[Football] Bad Boy Batty

"~Oh, 94, Romário; 2002, Fen??meno; Primeiro tetracampe??o;??nico pentaéo Brasilz??o! Oh, Brasil, olê, olê, olê!!!"

On the way back to the hotel, Brazil's Barca star Batistuta, who was overwhelmed by the continuous good news, sang and danced with Neymar and Paqueta.

The three of them held a tambourine, a hand drum, and a larger drum that could be carried on their backs, and swayed from the locker room to the shower room, and from the shower room to the parking lot to the accompaniment of the famous song "brasil ole ole".

According to media reports, the Brazilian captain seemed to have become a kind man who would respond to any request that night. When he passed the mixed interview area in the corridor and the fan and reporter area next to the bus, he clapped his tambourine and kissed almost everyone on the roadside, and even allowed some crazy fans to leave lipstick marks on him.

According to gossip, Neymar was somewhat dissatisfied with his captain's flamboyance. Not only did he pull him aside to reject many fans' excessive requests (such as leaving lipstick prints on Batistuta's ribs or more private parts), he also asked the team assistant for wet wipes and wiped off all the marks on Batistuta's face while getting in the car.

Later, a fan took a photo that after they all got on the bus and before the new round of celebration began, Neymar took all the small notes from Batistuta's hands, each of which had the contact information of the fans, reporters or paparazzi.

The photos also show that Batistuta didn't mind it, and even took the notes out of Neymar's pocket and scattered them from the front to the back of the car like scattering flowers.

For a moment, both the team and the forum were filled with joy.

"It's so nice watching them having fun." In the back seat of the bus, Thiago Silva was holding his mobile phone and making a video call with Marcelo who was on the other side of the earth.

At this time, the celebration has entered the dancing stage, and the accompaniment on the speakers is no longer "brasil ole ole" but various pop music.

"Hey, look at this!" D pointed the camera at Batistuta who was about to climb onto the roof of the car. "It feels like going back to 18."

“Haha! Don’t say that!” Marcelo on the screen shook his shaggy hair. “Don’t get too excited. You still have the last game to play.”

"As long as nothing weird happens to affect them." D. Silva smiled and said, "Tomorrow France will play Morocco. I feel that France is more likely to win. To be honest, I really don't want to meet them again."

“It’s okay, I believe in you! Rio is over, and you won’t have any more troubles!” Marcelo picked up his phone and cheered, “France is even less of a problem. We lost to them once, and we won’t lose to them a second time! Go! Brasil ole ole ole!”

……

Soon, the bus arrived at the hotel.

The moment the car stopped, Batty rushed down like a fly, "Zizu! Wait a minute!!"

He ran to stop his head coach before the coaches in the previous car entered the lobby.

Zidane stopped and turned to look at Batistuta, and helped him straighten out his wrinkled collar and rolled-up hem. Finally, he couldn't help but reached out to comb Batistuta's messy blue hair ends to make it more tidy.

After everything that happened last night, he was finally satisfied.

"What's wrong? What's the matter?" Zidane asked.

"I just want to ask--" Batty put on his most innocent expression, trying to suppress the flickering look in his eyes, "We beat Argentina and entered the final. Everything is fine in Rio too. It's worth celebrating, isn't it?"

Zidane pretended not to understand: "What do you mean?"

"Just, can I, uh, have a small party?" Batty looked at the coach pleadingly. "I swear it will be a small one, with only a little alcohol and pizza. Everyone is going crazy after being in this Muslim country for so long. I promise it will not end before 2 a.m., and I will invite some fans and tight-lipped reporters, but no one else."

Oh?
Zidane twitched his eyebrows and said nothing.

"Ah, uh..." Seeing that the coach's meaning was not right, Batty quickly compromised, "No alcohol and pizza, is that okay?"

Zidane still said nothing.

Batty crossed his fingers, and the highlight in his eyes seemed to expand a little bit: "Then let's move the time forward to 1 o'clock. We will go back to the room and sleep at 1 o'clock. It won't affect tomorrow's recovery at all!"

Zidane remained motionless.

Ah, still not working?
why is it like this.

At this time, the players gradually gathered around. In everyone's expectant eyes, Batty gritted his teeth and said, "Okay, no outsiders, just a small internal gathering, and it will end before 12 o'clock. Is this okay, Zizu?"

