Zhuoyang's waist and shoulders were slumped - he came as soon as he came. He wanted to weigh Alan Smith first. He stepped with his right foot to the left, feinted and then knocked the ball in the opposite direction and walked away, dodging Smith in an instant.
A position.
That’s all, it’s not that difficult! Zhuo Yangxin said.
Just then, he was about to go down to the bottom line. Suddenly, a big thick leg swept over him, barely covering his ears and full of dominance. If Zhuo Yang continued to go down, his left leg would definitely be shoveled, and it would be face to face.
bone.
This is a posture of dying together!
This fucking has just started, how much hatred do you have against me? If you want to have a fight with him, let’s see which of us has stronger legs, but Zhuo Yang still feels that it’s a bit unreasonable. Things where both sides suffer are not in line with Sun Tzu’s Art of War, so he should fight head-on.
That's called being brainless. As his brain was spinning, Zhuo Yang acted to protect himself first.
After taking away his left leg, Alan Smith shoveled the football directly into the South Stand. Amid the cheers at Old Trafford, a trace of pride flashed in Smith's serious expression.
.
Two minutes later, Zhuoyang once again got the ball at the 40-meter line. With his physical advantage, he got an arm's length away from Smith and turned his center of gravity to wipe the ball crosswise. However, Smith also took advantage of his flexible body and quickly got close to him.
And the attack was still fierce, even Zhuo Yang's elbow hit his chest without any notice, as if it didn't hurt at all.
After doing this three times, Zhuo Yang simply took advantage of his movements and took a big step to penetrate his crotch, giving you a taste. As expected, Smith's face was embarrassed, and he spread out his body with a "hoo", and this time he simply followed Zhuo Yang's crotch.
Yang's knee came, and it was knee to knee, which was very brave and hurt both sides.
Of course, Zhuoyang couldn't trade with him like this. His knees were so precious. How could you, a country bumpkin from England who drank blood and hair like raw hair, be able to compare with him? He dodged and the football was kicked out by Smith while he was lying on the ground. He had no chance to aim at it.
He kicked it again and it was just broken randomly, but the football just happened to fly to the feet of Giggs.
After a quick run, Giggs passed to Ronaldinho on the other side. The Portuguese got the ball and cut inside. Rock Dras failed to keep up. Ronaldinho's shot was blocked by Handanovic.
He stood up and held up the beam.
Zhuo Yang felt a little aggrieved: Why does Smith seem to be fighting for his life with me? Don't you have a wife and children at home? Sir Alex has promised you how much funeral expenses you have to drag me to wipe your neck with you.
.
After several more direct confrontations between the two, the situation was exactly the same every time. Alan Smith forced Zhuo Yang: Come on, hurt each other! Every time, Zhuo Yang gave in at the last moment. He really couldn't reconcile himself to his artist.
He used his body to fight with the mud-legged man. After the two locked feet, they both lay on the ground. Zhuo Yang clearly felt that Smith wanted to bite the sole of his shoe with his teeth. He finally understood that today he had met Manchester United's version of Mad Dog Rand.
Before that, Zhuoyang had been laughing at the opponents who were frightened by Rand. As a football coward, he looked down upon others who dared not fight with bayonets. Until he personally experienced Alan Smith's sacrifice for justice.
Only then did he begin to secretly sympathize with those who had scared the mad dog.
Of course, Zhuo Yang would never admit that he was timid, and such a fleeting thought made him a little angry.
——Okay, then let's compete to see who has stronger legs, and who can be more willing to take risks. Whoever releases the accelerator first and turns the steering wheel first will be the grandson!
If Smith doesn't come to Zhuoyang, Zhuoyang will go to him specifically. For him, the progress of the game is sometimes not the most important. Zhuoyang, who has made a mistake, no longer cares about the opponent's aggressiveness when facing the football.
Smith didn't care about football when he came, and Smith even more so. Neither of them thought about how to control the damn football, they both thought about how to kill the even more damn opponent on the opposite side.
‘Bang!!’
In the collision, which made the bystanders' scalps numb, Smith suffered a big loss. After all, he was small in weight, but Zhuoyang didn't fall much better. His chest was so shaken that he wanted to vomit blood. Both of them rolled down and fell to the ground.
Zhuoyang stood up first. Although his thigh muscles were very painful, he still pretended to be nonchalant and pointed at Smith on the ground: Get up and continue playing.
Of course, Smith was a tough guy. He immediately clapped his hands on the ground and jumped up. His legs gave out but he fell down again. His thigh hurt terribly, as if it was broken, but the tough guy didn't show any pretense. He turned over and got up again, his face twisted and forbearing.
Painful: This is enough, let’s continue.
Both of them don't talk much, and no one talks trash. Of course, there is no sympathy for each other at this time. Both of them are very unconvinced.
Everyone looked at this scene carefully and clearly, and they couldn't help but give a thumbs up in their hearts: 2, what a fucking idiot! The old Sir was helpless for a while, this was not all his original intention, to use Alan
·Smith's gangsterism restricted Zhuo Yang. This was a strategy arranged before the game, but Ferguson did not expect that Zhuo Yang, who has always been cunning and smart, would be so stubborn.
——You can’t live without being crazy. Do all those who engage in art like to commit crimes?
How could Sir Alex think about destroying Zhuoyang on the field? He really hopes that one day Zhuoyang will finally come to shoot. The old man has been fooled many times. Zhuoyang will be the last World Footballer he created before retiring.
.However, there was nothing he could do to stop the two lunatics on the court who were stabbing each other to avoid who was the grandson of the other.
Klopp, the scumbag uncle, was about to burst into tears. He would have rushed up to Zhuo Yang and yelled: Is there shit in his head? But how can Zhuo Yang open his mouth now? He was so worried in his heart
Everyone knows that once Zhuoyang becomes stubborn, he can turn the nine-headed ox back. He can only wait until he wakes up. Before that, all truths are empty.
Mad Dog Rand was gearing up in the audience: Sir, let me go. Let me go.
Uncle Zha was not angry at all: Go, go, what can you do up there? Fight? If you want to fight, Zhuoyang would have done it himself...
.
The game was temporarily suspended. Both Zhuoyang and Smith sprayed spray on their thighs on the sidelines. While listening to Uncle Zha's words about how to move more and hit more, Zhuoyang raised his thigh and did a few reverse stretching movements.
It's like yoga, but Uncle Li, who taught him this back then, called it Wu Qin Xi. After doing it, he felt that his thigh muscles were much more comfortable, so it must be nothing serious.
That Smith is different. He doesn't know anything. He can't even do the splits. He can't get down without putting a machine gun against his head. But he is a tough guy. He won't do the splits even if an atomic bomb is put against his head. Now he feels panic because of the pain in his thighs.
Silent.
After the game restarted, Zhuoyang held back all his energy and wanted to compete with Smith, refusing to give up.
——Do you really think I'm scared? Are you more cruel? I even bit off someone's ear when I was in elementary school. To put it bluntly, aren't you just like that little gangster Benoit, trying to kill your life! I'm not even vain about my life.
Do you care about a leg?...Wait a minute...Benoit...a lifeless thing...??
Chapter completed!