Chapter Twenty-Five: The Forum Brawl

As soon as the galaxy battleship finished speaking, everyone hurriedly turned their attention back to the match.

Less than five minutes had passed since the previous goal, and Mo Mo had somehow found another chance.

This opportunity was, in truth, a stroke of coincidence: a mistake in coordination between two Wolfsburg players gave Mo Mo his opening.

“Mo Mo steals it away and seizes the ball—what a chance!”

Chen Nu’s voice rang with excitement. After all, commentators do not usually place bets, especially not on the very match they are narrating.

But after all the rumors swirling at home lately, Chen Nu had still chosen to bet. For no other reason than belief, and, to put it in two words, sheer willfulness.

On the touchline, Park Hult pumped his fist. Beautiful! He knew he had not misjudged Mo Mo. This marvelous Chinese boy possessed a sharp instinct, able to strike from nowhere and kill at one blow.

Just moments ago, when a Wolfsburg player passed to another, the tall player receiving the ball had actually looked around him.

And yet he had somehow failed to see Mo Mo.

Mo Mo always kept his body low, darting here and there with light steps. Especially that first burst of acceleration—the instant he launched, he was like a flash of wind, making him easy to lose track of.

For that reason, for whatever reason, the tall player simply did not spot him.

The spectators at the sideline cried out in alarm, and the players on the field shouted warnings, leaving him somewhat baffled.

At that moment, Mo Mo was like Suarez at the 2014 World Cup, slipping into a superb opening through elusive movement.

As for the so-called header king Tony, or what have you—do you think he shoots from outside the box? Or is he issuing a challenge?

Who cares who you are, the ball is in the net! One-nil up, and you’re seeing things late.

Yang Chen, the first man of the Chinese top five leagues? Nonsense! He just got the ball!

Ever heard of Drogba? Wolfsburg have equalized!

I have a Chinese heart, stop talking nonsense! I’m on my phone! Using a Nokia to visit the forum! I’m counting on your live updates!

Promote it, promote it, promote Nutralite, rich in protein...

Post fake scores and die, so-and-so family—look at my name!

User 438872874298 upstairs, mind your manners!

Beckham’s free kick—damn!

I’m backing Klose. If I change my name now, is it too late?

I’m backing Mo Mo hahahahahahahaha

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I’m backing Mo Mo 1: So the name was stolen by you!?

I’m backing Mo Mo 12: Everyone is so clever! Actually, I’m backing Mo Mo too. This young man is going to become famous.

All right, what exactly just happened?

After Mo Mo intercepted the ball, he drove quickly toward the penalty area, with no one near him at all.

Reitmeier looked very cautious. He certainly did not want to be beaten twice in such a short span of time.

Should he come out, or stay back? That was the question. Then Reitmeier saw Mo Mo push the ball ahead of himself. What was this? A challenge?

Reitmeier had long heard of Mo Mo’s style of play. Seeing that Mo Mo seemed to be issuing a challenge, he lunged forward early, his speed explosive.

“Mo Mo seems to be issuing a challenge? No!”

Chen Nu always sounded this startled, but this time he was forgiven, because from this moment on Mo Mo had become even less predictable.

The situation had indeed looked like a challenge. The only problem was that Mo Mo had used his left foot to push the ball, and the touch was rather soft.

The moment Reitmeier rushed out, Mo Mo’s right foot followed like a shadow and unleashed a thunderous shot.

Reitmeier’s eyes widened. He turned to look behind him, and the ball was still bouncing inside the goal.

A truly excellent striker should possess many different ways of scoring, not be confined to just one.

Mo Mo already had that quality now. Compared with before, he was no longer merely someone who took the ball and charged into the box, or someone who entered the box and issued a challenge.

Mo Mo was already a fine striker now, so long as he could just miss a few fewer chances.

The entire Allianz Arena erupted at once. They did not care about excellent strikers, or improvement.

They only knew that Mo Mo had scored his sixth goal in the Bundesliga, just like Yang Chen when he first arrived in the league, scoring goals in bunches.

Yet unlike Yang Chen, Mo Mo had unpredictable movement and a rich variety of finishing methods. Almost any part of Mo Mo’s body could be used to score.

Park Hult kept nodding on the sidelines. He was clearly thrilled. Change the formation, change the tactics, and win the match—did that not prove he was a capable manager?

And there was another credit to add: a sharp eye for talent. After all, although it was Frey who had discovered Mo Mo, it was he who had made the final decision to persuade the stingy club to sign him.

Have you heard of only one Ronaldo? A new Ronaldo at Sporting Lisbon?

The tooth gap of Ronaldinho? My Ronaldinho is the most invincible of them all.

Heard about Kaka’s redemption? AC Milan wants my Kaka. To be honest, Sao Paulo is no longer a suitable place for Kaka.

Quaresma is fast, but what is Cristiano Ronaldo? My Quaresma is the greatest of all! When Quaresma was in the first team, who knows what that other guy was even doing! You know Real Madrid? Quaresma may very well go there next season!

Swedish divine striker, you bunch of trash—you’ve probably never even heard of Zlatan Ibrahimovic?

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Haha, Real Madrid want Quaresma? Lele, defend him to death! And for the guy upstairs, if you’re not diarrhea, then don’t talk as if you are—how dare you say it out loud!?

At this point, Guo Xiaojun could no longer remain silent. He knew that these people, in truth, also hoped China would one day produce players worthy of nurturing; their presence in Mo Mo’s forum was proof enough of that.

But they could not be so hopelessly pessimistic either—and besides, were they not getting off topic? Right now they were watching a match, were they not?

Mo Mo, the silent one: I don’t know how much attention you all pay to Mo Mo, but according to my sources.

First, Mo Mo came from Real Madrid, so stop showing off your Quaresma.

Second, rumor has it that Ferguson of Manchester United in the Premier League is interested in Mo Mo; it is said he even sent scouts to watch him during the match between 1860 Munich and Bayern Munich.

Third, Mo Mo’s agent, the same one who previously denied the diarrhea nonsense, is the same agent as well. Based on Mo Mo’s preferences, Mino is very likely to work both of his players into Juventus.

Chinese football, keep fighting! Support the comment above, support homegrown players!

Swedish divine striker—yes, Ibrahimovic!

Quaresma being a fast horse is one thing, but has Mo Mo ever played even one match for Real Madrid?

The national team is trash, all of it is just a facade. That so-called Mo Mo, the silent one—you’re a shill, aren’t you? How much did they pay you? Damn you, how could people like Hao Haidong and the rest have it good outside, and you still talk about this Mo Mo?

You score two goals and you’re already like this? Is he your own father or something? I think you’re just...

Guo Xiaojun fell silent at once. By now, there was already a group of people starting to spew blind hatred.

In any case, such people help football not at all; on the contrary, they make more people shrink away from it.

So Chinese football is that terrifying, huh!?

Chen Nu had originally thought Mo Mo was pretty good, but after seeing the comments above, he felt it was necessary to calm down.

What is this, being hurt too deeply? Or giving up on thought altogether? Trolls, oh trolls—someone merely starts taking an interest in football, and you drive them away with your venom.

The moment someone says they want to play football, others tease them: go join the national team and get yourself scolded, then! Better not—save your family the shame.

Even in 2015 and 2016, although more people came to watch matches in person, how many of them were simply there to cause trouble, to vent their frustration?

How many, whenever the national team was mentioned, immediately spoke in righteous tones as though they knew everything, saying, “It’s all just a facade”?

Pitiful, sad, lamentable—what else could be said to people like that?

Guo Xiaojun knew his own strength was slight, but if Chinese football was to improve little by little, it would need countless such slight strengths.