When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 109 No one
On the morning of November 16, 2003, North Star Park in Gelsenkirchen was shrouded in a thin mist.

On the night of the match, the national team disbanded on the spot in Germany because the members of the 98 French World Cup champions were going to Bordeaux to play a charity match against a local team to raise funds for the reconstruction of polluted beaches.

Roy wrapped his coat tighter and walked deeper into the park, stepping on the fallen leaves.

Suddenly, a little boy wearing a Schalke training uniform darted out from around the corner, twirling a worn-out soccer ball as he rushed forward.

His brown hair was wet with morning dew and stuck to his forehead.

He looked up and saw Roy, his eyes lit up, and he suddenly felt like playing.

"Hey! Look at this!" the little boy shouted, trying to do a rainbow flick with his right foot.

Unfortunately, he didn't control his strength well, and the ball flew crookedly towards Roy's face.

Roy stepped back half a step, straightened his chest, and controlled the ball.

The ball seemed glued to him; he bounced it three times, alternating between his left and right feet.

While the little boy was still in a daze, Roy suddenly turned around and let the ball fall behind him, tapping it lightly with his heel.

The ball rolled precisely to the boy's feet.

Roy slowly pulled down his sunglasses, glaring at him as if he were angry: "Don't play around like that in the morning."

"Yeah, sorry!"

The boy stammered, frantically grabbing the ball. His brown hair was wet with dew, making him look like a drowning puppy.

"What's your name?"

The boy's face flushed red, and he rubbed his sneakers back and forth on the fallen leaves.

“Julian,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “Julian Draxler.”

Roy pushed his sunglasses up again, but a subtle smile crept onto his lips: "Practice your fundamentals well, Julian."

After saying that, he strode away, leaving the boy standing there, staring blankly at his retreating figure.

Draxler suddenly widened his eyes and recognized the figure from behind.

"You...you're not."

Roy waved his hand without turning his head: "That's right. If you don't practice your fundamentals properly, you'll get thrashed 7-1 when you join the national team."

On a bench deep in the park, Claire, wrapped in a camel coat, held a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

Her golden-brown hair fell over her shoulders, and a travel bag sat beside her.

Roy approached the bench, smiling and shaking his head. "I think I'm here to meet with a female KGB agent."

Claire looked up at him, a slight smile playing on her lips: "The Federal Intelligence Service (West German intelligence agency) isn't keeping an eye on you, is it?"

She lowered her voice, a smile in her eyes.

Roy asked, half-jokingly, "What instructions have Moscow given?"

Claire smiled slightly, took a train ticket out of her coat pocket, and handed it to him: "To Herzogenaurach, Bavaria, 20 kilometers northwest of Nuremberg."

Roy took the ticket and raised an eyebrow: "Oh?"

Claire explained, “Both Adidas and Puma want to invite you to visit their headquarters; the two companies are just across the Aurach River from each other.”

Roy chuckled. "Interesting."

Roy leaned back on the bench, twirling the train ticket between his fingers: "What kind of military plan is the Kremlin preparing?"

"All three companies submitted offers, but their strategies were completely different."

"Nike wants you to be paired with Ronaldo and Ronaldinho in ads—that would give you the most exposure, but you'd become one of the 'Big Three,' and your individual style would easily be overshadowed."

"Adidas is planning to get Zidane to endorse you, and you can also collaborate with YSL on a high-end product line. However, they already have Beckham and Real Madrid stars, and they're betting on Kaká from AC Milan, so they need to allocate their resources accordingly."

She suddenly leaned forward: "Puma is the most interesting. They only have a 5% market share, but they're willing to spend 90% of their football marketing budget on you. No other star player is stealing the spotlight; you're their Jordan."

Roy: "So."

"For a platform teeming with superstars, choose Nike; for the backing of a traditional powerhouse, Adidas is more suitable."

Claire smiled slightly, trying to figure out what Roy was thinking.

"To be a game-changer, choose Puma?"

Unlike other commercial sponsorships, Roy is just as cautious in choosing sports sponsorships as he is in choosing professional transfers.
Sports sponsorship was a key engine for Roy's career to take off.

In the early 2000s, during the era of print media, sports marketing had highly concentrated traffic sources and incredibly high costs.

Without social media, players' channels for speaking out are basically limited to paid interviews, which are costly and have weak reach.

Brands control exclusive networks of partnerships with mainstream media, while sports sponsors have priority in publishing news.

Physical advertising still dominates traffic.

