Chapter Twenty-Two: Rivaldo

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PS: Next week, my goal is to be in the top ten of the weekly recommendations in the competitive category. If you have tickets, please lend your support; if not, just spread the word. Watermark advertisement test. Watermark advertisement test. Although, honestly, I don’t hold out much hope... but if people don’t have dreams, what makes them any different from a salted fish? Haha. Also, I want to give special thanks to all the brothers and sisters who have tipped me (are there any sisters?). After all, right now I have no income, and entirely rely on your support.

The stadium erupted instantly, especially among the Chinese fans, who all agreed this was truly unexpected.

When number 10 Rivaldo broke into the penalty area, everyone thought this would be a dangerous shot—perhaps even the birth of a goal.

Yet number 14 Li Weifeng stepped up. He blocked Rivaldo’s path; Rivaldo feinted left and right, trying to shake off Li Weifeng’s relentless marking, but in the end, he remained firmly held in check.

Finally, when Rivaldo accelerated past on his right, Li Weifeng turned his body, continuing to face away from him, shuffling sideways like a crab, forcing Rivaldo to watch the ball roll out of bounds!

“Excellent! Excellent! Li Weifeng! Li Weifeng has made his mark! Rivaldo leaves empty-handed! He’ll never score! Never!”

Chen Nu gasped for breath, shouting loudly as if to vent something. It was too close, too thrilling.

Li Weifeng was so clever, so agile. That moment was less like a football match and more like a car race! Want to overtake me? Not allowed! Eh? Left? I go left. Eh? Right? I go right. When both were about to split, Li Weifeng simply cut across and played dirty.

“That was a perfect defense. Next is China’s goal kick, swiftly sent out. Excellent! Excellent! Hao Haidong receives the ball! Number 8 Gilberto Silva steps forward to intercept! Hao Haidong is knocked to the ground—this is a foul.”

Chen Nu’s voice had a touch of "seen it all before"—the number of times China’s players fell in this match was hardly few. The game was saturated with physical confrontations; even during that pass to Hao Haidong, Brazilian and Chinese players engaged in a fierce battle both on the ground and on their bodies.

“This is a free kick opportunity for China in the front field, to be taken by number 4 Wu Chengying. If only he could score directly from the free kick…”

Chen Nu joked, though everyone knew it was nearly impossible. Still, they harbored a sliver of hope. People always do, don’t they? Always clinging to some unrealistic fantasy.

“That was awful!”

As the free kick was taken, Chen Nu couldn’t help but complain. Honestly, in such a vast country, is there not a single decent free kick taker? The ball went straight to a Brazilian player, utterly harmless.

The match continued; China was urgently arranging its defensive lines, while also pressing forward actively, hoping to turn defense into attack and launch a quick counter. Brazil, meanwhile, began to circulate the ball in the backfield and midfield—but after several sudden attacks, no one dared to underestimate them anymore.

It must be said, if China had a world-class midfielder who could deliver a precise through ball to tear open Brazil’s defense, there might be some threat. As it was, most passes simply flew into Brazil’s backfield, relying on luck or Brazilian errors.

“Ah! Danger! Brazil crosses from the flank! Ronaldo! But it comes to nothing.”

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It was a diagonal pass from the wing, landing accurately in the penalty area. Ronaldo, under siege from two Chinese defenders, failed to reach the ball—another successful defense.

“Beautiful! A sliding tackle on the edge of the box—I’d love to praise our national defense line’s solidity again, but I’ve already done it so many times, I’d better save my breath!”

Chen Nu’s tone was almost placid. In a normal game, a beautiful sliding tackle would be worth noting, but in this match, there were so many it was overwhelming. If he commented thoroughly on every single one, his voice would be hoarse before the end.

“It’s Brazil’s throw-in. The match has reached the 29th minute. Number 2 Marcos Cafu is taking the throw. Excellent! Beautiful!”

Just as the ball was thrown in, a Brazilian player immediately kicked it towards the penalty area, but under the fearless pressing from Chinese players, he lost possession.

“Number 6 Roberto Carlos has the ball. What does he want to do? Ha, a diagonal pass. Facing the Chinese defenders, he has no options. Long shot? Is he aiming for the clouds?”

Roberto Carlos, facing the Chinese defenders, didn’t attempt a breakthrough. They might have the skill, but they didn’t want to risk it, as China’s defense was decisive, resolute, and desperate—any reckless move could result in injury.

Number 14 Anderson Polga received the pass from Roberto Carlos, but surrounded by Chinese players, he opted for a long shot that sailed far beyond the goal, posing no threat whatsoever.

