The Greatest Manager of All time

After driving the Ferrari onto the motorway, Lynn said to Emlyn Hughes, "Watch the navigation for me, and keep an eye on speed-limit warnings. Call the cars behind us and remind them too."

Lynn overtook cars frequently on the motorway. In truth, as long as he drove steadily, even high speed was not too much of a problem. The safety performance of a supercar was absolutely better than that of an ordinary sedan.

Behind them were the clever Cromwell and Cook.

When the other players rushed into the garage to snatch Lynn's supercars, Cromwell had pulled James Cook straight into the bright silver Alfa Romeo parked behind the Ferrari outside the garage.

Once they entered the motorway and began speeding up, James Cook grew a little nervous. Watching Cromwell, who was even younger than him, drive the sports car so skillfully, he asked curiously, "Oliver, you're only seventeen. How do you already know how to drive?"

Cromwell laughed. "Come on, I knew how to drive when I was fourteen. But I could only take the test after I turned sixteen. Don't worry, I have a license. Oh, my God, quickly open my bag and check whether my license is in my wallet."

James Cook felt as though his head was about to explode. He hurriedly opened the bag on his lap, pulled out Cromwell's wallet, and frantically searched through it. When he finally found Cromwell's driver's license, he almost felt moved to tears.

Thank God he had not boarded a pirate ship.

No, a pirate car!

Cromwell turned to him and said, "Good thing I brought my license. Otherwise, if the traffic police stopped us, we'd be in trouble. By the way, see if there's any music to listen to. Otherwise, a journey of several hours will be too boring."

James Cook explored the car's music player and said with genuine admiration, "Oliver, you're amazing. I still don't know how to drive."

Cromwell replied, "Of course. You spend every day playing football, then you have to study too. Even if you're interested in other things, you don't have time. I'm not trying to criticize you, but you listen to everything your brother says. Doesn't it feel like being in prison?"

James Cook answered as though it were perfectly natural. "You don't understand. My family used to be poor. Lance changed my home. A large part of my university tuition was paid by him. I should cherish that. Everything he does is for my own good, and to make me better."

What else could Cromwell say?

He made a helpless expression.

Cook figured out the car's player and pressed play.

A Chinese song began playing through the speakers — a melancholic Cantonese ballad about farewell, regret, and emotions too painful to put into words.

Cromwell, who could not understand the Cantonese lyrics at all, frowned. "What is this? This should be Miss Taylor's car, right? Why would it have songs like this?"

"It should be a Chinese song. The Boss is Chinese," James Cook immediately said.

Although Erin Taylor did not act clingy and passionate like a young girl in front of Lynn, she was very attentive. She always remembered the songs Lynn sang at KTV, then listened to them in her free time. If she could manage to sing a couple of lines convincingly, she believed that the next time she sang with Lynn at KTV, it would definitely make him extremely happy.

"Stop, stop, stop. Change the CD."

Cromwell did not dislike the melody, but since he could not understand it, it felt strange.

James Cook pressed stop and ejected the CD. Then he found another album and asked, "Do you want to listen to Oasis?"

Cromwell's face immediately lit up. "Good man. Oasis it is. Put on 'Don't Look Back in Anger'!"

James Cook inserted the CD and smiled. "So you like Oasis too? I like them a lot."

Cromwell laughed. "Heh, you've got good taste. Come on, sing with me!"

Once the melody began, Cook and Cromwell sang along happily in the Alfa Romeo, their voices filling the car with youthful excitement.

Just as the two were singing at the top of their lungs, Cromwell's phone rang.

Cook picked it up and saw that assistant coach Emlyn Hughes was calling, so he answered on Cromwell's behalf.

"Coach Hughes, yes, it's James. I'm with Oliver. We're right behind you and the Boss. All right, we'll pay attention!"

After hanging up, James Cook told Cromwell to watch out for speed-limit zones.

The other cars behind them had basically followed one after another.

If they had taken the original route, six hours would definitely have been enough.

But because the fastest route had been blocked by traffic, they had no choice but to take a longer way around. Whether they could reach Hartlepool on time, no one could say for certain.

The convoy of twelve supercars speeding down the motorway drew plenty of attention. Many drivers they overtook were startled, thinking they had run into a street-racing gang.

However, the entire route was not on the motorway. After reaching Shropshire, they entered the city. They had already bypassed the motorway section where the accident had happened, and now they planned to rejoin the original route from Telford.

But the black Maybach at the very back fell behind.

The two center-forwards, Charisteas and Ibrahimović, were in that car.

Ibrahimović was driving. When they stopped in Telford to refuel, he rolled down the window and flirtatiously waved at two young women refueling beside them. Charisteas urged him from the passenger seat, "Zlatan, stop messing around. We've already fallen behind!"

After refueling, Ibrahimović closed the window and said carelessly, "Relax. I'll catch up with them right away!"

