Shao’s anxious demeanor, Momo initially thought Shao had been summoned. Momo’s expression soured—he had been so tactful, yet Shao acted this way? Realizing his mistake, Momo laughed and asked, “Why, do you have so much money? Instead of worrying about that, you should focus on securing your spot as a starter. Plane tickets aren’t cheap.”

Pausing, Momo asked, “What, you really want to play in friendlies?” Shao glanced around and replied, “It was easier back home. Now, abroad, it feels exhausting.” That was it—Momo gave Shao a friendly punch, and they shared a knowing smile.

Soon after, both received calls from Ali Han, who reassured them not to overthink the situation. Just then, while most newspapers lay quiet, the Munich Evening News published a short but venomous article penned by Wattley: “Chinese National Team Rejects Momo; His Clever Excuses Cannot Defy Reality.”

No one can please everyone in this world— even heroes like Lei Feng get criticized, let alone Momo! Momo merely smiled at such matters. Why bother? If he let every slight upset him, he’d be worn out in no time. His priority now was to play well. On that front, domestic sponsors planned to sign Momo as their ambassador. Foreign companies were interested too—Amway Nutrilite products and Nokia phones sought him as their image representative.

Momo had become a symbol of China’s promising future in football. While players like Sun Jihai at Manchester City and Hao Haidong were strong, none developed as well abroad as Momo. Not only was he currently leading the Bundesliga scoring charts, but he was also a genuine key player. Everyone was wise enough to see the value in having Momo as their spokesperson.

For Mino, this was welcome news—definitely a good thing.

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