My light shines on Arsenal

Chapter 99 An old man named Arsène
"Jamie..."

"Jamie?"

Jamie Redknapp woke up suddenly. He had been staring at his father's bleak figure in a daze, so that he didn't speak for a long time.

Martin Taylor sorted out the information in his hand and looked at Jamie Redknapp with concern.

His commentary partner had been silent for the past few minutes, which made Martin Taylor feel that there was something wrong with the broadcast's commentary arrangement for this game.

Martin Taylor can understand the mood of his partner. Jamie Redknapp was excited in the first half, but he never looked forward to Tottenham's goal.

In the second half, after Arsenal scored, Jamie felt sluggish for a while, but after the two teams started a high-speed transition, as Tottenham had more and more opportunities, Jamie became visibly excited.

This was a mistake, Martin Taylor thought.

Too much emotion has affected Jamie Redknapp's position, he is not like a neutral commentator, but like a Tottenham fan.

But Tottenham were never able to break through Arsenal's goal.

Desire turned to disappointment, and finally, when Koscielny and Szczesny combined for a final block, Jamie Redknapp fell silent like a lost soul.

"Martin..." Jamie spoke, his voice a little dry, "This is Wembley, the game is over, right?"

Martin Taylor nodded, "Yes, Jamie, now you can go wherever you want."

"Thank you."

Jamie Redknapp stood up in a daze, and walked outside the door, "I think, I should go and comfort my father."

……

Arsene Wenger caught Harry Redknapp out of the corner of his eye.

The Tottenham manager, who is about the same age as Wenger, is hunched over and trying to comfort his players.

Tottenham's players were frustrated but Wenger could sense no determination from the likes of Luka Modric and Gareth Bale to get back into the game.

What Wenger saw was separation, the farewell feeling that they did not want to stay in their eyes.

For some reason, Wenger thought of Thierry Henry. After losing the Champions League final that year, did Henry have the same look?

Henry left Arsenal everything he could, but failed to give him what he wanted.

Wenger also thought of Cesc Fabregas and his departure.

There is no question that the manner in which Cesc Fabregas left was a despicable betrayal, a wound that no motive can erase.

But before the betrayal, did Xiaofa also feel sad about failure?
Losers always have to bear the price of failure. Fortunately, this time, I won.

Arsenal's shameful record of six years without a championship came to an end at this moment.

Wenger found that he was not as excited as he imagined, but just felt relaxed.

Yes, after deciding to leave, I finally left a trophy for the team.

He couldn't help laughing at himself, when can an FA Cup champion relieve himself?

Back then, I was soft on the Premier League trophy.

Chen Yao and Pat Rice walked to Wenger's flanks.

They are Wenger's right-hand men this season, and after the season ends, all three will usher in a new stage of life.

"Congratulations, Arsene." Pat Rice's voice was overwhelmingly excited, "We won the championship."

"We won the championship." Chen Yao repeated.

"Yeah, we won the championship."

Finally, Wenger began to savor the joy seeping from the bottom of his heart, and a smile bloomed on the old man's face.

He turned around and hugged the two assistants.

The three embraced, their ages spanning almost 40, and Wenger said softly in the embrace: "Thank you."

The light of the new Wembley made Wenger feel dizzy. After all, he was old, and he suddenly became out of breath.

In the noisy light and shadow, some fragments were swirling.

1960, Strasbourg, France.

La Croix d'Or brasserie.

11-year-old Arsene Wenger works as a waiter in a tavern, carrying a bottle of wine between farmers and workers.

The tavern was filled with smoke, and Wenger listened to their enthusiasm and struggle, set up the bottles, climbed up to the attic, and got into his own small room.

He looked out of the window, and there was a rural elementary school in the distance.

The primary school's black-and-white TV was playing video from afar. Wenger took out 1 franc and joined the children, sitting together and watching the 1960 Champions League final.

Real Madrid's white elves conquered Frankfurt, seven to three.

Wenger stared blankly at the Real Madrid knight in a white robe, he fell in love with this club.

"I want to be one of them," Wenger told his companions, prompting a laugh.

Wenger curled his lips and stood up. He ran outside the school, crossed the country road, and ran into the distance.

1970, AS Michig Club.

The 11-year-old Wenger gradually faded away and was replaced by 21-year-old Arsene Wenger, a professional player.

"Max, why, why do you like me?"