Zidane glanced at the players not far away, then looked at the two captains in front of him who were looking at him pleadingly with their big eyes, and suddenly smiled.

"You can drink, but you can't get drunk. Pizza is not allowed, barbecue is allowed, and no more than three fans can come. Reporters, paparazzi, and call girls are not allowed." He said, "It will end before 3:12. I don't want to see anyone chatting in the group at 1 o'clock."

Batistuta was stunned for a moment, then he rushed over like a madman and gave Zidane a big kiss on his bald head: "No problem, no problem! Thank you Zidane! You're the best! We will do it!"

After saying that, he quickly jumped down and ran towards his teammates, waving his hands. Ten seconds later, the gathered minions cheered loudly.

"Zizu, this-"

"It would be good to give them a change of mood," Zidane waved his hand to interrupt the assistant coach's questioning. "Find a few people to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't overdo it, especially Batistuta. Don't let him drink on an empty stomach, and don't let him eat too much pudding and jelly. If he is tense for a long time and then suddenly relaxes, he will get sick easily."

The teaching assistant hesitated for a few seconds, but finally nodded.

"understood."

……

It turned out that the assistant coach was worrying too much. Although Batistuta loved to play, he knew his limits. The party was perfectly organized and met everyone's requirements. Everyone listened to songs and danced, and it ended quickly after midnight. The scene was also cleaned up very well (of course not by Batistuta himself). No one was late for the restorative therapy the next morning because of the party.

In the afternoon, after a short routine passing training, the Brazilian players decided to go to the swimming pool to play water polo to kill time. After dinner, it was almost time, so they went to the lounge one after another to take seats and prepare to witness who would be their final opponent in the final.

Neymar went back to his room to change his clothes, then called his mother and sister. It was almost 8: when he came to the lounge.

The air conditioner in the room was turned very low, and the temperature felt only about 20 degrees. Richarlison had already found a seat, but unfortunately, Batistuta had just left a few minutes before he arrived.

“You just missed it,” Marchinhos said, sitting on the pool table. “His godfather called him on video. He seemed to have something to say.”

"He is either in the restaurant or on his way to the restaurant. If you want to find him, remember to go to the left, there is a shortcut there." Casemiro took over and said, "Come back quickly after you find Batistuta, the game is about to start."

Neymar nodded, asked Richarlison to get another blanket and a few pillows ready, then turned and left the lounge.

Casemiro was right, Batistuta was indeed in the restaurant, but when Neymar found him, he had already finished talking to the Godfather and was lying on the table playing with his fingers in a daze.

"Hey." Neymar walked over and pulled out a chair to sit across from him. "The call is over, why don't you go back? What are you thinking about?"

Hearing the noise, Batistuta fluttered his eyelashes and looked over. When he found it was Neymar, he propped up his upper body with his arms and smiled brightly.

"What are you thinking about? Why don't you go back?" Neymar asked again.

"Nothing." Barty blew the strands of hair on his forehead. "Just a brief review of the experiences in the first half of my life."

Wow-oh.

Neymar lip-synced his surprise.

"What did your godfather tell you?" he continued.

Batistuta was a little hesitant, but after thinking about it for a while, he decided to tell Neymar (part of it).

"Dudu told me about the traitor." He pulled out a photo from his phone and pushed it to Neymar, "He was the fuse of this civil unrest."

Neymar looked over. There was nothing special about the man in the photo. He was about 30 years old, not tall, with flesh on his face that almost covered his eyes, and he had two mustaches under his nose. "This is--"

"Nelson Castro, nicknamed the Cripple, is in charge of the armed and arms business in the group. Richarlison used to live in the area he was in charge of." Batistuta's tone was so relaxed that Neymar didn't notice anything remarkable.

Until 3 seconds later.

"And, he's the reason why I hate the Joker," Batty said.

At that moment, Neymar felt a sense of discomfort climbing up his spine to the top of his head, and at the same time he recalled the Halloween night a few years ago, when Batistuta and the Belgian had the most intense argument.

De Bruyne turned off the lights and acted like a clown, which scared Batistuta and caused him to have a panic attack. Neymar swore that he would never forget that scene even after a few years.

At that time, many people were curious about why.

