Chapter 320: Chapter 267: Winning is Everything

Before the match, some media outlets joked that Italy was playing an 8-0-2 formation: eight men on defense with two forwards wandering up front, relying entirely on Vieri’s individual skill to score.

But with no one in the midfield to feed them the ball, the wings couldn’t get any attacks going either.

The stubborn Trapattoni was also unwilling to change the formation.

These were all weaknesses of the Italy Team, but their lineup was so star-studded that these so-called flaws were perhaps just nitpicking, minor imperfections at best.

In this match, however, their star-studded lineup had been completely unable to break through Scolari’s wild 5-4-1 formation.

Baggio had the ball up front. When Italy attacked, their midfield didn’t push forward enough, creating a disconnect between them and the strikers. This made Baggio feel like Batty—he’d look up and see nothing but Brazil Team players in front of him.

He’d pull the ball back and change direction, beating a defender in one fluid motion, but the next moment, even more players would rush at him.

After dribbling the ball for nearly twenty meters, Baggio once again fell just outside the penalty area, unwilling to accept it.

He angrily slammed his fist on the turf. The little time remaining felt like a death warrant, making Baggio extremely agitated.

’This is the final! It’s the last match of my career. I’ve been preparing for this very game for two whole years.’

’I can still play! I should be able to score!’

Baggio got up. The Brazil Team, with a one-goal lead, began passing the ball back and forth.

Totti chased back and forth, looking as wretched as a clown being toyed with, but he didn’t give up. He just ran his heart out.

If everyone had been complacent during the group stage, thinking their star-studded lineup could casually stroll into the final and win the championship, that mentality was gone. After nearly finishing second in their group and then stumbling their way to the final, everyone had become serious and more united.

If they hadn’t been united, they might not have made it this far.

No one was slacking off anymore. They started fighting hard for every ball. Even Vieri, who usually drifted up front, began actively tracking back to help with defense.

At that moment, Baggio was suddenly in a bit of a daze.

’When I was complaining about how unfair fate was and why I couldn’t score, shouldn’t I have considered if I was being too obsessed?’

’That’s right. This was how I envisioned it: in the last match of my career, I would save Italy like a hero, then wave goodbye and walk off this green pitch with flair, leaving behind an eternal legend.’

But at this moment, Baggio suddenly realized that in thinking this way, he had placed himself above the National Team.

When he missed that penalty in ’94 and all of Italy blamed him, he didn’t wallow in self-pity. He kept moving forward because he wanted to give an answer to the fans who supported him.

So for this match, whether he could score or have a perfect send-off wasn’t important at all. What mattered was winning. What mattered were the Italian fans in the stands and the countless others watching him, hoping for him, in front of their TVs.

’Victory is everything!’

Baggio screamed inwardly. At that moment, his heart suddenly grew calm.

He turned and ran into his own half, received the ball, and then, unlike in the first seventy minutes, he didn’t just charge forward with his head down. He started to control the tempo, to observe the situation on the field and his teammates’ positions. He began to shout to his teammates, constantly using hand signals to direct them.

’I’m the one wearing number 10!’

’I’m not a lone hero. I’m the core of the team, meant to lead them to victory.’

A pass, a return pass, a sudden burst of speed—the football seemed glued to his feet as it moved with Baggio’s every leap.

’They call me an artist on the pitch. Well then, let them watch my final dance!’

Brazil’s dense defensive line was pulled apart and torn open by Baggio’s breakthroughs.

Before the match, Scolari had made it clear that their defensive focus was Baggio.

Even though Baggio was 35, had suffered so many injuries, and was essentially playing on one and a half legs, he was still Baggio. On the strength of that name alone, no one could ignore him.

This time, however, Baggio didn’t just charge ahead blindly. He suddenly looked up and passed the ball.

The ball flew over the heads of the Brazilian players, landing precisely in front of Vieri.

Even Vieri, receiving the pass, was surprised by how perfect it was. He instantly took off, knocked the ball forward, and used his physical advantage to burst past Lucio and into the penalty area.

The solid bus parked in front of the goal had, at this moment, opened its doors.

Vieri unleashed a furious shot. The ball grazed the post as it flew by, drawing gasps of terrified relief from countless Brazil fans in the stands.

Vieri was so annoyed he wanted to punch himself, but when he turned his head, he saw Baggio clapping for him, cheering him on.

On his raised arm, the captain’s armband was especially conspicuous.

Before this match, Totti had given up the number 10 jersey, and Maldini had given up his captain’s armband.

Everyone was silently giving Baggio a proper send-off.

Vieri nodded forcefully and sprinted back to defend.

On the sidelines, Scolari, whose tension had eased after his team scored, slowly began to frown again.

Scolari suddenly realized that the Italy Team’s attack was starting to show layers.

For the first seventy minutes, Italy had only known their three old tricks: defend and counterattack. It was a strategy that every team had already studied thoroughly.

But now, Italy was actually starting to show some new moves.

Methodically, from defense in the back to offense up front, they advanced layer by layer, unhurried, with tactics and depth.

Scolari’s gaze locked onto Baggio.

He was passing the ball, constantly using his individual skill to draw in defenders and create opportunities for his teammates.

Under his direction, Italy began to constantly threaten the Brazil Team’s goal.