The tall Frenchman with unkempt long hair took a few sips of water and asked his coach, 38-year-old Max Hilde.

Hilde smiled faintly: "Arsena, there is no need for a reason to discover a person's excellent qualities. I just need to believe."

"You know what, Max?"

"what?"

"You're a good guy and you make me want to be a coach too."

"It's too early, young man." Hilde patted Wenger's shoulder, "Now, you are a player."

Wenger threw the water bottle aside, laughed and ran onto the field, never forgetting to turn around and shout: "Listen, Max, where you go, I will go."

Max smiled and watched Wenger's back. As time went by, he was still standing there.

In 1979, Strasbourg Football Club.

Wenger, 30, walked off the pitch panting, and Max Hield, 47, shook his hand.

"Arsena, what's the matter, being a coach is not easy, is it?"

"If you mean being a player, academy manager and coach all at the same time, then you're right, Max."

"Listen Arsene, I'm not going to be here forever."

"so what?"

"So, now it's your turn."

"What did you say?"

"Get into the first-team coaching staff, Arsene, until you replace me."

Wenger was stunned, he tightened the mineral water bottle, frowned and said: "But Max, first, you are still here; second, I still want to continue playing football."

Max Hield didn't say anything, he looked down the pitch, where a Lens winger was running.

Santiago Santamaria, just now, he got Wenger clean.

"You are getting a little old, Arsene."

Chairman Strasbourg, who was watching the game, said casually.

Wenger felt as if his heart had been stabbed. He looked down at the grass and suddenly said to Max Hilde: "Okay, boss."

1994, Monaco, France.

The 45-year-old Arsene Wenger closed the door of the dressing room, stood outside the door tiredly, rubbing the corners of his eyes.

There were noises, questions, and criticisms in the dressing room, but Wenger didn't want to care at all.

He used to be successful here until he found out that one of his players was playing match-fixing.

It was a dark period in French football, with endless rumors, evidence, and doubts floating in the sky, corruption, and black-box operations everywhere.

Wenger doubted his players, doubted his colleagues, doubted his boss, doubted his opponents.

He couldn't tolerate working with people he couldn't trust, and he couldn't tolerate his football being tarnished by nastiness.

"It's time to leave..."

Winning by hook or by crook will never be something Wenger is willing to accept.

Leaving the din of the dressing room behind, Arsene Wenger walked towards the gate and disappeared into the Monaco summer night.

1996, London, UK.

"How do you feel, Arsene?" David Dein hugged the coach he discovered, feeling proud.

"It looks like France," said the 47-year-old Wenger.

After spending time in Nagoya Grampus, Wenger lost a lot of his enthusiasm in Monaco.

His sharp eyes softened and he spoke slower.

He no longer argues for absolute rightness, but learns tolerance, compromise and adaptation.

“My father was a tailor and I built my fortune through sugar and trading.”

David Dane pressed his sunglasses and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"As you can see, Arsene, I know how to trade. I firmly believe that I will hand over to you the team left by George Graham. It will be the best deal at the end of this century."

"I'm curious what I can achieve, but thank you David."

"Oh, Arsène, don't say that. Since it is a transaction, it is mutually beneficial."

David Dein blew out a smoke ring and smiled slyly, "You'll shock these oldies, Arsène."

Light and shadow tumbling like a page-turning animation.

In 2002, 53-year-old Wenger lifted the Premier League trophy with a smile on his face.

"Incredible, this is an undefeated force."

Newspapers with family portraits of the "Invincibles" were flying in the London air.

2004, Old Trafford.

Arsenal's 49-game unbeaten run was ended by Manchester United.

Ferguson celebrated happily with the players, while the 55-year-old Wenger stared at his old enemy with a stern face.

It was an unfair victory, with Rooney's diving deceiving a penalty and Ferdinand and Gary Neville escaping perhaps ten yellow cards combined.

Wenger does not recognize such a victory, he will never pursue victory in this way.

Five years ago, he had defeated Sheffield United in the FA Cup, but Wenger did not agree with that victory.

Unaware that an injured player had to kick the ball out of bounds, Kanu took the ball and the misunderstanding turned into a goal for Arsenal.

"This kind of victory goes against our sporting virtues," Wenger said.

In the end, he opted for a rematch.

This is Wenger's philosophy: sportsmanship must not be tarnished.

Even if the referee treats Arsenal intentionally or unintentionally unfairly, even if some teams rely on off-the-ball moves to gain an advantage, Wenger will only stubbornly follow the moral law in his heart.