Why was Batty afraid of clowns, especially clowns that ordinary people didn't think were scary? But no matter how they asked, Batty never said.

And now.

Now Batty tells him it's all about the man in the photo.

Neymar has mixed feelings.

On the one hand, he was happy that Batty was finally opening up to him, but on the other hand, he was worried about Batty and didn't want him to go through the pain he had felt at that time again.

"Ha, I really should show you your face."

Batistuta's mocking voice brought Neymar back to reality. He looked over and saw Batistuta supporting his face with one hand, smiling, tilting his head and looking at him lazily with half-squinted eyes.

"It's all in the past, no big deal," Batty said.

"But," Neymar paused, "but you are still afraid of clowns."

"That's true, but it's not a big deal." Batty waved his hands and yawned. "I still remember that guy always tricked me into coming over under the pretext of inspecting the goods, then he turned off all the waiters in the warehouse and wore his disgusting clown mask...so my reaction was engraved on my body and I couldn't control it."

"Did he hurt you?" Neymar asked nervously. "Why didn't your godfather and Bloodhound do anything to him?"

"I didn't tell anyone at the time." Batty blew his lower lip and said, "Like I said, that guy is in charge of munitions and has connections with governments in many places. If I told this to the Hound, he would definitely not let him live, and if he died, things would be very ugly."

"So you're going to sacrifice yourself?"

"Well, that's a bit complicated." Batty nodded. "Anyway, now my godfather and the others know about it. The call just now was to ask me how I plan to deal with the cripple's body."

"then you--"

"Of course it was thrown into the sewer to feed the rats." Batty said disdainfully, "You seem quite interested. I can tell you a story, but it has to start with the distribution of power in the group. It's quite detailed. Do you want to hear it?"

Ah, story, such a familiar scene.

Neymar thought of what Batistuta had said to him when they first met, next to that old vending machine. He asked him if he wanted to hear a story, and he was immediately attracted.

Batty touched his fingertips: "How about it, do you want to listen?"

"Keep it." Neymar grabbed his hand and kissed it gently. "Wait until we win the Gold Cup, then you can tell me."

"--Don't raise the flag." Batty pulled his hand back and rolled his eyes at him flirtatiously. "Those who say they'll go home and get married after this battle usually die on the battlefield. If you say you'll wait until we win the gold cup..."

"Then let's change it." Neymar interrupted him. "If we lose, we will go to Vegas and have fun like last time. When we get drunk, we will go to the church to register for marriage, and you tell me this story when you talk about the vows."

Batistuta was surprised by Neymar's illogical new flag. He blinked and looked at Neymar for half a minute. After half a minute, Batistuta smiled.

"Okay," he said. "It's settled."

……

The timing was just right; the game started just as they went to the lounge.

Richarlison was very well prepared, with blankets, pillows, drinks, corn chips and dip, but before Batistuta could sit down on the sofa and praise him, he saw France scoring a goal on the screen.

From 20 yards outside the penalty area, Augustus scored a world-class goal to open the Morocco goal.

“Ohhh!” Rafinha whistled. “It seems that the African dark horse’s luck has run out. It’s been less than 5 minutes and it’s 1-0. Could it be another tragedy?”

The semi-finals, the tragedy, it's hard not to think of something bad.

For a time, the Barcelona striker was sanctioned from many aspects.

Buddy didn't join in the fun. He just sat there, with corn flakes in his hand, watching the red-haired young man with a braid tied with a ribbon like a pianist on the screen, approaching with his frivolous smile.

"Wait for me." After saying that, Augustus picked up the camera and kissed the screen, "Soon--"

He didn't finish his words, but everyone in the audience understood what he was doing.

The premonition was too strong to be ignored.

After a few seconds, Batty looked away, dipped the corn chips in avocado sauce and put them into his mouth. The crunching sound seemed to be crushing someone's bones.

You better win, he thought.

If we could take revenge on two teams in the same World Cup, that would be really exciting. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.

……

As it turned out, the French team lived up to Batistuta's expectations.

At the end of the 90-minute game, Giroud, Griezmann and Augustus scored, and Morocco lost 0-3 to France and was eliminated.

As soon as the results came out, they immediately set off global social media.

A replay of the 2018 World Cup final.

Brazil will play against France.

(End of this chapter)