Godfather Of Champions

Twain stood on the training ground number 2 in Wilford. A dense forest was in front of his eyes, and the mottled shadows of the woods were at his feet. The day’s training had ended, and the players had left, but there was one more man practicing on the training ground.

Twain stood on the sidelines and watched the man who was practicing.

The scene was familiar to him.

In the afterglow of the setting sun under the darkening red sky, Wilford appeared fragmented by the dividing shadows of the forest on the west side. The whole training ground was quiet. There was no sound but the thuds of a football being kicked and hitting the goalpost, net, and wire fence. There was the occasional cry of a bird. It was a big contrast to the noisy scene during the day.

When he was still young, he had been here to watch the man in front of him practice countless times. At that time, the man was only a child.

In the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. He himself was about to retire, and the man in front of him was the standard-bearer of the team. At the same venue more than a decade ago at the same time, did Tony Twain think about the future?

While Twain was lost in contemplation, the man on the field had already walked up to him, perspiring all over.

“What are you looking at?” He asked.

“Admiring the scenery,” Twain replied. He continued to look at Wilford, shrouded in twilight. “Don’t you think everything here is like an oil painting? I also remembered that you once kicked the football straight into the river in the youth team training ground. It was also dusk at the time and the sky was dark. That football could not be recovered in the end. Ha!” He laughed as he talked. “I don’t have that many days left to enjoy this landscape.”

George Wood turned and followed Twain’s gaze. “Hasn’t it always looked like this for the last sixteen years?” He was used to looking at it because he stayed almost every day to give himself extra practice. “Stay if you haven’t seen enough.”

Twain shook his head and said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. If I stay, I won’t feel that all this is beautiful. I would only take it for granted. I have been in Wilford for twelve years and I’ve only recently noticed it’s really beautiful here. In the past, I had always come and gone in a hurry.”

There was a moment of silence between the two men. Twain continued to admire the view in front of him. In fact, the scenery of Wilford was not that striking, but in his current frame of mind, he would certainly be moved.

Did Twain think this evening was beautiful because he had reached the twilight of his coaching career? The sun, which once radiated boundless light and heat in the blue sky, was now setting in the west.

“Go take a shower and change your clothes. Don’t catch a cold,” Twain said to Wood next to him, breaking the silence.

Wood did not object and just nodded. He turned and walked away.

By the time he had finished, he found that Twain was still on the training ground. He had wanted to go up and say goodbye before he left but he did not expect Twain to stop him.

“Have you thought about the matter of when you’re going to retire, George?”

Wood stared blankly and then shook his head. He said, “No. I have not planned it yet. But it won’t be when I’m 40 years old, anyway.”

Hearing him say so, Twain laughed silently.

He had only casually mentioned this age and did not think Wood took it seriously.

“I’m not going to advise you to play until you’re 40. You’re definitely better aware of the situation than I am. However, be sure to invite me when you retire. I have to see for myself what kind of scene the sendoff of the greatest team captain in the history of Nottingham Forest will be like.”

Wood was silent for a while and seemed to remember something. It was a while before he said, “It probably will not be better than yours.”

“What’s so great about a manager’s retirement?” Twain shrugged it off and said, “When the game ends the day after tomorrow, it will be over with a press conference.”

Wood did not really know what it would be like when a manager retired because he had not experienced it. According to conventional reasoning, he should have retired earlier than the manager, because it was considered normal for a manager to work for 20 years, while it was not easy for a player to stay that long.

There was a moment of silence between the two men.

Twain did not want to talk while Wood had something on his mind.

After a while, when the red clouds in the western skies had darkened, Wood opened up and said, “I think you’re a little different from how you were in the past…”

“In the past? A little different?” Twain did not understand Wood’s abrupt words.

“Do you feel like your temper is a lot better than it used to be, because of your age?”

“Ha!” Twain laughed. “Is it because you see that I don’t often start a war of words nowadays? And because I don’t scold people to their faces?”

Twain and Mourinho both behaved with restraint in the game against Manchester United. Other than “greeting” each other once at the start, there was no news or active provocation. There was none of the so-called psychological warfare either. This made the media feel very disappointed.

Wood did not say a word, but it could be surmised that he agreed tacitly.

“I’ve been arguing for so many years, I’m tired of it,” Twain waved his hand.

“But I don’t know why…” Wood hesitated as if he did not know what to say, and finally, he spoke out. “I preferred the way you were before… you were very energetic. Everybody liked it.” The “everyone” he meant was not all the Forest players, but the few remaining “old guys” in the team, such as Gareth Bale, Joe Mattock, Agbonlahor, Mitchell… and so on. It was the group of players who had followed Twain to dominate the football world before his last resignation.

Twain turned to glance at Wood. He did not know what to say. He only reached out to touch Wood’s arm.

