"Kaká dribbles sideways—he's surrounded now, what's he going to do? Oh—my—God!"
Kaká pulled off a "roulette", spinning out of the encirclement.
Though he staggered slightly from a bump, he still managed to toe-poke the ball to Suker.
Suker received the pass and turned around.
In front of him—only Hilbert and goalkeeper Schäfer remained.
Suker dipped his shoulder to the left, pushing the ball forward.
Hilbert followed immediately.
Suker then faked right with a drag-back.
Hilbert bit again.
A few more feints, and Hilbert was already gasping for air.
Suker shifted once more.
"Damn it!"
Hilbert tried to grab Suker with his hand—But Suker deftly twisted away.
The Stuttgart keeper lunged forward, desperate to get a hand on the ball.
Just as he stretched out—
A foot suddenly appeared and poked the ball first.
Swish!The ball hit the net!
Minute 76—AC Milan scored again!
Suker's brilliant footwork in front of goal had helped Milan extend their lead.
He ran toward the corner flag.Stuttgart fans were already silent with frustration.
But Suker was overjoyed.
He turned and pointed at Kaká.
Kaká came running over—the two embraced with force.
"Great pass!" Suker grinned.
"Hot pot! Hot pot!" Kaká shouted.
Suker's smile froze.
Always about food!
You'll eat yourself to death one day!
The goal in the 76th minute meant the game was now decided.
Armin Veh's Stuttgart had shined in the Bundesliga,but in Europe—they still lacked experience and strength.
Especially against AC Milan, the German slayers.
Even the German commentators could only shake their heads:
"They've conceded three. There's almost no hope left in this game."
"We can't say Armin Veh or his team played badly—they're just too young.And against an experienced AC Milan, they couldn't do much."
After the goal, AC Milan made substitutions—
Both remaining spots used for defensive reinforcement.
It was clear—Stuttgart's hopes were vanishing.
After nearly 20 more minutes of attacking attempts,they couldn't break Milan's defense.
And so—the match ended.
2007/08 UEFA Champions League – Group Stage, Round 2:Stuttgart 0 – 3 AC Milan
The Stuttgart fans were disappointed by the loss—
But what shocked everyone was that Bayern Munich ended up being dragged into it.
That same night, Berliner Zeitung ran a headline:
"Stuttgart Lost—but At Least It Wasn't a Massacre!"
Clearly, those infamous back-to-back thrashings by AC Milan left deep scars on German football.
If the 'big brother' Bayern couldn't handle Milan,how could the 'little brother' Stuttgart?
Being the face of German football, Bayern getting crushed by Milan had embarrassed the entire nation.
Bayern never expected that those old wounds would be reopened—
And that Stuttgart's loss would trigger another round of media bombardment.
But they had no comeback.
After all, it was all true.
They could only grit their teeth and wait for a chance to get revenge on AC Milan someday.
Little did they know…
That day wouldn't come for a long, long time.
After the game, most of Milan's players returned to the city.
But a small group—Suker, Kaká, Pirlo, Ancelotti, and club president Berlusconi—took a private jet from Stuttgart to Paris.
They were headed to attend the Ballon d'Or Gala on the 11th, hosted by France Football.
Suker, Kaká, and Pirlo had all been shortlisted.Ancelotti was likely to be named Coach of the Year,And Berlusconi would receive Best Football Club on Milan's behalf.
On the flight to Paris, the cabin was quiet.
Suker sat with Pirlo; Kaká kept his distance.
With Gattuso not around, who knows if these two would turn their mischief on him.
To avoid becoming their next target, Kaká stayed far away.
"So boring," Suker muttered.
He turned to Pirlo:
"Wanna shave your beard?"
"Are you sick?" Pirlo snapped.
Suker stroked his own chin.
His stubble was coarse, but he couldn't grow the full, manly beard like Pirlo or Gattuso.
Looking at Pirlo's rugged, shadowy jawline, Suker felt a twinge of envy.
He also wanted that rugged, masculine look.
After all, his baby face lacked any sort of intimidation.
Suker suspected—the reason he gets fouled so much is because his face doesn't scare anyone.
If it were Gattuso's mug, would defenders still play dirty?
"Suker, your main rivals this year are Ronaldo from Manchester United and Messi from Barcelona,"
Berlusconi smiled.
"But don't worry—we've got everything ready."
He had promised Suker the Ballon d'Or and FIFA World Player of the Year,and he'd pulled many strings to make it happen.
Suker scratched his head and thanked him—
But inside, he felt guilty.
Berlusconi truly treated him well.But Suker's mind was set on leaving.
Still—he had no choice.
Suker knew all too well what Milan's future looked like.
But before he left, he'd ensure Milan got a huge transfer fee in return.
As for when—
Summer 2009 would be the latest.
After this season, Suker planned to have "the talk" with the club—
Give them time to prepare, so it wouldn't be a shock.
His timing was strategic.
Florentino Pérez would return as Real Madrid president in 2009.
Suker couldn't join Real while Ramón Calderón was still in charge.Florentino made that very clear.
As for Bayern Munich—they were just a backup option.
If Real Madrid was out of reach, then he'd consider Bayern.
But going to Bayern would seriously hurt his marketability.
Just look at Ribéry and Lewandowski.
If Suker lost the Ballon d'Or because of Bayern's lack of PR push—he might actually pass out from rage.
The plane began to descend.
Suker turned and looked out the window.
Down below, the neon lights of Paris twinkled across the city.
This was Paris—the city of romance… and bird droppings.
"Suker! Suker! Over here!"
"Suker, any thoughts on the Ballon d'Or?"
"What do you think of your rivals?"
"Besides yourself, who deserves the award?"
"How many votes do you think you'll get?"
Even though it was nighttime, the airport was packed with reporters.
Flashes fired nonstop—Some spoke English, others Italian.
Suker had started studying English and Spanish,so he could understand a bit.
But he didn't want to answer any stupid questions.
Luckily, Berlusconi had serious connections.
Three black luxury cars waited at the airport gate.There were even police escorts.
Thanks to Berlusconi, they avoided the press entirely.
They stayed in a hotel pre-arranged by the event organizers.
Of course, Berlusconi didn't stay—he had his own plans.
Ancelotti helped the players check in.
Their rooms were on the 18th floor,each person got their own suite, and it was very comfortable.
"I've never been to Paris before!"
"Wanna go out?"
"Let's go!"
The three hit it off instantly.
They changed into casual clothes, put on simple disguises,took the elevator down, and sneaked out the back door.
After all—why waste a night in Paris sitting in a hotel?
Kaká and Pirlo were just as restless.
The hotel had a car rental service with drivers.
And so, the three of them began cruising through Paris at night.
"Let's go to the Eiffel Tower!"
"The Eiffel Tower? You think we're tourists?" Suker knocked Kaká on the head."We're going to the Seine!"
"It's just a park there. What do you wanna do in a park at night?"
"The bars are all along the river, duh!"
"Paris is different, dude!"
Pirlo looked at Suker and Kaká—his head aching.
These two...
One was a clueless rookie.The other—a rookie pretending to be a pro.