A corner kick. Vieri threw his head at it blindly and nearly scored.

Baggio charged up the right flank with the ball, beat two men, and fired off a sudden cross. Vieri followed up with a furious shot, which Marcos saved with a flying dive.

Scolari suddenly felt a pang of panic. Although Italy hadn’t scored yet, this style of play was far too threatening.

"Just hold on."

Scolari clenched his fists, muttering to himself. If they could just hold on for another ten minutes, Brazil would win.

Time ticked by, second by second.

While all the other Italian players were growing anxious, Baggio remained calm. He controlled the ball, his eyes constantly scanning the field, searching for a defensive loophole.

His gaze sharpened. He’d found it.

While the attention of every Brazilian player was drawn to him and Vieri, Totti was like an assassin hiding in the shadows, waiting for his chance.

As they passed the ball back and forth and Brazil’s defensive line subconsciously pushed forward, Totti made his move.

Baggio, receiving the ball again, passed it in an instant.

A long pass from the right side of the midfield to the left, covering a distance of over thirty meters.

The ball landed precisely in front of Totti.

Roc Junior was a step slow in turning. Totti had already caught up to the ball. There was no time for him to settle it; the whole point was to catch them off guard.

A furious shot aimed at the near post. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Marcos was too slow to react.

Under the gaze of countless eyes, the ball drilled into the net.

GOAL!

In the stands, the Italian fans who had been hanging their heads in despair, heartbroken, erupted like a volcano. They went wild.

In the 86th minute, an assist from Baggio, a shot from Totti, and Italy was finally pulled back from the brink of death.

Chen Yu stared blankly. After scoring, Totti had immediately wheeled around and sprinted toward Baggio, joining everyone else in tackling him to the ground. Chen Yu was a little stunned.

’They actually got the equalizer!’

’What the hell.’

In the 80-something minute, Chen Yu had really thought Brazil was going to win.

"How could this happen?" Beside him, Kaka had already buried his face in his hands in anguish, muttering the words over and over.

He had been all ready to jump up and celebrate at any moment.

On the other side, Lopez also had a pained expression, muttering to himself, "How could it be a draw? I clearly dreamed that we won."

Chen Yu was speechless.

’Perhaps this is the magic of football.’

Also, Chen Yu just remembered something he’d seen before: dreams are the opposite of reality.

No matter how unwilling they were to accept it, the score was now 1-1.

When Colina blew the final whistle, Scolari snapped out of his daze and quickly waved over Lopez and the others to discuss their strategy for overtime.

In the last match, Brazil had eliminated Argentina with a golden goal.

Now, they faced the same situation.

Chen Yu didn’t have time for that. When a dazed Ronaldo returned to the bench, he quickly pulled him over to check his calf.

He pulled off the sock, revealing a rather large bruise.

But it was nothing serious, just a common impact injury.

While massaging his leg to relieve the fatigue, Chen Yu noticed a complex look in Ronaldo’s eyes.

The good thing was, he no longer looked as lost as he did in the last match.

But to be hit with an equalizer again was still quite a blow.

"Still need to pee?" Chen Yu asked suddenly.

Ronaldo stared blankly for a full five seconds before breaking into a grin and shaking his head. "It’s okay, Chen. Just watch. I’ll definitely win this."

Chen Yu nodded. After the last match, Ronaldo’s will had become much stronger.

If it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been able to score that penalty kick.

"Go get ’em." After finishing the massage, Chen Yu patted Ronaldo on the shoulder, signaling for him to go back on the field.

To be honest, with the match having reached this point, Chen Yu felt there would be no regrets regardless of the final result.

Both teams had already given their all.

This time, Scolari made some adjustments, putting on Rivaldo and taking off Ronaldinho.

In a decisive moment like this, he felt Ronaldinho still lacked a bit of experience. Besides, Rivaldo also had some playmaking ability; perhaps he could deliver a good pass and create another miracle.

The players from both teams didn’t have time to think much and hurriedly returned to the field.

In the stands, the fans of both teams seemed to be in a competition of their own, trying to drown each other out with their singing.

Collisions, struggles—Ronaldo was like a giant ship cutting through wind and waves in a stormy sea, relentlessly crashing against Italy’s concrete defense.

Meanwhile, Italy, led by Baggio, constantly tore at the Brazil Team’s parked bus, desperately searching for a chance to score.

So much so that Lopez, next to Chen Yu, couldn’t help but remark with emotion, "I hate to admit it, but Italy in the second half has been really strong."

"Astonishing chain defense, layered and progressive build-up play, a super-strong forward line... they’re balanced in attack and defense, with almost no weaknesses."

"And it all seems to have started when Baggio began to drop back and orchestrate the attack."

"No wonder Platini said Baggio is the best ’number nine and a half’ in the world," Lopez added.

Italy is famous for producing ’number nine and a halfs’, and Baggio is the best of the best among them.

Chen Yu nodded nonchalantly, but his eyes were fixed on the timer. The minutes and seconds ticked by, yet neither team could manage to score.

Italy’s defense remained solid. The likes of Nesta and Maldini were world-class defenders. Brazil’s backline was a little less star-studded, but hard work makes up for a lack of skill, and parking the bus right in front of the goal isn’t so easy to break down.

’Don’t tell me this is going to a penalty shootout!’