[Football] Bad Boy Batty

Two days later, the entire Manchester City team returned to Manchester and the players gradually resumed their daily training.

At 9 o'clock in the morning, the players started different training in various places in the training ground. Head coach Guardiola stood in front of the projection screen in the office and pondered. Besides Arteta, there were 3 or 4 assistant coaches next to him, and they were all looking at the screen.

The screen is divided into two modules, Twitter on the left and YouTube on the right, all related to the Champions League match between Manchester City and Barcelona.

To be precise, it is related to Batty.

"It's amazing. Even if you replay it thousands of times, it still makes people feel amazing." One of the assistant coaches said, using an electronic pen to control the comments on Twitter. "Netizens say Batistuta is the next Pele."

“But we lost the game,” said another, taking the electronic pen and changing a keyword on Twitter, “and that means more bad comments.”

Sliding the page, more malicious comments appeared in front of Manchester City's coaching team. Those words were so disgusting that several of them had the urge to vent their anger on the projection screen.

The coaching team would feel uncomfortable seeing this, not to mention the person involved.

"We should pay attention to Batistuta's mental health," Arteta said. "He is indeed the Brazilian treasure after Neymar. We can't let him receive this kind of... blow before he blooms."

The assistant coaches nodded in unison, but Guardiola didn't move.

"Pep? What do you think?" Arteta patted Guardiola on the shoulder. "Should we find a psychologist for Batistuta?"

But before Guardiola could answer, Batistuta updated his Twitter account and posted a group of photos of him, Aguero, Messi, Neymar, and Suarez eating barbecue together after the game.

"He seems to be recovering well." A different voice came from the assistant team, "Do we really need to help him psychologically?"

Guardiola scratched his head.

"Yes, it is necessary." He looked at the group of photos, "These don't prove anything. Batistuta is a very good pretender. He packages himself like a normal 17-year-old, but we all know that he has experienced much more than his peers."

Others were silent.

Guardiola: "We should pay more attention to his mental health, but a psychologist is not good enough. Batistuta has trust issues. It usually takes 2-3 times more time for him to trust someone than the average person. I think it's unlikely for him to open up to a strange psychologist."

Arteta nodded in agreement. "So what do you mean?"

"We need to find someone familiar to help," Guardiola said. "It has to be someone Batistuta knows very well and trusts."

……

In the indoor gym, Barty had just finished leg training and sat on a yoga ball to drink water and rest. Then he looked at the three people standing in a row in front of him. They had been there for a few minutes.

From left to right are Alandos, Loach, and Sam Eli.

Like three arhats.

"What are you doing?" Batty tightened the cap of the water bottle in his hand and put it aside. "What did I do to deserve this interrogation?"

Loach shook his head repeatedly, "No, no, we just--"

He had no idea whether he should tell Batistuta about Guardiola's commission, nor did he know how to tell him. He was still wondering whether he was a traitor.

So he pulled Arandez's sleeve and threw the question to him: "You go and tell him, I have never been to school, I don't know how to say it."

Batty's inquiring eyes turned to Arandez.

"Uh, we are, we just come to see you." The assistant analyst scratched his face uncomfortably and spoke incoherently, "Nothing else, we, uh, we like watching you train, yes, we like watching you train."

Barty narrowed his eyes.

It's very suspicious, Arandez and Loach, these two people won't even tell a lie in front of him.

"Don't talk nonsense, I still have to train." Batty crossed his arms and looked at Sam at the end, "What do you want to do?"

Sam cleared his throat.

"We are just worried about you. You lost the first two games you started. Many players lose their confidence like that," he said. "And the comments on social networks must make you sad, so - let's go watch a movie to adjust. How about Black Swan?"
Oh, he understood what they meant.
This is because they are worried that he may have psychological problems.

Honestly, Batty doesn't care about the comments online. Everyone is just chatting under a false pretense. How many people are willing to tell the truth? There are many people who are unhappy with their lives and go crazy on the Internet to find a sense of existence. Batty can turn a blind eye to them.

Those people even criticized his godfather, and the reasons they used were extremely ridiculous. What else would they not dare to say?

Therefore, a bunch of Internet maggots are not worth his attention at all.

"I'm fine, nothing happened." Batistuta pressed the yoga ball under his butt with his fist, pretending to be very relaxed. "You know my godfather is in Hollywood. I have learned a lot from him. The dirty messages you see now are nothing compared to what I have seen. Let me guess, did Guardiola ask you to come?"

