Volume One: Our Own League Chapter 5: Football Has Never Belonged to Us!

“Dear viewers and football fans, the second leg of the Asian play-off for the 2010 South Africa World Cup qualifiers has officially kicked off. The China men’s national football team is taking the first touch. They’re wearing white jerseys and shorts, attacking from the right to the left side of your screens…” Chang Yunxiang’s passionate voice rang from the television.

Xu He watched the TV, then turned to glance at his father.

Xu He frowned slightly. He had never seen his father so nervous before, as if it were he himself out there on the pitch.

Xu Tie was pressed tightly against the back of the sofa, his eyes glued to the television screen, oblivious to his son’s frequent glances, even unaware that his left hand was gripping his thigh so hard it left marks.

Xu He kept his eyes fixed on his father.

Suddenly, the commentator’s voice on TV rose with excitement: “A chance, a big chance for the China team! On the wing, Zuo Junmin delivers a cross, and in the center, Fei Ji leaps above Saudi Arabia’s number 5 center-back, Harbi Usamah—he heads it towards goal!”

Xu Tie suddenly leaned forward, his eyes locked on the screen.

With a slap, the Saudi goalkeeper, Mubarak Zayed, dived across and managed to push the ball out for a corner.

With a dull thud, Xu Tie slapped the sofa in frustration.

Xu He was startled.

Thankfully, it was the sofa he hit. If he’d slapped the stone coffee table in front of them, Xu Tie’s hand might have been ruined!

Xu He was genuinely worried about his father.

But Xu Tie remained unaware, still staring fiercely at the screen.

“How unfortunate! The striker from Yunhai Athletic came so close to breaking through the Saudi goal, just barely missing it!” Huang Lu’s voice was full of regret, as if her heart were bleeding.

As time passed, the match grew increasingly intense, and both viewers became more engrossed in the action.

Xu He found himself more and more invested, wishing he could leap into the television to play for them himself—dribble past everyone, send the ball into the Saudi net, and carry the China team to the 2010 World Cup. Then a triumphant knee slide, basking in the roar of fifty thousand fans—he would become a hero in the hearts of the whole nation…

What would it feel like to have fifty thousand people chanting your name?

Xu He’s gaze sparkled as he muttered to himself.

“It’s a feeling that makes your blood boil, fills you with adrenaline, a rush straight to your head. It’s all the glory in the world focused on you—a pride so immense, so uplifting, that you feel you could soar skyward…”

Suddenly, his father’s voice sounded by his ear. Startled, Xu He turned to look at Xu Tie, whose face bore a smile of happiness tinged with bitterness—and was that… nostalgia?

Xu He was too young to grasp the complexity of his father’s expression. But he did know one thing: at this moment, his father was happy.

Xu Tie noticed his son watching him. He gently reached out to stroke Xu He’s head and said, “But it also means responsibility—a responsibility as heavy as a mountain.”

Xu He looked at his father in confusion, not quite understanding.

Xu Tie smiled faintly. “Watch the game. It’s entering a crucial moment.”

Xu He nodded blankly and turned back to the TV.

Unbeknownst to him, the match had indeed come to its most critical point.

“We’re now into the sixty-eighth minute of the match. The score remains zero to zero, neither side has found the net, and both teams are still neck and neck. But the longer things stay like this, the more dangerous it gets. One goal could decide the outcome—no one knows who will score next,” Chang Yunxiang’s voice shook with nervousness.

“A chance! China’s chance! Captain Ji Zhi threads a perfect through ball down the center—Fei Ji is clear on goal, one-on-one with the keeper! Can he do it? Can he send us to the World Cup? Fei Ji shoots…” Chang Yunxiang’s voice was nearly hoarse with hope.

“Oh no, what a pity! He put too much power into it and blasted it over the bar!” Huang Lu’s words were thick with bitterness.

“That was the best opportunity of the match for either team, but our striker failed to seize it. Such a waste. Will we get another chance like this? Both sides have had so few opportunities—this miss could be fatal…” Chang Yunxiang’s voice was trembling, almost in tears.

Xu Tie’s left hand was squeezing his thigh so tightly that it was nearly bruised.

“Not much time left—just fifteen minutes to go. There aren’t many chances left for China. Oh no, what’s happening? Du Qifeng in defense has lost his mark—danger! Nars Shamri beats the offside trap, pounces in the box, and slots a low shot past our keeper. Zero to one! We’re behind! In the seventy-fifth minute, we’re down!” Chang Yunxiang sounded as if he was already crying.