Nike, Adidas and other giants have marketing budgets of hundreds of millions of dollars every year, building an exposure system that individual players could not replicate at the time, providing signed players with global exposure that individual teams could not match - a comprehensive coverage from Champions League advertisements and magazine covers to street billboards.

For example, the cost of a single ad placement in the Champions League or World Cup exceeds $200 million.

Top sports magazines such as France Football and Kicker charge between $50 and $80 per issue for their covers.

Billboards in prime locations in major global cities (Paris, Tokyo, Hong Kong, New York) command monthly rents exceeding $10.

More importantly, brands excel at shaping player images: Nike cultivates "rebellious geniuses," Adidas promotes "elegant masters," and Puma sees Roy as the key to breaking through, willing to give him the exclusive positioning and resources of a "rising star."

Puma remains weak in the football field, with a market share of only 5% to 8%.

At the national team level, it only sponsors African teams such as Cameroon (which caused controversy with its "sleeveless jerseys") and second-tier European teams such as the Czech Republic.

The star-studded lineup only includes the relatively unknown Drogba and Bayern substitute Pizarro.

In terms of product line, although the Puma King series focuses on lightweight design, its technological influence is far less than that of Nike Mercurial and Adidas Predator.

To break this deadlock, Puma decided to go all in on Roy, offering unprecedentedly generous terms such as a personal product line, exclusive global advertising rights, and brand equity binding, in an attempt to replicate the success of Jordan's partnership with Nike.

However, choosing Puma means becoming a "big fish in a small pond," like betting on a newly promoted team. While you can gain an absolute core position, you need to carry the entire team forward on your own.

Such a choice is too risky.

As a player, he can control his performance on the field, but he cannot guarantee the success of commercial collaborations.

Choosing the wrong sponsor could significantly diminish his potential commercial value and public influence.

Roy stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"How about we try a short-term contract first? For example, how much would they be willing to offer for equipment sponsorship for a single match during the Champions League knockout stage?"

Claire narrowed her eyes slightly: "I need to discuss this with Miko first."

Roy turned his head and said casually, "Why bother Miko with such a trivial matter?"

Claire's gaze lingered for a moment in Roy's smiling eyes, then suddenly widened slightly as if burned. All the fragmented clues suddenly came together: his recent deliberate avoidance of Miko's arrangements, the probing glances he frequently cast during the signing, and now this meaningful remark.

Over the past six months, Roy has offended almost everyone he could—leading a disturbance in the French national team's locker room, spouting nonsense to a reporter from L'Équipe, and outmaneuvering giants like Real Madrid, Barcelona, ​​and Manchester United during the transfer window.

What's most infuriating is that he ultimately rejected all offers and stayed at Monaco, signing an unprecedented contract: the club didn't even get 1% of his image rights.

Miko was furious in his office, but he still had to clean up Roy's mess.

There was no way around it; all the scouting reports across Europe were writing the same thing: this kid was destined to be a strong contender for the Ballon d'Or.

Once Zidane retires, he will be Miko's most valuable trump card—he can earn back ten or even a hundred times the humiliation he's suffering now.

“No need to bother Miko with such a small matter,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather.

Claire suddenly realized that this unconventional young man never wanted a well-behaved mother, but rather any partner who could keep up with his crazy pace, any madman who dared to race alongside him on the edge of a cliff.

This madman is destined to become a superstar.

His talent is as dazzling as a volcanic eruption, but no one knows where the lava will flow next.

She gripped the coffee in her hand tightly.

He could clearly foresee his success, but he had absolutely no idea what he would do next.

Roy was like a hurricane about to make landfall, and she was now standing on the edge of the eye of the storm, both afraid of being torn apart and eager to be swept into its destructive power.

She hated this feeling of being out of control, but Claire had to admit that it was precisely this dangerous quality that made her heart race.

If you follow Roy, you'll either climb to the top with him or be led astray by him.

She took a deep breath quietly, feeling her throat tighten—this feeling of both excitement and fear was like standing on the edge of a cliff counting down three, two, one.

Claire chuckled and twirled her coffee cup. "I'm not your employee. Miko is the one who pays my salary."

Roy laughed and said, "The wool comes from the sheep."

There was a brief silence.

Both sides realized that they had reached a consensus.

November 21, 2003, Ligue 11, Round 14.

The Monaco dressing room.

Giuly, holding the newspaper, said to Roy, "The European Championship seedings are out. England, Italy, Germany, and Spain are all in the second pot. As a first-pot team, we're sure to be drawn into one of them."