“This is an attack from China!! The match has reached the 30th minute. Number 8 Li Tie takes the ball! Beautiful, passes to captain Ma Mingyu! Ma Mingyu with a long pass! Li Xiaopeng with a header... Damn!”

Just then, China, who had been ineffective in attack, suddenly launched a quick offensive. Li Tie dribbled and drew the Brazilians’ attention, then quickly passed to captain Ma Mingyu. With Brazil’s defenders closing in fast, Ma Mingyu had little time to act and decisively launched a sweeping pass to the far side for Li Xiaopeng.

Li Xiaopeng, despite interference from opponents, leaped high to try and direct the ball to Hao Haidong in the center. His positioning and height were right, but accuracy was as wayward as Anderson Polga’s earlier long shot.

Brazil’s goalkeeper Marcos kicked the ball away. He hadn’t had much to do in this match; China’s attacks, under Brazil’s intense pressing, often ended in errors. Chinese defenders contested the ball, and though they didn’t win it, managed to head it out.

“Danger! Ronaldinho! Watch out! He’s broken through! Beautiful!”

Chen Nu’s voice suddenly sharpened. Brazil’s pace shifted in an instant—slowly circulating the ball one moment, then roaring forward the next, like a racing car. Ronaldinho took possession, burst into action, catching the closest Chinese player off guard, but there was another Chinese defender behind him, who quickly pressed and kicked the ball back to Brazil’s defense.

“Nice defense!”

Chen Nu was terse. A football team consists of three parts, and China’s only outstanding performance so far was in defense. Praise once, twice, three times—all well and good, but one can’t go on endlessly.

Mo Mo took a breath; his teammates on the pitch were still focused. Even if they couldn’t win, they didn’t want to lose badly! He glanced at head coach Bora Milutinovic, who seemed quite satisfied with the situation. Mo Mo’s expression grew gloomy. So? Bora Milutinovic also believed China was doomed to lose? Was it just a matter of how much?

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Though unwilling, Mo Mo had to admit—he desperately wanted to win, but knew that defeating Brazil was nearly impossible. Of course, just for now. Mo Mo kept telling himself that.

All around, the cries of “Go China!” and the beat of drums never stopped. Everyone knew China faced a near-impossible challenge, yet they still came to the stadium, supporting their country. The match wasn’t over yet!

Brazil resumed circulating the ball in the backfield, slowing the tempo, the alternation of rhythm leaving China uncomfortable. It was as if their noses were being led—like walking with people ahead and behind: when the front speeds up, you’re pushed to accelerate; when the front slows, you’re pulled back. It was maddening.

“One touch, two touches... seven, eight, nine, nine, nine! Brazil’s long pass! Frightening! China’s defenders cleared in time, heading the ball to goalkeeper Jiang Jin.”

Brazil started almost endless ball circulation in the backfield, from left to right, forward then back, finally launching a sudden long pass to Ronaldo near the penalty area. But Ronaldo was tightly marked by two Chinese defenders. With one marking, the other heading, Ronaldo could only watch the ball wistfully.

Neither side now seemed interested in close combat, opting for more long passes. When they got the ball, Brazilian players rarely held it, preferring a quick pass—because if they kept it for more than three seconds, Chinese players would rush in for a fearless tackle.

“Once again, number 2 Marcos Cafu with the ball—he seems to be the attacking core! Always orchestrating the offense. China’s two lines of defense are well organized, maintaining formation even as they move.”

Chen Nu’s commentary was growing more sophisticated—at least now, he was subtly telling viewers, “Hey, don’t worry, our defense is solid!”

“Marcos Cafu brings the ball forward! Looks like he hasn’t learned his lesson! Li Tie and another Chinese player press in like two gates—Marcos Cafu immediately passes to the center of the penalty area! Beautiful! Our defender heads the ball away!”

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Chen Nu felt confident in his country’s defense, but that sudden scare had still made his heart race!

“It was Du Wei’s header; he fell to the ground but quickly got up. The ball didn’t go far—now Ronaldinho has it! Danger!”

Du Wei and his teammate turned to maintain a defensive distance. This was inside the box, so every move required care. Ronaldinho remained calm, lightly tapping the ball with his left foot, lifting it with his right, sending it in a perfect arc toward the center of the goal.

There was a Chinese defender there—but Mo Mo saw someone who shouldn’t be there.

“Ronaldinho’s pass! Danger! There’s a Chinese defender, but the ball’s landing spot is behind him! That’s... number 10 Rivaldo! No!”