The road to godhood starting from Ligue 1 Chapter 138

When Balotelli kicked the ball, and it was still rolling on the ground, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of regular time.

The match went into extra time!

This was the first extra time match of this European Championship.

The TF 1 commentator was a little emotional at this moment, “Extra time at the European Championship! This is France’s most beautiful memory!”

French fans recalled the scene from 12 years ago, at the 2000 European Championship.

In that tournament, France went into extra time twice, and both times they emerged victorious, ultimately becoming champions.

Moreover, France didn’t have to go to a penalty shootout in either of those matches.

In the semi-finals, France faced Portugal, with the score tied 1- 1 after regular time. Zidane scored the winning penalty in extra time, sending France to the final.

Their opponent in the final was precisely tonight’s opponent, Italy.

This was France’s most classic extra time victory.

Again, the score was 1- 1 after regular time. In extra time, Trezeguet scored a “golden goal” to win the match, helping France secure a 2- 1 victory and the championship.

Tonight,

The script seemed to be unfolding like those two matches. Would it be the exact same story?

1- 1 after regular time, and then a French hero steps forward to end the match!

French fans were filled with such anticipation.

But the TF 1 commentator’s words somewhat dampened that expectation, “This goal can be said to be purely Gao’s individual ability. He looked a bit shaky during his breakthrough, but to be able to score at that stage, when his physical strength was declining, it already shows that Gao’s control over the ball has reached its peak.”

“However, we must also understand that for us, reaching a penalty shootout in this match is a victory. France has no one left to use.”

The commentator didn’t specifically explain why they had no one to use.

At least, from being behind to being on the verge of elimination, Blanc showed no intention of bringing on Benzema, which was telling.

Blanc was determined to make a statement.

On the sidelines,

Both head coaches were busy using the break to arrange tactics with their players.

Prandelli, “Mario, you don’t track back in extra time! When you get the ball on the counter-attack, solve the battle your way—even if you try a 30-meter long shot!”

Balotelli nodded. He knew that he was the only one in Italy who still had attacking power.

And he needed to wait for Pirlo to play the ball.

But did Pirlo still have the stamina to shake off his markers and pass the ball?

Blanc, on the other hand, was also thinking of a defensive counter-attacking strategy, “Hold them! I don’t care what methods you use, you must hold them! Even if we lose, we must lose in a penalty shootout…”

As the team talk concluded, and players rehydrated and received massages and stretches from the team doctor.

Blanc walked over to Gao and asked, “Are you still okay?”

Gao was very tired.

But he nodded firmly, “No problem.”

Blanc smiled and patted Gao’s shoulder, “That goal just now was beautiful. From now on, no matter the outcome, you are already the team’s hero, a hero to French fans.”

Gao nodded.

Blanc’s words were a little soft. In fact, he knew that going into extra time was disadvantageous for France.

But,

At least they weren’t directly eliminated, right?

Gao gave France hope, but frustratingly, it was highly likely that no one else could step up to continue that hope.

Would they have to rely on Gao again?

Blanc looked at Gao’s sweat-soaked jersey and the sight of him gasping for air when he came off the field. He felt a pang of pity. Why should the burden of a team fall on a 17-year-old boy?

France had no one left.

France had always championed individual heroes; Fontaine, Platini, Zidane were all like that.

But in this era, there was a void.

No national hero.

A scattered mess, each fighting for themselves.

Blanc sighed as he turned away, for France, and even more so for this era of French football.

Beep!!

The whistle blew, and the first extra time match of the European Championship began!

Neither side made any substitutions.

After ninety minutes of high-intensity play, every player was now running on fumes.

As the match started.

The fans in the stands once again fell into a tense atmosphere, especially the French fans.

After the ecstatic celebration, the score brought them back to reality.

France had only avoided immediate elimination; they hadn’t yet advanced.

“Gao is running out of steam,” Chatham said from the stands, his voice a mix of anticipation and distress, as he cursed Blanc, “Damn Blanc, why is he using Gao so much! At Bastia, I never wanted him to play a full match, for fear of over-exerting him.”

Hajibegic, who was back in Bosnia with his family, shared the same thoughts.

He was watching the match in his living room with his wife and young daughter.

However, his young daughter, Emina, was a Sarajevo fan and wasn’t interested in a distant French team’s match.

Hajibegic didn’t really care either.

But Gao, he cared about him a lot.

So, when he saw Gao’s last few steps before scoring, Hajibegic cheered for Gao, but also worried about his stumbling steps.

He was afraid he would get injured.

Chatham had repeatedly emphasized to him that Gao had suffered two major adductor injuries and urged him to use him sparingly.

But,

Now that he was with the national team, Blanc was being inhumane!

Hajibegic muttered, “Let’s just get eliminated quickly.”

