novelraw Chapter 855 594: He's Not Playing Soccer—He's Destroying C Luo's Golden Boot Dream! The Portuguese's Hands Are Trembling! (Part 2)
Chapter 855 594: He's Not Playing Soccer—He's Destroying C Luo's Golden Boot Dream! The Portuguese's Hands Are Trembling! (Part 2)
He waved his arms as if he were fighting on the field himself.
Guardiola couldn't help but clench his fists, full of admiration in his eyes.
Putting aside whether Tang Long can secure the European Golden Boot, this single strike alone, even among the countless wonderful goals he's seen, is enough to rank among the best, leaving Guardiola's heart fluttering.
"A perfect goal, simply an art master on the field!"
However, Tang Long's performance was far from over.
Ten minutes later, he once again demonstrated the intuition and technique of a top-tier forward.
At the edge of Sunderland's penalty area, Tang Long began his performance.
His agile, serpentine movements rendered Sunderland's two defenders dizzy, as if they were drunk.
They awkwardly followed Tang Long's steps, yet were never able to stop him.
With one final powerful push, he broke away from the defenders like an arrow off the bow, and the two defenders even crashed into each other, falling to the ground embarrassingly.
Tang Long received a through pass from Diego, and with a deft chip, the football floated over the goalkeeper's head and slowly rolled into the net.
"Hahaha, I've given you two assists, Tang, aren't you going to thank me!" Diego ran over, excitedly embracing Tang Long.
"Don't rush, I'll thank you after the third!" Tang Long smiled and high-fived him, then threw himself back into the tense match.
Meanwhile, the live broadcast room was already in an uproar.
-[Oh my God, a half-time hat-trick, 54 goals now, just two behind C Luo!"]
-[Definitely has a chance, the second half hasn't started yet. Tang Long's form is simply unstoppable!"]
-[C Luo only scored two when he played last, and Tang Long already has a half-time hat-trick. I wonder how C Luo feels now; he must regret not scoring more in the last round.]
-[But he had to be able to score, eh. I watched Real Madrid's last match, C Luo was obviously anxious and wasted many chances."] someone analyzed.
-[Now it depends on Guardiola's decision. If he considers the FA Cup and Champions League finals, he might sub Tang Long off at half-time.]
-[How's that possible, dream on, when his own player has a chance at the European Golden Boot, would Coach Guardiola do that? Unless he wants a fallout with Tang Long, absolutely not!]
In the stands at the Etihad Stadium, Dilata was jostled by the crowd, swaying back and forth, rainwater mixed with sweat sliding along her delicate jawline.
When Tang Long scored the third goal, the whole field erupted instantly, cheers like surging tides engulfed her.
She jumped from her seat with the crowd, her chest heaving like waves blown by a fierce wind, outlining an alluring curve in her blue supporter's jersey.
"Come on, just three more, you can do it!"
She shouted!
As an ace reporter for Sky Sports, Dilata had witnessed countless spectacular moments in matches, but at this moment, her eyes only held the figure racing across the pitch.
Every precise shot from Tang Long, every celebratory move full of power, quickened her heartbeat.
Raindrops wet her meticulously styled curls, dripping onto her phone screen.
Yet she was utterly oblivious, holding up her phone high, persistently adjusting angles, trying to capture every fantastic moment of Tang Long.
In the frame, Tang Long running in the rain brought her thoughts drifting back to last night...
That was a suffocating night, Tang Long at home displayed the same astonishing vitality as on the field.
Every of his movements filled with strength and passion, as if he had endless energy~
Dilata never imagined that a forward making waves on the field could be so charming in life.
At this moment, looking at the unconstrained figure on the field, she couldn't help but marvel, youthful vigor is indeed mesmerizing.
But at the other end of the bench, Gracie had no mind to appreciate this spectacular match.
Her sapphire blue eyes were filled with worry and anxiety.
Scenes from three days ago played repeatedly in her mind: Tang Long supporting his lower back, walking into the therapy room, beads of sweat rolling from his forehead.
"Is it hurting again?"
Gracie asked while skillfully checking him.
Her fingers touched the obvious swelling on Tang Long's back — a mark left by Gualin's fierce foul in Manchester City's debut match against Tottenham.
Although Gracie temporarily relieved the pain with the most advanced therapy technology, she knew this old injury was like a time bomb, ready to recur at any moment.
Especially towards the end of the league, players' bodies reaching their limits, any intense collision could be the last straw.
"Take it easy, don't push too hard." She silently prayed in her heart, her eyes tightly following Tang Long's figure, "There's still the FA Cup and Champions League finals afterward. I'd rather you not win the European Golden Boot than see your back injury flare up again."
When everyone thought Manchester City would ride the momentum and extend the scoreline to 6:0, 7:0, Tang Long suddenly made an unexpected gesture.
He signaled to his teammates to slow the pace of attack.
"Control the ball, don't rush, hold on a bit."
Tang Long came to the corner area, chose not to break through but passed the ball back to Ranocchia, making a downward press gesture.
Ranocchia understood and began patiently passing at the back.
Sunderland players finally got a moment to breathe, taking the opportunity to adjust their formation and reorganize the defense.
The score of 4:0 held until halftime.
As the halftime whistle blew, Agüero was the first to rush to Tang Long, his face full of confusion.
"Why slow down? Keep playing them, wouldn't scoring more goals be better?"
His eyes were filled with urgency, as a teammate, he was desperate to see the moment Tang Long held up the European Golden Boot.
Tang Long smiled and patted his shoulder, "Take it easy, don't wear out all our stamina in the first half. There are still the FA Cup and Champions League finals, those are more important battlegrounds. Besides, if you push the opponents too much in the first half, they'll go all out in the second half, oversized movements lead to injuries."
Agüero scratched his head, though seeing sense, still somewhat reluctant.
"You're not wrong, but the CEO instructed before the match, saying all of us should help you win the European Golden Boot. Don't you want the Golden Boot anymore?"
"Who said I don't want it?" Tang Long gave a confident smile, "Hold on, let's push in the second half." With that, he turned and jogged to the dressing room, his soaked jersey clinging to his body, outlining his perfectly athletic build.
Agüero stood on the field, watching Tang Long's departing figure, his heart stirred.
"He has the confidence to beat C Luo and win the European Golden Boot. My God, is he really just in his early 20s? Where does this confidence come from? Oh no, he indeed has such confidence. Gosh, when will I be as composed as him!"
At this moment, in Madrid, C Luo's heart surged with waves as well.
He never felt as anxious and uneasy this season as he does now, feeling tremendously apprehensive.
Even in the month he was sidelined due to injury, he never felt so unsettled.
"He's really strong, he can really do it," C Luo muttered to himself, "All three goals were crisp and decisive, a born genius at striking, he truly knows how to outgame defenders and goalkeepers."
Just two more goals!
Tang Long only needs two more goals.
The league goals can reach 56, tying C Luo, sharing this season's European Golden Boot.
C Luo recalled, Tang Long's initial breakthrough into the penalty area didn't opt for a shot but passed the ball to Agüero in the middle — this ball, if it were C Luo, given the team's already secured championship, he would definitely choose to go for it himself.
"Could he really be so confident, thinking he surely can beat me to win the European Golden Boot?"
The more C Luo thought, the more uneasy he became, his palms sweating nervously, even failing to reply to the ever-buzzing "ding ding ding" of incoming text messages...