Chapter 871: Who Are You?

It was 9:30 PM local time, and a large crowd of ticketless fans had gathered outside the stadium.

Not having a ticket didn't matter; watching the big screen outside while listening to the screams from inside the stadium gave you a sense of being right there in the moment.

The area outside the venue was also the favorite spot for many tabloid reporters.

【Qatar World Cup Column】

"Wow!"

A Dutch fan raised his hand; seeing the reporter was a Middle Eastern man, he chose to speak in English.

"This is the Netherlands!"

"We will be the first team to reach the semi-finals! This is the Netherlands!"

The Netherlands' overall performance in this World Cup had indeed been impressive, earning head coach Van Gaal the fans' approval; you could even hear fans outside the stadium shouting the names of Gakpo and Van Gaal.

"Then what do you think of China's performance? They are the biggest dark horse of this tournament."

"What's a 'dark horse'? Haha!"

The interviewed fan spread his hands: "I know China, big country, powerful army, but football... haha!"

"To be honest, I've barely heard of Chinese football; TY is the only Chinese player I know."

The fan made a "tiny bit" gesture with his right hand.

"Big country, small football!" (Great Nation, Small Football)

Actually, he didn't need to emphasize what he had just said, but the guy insisted on repeating it: "You know, our opponent in the last round was the USA; they are just like China, except they played even worse."

By this point, the guy's allegiance was crystal clear: he was either an Ajax fan or a PSV Eindhoven fan, as supporters of these two teams were the ones who disliked Tang Ye the most among all Dutch people.

Stepping forward toward the camera, the Dutchman in the front pointed directly at the lens: "CHN? Who are you!"

"Haha!"

Repost from TheScored: In the first half against the Netherlands, the Chinese national team's possession rate was 42%, with effective possession accounting for less than half of that.

Hot topic: As of now, the Netherlands team has not conceded a single goal in the knockout stage.

【That fucking referee, if you were going to blow the whistle, why not do it sooner? Are you just trying to screw us over? Is China simply not allowed to beat the Netherlands?】

【Hurry up and bail Li Tie out to lead the team; just bribe the referee a bit. Has my brother Tie landed in prison yet?】

【Don't panic, brothers; being down 0-1 at halftime is still acceptable; the Netherlands is much stronger than Spain.】

【Strong my ass; damn it, they're just relying on physicality. If they love playing physical so much, why don't they go play rugby? How many times was Tang Ye knocked down by the opposition in the first half?】

【Stupid Netherlands, I'm unfollowing.】

Because the goal had been disallowed, many Chinese football fans were now frantic with anger.

However, it had to be said that the Netherlands' style of play today was indeed somewhat hard to stomach.

Every team participating in the World Cup treated Tang Ye as a key target; this was a normal tactical arrangement, nothing wrong with it.

But the Netherlands had taken things to an extreme; in today's match, the Dutch team seemed to have two match balls, branded Adidas and GG Bond respectively.

"Hiss..."

Taking off his shirt, Tang Ye pressed a muscle on his right arm with his left hand: "Damn it..."

"Come on, let me take a look."

The team doctor walked over and quickly made an assessment.

This was a classic impact injury; if left untreated, bruising would likely appear within a few hours.

"Actually, you could have lain on the ground and waited for the referee to blow the whistle."

The team doctor advised: "You can't play through the pain."

"I... forget it!"

Tang Ye gritted his teeth, not bothering to explain anything to the team doctor; after all, this wasn't the most pressing issue at the moment.

"Hey, I just can't fucking understand it; haven't you noticed we played like trash in the first half?"

"We played worse than we did in the Round of 16; if we keep getting worse, what are we trying to pull?"

"..."

The players in the room shifted their gazes onto Tang Ye.

The team doctor, who was applying an ice pack to Tang Ye, felt somewhat awkward; he rubbed his nose and stepped aside to make room.

"The Netherlands played much better than Spain; it's normal for us to be behind, no need to blame TY."

"No, I know being behind is normal, but don't you feel that none of us are in form?"

Marti hadn't expected Tang Ye to retort so directly; he took a step back, shrugged, and fell silent.

"Once Dumfries and Blind dropped back, they formed a back five, and then what? Then we had no way through; we couldn't break in on the left or the right, so what are we even playing for?"

"I feel this isn't a tactical issue!"

"You guys came in with the mindset of just coasting through the quarter-finals; how can we possibly take the lead like that? We're bound to be behind!"

"..."

The locker room was silent.

Escrivá and Marti exchanged a glance; neither of them spoke.

Long before the group stage began, Escrivá had predicted this scene; he knew Tang Ye would feel his teammates were playing poorly.

In Escrivá's prediction, this scene was supposed to happen during the group stage, not now in the quarter-finals.

Was this a case of... better late than never?

"We beat Spain and advanced to the quarter-finals, great, yes, very great. But you can't just start slacking off after finishing the Round of 16, can you?"

Spreading his hands: "If you guys are slacking, how can we take the lead? We can't defend the left flank, we can't defend the right flank, and we can't fucking generate any offense either; so of course we were bound to be behind in the first half!"

"Take that incident around the 20-minute mark; I was preparing to pass through the center, then I looked toward the left baseline, and damn it, Fernando and Li Lei were just standing there at the baseline."

"I wanted to coordinate with you, but you completely ignored me. Damn it, my legs were shaking; I felt like I was playing against all eleven opponents by myself! When you saw me carrying the ball and making moves, could you give me some feedback?"

The team doctor applying ice to Tang Ye was currently the most awkward person present; he handed the ice pack to Tang Ye, only for the latter to immediately toss it aside.

Team Doctor:...

Tilting his head to one side, Tang Ye turned back and stood up directly.

"I didn't ask you to score goals, nor did I demand that you shred their defensive line, right? But can you just play normally? Can you pull yourselves together and show some ambition?"

"... I won't say anything else. That's it."

"..."

No one spoke; the Chinese team's locker room was unusually quiet, as everyone needed a moment to digest what Tang Ye had just said.

There was an element of exaggeration, but judging by the actual situation in the first half, some of Tang Ye's points were quite reasonable.

This was actually what Escrivá had prepared to say, yet Tang Ye had stubbornly stepped forward and said it all for him.

Advancing to the quarter-finals is indeed impressive, but the World Cup isn't over yet.

Imagine taking a math exam: you spend ninety minutes finishing everything before the final question, leaving thirty minutes remaining for that last major problem.

A full half-hour remains; surely you wouldn't just skip the final question, would you?

Wouldn't that be stupid?

While Escrivá explained the substitution plan and tactical adjustments, the Chinese team players took a moment to regulate their emotions.

"It's truly not easy to have such an opportunity to play in the quarter-finals. Really, let's all give it our best."

At Feng Feng Xiaoting's call, the players gathered in a circle in the center of the locker room.

"Three, two, one!"

"China!"

"Let's go!"

After shouting the cheer, the circle did not immediately break apart; Tang Ye bent down and earnestly instructed his teammates, "Have some ambition, and then... react quickly when you see my eye contact and hand signals. Give me some feedback; otherwise, I'll really be trembling all over on the field. I'm genuinely nervous."

"Let's go, play boldly!"

"If you see an opportunity to pass to me, be decisive and make the pass immediately. Don't withhold the ball just because I'm not a forward sometimes; just pass boldly. If we lose possession, the blame is on me."