Ten minutes later, the Maybach stopped two kilometers from the motorway.

A police car had pulled them over.

In the passenger seat, Charisteas complained to Ibrahimović, "Couldn't you wait until we were on the motorway before speeding up? Great, now we've been caught speeding!"

The road near the motorway entrance was wide, and there were not many cars around. Ibrahimović had wanted to catch up with the main group, so he drove a little faster.

Never in his dreams had he expected a traffic officer to be hiding in the grass with a speed gun!

After the Maybach drove past, the police car immediately chased after them, siren blaring.

No matter how reckless Ibrahimović was, he did not dare go against the traffic police.

What else could he do?

Even if he got onto the motorway, he would still be stopped at the next junction!

The officer was walking over. Inside the car, Ibrahimović turned to Charisteas and asked, "Can you drive?"

Charisteas nodded. "Yes. Why are you asking?"

"Do you have a license?"

"Yes—wait, Zlatan! You don't have a fucking license?"

Ibrahimović had just unfastened his seat belt and was about to switch places with Charisteas, but the officer was already knocking on the window. Ibrahimović wanted to stall for time and switch seats with Charisteas, but the worst part was that both of them were nearly two meters tall. In the relatively cramped space, it was impossible to complete such a magical change of position.

Ibrahimović could only accept his fate.

He lowered the window.

The officer asked him to show his driver's license.

Ibrahimović gave the officer a bright, radiant smile.

Three minutes later, Ibrahimović and Charisteas were standing by the roadside. The officer was calling for a tow truck to take the Maybach away, while preparing to take Ibrahimović and Charisteas back to give statements.

Charisteas threw his backpack onto the ground, slowly squatted down, hugged his head, and muttered weakly, "Boss, I'm sorry…"

Ibrahimović bent down and patted his back comfortingly. "It's fine. Don't be scared."

Charisteas looked up at Ibrahimović, wanting to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

He was completely speechless.

No license, yet he still fought to get into the driver's seat!

Lynn, who had already nearly passed Stafford, received the news on the motorway that Ibrahimović and Charisteas had been taken away by traffic police. He almost spat blood inside the car!

He immediately told Emlyn Hughes to notify the ten cars behind them:

If anyone did not have a license, say so early!

Do not speed!

Do not break traffic laws!

Fine.

Just like that, two major forwards were gone!

What a bloody disaster!

Among the ten cars following behind, David Villa found an opportunity to stop at the roadside and switch seats with Grosso.

Hartlepool United's home ground, Victoria Park.

The sun had already begun to set. The clock on the scoreboard showed 4:09 p.m.

The stadium, which could hold more than seven thousand people, was about ninety percent full today.

Away tickets had barely sold at all!

On one hand, Swansea was too far from Hartlepool. On the other, during their previous away match, Swansea supporters had been attacked by football hooligans in Blackpool. Although the incident had already been forgotten by English football, the psychological trauma and fear it left among the Swans supporters had not yet faded.

Fewer than three hundred Swansea supporters had come to Victoria Park.

There was no real cheering momentum in the stands.

Because no players had come out, and nine minutes had already passed since the scheduled kick-off time, the supporters had grown impatient.

Hartlepool United's coaching staff and substitutes were already sitting in the home technical area and on the bench.

Manager Keith Turner checked his watch frequently.

According to FA regulations, if one side was more than fifteen minutes late, the referee team had the right to cancel the match!

That meant Hartlepool United might very well win without playing!

Keith Turner stood up and went over to the fourth official, pretending to chat casually. He was killing time, hoping time would pass faster.

If that happened, they would easily take three points from Swansea, now one of the biggest promotion favorites.

This was a six-pointer!

Just as he was chatting, a bright red Ferrari was stopped at the vehicle entrance to Victoria Park.

Lynn explained his identity to the security guard, but the guard seemed to be playing dumb, saying he had to check his identity.

Lynn knew Hartlepool United were deliberately making things difficult.

Even the security guard knew he had to buy time for the team!

Lynn simply parked the Ferrari at the entrance and said to Hughes, "Tell the players to get out and run straight into the stadium. Treat it as their warm-up!"

After saying that, Lynn rushed into Victoria Park. He did not even enter the dressing room, instead charging straight into the players' tunnel.

Keith Turner raised his wrist to check his watch again and smiled knowingly.

One minute left!

At that moment, someone burst out of the players' tunnel. That person rushed to the fourth official's side, drenched in sweat but with a face as cold as ice. In a low voice, he said, "Swansea Football Club are present. We can enter the pitch immediately. Inform the referee."

Keith Turner's face filled with shock.

After saying that, Lynn turned and glanced at him, murderous intent blazing in his eyes. Then he took off his suit jacket and casually threw it toward the away bench.

He walked to the touchline, swept his gaze across the stands of Victoria Park, and with a ferocious expression, unleashed a roar.

"Hartlepool United!

"Swansea have arrived!"