His wife, Lejla Hajibegic, asked with a smile, “Faruk, aren’t you supporting France? Why do you want them to be eliminated now?”

Hajibegic shook his head, “No, I don’t support France. I just support my player, Gao. He’s a great kid, you know. But I don’t want him to be too tired. I’ll need him a lot next season!”

Lejla nodded. She had, of course, heard Gao’s story. She also knew that her husband’s glory last season largely came from Gao.

And because of Gao, the Bosnian national team was now inviting Hajibegic to coach.

They even asked their eldest daughter, Amina, who was currently working in the sports department at the University of Sarajevo, to be a lobbyist.

But Hajibegic refused.

Although Lejla had never played football, having been immersed in it through her husband, she could discern the situation between France and Italy.

She whispered, “You might get your wish. The blue-jerseyed Italians are controlling the rhythm, and the white-jerseyed French have no attack at all. They’re likely to concede.”

Hajibegic naturally understood the situation on the field.

But he knew Gao too well.

As he watched Gao consistently stay forward and roam in front of the opposing defensive line, he knew that it wouldn’t be easy for the Italians to win this match.

However,

On the TV screen, Gao’s reception and sprint with the ball were forced to the sideline by Nocerino, leading to a reluctant back pass.

It wouldn’t be easy for France to win either.

Seeing Italy’s focused defense on Gao.

Hajibegic’s mind turned to how he would arrange his tactics next season to completely unleash Gao.

Thinking about this,

He felt it was a bit tricky. The team’s squad would undergo a major overhaul next season, and he didn’t know what kind of scraps Chatham would throw his way.

Influenced by Yugoslav football, his tactics emphasized high-intensity pressing, ironclad defense, and efficient transitions between attack and defense. Therefore, the offense relied more on fast wing play and the role of a target man.

Bastia’s squad last season was sufficient for Ligue 2, but in Ligue 1, it was a different game altogether.

He watched as Pirlo’s long pass found Balotelli on TV, creating a huge threat to France’s penalty area.

He sighed softly.

He hoped Chatham could find him a usable big center-forward.

Maolida was usable in Ligue 2.

After the season, the club chose not to renew his contract.

They needed a big center-forward!

Hajibegic didn’t expect Chatham to bring him any good midfielders either.

Rothen still had some gas left; he’d make do with him.

Even though he was a bit old.

At least he was once the Ligue 1 assist king.

There was nothing Hajibegic could do about Bastia’s transfers; he had no power and could only wait for the results.

The transfers he knew about so far were Kante and Mané.

Only Mané was somewhat to his liking.

At least he could run.

As for Kante, besides being willing to run, he hadn’t seen anything special about him yet.

“Italy’s free kick! Rami of France fouled Balotelli, the referee didn’t give a yellow card, and the Italians surrounded the referee, knowing Rami already had a yellow card, trying to influence the referee’s decision…”

The commentator’s voice on TV pulled Hajibegic’s thoughts back to the match.

Kyiv Olympic Stadium.

Balotelli pointed to his sock, which now had a hole in it, “See, that’s not a yellow card?”

The referee shook his head, signaling Italy to take the free kick quickly.

Pirlo pushed Balotelli away, telling the others to stop arguing.

Hurry up.

It was already the 103rd minute, and the first half of extra time was nearing its end.

Pirlo didn’t want to drag the game into a penalty shootout.

The French players, meanwhile, took advantage of the brief pause to rest with their hands on their hips.

They were truly exhausted.

Gao stood on the perimeter, waiting for a counter-attacking opportunity, and also resting. He really couldn’t run much anymore.

This match had burned him out.

But seeing Blanc’s stubborn refusal to use Benzema, Menez, and others, he knew he had to fight!

Blanc had done everything a coach could do, so they had to fight to the end too!

The other teammates were positioning themselves in the wall according to Lloris’s instructions.

A set piece in extra time.

Too dangerous!

Pirlo and Motta stood on either side of the ball, covering their mouths as they communicated.

Barzagli and Nocerino stood almost at the center circle; they needed to prevent a French counter-attack.

The rest were near the penalty box line.

Waiting for the kick-off.

Prandelli and Blanc on the sidelines looked very tense. If they could, no one wanted to go into a brutal penalty shootout.

Especially Blanc.

The Italian goalkeeper was Buffon, after all!

Beep!

As the referee blew the whistle, all the fans in the stadium held their breath, staring at Motta and Pirlo.

Soon.

Motta moved, taking a run-up and running straight past the ball.

Then Pirlo struck the ball hard with his right foot, sending it into the penalty area.

At the same time, all the Italian and French players sprang into action, rushing towards the ball.

Giroud, as the tall player, tried to jump, but felt someone pulling his jersey, preventing him from leaping.

Bonucci, however, jumped high and headed the ball.

Whoosh!

The fans in the stadium gasped.

However, Bonucci didn’t hit the ball cleanly. His header was off target, and the ball bounced off his shoulder.

