For the people of Bastia, this was a phrase they had never even dared to imagine.
But "Triple Crown" appeared in every Bastian's life today.
The genes of champions seemed destined to be imprinted upon Bastia tonight.
From Bastia at 42.70°N, 9.45°E, to Red Bull Arena at 40.74°N, 74.17°W.
Six thousand six hundred kilometers.
A distance many would struggle to cross in their entire lifetime. But in this moment, the hearts of Bastians in both places were intimately connected.
"Kanté!"
The substitute Kanté had won over the Bastia fans with his tireless runs, relentlessly marking every Montpellier player who dared to enter his defensive zone.
Lukaku seemed to truly believe he was Inzaghi incarnate. Of the five passes De Bruyne sent him, three were offside.
As time passed, the substitute players on the bench, like Julien, could no longer contain themselves and stood up, waiting alongside their teammates on the sideline.
On the pitch, after intercepting yet another Montpellier pass, Rothen raised both arms triumphantly toward the stands.
92:43, 44, 45...
With every passing second, the blood of Bastia fans grew hotter.
Girard slumped dejectedly in his coaching seat.
Silent.
He knew Montpellier would struggle to ever again have a chance at the French Super Cup.
Whether it was the Ligue 1 title or the Coupe de France, both seemed beyond their reach.
This Super Cup final was Montpellier's only opportunity in many years.
But it was gone.
Tweet!!!
When the clock stopped at 93 minutes, the referee's final whistle sounded.
ROAR!
Accompanied by the thunderous roar from the stands, the substitute players rushed onto the field, embracing their teammates.
"Bastia has won their first-ever French Super Cup! This is also their first-ever seasonal triple crown! This storied Corsican powerhouse is returning to the attention of French football fans.
Their captain, the 17-year-old Julien De Rocca, will lead this team with an average age of just 24 into the new Ligue 1 season, ready to unleash a youthful storm that belongs to Bastia."
No Bastian cared about the French broadcaster's commentary.
No one was watching television anymore.
Everyone was immersed in celebration.
At the Sunset Café Bar, the fans had already erupted in cheers—
"Triple Crown! Fucking triple crown! If someone had told me last year that Bastia could win a seasonal triple crown, I would have said 'Go to hell, stop dreaming, just a simple promotion would be incredible enough!'"
"Julien is too strong! I fucking love Julien!!"
"Amazing! Triple Crown! To think such a title would one day belong to Bastia!"
Alcohol and curses expressed their inner excitement.
Bertrand laughed along with the fans, and when he glanced down, he caught sight of that closure notice in the corner of his eye.
His smile grew even broader.
Jacques had only made wine for the Coupe de France victory, but he would craft wine for the triple crown.
This was a scene Jacques could probably only imagine when drunk.
Now it had become reality.
In the stands of Red Bull Arena, New York, Bastia's traveling supporters sang their celebration anthem with abandon—
"Julien, Julien, unstoppable might,
Your strike is thunder, the net takes flight!
Triple crown glory, Corsica's flame,
Bastia rises, the world knows your name!
Bastia! Bastia! France bows to your reign,
With you, King Julien, we'll conquer again!"
Clap clap clap!
As Bastia celebrated, Henry rose to applaud them. Beside him, Cahill hadn't stopped praising Julien throughout the entire match.
He continued now: "Your French wing position finally has a successor."
Henry smiled. Yes, French football had finally seen hope.
Blanc had resolutely sacrificed his national team coaching career to force through France's generational renewal.
Nasri, Ben Arfa, Benzema, M'Vila, and a host of other players had been openly or quietly discarded.
Blanc had shouldered all the criticism himself, providing a clean environment for those who would come after.
On the night France was eliminated from the Euros, Blanc announced he would no longer serve as France's coach.
For the following two weeks, the French Football Federation didn't announce a new coach. During this period, media speculation eventually narrowed down to two candidates: Zidane and Deschamps.
Finally, after Deschamps resigned from Marseille, the FFF quickly announced that Deschamps would be France's new national team coach.
His contract was a 2+2 deal—he would first coach France through the 2014 World Cup in Brazil, and if his performance was satisfactory, would extend for another two years until the next European Championship, to be held on French soil.
Deschamps' first match would be a friendly against Copa América champions Uruguay on August 7th.
France would then embark on their World Cup qualifying campaign.
France had been drawn in the same group as defending European champions Spain. Only the group winner would qualify directly for the World Cup finals in Brazil.
The media was already calling it France's "Group of Death."
But Henry didn't believe France would miss the World Cup.
As for Julien, who was valued by French football legends like Zidane, Deschamps, and Blanc—Henry saw unlimited potential in him.
With Julien there, France's attack would never be weak!
"Julien!!"
The frenzy of the Bastians in attendance kept Henry's smile constant.
"Sigh."
The more he smiled, the more bitter it became. Looking at Julien, surrounded by admiring teammates, Henry's mind was filled with images of himself at 20.
The same wind-like youth, the same unlimited future.
In his career, he had won almost every trophy possible—World Cup and European Championship with the national team, league titles and various cups with his clubs, even the Champions League.
He had it all.
But why, when he looked at Julien and reflected on the past, did he still feel such regret?
"Julien! Your statue will definitely stand outside the Armand Cesari Stadium, receiving cheers from all Bastians! No matter where your future takes you, you will forever be a Bastia legend! Bastia's doors will always be open to you!!"
Modoso shouted at the top of his lungs toward Julien among the players acknowledging the fans.
Even though his voice was hoarse from an entire match of shouting, seeing Julien still made his emotions surge.
The scenes of Julien's goals were like programs written into his brain—as long as his mind remained conscious, those images would never disappear.
The only way to make him forget Julien would be for his brain to die.
For every moment he remained alive, he would cheer for Julien, for Bastia!
Under the intertwined gazes of his teammates—envious, yearning, gratified—
Julien's chest surged with emotion. He breathed deeply, again and again.
Lifting his head toward Modoso and the Ultras Bastia hardcore fans behind him, he beat his chest where the club badge lay and shouted:
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to bring another championship trophy to Bastia, but as long as I'm on the pitch, I will shed every last drop of blood for Bastia!"
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