Retirement was nothing to him. He was just a little reluctant to leave the players whom he had watched grow up. These days, the players used every opportunity to interact with him. He certainly knew what they were thinking. No one could bear to part with him.

However, all good things must come to an end.

Twain did not want to continue the melancholy conversation, so he asked a question of particular interest to himself. “How are things between you and Miss Vivian?”

“Nothing much to tell,” Wood was clearly evasive in his answer.

Twain guessed something but did not say it. He went on to change the subject.

“George, do you have any plans for the evening?”

“No,” Wood replied.

“Well, then come home with me tonight.”

Wood glanced at Twain.

“Shania went to Paris today, and it’s a little quiet without here at home. Teresa will be very happy to see you.”

Shania left the United Kingdom this morning and flew to Paris to prepare for her last runway show and to attend a thank-you party. However, her social life was much quieter than before. Perhaps because it was known that she was quitting the modeling and entertainment world, people thought that she was no longer a worthy celebrity, so there were much fewer people who would deliberately fawn on her.

It was actually quite good this way. Shania liked it very much. She herself did not enjoy those social activities. Many times, it was because of work requirements and friends’ invitations that she could not decline. Otherwise, she would stay at home during her breaks, instead of going around to be on cameras and show off. Although she and Beckham’s wife, Victoria Beckham, were good friends, she and Victoria were two completely different people.

With Shania away, Twain felt even lonelier and Teresa also missed her very much. Shania had wanted to take Teresa with her to Paris, but Teresa had to go to school, so she stayed at home in the care of her nanny.

Twain was not worried about their child. The nanny was very, very good and he was sure Teresa would be well cared for.

It was just that he inevitably still felt lonely.

That was why he invited Wood to his house again tonight, even though Wood was reticent and not very talkative. He did not know how to play with kids either. However, without knowing why, Teresa liked to be with her ‘older brother’ Wood. She would be very happy when Wood was around.

Twain could not see the playful side of Wood, so he could not understand why Teresa especially liked the stern-looking George Wood so much.

If it was not for the fact that the two were so far apart in their ages, Twain would have really worried about the possibility of his daughter falling in love with George in the future… Uh, it was too much of a digression.

When Twain brought up Teresa, Wood could not refuse. He nodded and accepted Twain’s invitation.

“Would you like to ask Miss Vivian to come with you as well?” Twain suddenly asked.

“She’s working overtime…” Wood realized he had a slip of the tongue.

Twain laughed delightedly.

Amid his laughter, he turned around and patted Wood on the shoulder, signaling that they should go.

Wood did not make a move right away but turned and watched Twain walk ahead. He found the man’s back a little hunched. Perhaps because he was laughing?

The last afterglow of the sunset was swallowed by the horizon, and the quiet Wilford was shrouded in the night. A gust of wind blew and the trees behind them rustled. The wind stirred the hair and clothes of the two men. Wood could not help looking back at the inky black woods while Twain walked out without turning his head back.

※※※

Teresa, who had been waiting a little longer than usual for her father to come home from work, relaxed her frown after she saw Wood follow her father into the house.

In Wood’s company, Teresa happily spent the first night her mother was away. By the time Teresa went to bed, it was 11 o’clock. Twain wanted Wood to stay at his place since there were many guest rooms anyway. However, Wood did not agree. He wanted to return home.

Unable to do anything about it, Twain had to send Wood out.

At the gate of the yard, while they were waiting for the bus, Twain assumed the role of a fatherly figure and thanked Wood. He also told him that he was allowed to be 15 minutes late for the next day’s training session.

However, at the training the next day, George Wood was still the first one to arrive.

※※※

The day in Wilford began early. The mist from the night began to evaporate in the sunlight. The layers of fog rose from the thick woods and were blown by the breeze to every corner of Wilford as well as above River Trent.

At this time, Wilford was still quiet and only the staff arrived early, ready to start the day’s work.

Tony Twain came as early as they did. Instead of going to his office, he went straight to the training ground and greedily breathed in the fresh air of the early morning.

The staff members were busy on one side and said hello to Twain when they met him without stopping the work they were doing. Twain strolled alone between the individual training grounds. Stepping on the sodden turf, the hems of his pants and leather shoes would be all wet soon.

He did not take notice of it and focused on the task.

After he finished taking a round of the First Team training ground, he went to the training ground of the reserve team and the youth team. He supervised them all before he went back to the office to rest. Meanwhile, the players were arriving in succession, getting ready to start the day of training.

It was the last day of training before the Forest team’s game and also Tony Twain’s last training session in his coaching career.

By the time Twain went into his office to take a break, there were already many reporters gathered outside the Wilford training ground, all of whom came to witness Tony Twain’s “last lesson.” Although they only had 15 minutes of public filming, that did not halt their enthusiasm.