He read it aloud expressionlessly:

Tier 1: Portugal, France, Sweden, Czech Republic.

"Tier 2: Italy, Spain, England, Germany. Putain, is this a list put together by humans?"

"Tier 3: Netherlands, Croatia, Russia, Denmark."

"Tier 4: Bulgaria, Switzerland, Greece, and Latvia."

Roy, who was organizing his sneakers, asked without looking up, "Who do you least want to touch?"

"England? They're all show and no substance. Apart from Beckham's pass, their midfield is full of roughnecks. The Germans are tough, but the current German team is not the same as the three-horse carriage team of the past. We just beat them 4-1."

"To be honest, Spain is quite troublesome. Players like Valerón and Xavi, those small but technically gifted guys, can pass the ball into the goal."

Rothen curled his lip: "Actually, Spain is nothing special. If you ask me, Italy is the most troublesome. Those old foxes can hold on to a 1-0 score until the end of the world."

He counted on his fingers: "Totti can pass and shoot in the attacking third, and the defense formed by Nesta and Cannavaro is like an impregnable wall."

"Even if you say it like that, it's already tough enough, so what's the point of kicking it?"

Juli folded the newspaper and looked at Roy: "What if you had to choose?"

Roy tied his shoelaces and stood up: "England."

The match began in cold, gloomy weather.

In the 18th minute, Pedretti suddenly pressed forward near the center circle, intercepting Keita's pass with the outside of his right foot.

After looking up, he immediately sent a low through ball with his left foot, which passed through the gap between Lens' two midfielders.

Roy received the ball with his back to the goal, and just as Koulibaly was pressing forward, he suddenly turned to the left using his right foot as a pivot, and at the same time shot with the inside of his left foot.

This Coulibaly is not the same Coulibaly from Senegal.

The ball traced an outward-spinning arc, passed goalkeeper Itanje's fingertips, struck the underside of the crossbar, and bounced into the net.

After scoring, Roy ran towards the corner flag with a blank expression, simply raising his right hand in a gesture.

Mark Parker, sitting in the VIP box, couldn't help but exclaim, "That was so easy for him, it's like scoring a goal is as commonplace as eating and drinking."

Mark Parker, then Vice President of Global Footwear at Nike, was one of Nike founder Phil Knight's most trusted partners.

This 48-year-old business elite has a round face and a thick, neatly trimmed tawny beard, which adds to his artistic flair.

Mark Parker turned slightly to the side, glancing at Mendes sitting in the back row of the box.

The Portuguese agent was gently tapping his champagne glass with his fingertips, his eyes fixed on Roy on the field.

Just a week ago, Parker signed a €120 million contract with Mendes at Nike headquarters. The Manchester United number 28 from Madeira is indeed exceptionally talented, but he is not yet a mature player. Compared to Beckham's commercial magic that swept the Asian market, he is still lacking.

“Mark, numbers on reports can never tell the whole story.”

Mendes suddenly said after signing the contract, his English with a slight Portuguese accent, "Some things you have to measure with your eyes."

At that moment, when Roy unleashed a breathtaking long-range shot from thirty yards out that left the entire Stade Louis II breathless, Parker finally understood the meaning of those words.

He subconsciously reached for the checkbook in his suit pocket, his fingertips touching the gold-embossed Nike logo—a gesture that Mendes happened to notice, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on the Portuguese man's lips.

“Jorge,” Parker said, sounding puzzled, “I’m curious, since you’re not his agent, why are you so interested in this negotiation?”

Mendes heard that Nike and Roy's negotiations had run into trouble.

Puma made a record-breaking offer, and even the deep-pocketed Nike hesitated to follow suit. After all, Nike already has many star players under its wing, and spending heavily on a newcomer would indeed be risky.

Interestingly, Mendes wasn't Roy's agent at all, yet he insisted on arranging for Parker to come to the game.

Mark Parker's words were interrupted by a sudden ringing of his cell phone.

Mendes slowly pressed the reject button: "In Portugal, we call it 'the shepherd's intuition'."

He pointed to Roy, who was being followed by three cameras, and said, "See those female reporters in high heels chasing after him? Puma only provides numbers, but Nike should understand that."

Amidst a deafening roar of "ROI! ROI!", he leaned close to Parker's ear and said, "You're buying the aesthetics of football for the next ten years."

In the 34th minute, Roy received a short pass from Bernardi near the right sideline.