Silence—deathly silence.

In the stadium on TV, fifty thousand people were utterly mute. The silence was suffocating.

Even at home, Xu He felt the temperature drop by several degrees. He finally understood what true silence meant—a stifling, deathly quiet.

It was unbearable, pressing down on his chest so hard he could hardly breathe.

But he dared not even sigh, afraid to disturb his father.

Xu He turned his head, fixing his eyes on his father’s face. At some point, it had become streaked with hot tears.

In all his memories, he had never seen his father cry.

Today, he did.

Xu He felt something stab deep into his heart, shattering it completely.

On television, the commentator was almost sobbing: “We still have time—ten minutes left. Two goals isn’t such a big gap. Just two, and we’re in the World Cup. Come on, boys, we still have a chance…”

Time slipped away mercilessly, and the hearts of China’s fans broke with it.

“We still have a chance, but not much time left for our team. Come on, boys, come on… Gao Peng, who just came on in the second half, a chance—he heads it at goal…” Chang Yunxiang roared.

Xu Tie murmured, “In… did it go in?”

“Oh, so close! The ball missed by only ten centimeters! We were just that close…” Huang Lu was so tense she could barely speak.

“It’s over! We’re into stoppage time now—only three minutes left, and we still need two goals. Impossible—it’s impossible, there’s no hope for our team…” Chang Yunxiang sounded defeated, his throat hoarse.

“It’s a goal! Saudi Arabia’s Halili Saad scores in the ninety-first minute, killing the match—zero to two. It’s over! Our team has lost the chance to reach the 2010 World Cup. Four years of waiting, gone in an instant. Once again, we’ve fallen just short…” Chang Yunxiang’s voice was laden with bitterness.

Sobs and wails burst from the television.

Countless grown men in the stadium—forty, fifty years old—were crying like children, bawling their hearts out…

In Beijing, tears have no place.

In football, tears have no place.

Xu He’s face crumpled as he looked over at his father, and his grief grew even sharper.

At some point, Xu Tie had become a man of tears, hot streams running down his rugged face, making it all the more heartbreaking.

Xu He had never felt pain like this.

On TV, Chang Yunxiang’s voice turned from choked sobs to a bitter accusation. With his hoarse voice and last ounce of passion, he shouted, “Why has Chinese football come to this? Worse every year, every generation. Others at least stand still—we’re falling off a cliff. Why? I have to ask, why?”

He paused, then continued, “It’s truly, truly not worth it! Not for those players full of patriotic fervor who have nowhere to go, not for them, not for the countless fans who stayed up late to support our team—because your dedication is worth nothing!”

He declared, “Football was never ours. Chinese football was never ours!”

Click.

The television suddenly went dark.

Xu He turned to his father. At some point, Xu Tie had stood up, tears still hanging in his eyes.

Seeing his father like this, Xu He was overwhelmed by a pain greater than the loss of a World Cup spot.

Was there any way to stop his father from crying?

Suddenly, Xu He stood tall before his father, his posture straight and eyes burning with resolve. He declared, “When I grow up, I will join the national team and take China to the World Cup! I promise you!”

Xu Tie was struck as if by lightning, his body shuddering as he froze.

He was deeply moved by his son’s unwavering gaze—a look as solid as rock.

Hearing these words, Xu Tie felt a mix of emotions, but a faint smile crept onto his face.

After a moment, he wiped away his tears, reached out with his right hand, and pulled Xu He into a tight embrace.

In that moment, he felt that even giving up the world would be worth it.

Father and son held each other warmly, basking in a rare moment of tenderness.

But in the bedroom, Tang Qian, hearing Xu He’s words, was filled with anger. Football—what future is there in that? She wanted to rush out and scold her son for his unrealistic dream. Yet, she held back.

Perhaps she didn’t want to spoil that father-son moment.

Leaning against the door, she gazed upwards and thought, “My dear He’er, when will you understand your mother’s good intentions?”

Suddenly, a voice sounded from the living room.

Xu Tie looked into Xu He’s eyes and said, “If you’re smart, you’ll listen to your mother. Don’t go down the football path. Focus on your studies—that’s your future.”

Xu He looked up at his father in confusion, while Xu Tie’s gaze drifted out the window into the dark night.

Behind the bedroom door, Tang Qian smiled sweetly as she heard those words.