[Football] Anti-system

"What's wrong? You still look disgusted when you snatched my fish and chips?"

Beckham used a fork to fork away a piece of French fries, sticking to the ketchup, making him feel suffocated and all mashed into a ball.

"Are you an undercover agent or a spy?" The kind sent by the system.

Scorpius looked at Beckham full of resentment, he shouldn't have promised Beckham to eat this meal.

He should have stayed at the base for training.

He shouldn't be greedy for the beautiful body of French fries, he's a scumbag.

He didn't dare to dislike the chubby figure of the ball, he deserved it.

He now seriously suspects that Beckham is a spy or something.Otherwise, why did the system want him to kick the full moon scimitar?

"I'm actually zero zero seven."

David Beckham shrugged, found a box of Pocky (Pocky was sold in Europe and changed its name to Mikado) from somewhere and handed it to Scorpius: "Seriously, have you considered moving to Manchester United? ?”

Pocky is one of Scorpius' favorite snacks, he quickly opened the bag and took out a Pocky stick.

Picking up the matchbox I carried with me, struck a match and lit the end of the pocky stick with fire, and then held it in my mouth like a cigarette.

The sparkler on the match was extinguished and thrown into the trash can.

Two slender fingers clamped the Pocky stick, and the other hand put the matchbox back into the pocket of the casual suit.

...maybe geniuses have some quirks.

In short, Beckham knows that this is Scorpius's long-standing habit. He never smokes, but he will eat pocky like a cigarette.

"I've only been at Chelsea for a month."

Biting off the icing on the top, Scorpius gave him a disgusted look: "Don't think that a box of Pocky can buy me off, if you want to use me to contact Sir Alex Ferguson, don't dream about it as soon as possible."

Although he was so angry at the "boots door" that he left Manchester United and joined Real Madrid, he knew that Beckham still missed his old club.His first choice to leave Real Madrid was not LA Galaxy, but Manchester United.

Sir Alex Ferguson is his mentor, no matter what, he doesn't want to really get into such a situation with him.

Scorpius does not have an agent.

When necessary, his agent is his mother's agent. Orianna has a lot of resources in her hands, and she doesn't want a second person to interfere with her son's future.Since Scorpius was born, she has drawn a blueprint for his future.

Even if something goes wrong and Scorpius switches careers to a football player, she has the means to network for him.

For example, Beckham in front of him.

Scorpius knew without thinking that Beckham would be more than happy to hook him up for Manchester United.

He even personally said that he hoped that Scorpius would show some bright performances soon, and England needed him.

But Scorpius doesn't want to play too much, he just wants to be a salty fish.

It's good to be alive.

"Manchester United suits you better."

Beckham frowned: "Your mother also definitely prefers Manchester United. She hopes that you will become a world-renowned star. The current Manchester United can definitely achieve you."

"Let's talk about this kind of thing later."

Scorpius shook his head and didn't care about his words: "The question now is can you hurry up and take me to the barber shop after dinner? I want to get a haircut."

Get a haircut to please his head coach.

Beckham glanced blankly at his soft golden hair that he had just dyed not long ago: "What hairstyle do you want Teacher Tony to change for you? Did your mother agree?"

"She has to agree if she disagrees... Anyway, eat quickly."

Scorpius Westin.

I am 21 years old and graduated from the Fluid Mechanics Department of Oxford University.

Active Chelsea football player, height 185, weight 160 pounds, back number 21.

On the night when he intentionally provoked the head coach, he shaved off his soft short hair, with a stubble that was very close to the bald head, and was sent home amidst Beckham's non-stop laughter: "I will pick you up tomorrow morning." You go to training camp."

Unable to bear to stare at the hair, Beckham reversed the car and left the mansion in West London quickly.

Scorpius bit Pocky and snorted softly. He turned around and pressed a series of numbers to open the door.

Plastic bags of junk food and small toys and pocky's were on the table, and he turned on the light.

The mansion with a total of thousands of square meters was empty, not even a nanny, a security guard, or a chef.