Pierce Brosnan saw Carl Spicer in the crowd. He did not have much of a good opinion regarding the person who had been persistent in smearing Twain. Since he ran into Spicer, he would naturally go up and ridicule him for a bit.

“Hey, Carl,” He greeted him warmly as if the two of them were good friends who had known each other for years.

Spicer certainly was aware of who Brosnan was, so he knew the latter took the initiative to greet him not to talk about old times.

“Well, isn’t this Mr. Pierce Brosnan, Twain’s ordained reporter?” Spicer responded cynically.

The nickname, which was used in the press circle to mock Brosnan, was by no means a compliment.

Brosnan was not angry, but smiled and said instead, “Looks like you’re in a good mood, Carl. Is it because the person you hate the most is finally going to say his goodbye?”

Spicer did not hesitate and nodded. He never denied his dislike of Twain in public, which was much better than those hypocrites who appeared to praise Twain to his face but cursed him behind his back.

Seeing Spicer take the bait, Brosnan laughed more smugly as he said, “I’m thinking… Once Tony retires, where are you going to get someone to abuse and maintain the ratings for your show?”

The expression on Carl Spicer’s face froze instantly. He was not a fool. He immediately realized that Brosnan tricked him. However, he was unable to answer in the face of such a question. He really relied on abusing Twain until he became famous and eventually a television presenter. And once Twain retired, who would he target next? The admonishment of a person was also an art. He could not attract so many views just by scolding any Tom, Dick or Harry off the streets.

Looking around the English football world, and even the international football world, a figure like Tony Twain, who was widely controversial while receiving many honors at the same time and being very popular with the people, was extremely rare.

Mourinho might barely count as one such manager. However, scolding a foreigner would not attract much attention in England. Mourinho’s influence in England was a long way off as compared to Tony Twain.

Although Spicer hated the arrogant and conceited Tony Twain who had made him suffer a lot of humiliation, he also had to admit the one fact, which greatly embarrassed and infuriated him: that once Tony Twain left, he would be out of play!

It was no secret. Everyone in the circle knew Carl Spicer got in a leading position by abusing Twain. Some people were very dismissive of him, even those who equally hated Twain.

Many people laughed when they saw Spicer looking like this. Seeing other people making fools of themselves was a common sport of people all over the world. Even British gentlemen were no exception.

After Brosnan singled out Spicer’s biggest point of embarrassment, he ignored the man and turned to focus on the team’s training.

Spicer was also thick-skinned – after fighting with Twain for years, he would have already committed suicide if he were otherwise. After the initial embarrassment passed, he stood there as if nothing happened and continued to direct his men to shoot footage of Tony Twain.

His show was not about the Forest team’s training. There would always be Tony Twain, alone, in his shot. This also confirmed, in another way, how right Pierce Brosnan was.

Only Tony Twain existed in Carl Spicer’s eyes while Tony Twain’s eyes held the whole world.

※※※

Tony Twain, whose eyes held the whole world, finally appeared in front of the reporters’ cameras.

Today he wore a casual shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, which looked different from the getup he wore while directing a game on the sidelines. As compared to the managers who were used to wearing sports attire to lead the teams, he did not look like a real manager. However, no one was surprised, because Tony Twain had been like this for sixteen years. People no longer wondered about what they saw.

Twain appeared in front of the public, wearing sunglasses, and caused a commotion. Fans on the east side loudly chanted Twain’s name and the cheers only gradually died down when Twain waved to them.

No reporters were surprised by such a scene. They had long become accustomed to witnessing Twain’s influence.

They just instructed the photojournalists and camera operators to seize every moment of shooting.

“This is Tony Twain’s last training session! Don’t shoot anything else, just focus on him!”

Twain did not care how the others filmed him. He was used to it, even though the battle array this morning was a little bigger than usual…

However, he himself deserved such attention.

The one thing good about Twain was that he was realistic. He would take the credit when it was rightfully due. He was never self-effacing.

There was nothing for him to do on the training ground. He watched for a while and saw that the players’ performance was normal. The crowd of reporters did not affect them… however, he could not tell what was normal or not at the moment because everyone was running laps for the warm-up …

Twain observed them for a moment before turning his attention to other areas. The east side was surrounded by many fans, more than usual. These fans were determined to ask for autographs from and photographs with Twain after the game.

Twain’s eyes superficially scanned the crowd, but he suddenly fixed his gaze.

He stared at a man in the crowd. He had a strange expression on his face, which was both excited and surprised.

Whom did he see to make him forget everything else?

In the crowd, Fat John, Skinny Bill, and their other buddies surrounded a man.

That man was Michael Bernard, whom Twain had met in Los Angeles before!