Facing Jabe's defense, he suddenly flicked the ball towards the baseline with the inside of his right foot, and then made a powerful breakthrough.

Jabe pressed closely, his right hand gripping the hem of Roy's jersey tightly.

Just before the ball went out of bounds, Roy used the outside of his right foot to cut it back, causing Jabe to stumble, but his fingers still clung to his jersey.

Roy faked out Jabe and drove into the paint.

Facing Koulibaly's cover, Roy used two quick stepovers in quick succession, then suddenly poked the ball into the six-yard box with his left foot, breaking free from the double-team.

With a very tight angle, he unleashed a powerful shot with the instep of his right foot before Buck could block him, and the ball flew into the back of the net through the narrow gap between the near post and the goalkeeper.

This time, Roy finally smiled, tugging at the collar of his jersey as he ran back.

The entire Stade Louis II erupted in cheers. Monaco die-hards in the North Stand waved red and white scarves, their shouts nearly lifting the roof off.

In the VIP section of the stands, several Russian tycoons dressed in designer brands stood up and clapped and hugged with their female companions adorned with diamond jewelry.

Behind the advertising boards on the sidelines, a group of young female fans screamed wildly, and two of them even cried with excitement.

Roy just smiled slightly, tugged at his torn collar, and jogged back to his half of the field.

In the VIP box, Mark Parker slowly put down his binoculars and tapped his pen lightly on his notebook: "Number 10. Technique 9 points, as precise as a young Van Basten; calmness 10 points, as composed as Maldini."

He glanced up at the screaming female fans on the sidelines, a slight smile playing on his lips: "As for market potential... off the charts. This kid has Cantona's arrogance in his eyes, but he also has a face that drives women crazy."

Mark Parker's gaze swept across the bustling crowd outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. This was directly opposite the season ticket area, where seats were priced higher than traditional tickets.

Several impeccably made-up girls were standing on tiptoe and screaming. They wore shimmering lip gloss and Monaco scarves, but they probably didn't even know the offside rule. Further away, several young women dressed in designer clothes were filming with DV cameras. One of them was even wearing high heels, as if she had just come directly from a boutique in Monte Carlo to watch the game.

“Interesting,” Parker noted in his notebook, “Number 10 doesn’t attract ordinary fans.”

He noticed that a blonde girl was even carrying a copy of Vogue magazine, with the cover featuring Roy's photo from the previous week.

These viewers may not be able to distinguish between 442 and 4231 formations, but they will buy tickets, jerseys, and all kinds of merchandise with his image on them for this boy—this kind of cross-industry appeal is exactly what Nike values ​​most.

He turned to look at the enthusiastic female fans on the sidelines and added, "This attraction transcends mere football."

This appeal that transcends fashion and football reminds Parker of Beckham, who was poached by his old rival. The commercial value of that Englishman still makes Nike executives regretful.

Second half: In the 58th minute, Rothen broke through on the left and crossed the ball, and Giuly finished at the far post with a close-range shot to make it 3-0.

In the 72nd minute, Morientes received a long pass from Givet and headed the ball past Buck to make it 4-0.

Deschamps decided to replace Rothen with Ribery and Roy with Adebayor.

In the 78th minute, the fourth official raised the electronic substitution board – Adebayor was doing his final stretches on the sidelines, preparing to replace Roy.

Roy walked slowly to the sidelines, first raising his right hand slightly towards the main stands.

When he reached the vicinity of the center line, he suddenly raised his hands above his head and patted them lightly twice.

This casual gesture instantly ignited the entire Stade Louis II, with die-hard fans in the North Stand chanting "ROI! ROI!" in unison, the sound so loud that the glass of the VIP boxes trembled slightly.

Mark Parker watched all of this from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP box.

He noticed that as Roy left the field, the Puma logo on the advertising board was flashing right across the field.

(Monaco's sponsor is Puma)
What concerned Parker even more was that the young female fans who had been filming with DV cameras put down their equipment and expressed their love for the young star with the most primal applause and shouts.

As Roy walked to the bench, Deschamps quietly jotted something down in his notebook.

Monaco's substitutes spontaneously stood up, and even the usually serious coaching staff members showed rare smiles, all coming up to him for high-fives.

Parker's gaze never left the 19-year-old until he completely disappeared into the shadows of the players' tunnel.

He seems to possess a special charm that captivates the entire stadium.

In the final stages of the match, Lens were unable to mount a comeback, and the score remained unchanged until the final whistle.