Seeing that Batty had guessed it, the three of them stopped hiding it.

"Well, the head coach cares about you a lot. You are an important part of his plan for the next few years. He won't allow you to get hurt at all." Alandez said, "He has good intentions."

Guardiola means well, and Batistuta knows that, but he is sometimes too kind, making him feel bound by his family.

But that's another story.

Batty looked at Loach and said, "Mark, you've been with me for almost 15 years. They don't know how terrible I am. Don't you know that?"

Loach felt a little discouraged when his real name was called.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll stand by you next time, boss."

After Arandus and Sam also believed it, Batty stretched and stood up.

"I think the suggestion of watching a movie is a good one, but let's change it. Let's watch The Conjuring 2, a new movie this summer. It just came out on Blu-ray and I've already bought one." He smiled wickedly, "Let's go to Kun's house to watch it. It is said that he is very afraid of ghosts. I want to scare him well."

Sam looked at Arandez, who looked excited.

The four-man intimidation team is officially launched.
According to insiders, screams were heard for a long time from the mansion of Argentine star Aguero that night.

……

After two rounds of the league, in mid-November, before the UK as a whole entered winter, the second round of the match between Manchester City and Barcelona kicked off at the Etihad Stadium.

There were not many adjustments in terms of personnel. Except for the injured players and Bravo who was sent off with a red card, the rest remained basically the same.

MSN still started for Barcelona, ​​even though Neymar had just returned from the World Cup qualifier against Paraguay two days ago (a 3-0 win), while Manchester City's original plastic combination on the front line (the ABS combination of Aguero, Batistuta and Sterling, and ABS is the abbreviation of a certain kind of plastic) was completely dismantled.

Batistuta and Sterling were both replaced, and the Argentine striker's left and right positions were replaced by new signings Sane and Jesus.

Batistuta was very dissatisfied with Guardiola's decision, but in the two league rounds before that, he started once and was a substitute once, and his physical strength was basically exhausted. Guardiola brought out the classic father's remarks, "You are only 17 years old."

So Batistuta was reluctantly placed on the bench and was told that he would only be substituted if there was another injury.

Fortunately, Sterling, who was sitting on the bench, kept making him happy, so Batistuta didn't always have a sour face in the broadcast camera.

Compared to the last game in which he scored a hat trick, dribbled past 6 players to score, missed a penalty kick, missed an empty goal, and received a red card for handball, this game was much more peaceful.

The two teams played quite well. Messi scored to give Barcelona the lead, and then Gundogan, Aguero and De Bruyne scored to help Manchester City win the game 3-1.

After the game, maybe because he sat on the bench for too long and caught a cold, Batistuta showed signs of catching a cold, so his appointment with Neymar to play at the stadium at night was once again canceled.

But it’s okay, if I can’t go to the nightclub, I can go home and play games.

That night, Neymar and Loach carried the reluctant Batistuta back home, and of course, he also experienced the feeling of a customized Aston Martin.

"It's terrible, this damn British weather." Batty wrapped in a blanket and holding a cup of hot tea said listlessly, "I've been looking forward to today's game for two weeks, but I can't play at all."

"Trust your head coach, he must have made the decision for the team." Neymar smiled and said. He sat next to Batistuta, holding a game controller and playing FIFA slowly. Although Batistuta had countless legendary cards in his account, he still put Batistuta, who had a bronze card of 69 points, in the starting lineup.

Batistuta groaned, glancing at Neymar, who was wearing light clothing: "Why aren't you afraid of the cold, you fake Brazilian?"

"You'll get used to it. Winters in Spain are also very cold." Neymar leaned over and touched Batistuta's forehead. It was no longer hot. "You really need to adapt as soon as possible. The 2018 World Cup will be held in Russia, which is even colder than the UK."

When it comes to the World Cup, Batistuta becomes excited.

"They better take me to the World Cup, otherwise they'll just give the trophy away."

The boy raised his chin, threw off the blanket and said, "I will definitely adapt. There is no need for next year. When the World Cup comes, I will hold both the Champions League and the World Cup at the same time."

"Okay, okay, you will," Neymar said as he put the blanket back on him, "but the more important thing is now, you can't catch a cold."

Batistuta dodged to the side. He had already sat on the bench long enough and didn't want to sit there any longer.

Neymar failed and wanted to try again, Batistuta kept hiding, so he took the blanket and continued. From then on, it was not just a question of whether to wear the blanket or not.

