I apologize for the lack of chapters. Been a bit busy with New Years and I finally have a girlfriend lol. But anyway I managed to get Patreon chapters ahead by 25 chapters so chapters will resume back to daily other than on Tuesdays and Saturdays, hopefully if everything goes right.
Besides that Happy New Year and I wish you for you guys to have a good year.
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June 30, 2016 | BBC Sport - Live from Marseille, France
Special Edition: England vs. France Preview
The lights flared on as the broadcast began, revealing a BBC set staged high above Marseille's Vieux-Port. Behind the glass desk, twilight rolled over the harbor, the city buzzing with anticipation on the eve of the Euro 2016 quarterfinals.
Across the table sat a panel that needed no introduction.
Sitting in the middle was Gary Lineker. To his right was Alan Shearer, to Gary's left was Rio Ferdinand.
And across from the English trio were two titans of French football: Thierry Henry and Marcel Desailly.
I feeAll of them flown in. All of them knowing exactly what this match meant.
This wasn't just a quarterfinal.
This was: ENGLAND 🇬🇧 vs FRANCE 🇫🇷
And whoever came out alive would likely lift the trophy.
Gary leaned forward, fingertips pressed lightly against the glass desk, the soft studio lights catching the rippling harbor behind them. His expression carried that mix of excitement and gravity that only nights like this produced.
"Good evening," he began, voice warm and steady. "Welcome to a special edition of BBC Sport, live from Marseille, on the eve of the Euro 2016 quarterfinals."
He swept a glance across the panel with the four legends of the game.
"Before we dive in," Gary continued, "thank you all for being here. I know there were plenty of reasons to stay back in London, but when it's England versus France…"
Alan leaned in immediately, eyebrows up, grin already forming. "You get on the bloody plane."
The desk broke into laughter.
Rio Ferdinand shook his head with a wide smile. "Mate, you'd have to chain me to my sofa to keep me away from this one. I rushed to te plane moment I saw the match announcement."
Henry rested his forearms on the desk, "Some matches," he said, voice smooth, "you don't just watch. You feel them. This one has that… weight like you have to be there in person to experience it properly."
Desailly angled slightly toward him, amusement flickering across his face. "We came for football," he said, tone light but edged with playful challenge. "But let's be honest, we also came to silence a few English mouths in the process."
Rio put a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here we go…"
Gary chuckled, shaking his head. "I can see the hospitality's alive and well already."
Gary tapped the edge of his notes but didn't glance down.
"So," he said, eyes sweeping the desk, "what do we make of this one then? We've got both Prime Ministers attending. Headlines across Europe calling it the real final. Is this the biggest quarterfinal we've ever seen?"
Shearer gave a short laugh.
"It's massive," he said. "Two of the top three favorites, gone head to head a round too early. Everyone thought if England and France met, it'd be in the semis or the final when it really counts."
Rio nodded, animated. "Yeah, yeah, 100%. No one saw this matchup coming this soon. It's got everything, rivalry, world-class players, drama. Add in the politicians and it's not just a football match anymore. It's a bloody summit."
Desailly raised an eyebrow. "And the pressure," he said smoothly. "The weight on these players… it's enormous. This isn't just about who plays better on the night. This is about who survives the noise."
Henry smiled. "There is no 'just football' when it's England and France. History, pride, headlines. You feel it on the pitch. You hear it in the anthems."
Gary looked over. "And you know that better than most, Thierry."
Henry spread his hands. "Let's just say… I've heard a few boos at Wembley."
That earned a laugh around the desk.
Rio grinned. "The boos were respect, mate. Means they feared you."
Shearer cut in, dry. "Or hated him."
Henry shrugged, eyes twinkling. "I'll take either."
Gary smiled. "But jokes aside, there's a genuine feeling that whoever wins this one—"
"—wins the whole thing," Rio finished. "Yeah. You look at the bracket? No disrespect to Germany or Belgium, but England and France are the most complete squads left."
Desailly nodded slowly. "Agreed. But the draw was… how do you say… cruel?"
Henry added, "It's like the football gods looked down and said, 'Let's do this early.'"
Shearer let out a short breath. "Harsh on both teams. But brilliant for the rest of the teams."
Gary sat back, "England vs France," he said. "Two nations, two golden generations, one spot in the semifinal. And only one's walking out of Marseille smiling."
Henry glanced across the table, a glint in his eye.
"We'll see whose anthem plays louder."
Rio smirked. "Just make sure you're still smiling when it's over, mate. We got Tristan this time."
Desailly straightened in his seat, leaning forward like he'd been waiting to pounce.
"You say that," he began, "but let's talk squads. Midfield to defence, France are stronger. Look at the depth. Look at the balance."
Shearer raised an eyebrow. "Alright, go on then."
Desailly gestured with one hand,"Lloris. Varane. Koscielny. Kanté. Matuidi. Pogba. Griezmann. Payet. That's experience, technique, power. Not just individuals but a complete team."
Henry chimed in, voice low and smug. "And unlike England, our spine has already won at the club level."
Rio tilted his head, grinning. "You mean won the right to get knocked out by Tristan in the Premier League every other week?"
Desailly cracked a smile. "Tristan plays with them. He doesn't beat them."
Shearer snorted. "He does beat them. All season. I've got the highlight reels saved."
