[Football] Bad Boy Batty

"Make way, make way!"

Batistuta was carried out of the court on a stretcher. After a simple examination and ice application, the expressions of the team doctors gradually became serious. They deliberately avoided Batistuta and went to the locker room to discuss countermeasures.

Maybe it's not good.

Shifting his sight from the white wall outside the physiotherapy room to his right foot covered with layers of ice, Batty tried to bend his knees to check himself. There was nothing wrong with his knee and calf, but when he wanted to move his right leg below the ankle, the pain made him stop.

Then he stared at his right foot.

"You are part of my body, Mr. Right Foot." Batty threatened in a low voice, "I order you in the name of the master not to get hurt. Do you understand? Don't get hurt."

The team doctors who were about to return outside the door just happened to hear these lovely words, but in order to save the little king's face, they waited until he finished speaking and acted as if they didn't care before going in.

"We are not sure about the true condition of your right foot," Arandez said. "We need to contact the hospital now to send you for examination so as not to delay your best possible treatment time."

On major issues, Batistuta believed in the team doctors and he said nothing more. The team doctors then contacted the chairman who was watching the game in the box and arranged an ambulance and a consulting doctor as quickly as possible.

Half an hour later, the Manchester City captain arrived at the nearest hospital.

Loach and translator Sam accompanied him. On the way, Batty watched his right foot swell up little by little under the wrapping of several ice packs.

"You'll be fine, boss." The black young man comforted him, although he himself looked nervous.

Sam also seemed to want to say something, but was finally stopped by Buddy. He didn't want to hear or say anything now, especially those words that implied pity.

"It's just an injury. I play football, and football is not an elegant sport." He moved his shoulders with ease, then asked Niu for his phone to check the news.

Savage was sent off with a red card for his irrational behavior. Several people on the Manchester City side also received yellow cards for pushing, but most of them were substitutes.

A few minutes later, around the same time Batistuta got on the bus, Simeone and Guardiola were both sent to the stands for swearing at each other on the sidelines.

There are still more than 30 minutes left in the game. Both sides are without their head coaches, and Atletico Madrid is one man short.

As he watched, Batty laughed out loud.

"We will definitely win," he said pertinently, "Manchester City will definitely advance in the end."

Yes, from the moment Savic lost his mind, Atletico Madrid was sentenced to death.

Injuring their king at the Etihad was tantamount to incurring public outrage. Facing a Manchester City team that was angry from the players to the corners, Atletico would have no chance even with all its players.

There is no doubt that Manchester City will advance to the semi-finals.

only--
The cost seems too heavy.

Loach secretly glanced at his boss opposite. Batty was happily browsing his phone and humming a song, and did not seem to care too much about his injury. The dark-skinned young man pinched his fingertips hard with his fingernails.

It'll be alright, he thought.

……

They soon arrived at the hospital, and the doctors took out a wheelchair. Loach pushed Batty in, and then they did a thorough examination of his entire body.

By the time the MRI was completed, the competition was over.

Manchester City slaughtered Atletico Madrid, who played with 5 men, 0-10 at home. At the end of the game, De Bruyne and Foden, who was substituted, were respectively given yellow cards for tackling their opponents. Reporters at the scene described that the two Atletico Madrid players who were tackled might have said disrespectful words to Batistuta.

The next step is to wait for the results.

Batty continued to browse his phone while sitting in his wheelchair. His right foot had stopped swelling and remained the size of an eggplant. Not the long eggplants he liked and often used in obscene text messages, but the round purple ones. Batty didn't like them.

But the good news is that the examination is over and he can use some painkillers to relieve the pain (so as not to affect the examination results).

About 40 minutes later, Guardiola rushed over.

But he was the only one there, and the other coaches and players were not there. Batty guessed that he stopped them because he was afraid that they would say something nonsense and make him angry.

"Hey!" The Manchester City captain raised his hand and greeted cheerfully.

"How are you?" Guardiola asked, ruffling his hair. It was obvious that he was suppressing his anxiety. "Why didn't they clean you up? There's still Etihad mud on you."

"I'm fine, that little bit of dirt can't hurt me." Batistuta grabbed the hand above his head. "But you, Pep, I saw on the news that you were sent to the stands. Tell me, what dirty words did you say?"

Guardiola slapped him lightly: "Don't always think about learning those bad things."

Batty shrugged his nose and looked up at the head coach.

A few seconds later——

"Okay, I cursed the referee." Guardiola was finally won over by his captain's eyes. He touched the top of his head and said, "I said that guy should go to an ophthalmologist. If you hadn't been carried away, I would have thought I was in South Korea and became the head coach of Italy." (Ironically, the referee was as blind as the infamous South Korea-Italy match in the 02 World Cup)
"Wow." Batistuta deliberately exaggerates and screams, "The referee of that match was found to have accepted bribes. If you use this as an excuse, UEFA may impose additional penalties on you later."

Guardiola shrugged and did not deny it.

"I was so angry that I lost my mind," he said.

They talked for a long time in Batistuta's ward, and by the time the Spaniards had finished dinner, most of the test results came out.

The attending doctor walked towards Batty with a bunch of films: "Good news, we can confirm that there is no problem with your ankle, including the ligaments and bones. They are very healthy, only the surface skin has received a slight scratch."

"But?" Batty looked at the doctor and spread his hands. "Come on, I know you still have buts."