It's a matter of dignity! Will Neymar win and successfully imprison Batistuta with a blanket, or will Batistuta successfully fight back and throw away the damn blanket?

"Come here, Barty."

"Don't even think about it until you throw that blanket away!"

"Come here, I won't cover you with a blanket--"

"I don't believe it! If you want to be strong, come here."

The two of them were making a lot of noise in the living room, and the expensive Persian carpet was trampled beyond recognition. If Sam Eli were here, he would definitely complain loudly about their waste of resources.

A few minutes later, the 'war' ended with Batty achieving a stage victory.

The light-haired boy trapped Neymar on the ground, pressing on him like a horse, and pinning his shoulders with a blanket so that he could not move.

"So, you give up?" he said, panting slightly.

Neymar was also breathing heavily, and he didn't say anything.

Looking up from his angle, Batty was standing with his back to the light, his honey-colored skin glowing bright pink, like melted coffee candy; his blue eyes were like the ocean under the scorching sun, with countless mysteries under the shining phosphorescence.

This feeling is hard to describe in words. Batty's whole body is radiant with a different kind of brilliance, not as warm as the sun, but more intense. And he is now on top of him, and looking at him affectionately (?) with those eyes.

"Okay, okay, you win." Neymar stretched out his hands with difficulty to admit defeat, "I don't--"

Suddenly, Batty opened his hand and clamped his jaw, pulling open his collar.

"do not move."

As he leaned forward, Neymar watched as the other man got closer and closer, closer and closer.

Heart beating wildly.
Those blue eyes were so close.

"Ney," Batty called him softly, "you here--"

Neymar was so nervous that his tongue was tied. "What?"

Batty clamped his jaw and tried to turn it sideways.

"--You have a bruise here, it's all purple." The boy said seriously at the spot on his shoulder blade, "Did you get it in the World Cup qualifiers? I saw that big Uruguayan defender bump into you."

Ah, it turned out that it was because of the injury on his body.

"It happened in the World Cup qualifiers, but I don't remember who caused it. You know, Paraguayans are not very polite." Neymar replied, trying not to let Batistuta see his disappointment.

Barty loosened his jaw and the blue eyes left him.

"I remember Dudu (his godfather) brought ointment last time he came." Batistuta muttered to himself as he pulled out a small bottle from under the coffee table, then took out some ointment from it and applied it to Neymar's wound. "Anyone who plays Samba football shouldn't treat you like this. When I join the national team, I'll see who dares to kick you."

Neymar felt strange after hearing those words.

But soon his attention was drawn to something else.

After applying the medicine, Batistuta reached for a tissue to wipe his hands, then casually threw the paper ball into the trash can - God knows this is not what Neymar wanted him to wipe off his hands.

"Why are you stunned?" Batistuta patted Neymar's cheek. "You don't believe I can protect you? Manchester City's head of sports science said that I can still grow taller, at least to 6 feet."

6 feet?

This number brought Neymar back from some kind of fantasy. He blinked and asked: "How tall are you now, Batistuta?"

"About 5.8 feet 177 ()."

No wonder he looks a little taller than me.

Neymar thought a little depressedly that in two years, when Batistuta becomes an adult, he might really grow to 6 feet.

"Let's talk about that later. You have to understand that even if we play samba football as we please, we must focus on protecting ourselves." Neymar changed the subject and said, "I know you are very good, but there are many things on the court, you can't rush forward recklessly."

Batty disagreed: "I have my godfather to help me. He told me that I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me."

It's his godfather again.

Neymar was very upset. If possible, he would make a wish on his birthday that he would never hear the name of that great director from Batistuta again.

"Why are you stunned again?"

Neymar pursed his lips, suddenly grabbed Batistuta's collar and pulled those blue eyes back in front of him.

Batty suddenly lost his balance and subconsciously put his hand on the other person's ear.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

Neymar looked at him for a few seconds: "You really don't know?"

Barty blinked.

"Know what?" he asked.

Neymar did not answer his question, and Batistuta did not speak either. The two of them maintained a posture with their noses touching each other.

At this moment, there was a knock on the door, and Loach said to them outside the door: "Come over and eat, it's ready. Paella, Chinese dumplings, and pizza, everything on your menu is available."

Then in an instant, Batistuta put on a different smile, then quickly brushed away Neymar's hand and got off him.

"Let's go and eat."

When he turned around, it was as if nothing had happened.

Neymar sat up and smoothed his hair over his forehead in frustration.

Forget it, it’s still a long time.

(End of this chapter)