"Robinho! Goal!!"
"Continuous dribbling disrupted AC Milan's defense, and in the chaos, Raul poked the ball in!"
"However, this goal can't change the situation; very little ti remains!"
The Spanish comntator's face was gloomy.
Though they scored, it was already stoppage ti, barely enough to save face but impossible to turn the tide.
Could there be even one more minute left?
Bang!
After Suker kicked off again, the referee decisively blew the full-ti whistle.
In the 2007/2008 Champions League Round of 16 first leg, Real Madrid lost 1:2 to AC Milan.
Once again, they may fall at the Round of 16.
This saddened the Real Madrid fans.
Four years in a row!
No progress for four years.
What was the point of those transfer moves?
They lacked the crucial factor!
In this match, Real Madrid seed incapable of shooting well.
Though Robinho kept dribbling and breaking through, his finishing was terrible.
Raul's form and performance clearly showed he was on the decline.
After Ronaldo, Zidane, Beckham, and others left, Raul too was heading downhill.
The once "King of Madrid" was no longer able to carry the team forward.
This left the Real fans deeply sorrowful.
Losing at ho was especially painful.
Who wants to watch their ho team lose right before their eyes?
Still, no matter how tough it was, they needed to gather strength for the next leg.
On AC Milan's side, after the victory, everyone was celebrating.
Pato jumped up and down excitedly.
"Victory! We won!"
"Victory! We won!"
He celebrated indiscriminately—even with Real Madrid players nearby, he started showing off.
"Bastard!"
Pepe cursed angrily and stomped toward Pato.
Nesta, Suker, and others quickly reacted.
They stood directly in front of Pato.
Nesta was about to step forward, but Suker held him back.
"Wait!"
Sure enough, Raul, Casillas, and others pulled Pepe away and dragged him into the locker room.
On the way, Pepe kept shouting curses and pointed at Pato with a "duel challenge."
Pato shrank back.
"Only an idiot would fight—you'd get suspended."
Pato muttered quietly.
"Coward then! Stop making excuses!"
"I'm not scared!"
Pato stuck his neck out defiantly.
Suker stepped aside.
"Then go and fight him one-on-one."
Pato was speechless.
"Enough! Don't tease him," Nesta waved a hand and said with a sidelong glance, "Coward!"
"I heard that!" Pato shouted, "I said I'm not scared!"
Suker: "Then go fight!"
Pato: "I'd get suspended!"
"Don't be afraid. I'll plead for you, go fight!"
"N-no, I won't!"
"Chickened out?"
"I didn't!"
They bickered all the way back to the locker room.
Pato still resented the incident.
"I wasn't scared! If that damn bald guy dared to co over, I'd have beaten him."
Suker rolled his eyes.
Anyone can be brave in hindsight.
At the ti, Pato was hiding behind Nesta, clearly scared.
"Alright, stop fooling around. We played well this match."
Ancelotti started the post-match summary.
That evening, they flew back to Milan together.
When the plane landed and they took the bus to the training base, Ancelotti's phone vibrated.
He glanced briefly and then widened his eyes.
Later that night in Ancelotti's office, after sending all players away, he sat alone watching a match replay.
The first leg of the Champions League Round of 16: Barcelona 6:0 Inter Milan.
Ancelotti knew Inter's level well.
Though AC Milan usually topped them in the league, Inter would never lose so badly.
They conceded six goals!
Although Italian football styles were sowhat countered by Spanish tactics, such a huge score gap shouldn't happen.
Inter was the Serie A leader!
They were slaughtered at the Camp Nou!
Ancelotti needed to understand how Barcelona did it!
He spent the entire night focusing intently on the screen.
As the match progressed, his expression grew increasingly grim.
"This team… don't they care about defense?"
Ancelotti whispered.
"What the hell? You got slaughtered!"
Suker grabbed his phone and called Šerňa.
He knew Barcelona had entered the Guardiola era, but to crush Inter at ho like this was beyond expectation.
This current Barcelona still had so flaws—not yet the "Dream Trio" era.
Though strong, they still needed ti to gel.
But the fact was, Inter got slaughtered.
"No choice. Our situation's bad. Our captain's injured, Maicon's got a cold, Cambiasso's got stomach issues, and Figo and Vieira are still injured." Šerňa sighed.
An awful injury crisis!
That explained a lot.
The style matchup made sense: Serie A's dense defense worked well against England and Germany but was powerless against Spain's sharp style.
Especially against Barcelona's top-tier possession football!
"And that No.19, Leo ssi—his dribbling's a nightmare!" Šrňa's voice trembled. "He dribbled past like I was air."
"You got destroyed?" Suker asked.
Šrňa: "Destroyed? It felt like I wasn't even defending. I was just decoration."
After a pause, Šerňa added, "His dribbling's even more threatening than yours."
Suker nodded.
Because it was ssi—
A guy so angry he dribbles past the whole team.
His dribbling and breakthroughs are among history's best.
"How many goals did he score?" Suker asked.
"Sa as you," Šerňa replied quietly, "A hat trick."
Suker grinned.
Three goals?
That confird ssi was already the offensive core.
They thought wearing No.19 ant Guardiola hadn't handed him the attacking core role yet.
But no—ssi was the core now.
Probably after sumr, once Ronaldinho leaves, the No.10 shirt would be his.
"Do you think we can beat them?" Suker asked the crucial question.
Šrňa was silent for a long ti, then said, "If this was peak Milan, with your strength up front, maybe. But now? It's extrely difficult."
Though Šrňa spoke softly, Suker understood well—
Dense defense ant nothing against Barcelona!
At that ti, Thierry Henry, Samuel Eto'o, ssi, Xavi, Iniesta, Yaya Touré—
"What the hell! What kind of lineup is this?"
Suker's scalp tingled as he spoke.
The King of the Emirates, Henry.
The African Cheetah, Eto'o.
Midfield maestro Xavi.
The Little Magician, Iniesta.
The ultimate box-to-box, Yaya Touré.
And a future king, ssi!
Every player was absurdly dangerous individually, and together they were terrifying.
How could AC Milan's defense withstand that?
Suker scratched his head again and again.
Now, he just hoped not to face Barcelona in the Champions League.
If they t, Milan would be scraped bare—no chance at all!
Better if Barcelona and Manchester United clash hard first,
Injure so key players, damage the lineup, then Milan could sneak by.
Suker dread big!
But if they wanted to win, only one chance existed:
Either a crippled Manchester United,
Or a battered Barcelona.
Otherwise, if eting them early, Milan would be skinned alive.
The next day, Ancelotti announced a one-day rest for the team.
The break ca suddenly—Suker had been preparing for training when the notice arrived.
Still, Suker didn't mind; rest was good.
It would give the Milan veterans ti to recover.
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