The doctor smiled in a friendly but apologetic way: "There is nothing wrong with your ankle, but your foot problem is more serious. The side impact on your foot caused a slight fracture in your calcaneus, and a slight displacement injury to the middle part of your big toe. The most serious problem is your fifth metatarsal, which is fractured."

When he finished speaking, the room fell silent.

Batty felt a headache from the long list of professional terms. He pinched his temples and said, "Just - tell me how long it will take to get better."

"It depends on the situation," the doctor replied cautiously. "Considering that this is your first fifth metatarsal fracture, it will probably be around 10-12 weeks."

12 weeks. Batty felt that his brain usually recovered quickly from injuries, but for some reason, it became particularly slow today.

"12 weeks..." he muttered, pulling Guardiola's sleeve, "Am I going to miss the World Cup?"

"No, Batistuta." Guardiola shook his hand. "Have you forgotten that this year's World Cup will be held in Qatar in December. You have plenty of time to recover."

"Oh my." Batty slapped his forehead. "What an idiot I am. I totally forgot about that just now!"

Guardiola stood up straight and looked down at the optimistic child sitting in the wheelchair in front of him with great distress. Who knows if he is really optimistic? According to Batistuta's previous character, he should jump up angrily and ask the doctor why it took so long.

The current situation is so normal that it is actually abnormal.

"So..." Guardiola looked at the doctor and signaled him with his eyes, "Can't this time be shortened? It's almost the end of the season. The situation is urgent."

"Of course, that kind of situation exists." The doctor understood what the head coach meant. He pushed up his glasses and smiled at Batistuta. "You have a good club. With the help of such a top medical team, maybe you only need 8 weeks to recover to the same state as before."

Batty blinked. "8 weeks?"

"Yes, eight weeks."

"In that case," Batistuta looked at Guardiola, "not only will I not miss the World Cup, I won't miss the Champions League final either! If we can get in, right?"

"Yes." Guardiola ruffled the captain's hair. "Don't worry about the team. Work hard to recover, Batistuta. We are waiting for you."

Batty turned his head and smiled at him.

"Ok!"

……

It was not until noon the next day that everything was done. By the time Niu Qiu called Qiao Lin and Manchester City staff to take Batistuta home and arranged all the necessary equipment, it was already evening.

The Manchester City captain was very active during dinner, and after 20 minutes, he successfully made everyone, including Loach and Qiaolin, think that he was fine.

Soon, he coaxed everyone away by saying he was going to play games, and told them to come back at 11 o'clock to help him go to bed. He wanted to adapt to this kind of life before that.

After all, he has to drag his fixed right foot for two months.

"Don't worry." Batty waved to Qiao Lin at the door and said, "I'm not that fragile. I won't put my hand into the bread machine and try to see God while you are away."

Qiao Lin rejected his horrible teasing, gave him two middle fingers, closed the door and left.

After everyone left, Batty stared at the ceiling for a while, then called Alexa (Amazon's smart speaker): "Alexa! Turn off the lights! Turn off the power!"

'Snapped'

The intelligent robot helped him cut off all the light sources in the room. In the darkness, Batty continued to stare at the ceiling in a daze.

He thought, if he had been able to resist provoking the opponent during the game, this incident would not have happened, or it would have happened later.

Unfortunately, there is no answer to this question. In life, all questions that begin with "what if" have no definite answer. What happened has happened and no one can change it.

Suddenly at this moment——

"Bati? Ba... Oh my god, why is it so dark here!" Someone opened the door of Batistuta's house and walked in. A few seconds later, with the background music of a weird voice humming, the flashlight on the mobile phone lit up, and Neymar's face appeared behind.

"Did you forget to pay the electricity bill, Buddy?" he asked in a strange voice.

“Pfft—” Batty couldn’t help laughing. “I just called Alexa and accidentally cut off the power. You came at the wrong time.”

"Well, that makes sense," Neymar shrugged and approached Batistuta. "I thought you wanted to go into the darkness and grieve alone."

Uh.

Batty was choked: "That's not the case, why do you think that?"

"Because it was like that when I fractured my fifth metatarsal," Neymar said briskly. "Although this is your first time, this injury and I are old friends. I understand you completely."

"Oh." Barty dropped his eyelids. "I didn't know you were in so much pain."

"Of course you don't know," Neymar said. "I didn't know you when I first injured my fifth metatarsal. And who wants to expose their vulnerable side to others?"

"You tell me now."

"You are not someone else." Neymar said naturally, and then he squatted down in front of Batistuta's wheelchair. "Promise me not to laugh at what I'm going to do next, okay?"

"what are you up to?"

"Just—promise not to laugh at me."

Batty looked up at him for a few seconds: "I promise." But the promise was not that he would not laugh at him. If it was really stupid, he would still laugh at him.

Having received the assurance, Neymar looked down at Batistuta's wrapped right foot, reached out to peel off the outer isolation layer to reveal the splint inside, then he took out a marker from his pocket and wrote his name on the plaster splint. Finally, he put his hands together and clamped the marker in the middle, and made a praying gesture.

"……What are you doing?"

"Shh, I'm making a wish." Neymar maintained that posture for nearly a minute before he stood up and patted his pants. "I still have a birthday wish that I haven't used up. This year's number is special, so I was planning to keep it, and today I just use it on you."

profound--

Batistuta looked up and said: "Why not use it to bless us to win the World Cup?"

"You know why." Neymar smiled at him, "What's the point of lifting the World Cup without you by my side?"

(End of this chapter)