The reason why Beckham didn't stay was not only because he had to rush home, but also because Scorpius always liked to be alone.

Going to the kitchen to squeeze a glass of vegetable juice for himself, Scorpius took off his simple casual suit and put on sportswear, went down to the basement with the green liquid, and turned on all the lights in the basement.

If someone stands here and sees what the basement looks like, he will feel that he is really a lunatic—the basement has been completely opened up, and it is a huge artificial fur field.

There are densely packed machines in the corners and walls that don't know what they are used for.

The walls are covered with sponges equipped with pressure sensors, connected to a computer in the corner.

Scorpius put the vegetable juice on the table and checked the weather and wind speed in West London tomorrow with a computer.

He opened the program he had already written and entered the minimum wind speed.

The huge fan in the basement started working like this.

The wind didn't make much of an impact, it was just to allow him to better simulate the real conditions of the course.

Next, he found a container labeled "Chelsea Training Ball" among a pile of bucket nets with various labels, and took out a football from it.

Holding the ball in place on the huge, marked pitch, Scorpius put the ball at his feet, took a deep breath and took a few steps back.

Then he made a small run-up, twisted his whole body in front of the ball as much as possible, and touched the ball sideways with the inside of his instep at a position almost at a zero-degree angle to the ball.

The inside of the foot wraps the ball forward, allowing the ball to roll across the inside of the foot creating arc and power.

Then, the ball whizzed up a certain arc, then suddenly began to fall, and then hit the wall heavily.

The angle of the ball falling was not bad, and Scorpius was satisfied with the first trial.

He imported the video from the camera in the corner to the computer, established an equation using time and displacement, brought it into the mathematical model he had already built and calculated it, and had a rough idea of ​​the strength and angle of his next shot. designated.

Then he stood up, retrieved the ball and tried it again.

And again, and again, until the spot where he hit the ball landed steadily on a fixed spot on the wall.

He sat down and readjusted the wind speed, and then adjusted his posture again.

The time icon in the lower right corner of the screen has been increasing since ten o'clock, and after he has determined the strength and angle of the kick with the highest wind speed, the time has changed to twelve o'clock.

Scorpius drank the glass of vegetable juice blankly, went back to the kitchen to warm up a glass of milk and took a bottle of sports drink.

He adjusted the wind speed to a compromise speed, and began to adjust the position of the shot.

Practice, calculate, adjust, keep practicing.

This cycle goes on and on until he thinks that the state has no problem at all.

Scorpius turned off the power in the basement and went upstairs while sipping his sports drink.

Sweaty white tracksuits go straight into the recycling bin.

The hour hand on the watch is pointing to 2.

After thinking for a moment, he also threw the junk food into the trash can.

Then he took out an orange transparent box from the bedside table, poured out two sleeping pills from it, and swallowed them with cold water.

His purple eyes flashed, and he carried his pajamas into the bathroom.

A hot bath with a massage function has relaxed all the muscles in his body, and he thinks he should be able to sleep well tonight.

At least, Chelsea's next English League game is still the day after tomorrow.

When I woke up in the morning, the room was groggy.

The electronic watch blinked at five forty-seven.

Scorpius tried to close his eyes again but couldn't fall asleep.

Sighing helplessly, he sat up from the bed and dug out a set of sportswear and went down to the basement.

Until 07:30, he came out of the basement to take a shower, simply picked out a casual suit, squeezed himself a glass of fruit juice and sat on the sofa to wait.

Beckham quickly arrived at the scene with a bag of rusks.

Pressing him down, he drank another glass of milk and ate all the buns, then stuffed him into his car: "Cheer up."

Scorpius fastened his seat belt and looked at him with some doubts: "When will you return to Real Madrid?"

"Capello didn't let me play again, and he didn't even let me in the squad this time."

Beckham shrugged his shoulders pretending to be relaxed and smiled: "So I asked for two days off. If you can play, you will probably go back after Chelsea's game this time."

He never dared to look at Scorpius while he was speaking.