In 2006, the Emirates Stadium was built.

"This is the future of the club."

Arsene Wenger, 57, stood in the center of the brand new pitch, arms outstretched.

As soon as his eyes turned, Wenger's shirt was soaked by the raindrops, and the red and blue flags of Barcelona were flying at the Stade de France.

On a rainy night in Paris, Arsenal are one step away from the Big Ears Cup.

"This is the closest Arsenal has come to winning the Champions League. They still have no record of winning the Champions League in team history..."

In 2011, the new Wembley Stadium.

Koscielny and Szczesny collided, and Zikic's attack established the victory.

Cesc Fabregas looked at his frustrated teammates by the goal with complicated eyes, a trace of disgust flashing in his eyes.

He didn't see that the tall and thin old man with a lost expression on the sidelines tried his best to cheer up, squeezed out a smile, and shouted to the players: "It's not a big problem, boys, stand up!"

Six years without a title, the 62-year-old Wenger knows that miracles are unlikely to happen.

He and his team are saddled with huge debts, they are constantly losing stars, and they are gradually becoming a second-tier team.

Is this the ending I want for Arsenal?
Wenger's heart was trembling. He had never thought about escaping. Real Madrid had contacted him more than once. It was his favorite dream team in his childhood.

No, I can't escape, this is my responsibility, this is my passion.

Wenger swallowed bitter tears, the wrinkles on his face throbbing with the disappointment he had suppressed.

Arsene is Arsenal.

2012 5 Month 5 Day.

The night before the FA Cup final.

"Did I tell you a story?" Wenger asked.

Chen Yao stood with him, in front of them was the majestic new Wembley Stadium, which is now deserted, like a distant mountain.

"When I was 14, I had a high fever. I almost died," Wenger said.

"I struggled for days on the edge of life and death, and no doctor could cure me. I was in pain and I felt like my life was over."

"I was only four feet seven inches tall at the time, I was like a dwarf and I was so sick that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I died."

"Afterwards, I got better and I was healthier than ever, and I was five foot eleven."

"I have never heard of this story." Chen Yao admitted honestly.

"Well, now you have heard it." Wenger smiled, "This taught me a truth, and I will teach you too."

"what is it then?"

"Never lose hope, never give up on yourself."

"Boss..." Chen Yao wanted to say something, but Wenger interrupted him.

"I watched you grow. You learned responsibility, learned unity, and learned to believe in your teammates. Finally, I hope you believe in yourself. If you don't believe in yourself, you will definitely fail."

Chen Yao nodded and said softly, "I understand."

Wenger took a deep breath, it was the air of Wembley, "I recommended you to the board of directors, and Stan gave me a promise. You will get opportunities, but you will also have doubts, cold looks, misunderstandings, and ridicule. Just like It’s the same as when I first came here.”

He patted the young man on the shoulder, "But remember what I said."

2012 May 5, now, Wembley Stadium.

Wenger's eyes suddenly lit up, and deafening cheers poured into his ears again.

He was surprised to realize that he was distracted. He raised his head and saw that the staff had already moved the FA Cup trophy out and arranged the awards stage.

He saw red and white figures rushing toward him, and the players he spent day and night with laughed heartily and surrounded him in the center for hugs.

They threw Wenger into the sky, then carefully caught the professor, and walked towards the podium around Wenger amidst the old man's joking scolding.

Surrounded by his players, Wenger applauded the fans, who cheered him back.

Their voices changed from "North London is red", first singing the players' names, then singing some ditties mocking Tottenham, and now, they began to shout two words in unison:

"MERCI ARSENE" (French, thank you Wenger)
After 17 years of waiting, Wenger finally received the most heartfelt thanks, and Wenger smiled happily.

Chen Yao also laughed silently, this might not be a good ending.

The old man can finally unload his burden. He no longer has to bear the betrayal of his closest players, the betrayal of his most loyal fans, he no longer has to be heartbroken by the "Wenger Out" flying in the sky, and he no longer has to regret separation from his beloved club.

At this moment, he is Arsenal's hero and a dazzling legend. His light has shone on Arsenal for more than ten years. Let this good story last forever.

An old man named Arsene came to the center of the field, and he held up the trophy. More than sixty years passed like a fleeting moment, and he carried the glory.

There are always stories to end and stories to begin.

(End of this chapter)