Mark Parker stood in his penthouse suite at the Grand Paris Hotel in Monaco, his fingers lightly tapping on the glass of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window, the lights of yachts in Monte Carlo Harbour shimmered in the night, and the waves gently lapped against the breakwater in the distance.

Mark Parker put down his phone and took a deep breath.

He had just spoken with Nike founder Phil Knight on the phone, briefing him on the risky terms of the contract.

“Janet,” Parker turned to the legal director, “we need to adjust the prize money structure. 70% of the fees should be linked to the competition results.”

"The base sponsorship fee needs to be increased, and the individual performance bonus needs to be significantly increased."

Janet frowned: "Does this mean that if Monaco is eliminated early, we might only need to pay six or seven hundred thousand euros?"

“That’s right,” Parker nodded, “but it also shows how much Roy’s team has confidence in their players. They believe that even if the team loses, Roy’s individual performance is worth the price.”

A moment of silence fell over the suite.

Parker walked to the window and looked out at Monte Carlo's famous casino.

"What did Phil say?" Janet asked cautiously.

Parker turned around, a slight smile playing on his lips: "He said, just treat this like playing cards in Monte Carlo."

He paused for a moment, then said, "implying we can take a gamble."

Janet scribbled quickly, the keyboard clicking away on her laptop.

“However,” Parker added, “if Roy can maintain that level of performance, we’ll have to offer him a substantial reward. Otherwise, we can forget about signing him again.”

He walked back to the table, picked up the draft contract: "Add another clause to the individual awards section: if Roy wins the Champions League Golden Boot, he will receive an additional 100 million euros even if the team doesn't make it to the quarterfinals."

Janet looked up: "Isn't this too risky?"

Parker shook his head: "Since it's a gamble, we have to play it smartly. Roy dared to propose such terms, so we dare to accept. However..."

His eyes sharpened. "Other brands should have stricter restrictions."

"Okay, write this draft contract down."

Without turning his head, Parker spoke to the general counsel behind him, his voice carrying an unquestionable resolve.

He turned around, placed the draft letter on the conference table, and began to dictate it point by point:

"The two matches in the round of 16 will each have a base sponsorship fee of €180,000. There will be a bonus of €50,000 for each goal and €20,000 for each assist. If the team advances, an additional bonus of €300,000 will be paid."

General Counsel Janet Clark's fingers flew across the keyboard, glancing up every now and then to confirm details. Parker continued:
"A base fee of 25 euros per match in the quarterfinals. 35 euros in the semifinals, and a minimum of 80 euros in the final. The champion will receive an additional 150 million euros."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Oh, and there are individual awards: Golden Boot $100 million, All-Star Team $50."

Tom from the marketing department couldn't help but interject, "This price..."

Parker raised his hand to interrupt him: "This isn't about buying players, it's about buying a phenomenon."

He turned to Janet, “Brand binding terms: you must wear our Mercurial Vapor special edition, with a custom colorway. The sock logo must be clearly visible.”

(FIFA equipment regulations and UEFA Champions League rules stipulate that all players on the field for the same team must wear jerseys and shorts with the same brand logo, but socks can be signed with different brands, provided that the event organizers are notified in advance.)
While taking notes, Janet asked, "What about portrait rights?"

“Each time his image is used for Champions League promotion, he is paid 2 euros per piece.”

Ronaldo's Champions League-related promotional fees are €1.5-€1.8 per event, including a package price of 60 guaranteed events per year, with the actual price per event being approximately €1.2.

Parker walked to the bar, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and said, "After the game, I'll be doing a 20-minute brand photoshoot, focusing on close-ups of the sneakers. I'll be attending the French flagship store event at least three times, each time for 8 euros."

A legal department intern muttered under his breath, "This is even worse than the terms for most of our top-tier athletes."

"He's a top-tier player."

Parker's sharp gaze immediately silenced the intern.

He put down his glass: "Here's the key point: if we make it to the finals, we need to secure priority in negotiations."

"Just write it like this."

Parker stated unequivocally, "Risk hedging clause: If we don't reach the quarterfinals, the contract terminates, and we only pay for the games we've already played. If I get injured, 50% of the amount goes to medical sponsorship. And that's all."

He emphasized, "During the contract period, contact with Adidas and Puma is prohibited, and the penalty for breach of contract is 300 million."

The room was silent except for the sound of typing on the keyboard.

"The total estimated value should be clearly stated: minimum 36, expected 480 million, maximum 680 million."

Parker walked to the window and looked out over Monte Carlo Bay: “Tell the finance department that this is not an expenditure, it is an investment in the next ten years.”