Other players tried to seize the second ball opportunity.

Thump!

Lloris came out, and amidst the crowd, punched the ball out with a single fist!

The ball flew out of the penalty area.

Matuidi reacted first. He had been preparing for a counter-attack and still had decent stamina.

He got to the ball before Marchisio, took a touch forward, and without hesitation, sprinted forward!

Whoosh!

France’s counter-attack!

The fans in the stadium gasped, and the French fans were already on their feet, looking at Matuidi.

On the field, Marchisio immediately rushed towards him, and Motta also came over to defend.

A two-man trap!

“Gao!”

Matuidi knew he would have little chance to break through. He shouted Gao’s name.

Blanc’s words were like a stamp in his mind—if there was no opportunity, give the ball to Gao.

In this situation, Gao was the first person he thought of.

“Dans les pieds!!”

To his feet!

Gao had already been observing the opponent’s movements and quickly moved forward as Matuidi dribbled.

He was just waiting for Matuidi.

Thump!

Matuidi passed the ball horizontally to Gao’s right.

Gao took the ball and sprinted forward.

Barzagli and Nocerino quickly moved towards the right flank.

Marchisio and Motta maintained their speed, continuing to rush back.

Most of the other French players were essentially unable to keep up.

Two against four in the attacking third!

French fans looked at this scene with some helplessness; there was no one!

If there was another pivot in the middle to create space for Gao or provide a passing option…

Unfortunately, there were no ifs.

Gao was still sprinting, but his steps were noticeably slower, and Barzagli was getting closer and closer to him.

Sigh…

French fans looked worried. They didn’t blame Gao for his slow speed; he had given his all for the entire match.

They just thought this counter-attacking opportunity would also be missed…

Whoosh!!

“Gao!!”

Just as French fans thought Gao might be stopped by Barzagli.

Gao suddenly burst into even greater speed the moment Barzagli was about to reach him!

Second acceleration!

Gao gritted his teeth, forcing a second acceleration. He felt the burning in his lungs.

He also felt the pulling sensation in his thigh muscles.

But at this moment,

The goal was his only target!

The surge of adrenaline made him completely forget all discomfort.

He instantly pulled away from Barzagli!

French fans saw hope in that instant and roared, “Gao!”

“Gao!!!”

The atmosphere in the stadium was like water gradually heating up, bubbles rising to the surface, then bursting…

Zidane, Deschamps, Le Graët, and others couldn’t sit still.

Like the fans, they stood up, their eyes fixed on Gao!

Unwilling to look away for even a second.

Mbappe, Kante, Mane… they also followed Gao. At this moment, they all seemed to become Gao.

Their vision involuntarily entered Gao’s eyes.

Run!

Run!

Prandelli felt as if his heart was being squeezed. He roared, “Nocerino!!!”

This was the last defender he had to stop Gao.

Nocerino also saw Gao shake off Barzagli and quickly cut inside.

Nocerino ran in a straight line, confident he could catch Gao!

However,

Gao was still accelerating!!

“Oh my god!! Gao!!! God, what am I seeing! It’s already been over a hundred minutes! Gao is burning himself out!!” The TF 1 commentator’s voice was cracking with excitement!

At this moment in France,

Thousands of breaths were almost simultaneously held, countless noisy pubs fell silent…

Everyone’s eyes followed that sprinting figure!

A full-speed sprint in the 104th minute!

Gasp!

Gasp!!

Gao gasped for air. He felt as if his lungs, his legs, his muscles, everything in him was about to ignite!!

The goal!

The goal!!

Gao’s rapid sprint had already left him somewhat oxygen-deprived. He dribbled by instinct.

He didn’t care about the defenders,

He didn’t care about the goalkeeper,

In his eyes, there was only the goal!

Anyone in the way,

He’d get past them!

A shadow lunged towards him. He instinctively pushed the ball away and then sprinted forward again.

But this time, he couldn’t sprint anymore.

A sharp pain shot through his inner thigh.

As he stepped over that figure, the intense pain prevented him from continuing forward.

He fell.

But, before falling, Gao still stared intently at the empty goal.

As his body lost its balance, he poked the ball with his foot.

The seemingly light ball was now as heavy as a thousand pounds!

Stirring countless emotions!

Swish!

He seemed to hear the sound of the ball rubbing against the net, the most beautiful sound in the world.

He also seemed to smell the fragrance of the grass…

At this moment, the world fell silent.

But in the next moment,

The world exploded!!

Boom!

The violent cheers seemed to lift the entire city of Kyiv, the entire country of Ukraine.

The emotions, voices, and passion of tens of thousands of French fans merged into a nuclear bomb, exploding like a mushroom cloud centered on the Kyiv Olympic Stadium.

Soaring into the sky!!

“Gao!”

“Gao!!!”