He was afraid that he would laugh out loud at the sight of his hair.

Reddish ballast.

Inch has always tested a person's appearance.

It's not that Beckham thinks Scorpius looks like an ugly little monster with his head shaved.

He is Orianna's son, his eyebrows and eyes are very similar to her, and his appearance has been too delicate since the childhood days.

He is called the little prince of Northern Ireland by the media not because he is really a prince, but because of the huge influence of his parents in the country, his outstanding appearance and the exposure that accompanied him from birth.

Scorpius is very popular in China, and people even compare him with the two princes of the royal family from time to time.

But people clearly prefer Scorpius.

He is a "good boy" in the eyes of the people across the country. He doesn't smoke, drink, mess around and have no scandals. He has been studying in prestigious schools since he was a child until he graduated from Oxford, with excellent grades.

Those bright purple eyes are a charming gem, and his acting and ball skills have always been talked about by people.

Frankly speaking, he is excellent.

Beckham actually hopes that his Brooklyn can grow into a little guy like Scorpius in his heart.

Of course his damn disdain to communicate with people has to be excluded.

I'm used to Scorpius' dyed blond hair, now it's really awkward to see him shaved.

Until now, Beckham couldn't figure out why he shaved his hair short.

Scorpius glanced at him, raised his hand meaningfully and patted him on the shoulder: "He will let you play, I promise."

"Stinky brat."

Beckham waved his hand away in disgust, curled his fingers and gave him a shudder: "You are not the roundworm in Capello's stomach."

Jose Mourinho sits in his office reviewing some cumbersome paperwork to be submitted to the FA.

The assistant had already organized everything for him, and he only needed to check it out.

There was a sudden knock on the door at this moment.

Mourinho didn't look up, he thought it was an assistant who came to get the documents: "Come in, wait a minute, I haven't read all of them..."

"boss."

Scorpius calmly opened the door and stood in front of the office door, touching the tip of his nose in embarrassment: "I'll come..."

Scorpius' move really surprised Mourinho, not only did he come to find himself but also his shaved bald head.

He raised his eyebrows and asked very naturally: "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to apologize, boss."

Scorpius took two steps forward with a sincere look: "What I said yesterday was really ill-considered. Last night I thought about my performance on the court yesterday. It was indeed because of Drogba's help. To score those three goals."

"Sorry coach, I couldn't be happier to score three goals."

He had a good attitude, hanging his head with a look of chagrin and embarrassment.Under the light, those purple eyes showed a fascinating purple color, which really made people feel uneasy.

Mourinho raised his eyebrows, and first asked a seemingly irrelevant question: "Why did you shave your hair?"

"Because you always shave your head as a sign of determination, cut it off, and win a game."

Scorpius looked him straight in the eyes: "Let me play, boss. I'll bring you victory."

In many cases, winning or losing is not determined by one or two people.

There are many unpredictable factors on the court.

The player's state at this second, the coach's tactics, the field, the boos of the fans, all seemingly small factors may eventually become the wings of a butterfly and affect the outcome of the game.

Football is round, and no one dares to be 100% sure of the outcome of a game until it is really over.

Mourinho raised his eyebrows, feeling that the young player in front of him didn't really realize his mistake: he was too confident.

He is so confident that he thinks he can definitely win, and there is nothing wrong with that.

But he overestimated his own role and ability too much.

He can't bring victory to Mourinho, he can only bring victory to him if he cooperates with his teammates.

Mourinho has always admired tactical cooperation, so one or two outstanding superstars can only shine on his tactical board.

Players should not only think about their own performance, the important thing is to win.It doesn't matter how fancy or "beautiful" a game is, what matters is the trophy.

"Why do you think I'll let you play?"

Mourinho puzzled: "I have Didier Drogba, the best striker in the world, even if Robben is injured, I still have Shevchenko. So why do you think I need you to bring me a game?" victory?"

His tactics, his team are enough to bring him victory after game, and he doesn't need anyone else to show off his skills in front of his eyes.