He slowly uttered the last two words, his voice resounding in the suite, as if putting an end to this high-stakes gamble.

"After tax"

“Six million eight hundred thousand euros,” Janet repeated the figure softly, her fingers unconsciously tracing the last page of the contract. “That’s equivalent to our entire annual budget for our youth training base in Brazil.”

Parker added another ice cube to the whiskey, which floated in the amber liquid.

Do you know what the most expensive lottery prize was in 2003?

He suddenly asked, "The Spanish Christmas lottery, three million euros."

"And the lottery ticket we have can be redeemed for a maximum of 6.8 million."

“If Roy can really pay the full amount,” his voice suddenly became very soft, “that means…”

Janet picked up where he left off: "That means he'll score more than 12 Champions League goals in a single season, lead his team to the final, and win both the Golden Boot and the All-Star Team."

She pondered with a puzzled look: "Who was the last player to do this?"

Parker replied, "No one."

As of 2003, no player had ever achieved all four accomplishments in a single Champions League season: scoring 12+ goals, leading their team to the final, winning the Golden Boot, and being named to the All-Star Team.

Van Nistelrooy scored 12 goals in the 2002-03 season, but Manchester United were eliminated in the quarterfinals.

In the 1999-2000 season, Raul scored 10 goals, including in the final, tying Jardel and Rivaldo for 10 goals each. Raul was ultimately credited as the "actual Golden Boot" because of his goal in the final.

George Weah scored 7 goals in the 1994-95 season.

Parker recalled Phil Knight's final words of advice on the phone: "Remember, the most expensive thing isn't the lottery ticket itself, but the cost of missing the winning numbers."

“Bold and highlight the after-tax clauses.”

“If this kid can really pay the full amount,” his gaze swept over the astronomical figures on the contract, “then it won’t be that we gave him six million eight hundred thousand, but that he gave Nike a legend worth six hundred and eighty million.”

------------

Abramovich's potential €2 million spending spree in transfers has shaken the Premier League, with Manchester United joining forces with Real Madrid to push for a G14 salary cap in response. Chelsea's attempts to poach Raul and Carlos from Real Madrid have been met with resistance, and the G14 collectively block Russian investment, igniting a capital-driven battle in European football.

—The Sun

A 16-year-old boy named Lionel Messi has quietly entered the sights of Barcelona's first team. In a recent friendly match between Barcelona and Porto, the young Argentine player threatened the goal twice in just 14 minutes, impressing coach Frank Rijkaard: "His performance is amazing, his talent is beyond doubt, and he will definitely become a top professional player in the future."

Messi's journey at Barcelona began in 2000. At that time, a 13-year-old boy, only 1.4 meters tall, joined La Masia from Newell's Old Boys. Initially, he didn't attract much attention from the management, but after intensive training, his growth was astonishing—starting from the third-tier A team, he quickly rose to the second-tier B team thanks to his amazing talent, and then advanced to the second-tier A team. Now, he is the most dazzling rising star in Barcelona's youth academy. He scored a staggering 38 goals in 31 games in 2003, and has already netted 15 goals for the youth team this season. Technical director Rexach asserted: "Within two years, he will be in the starting lineup, and he will definitely become a world-class superstar in the future."

Now, Messi is about to go down in history as the third youngest professional player in Barcelona's history, second only to legendary striker Alcantara (who made his debut at 15 years and 4 months) and Nigerian star Babangida.

Messi is currently processing his paperwork to join Barcelona's first team.

Messi openly stated that his dream is to join the Argentine national team: "I am Argentine. My dream is to win in my homeland."

— Mundo Deportivo

2004年欧洲杯16强夺冠赔率出炉，法国队以30赔100高居榜首，成最大热门。传统劲旅意大利(2赔11)和东道主葡萄牙(1赔6)紧随其后。

第二梯队中，荷兰、英格兰、西班牙三强同以1赔7并列。捷克1赔9、德国1赔14分列其后。北欧双雄丹麦和瑞典同为1赔25。

黑马候选方面，希腊1赔50，保加利亚等四队1赔66。首次入围的拉脱维亚1赔200垫底，成为最不被看好的球队。

—William Hill (UK betting company)

Ferguson praised Chinese rising star Dong Fangzhuo: "He has the potential to be a world-class striker. He is fast, technically skilled, and has a strong desire to attack."

The transfer is expected to be completed soon.

— Manchester Evening News

(End of this chapter)