Chapter Sixty-One: Stark Contrast

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When Momo left the field, the air around him was still filled with the fans’ curses.

Under such circumstances, Momo did not make any further rash movements. Deep down, he told himself that he had been too impulsive.

Yet given what had happened, it had been impossible to tolerate.

As he was leaving the field, Lehmann even provoked him again.

When had the thirty-three-year-old Lehmann ever suffered such a loss?

Pacult, the head coach of 1860 Munich, decided not to remain in the stands. He went down to speak with Momo and ask what had actually happened.

The match eventually ended with 1860 Munich defeating Dortmund 2–1.

The Dortmund supporters all around the stadium roared furiously, as if they intended to tear the entire ground apart.

After the match, Pacult brought Momo to the press conference.

“Hello, Momo. Why did you make such an irrational move at the end? If you had endured it for that moment, you would not have received a red card, while he would have faced severe punishment after the match.”

The reporter felt it was a pity that Momo had thrown a punch at the very end after scoring. In truth, he supported Momo; it was simply that Momo had chosen the wrong way to respond.

Football was football. Everything could be settled with goals. Fighting was not an appropriate solution.

If a player was always unable to control himself properly, then he had to ask whether he was truly suited to the sport.

“I’ll answer that question on Momo’s behalf. I believe my player handled himself very well in the face of the other side’s constant harassment and insults. In my opinion, Lehmann spitting at him at the end was the spark that ignited everything. You should understand that being spat on during a match is even more vicious than being cursed with insults directed at one’s entire family.”

Pacult was worried that Momo might lose control of his emotions, so he answered the reporter’s question first.

The reporter turned toward Momo, hoping he could offer a reasonable explanation.

Momo tugged at Pacult, who had intended to shield him from the question, signaling that he could handle it himself.

Pacult glanced at him. Momo’s eyes were calm, without the slightest sign of excessive emotion. Pacult nodded in agreement.

“Well, first of all, I believe racial discrimination is something very difficult for me to tolerate.”

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Momo’s answer was unexpected, yet perfectly understandable. Racial discrimination did indeed exist in Germany.

“I believe Germany is a highly developed and civilized country. Dortmund is a traditional powerhouse with a reputation for culture and discipline, and Dortmund’s supporters are rational and likable. I never imagined that I would receive treatment like this here.”

“I was very happy to play against a team like Dortmund. Dortmund is a powerful side, and I intended to fight with everything I had. Yet I faced all kinds of dirty tricks, physical infringements, jeers, and abuse. Of course, none of that was entirely unacceptable. I used to be a fan of the Yellow Wall myself, and I did the same things.”

The reporters present were somewhat astonished. In fact, Momo would have been better off if he had not praised Germany and Dortmund quite so highly. But after he said all that, everyone present could not help imagining the same picture: Momo had believed he was about to engage in a friendly duel with a gentleman, only to discover that his opponent was actually a thug.

And most importantly, that opponent was someone Momo admired and looked up to.

Several reporters who had originally wanted to say something swallowed their questions. The man had already described Germany as highly developed and civilized, and Dortmund as a traditional powerhouse with culture and discipline. After such lavish praise, there were certain things they could no longer say. Otherwise, would they not merely be slapping themselves in the face? They might as well wait and hear what he said next.

“But what happened during the match was still difficult for me to endure. I was simply doing my best to play, yet I was deliberately fouled and cursed. They even called me a yellow-skinned monkey! Is this really the Dortmund I had imagined? I could hardly believe it. So, during the match that followed, I finally answered back for the first time.”

This revealed, in its entirety, Dortmund’s aggressiveness and Momo’s repeated attempts to hold himself back.

No one had expected Momo to be so sharp-tongued. Pacult, meanwhile, looked rather pleased. That had been beautifully said.

“But I still restrained myself. I did not prolong the confrontation. Then, at the very end, I finally managed to score a goal. After enduring foul after foul, I had not even had the chance to celebrate before Lehmann knocked me down. He then kicked the ball at me. I tolerated all of that. But when Lehmann spat at me, I finally broke under the pressure that had been building for so long and struck him. That was my fault. I admit it, and I am willing to apologize.”

As Momo described the incident, everyone present seemed to see the image of a victim who had endured one vicious attack after another and finally could not stop himself from retaliating. It was certainly worthy of sympathy and understanding, but what had happened remained unforgivable.

Yet Momo was not finished.

Everyone wanted to hear what he would say next. He had already softened his position this far—what exactly was he going to do now?

“However, I will bring a lawsuit against Lehmann and accuse him of racial discrimination. I am not doing this for personal gain, nor because I have anything against Dortmund. I am simply doing what any normal person ought to do. I remember a saying that goes like this:

‘When they came for the trade unionists, I did not speak out, because I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews, I did not speak out, because I was not a Jew.

When they came for the Catholics, I did not speak out, because I was not a Catholic.

Then, when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me.’”

After finishing, Momo rose and left the venue.

Those remaining reacted in different ways. Some fell into deep thought, some grew angry, and others were lost in remembrance.

The words appeared to be about Nazi Germany. Germans, after all, still regarded Hitler as their hero.

Yet they also perfectly expressed Momo’s helplessness, much like that of the German clergyman who had first spoken them.

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Those words were familiar to every German. They represented something Germany could never afford to forget.

Momo had left, but Pacult remained. Pacult himself was far removed from that era, yet his elders had lived through it. German reunification had not happened all that long ago, and he could not help feeling moved.

Facing the reporters’ barrage of cameras and microphones, the atmosphere at the press conference grew solemn. Seeing this, Pacult tried to keep his remarks brief.

“What happened on the field is surely clear to everyone. Momo has always been quite restrained during matches. It is difficult to imagine a man standing only one hundred and seventy centimeters tall throwing a punch at a much larger opponent of one hundred and ninety centimeters. Who would do such a thing unless he had been pushed beyond the limit?”

“I support my player, and I believe the club will support Momo’s actions as well.”

After saying this, Pacult bowed slightly and took his leave.

At the same time, in another interview room, Lehmann was indignantly denouncing Momo and listing his faults. Yet the atmosphere off the field had begun to turn rather strange.

The reporters there had already received messages from their colleagues. The contrast between the two venues was striking.

Human emotions were strange. For instance, when a woman learned that a man liked her, she treated him differently from a man who had never said he liked her. Being admired was always a pleasant thing.

If someone worshiped and respected you, you would naturally be more tolerant toward him and more inclined to display your generosity. You would also pay greater attention to your image in front of him than you would in front of ordinary people.

And now Momo had transformed from an arrogant, uncivilized man who had thrown the first punch into a Dortmund “fan”—someone who had wanted to show off in front of the team he loved, only to be—

There was an unwritten rule in football. When a club was interested in a player but had not yet made up its mind, if that player helped his own team defeat the club in question, the club would often finally make its decision.

Momo’s performance at that moment was remarkably similar.

“That Chinese player thinks he is invincible just because his market value has risen recently. He caused trouble in Dortmund and even dared to throw a punch! This is Germany—this is Dortmund!”

“I never imagined that boy would dare to strike first! He clearly has no respect for Dortmund at all!”

As everyone listened to Lehmann’s incessant complaints and the Dortmund head coach’s vehement condemnation, one person finally could not bear it any longer and stood up.

“Have you ever considered that Momo might actually be a Dortmund fan?”

“According to reports from the other venue, Momo is indeed a Dortmund supporter.”

“Have you considered that Momo may simply have been trying to attract Dortmund’s attention? Dortmund never made him an offer, yet Momo rejected Chelsea’s lucrative bid for no apparent reason and has shown no interest in any other club to this day?”