Henry didn't care about that, "But England's defence, let's be honest leaks. And if there's pressure on England, it's because your best player carries the whole weight."
"Better than having no one to carry it," Shearer said. "We've got Tristan. What've you got? Possession stats?"
Desailly laughed. "We've got history."
"Not the kind that helps," Rio jumped in. "France beat us in 2004. Before that, it was '82. That's two wins in nearly fifty years, mate."
Henry raised a brow. "And when did England last win a trophy?"
Gary winced theatrically. "Oooh."
Shearer responded. "We've got Tristan."
Henry opened his mouth then shut it again. For a second, he couldn't say a word.
Shearer didn't let up. "Yeah. That's right. We've got Tristan Hale, baby."
Rio leaned back, grinning. "You can prep for Kane. For Rooney. For Sterling. But when Tristan decides it's time, no tactics matter. Hat-trick under thirty minutes? Ask Northern Ireland."
Gary cut in, eyebrow raised. "Thierry?"
Henry held his hands up, conceding for once. "You can't stop him. You can only… hope he stops himself."
The English half of the desk laughed like they'd just scored a goal.
But then Desailly raised a single finger.
"Kanté."
The table went quiet.
Desailly leaned forward. "We've got the one player in the world who trained with Tristan every day. Who knows his habits, his rhythm, even how he thinks. And not just him. Vardy. Ben. Drinkwater. Half your team bleeds Leicester. And we've got the man who bled with them."
Henry found his voice again. "Kanté will save France."
Rio blinked. "Kanté?"
Gary nodded slowly. "It's not a bad argument."
"Kanté is the argument," Desailly replied. "If anyone can slow the boy down… it's him."
Shearer looked at Rio.
Rio looked at Shearer.
They both turned back to the Frenchmen.
"Still got Tristan," they said in unison.
Laughter broke across the entire desk.
Gary shook his head, smiling like a man watching a volcano build pressure.
"And that," he said, "is why we can't predict this match."
Henry smirked. "No. But we can enjoy it."
Gary leaned forward again, fingertips drumming the desk lightly.
"Alright, that's the panel view. But what about the people that matter most? Let's head out to the streets of Marseille, where Gabby Logan's soaking up the atmosphere with the fans."
The screen cut in half showing hundreds packed into the fan zone by the Old Port. Blue flares. Flags. Horns. Chanting. Behind the metal barricades and makeshift beer tents, the city felt like it had shed all pretense of sleep.
Gabby Logan stood near the front, mic in hand, flanked by a group of shirtless England fans with red crosses painted across their chests and "IN TRISTAN WE TRUST" banners draped around their shoulders like cloaks.
She angled toward the camera, shouting slightly over the din.
"Thanks, Gary! Well, as you can probably hear, Marseille is very much alive tonight. French and English fans have taken over the city, and if the players are nervous, you wouldn't know it from out here."
One of the England fans leaned in mid-chant. "Tristan's gonna bend it top bins and send Kanté back to Ligue 2!"
The others roared in laughter. Another lad downed half a pint and belted: "Vive la bloody Tristan, lads!"
Gabby turned with a smile. "And how confident are we feeling?"
"Three-nil! Tristan hat-trick. One for each of your centre-backs!"
Cut to a group of French fans nearby, more subdued but no less passionate.
One wore a Pogba jersey, another clutched a miniature Eiffel Tower draped in blue, white, and red.
"Tristan est un monstre," said one man seriously. "But monsters get caught in the right trap."
Another chimed in with a calm grin, "Nous avons Kanté. Il connaît tous leurs secrets."
Then to a Hungarian couple standing off to the side, holding up a handmade banner: "HALE AZ ISTEN - FOR OUR MAGYAR SON."
The woman leaned into the mic. "We watched every match. Even my grandfather wears his England shirt now. Only because of Tristan."
Gabby smiled.
"Are you supporting England tomorrow, then?"
The man nodded firmly.
"Just because Tristan plays for England. Our country loves the young man."
Montage Cut: Voices Across Europe
→ Lisbon, Portugal – A TV reporter interviews a group of locals under a massive Cristiano Ronaldo mural. One man clasps his hands like he's praying.
"Cristiano, faz alguma coisa, pelo amor de Deus. We need you to carry. Let England win so we can crush them in the final."
The camera catches another shouting, "This is your destiny, Ronaldo. Don't let a kid take your crown."
→ Rome, Italy – In the shadow of the Colosseum, an older man throws up his hands, surrounded by younger fans in Azzurri shirts.
"If England wins, we'll never hear the end of it. Their fans already act like they invented football." He gestures to the camera. "Please, France. Do the world a favor. Silence them."
→ Berlin, Germany – On a busy city square, two teenagers in national team kits hold up a hand-painted sign: "GOD IS WITH FRANCE IF HE DOESN'T WANT THE WORLD TO SUFFER."
Their friend adds into the mic, "If England win this, we will never hear the end of it!"
→ Copenhagen, Denmark – Inside a pub filled with red-and-white flags, a reporter holds a mic toward a group of rowdy Danes.
"All of Denmark's behind France," one says, already tipsy.
"Anyone but England!" another shouts, and the whole pub echoes it like a chant.
Cut back to Marseille, where the camera captured a huge French flag being waved with "ALLEZ LES BLEUS" scrawled across it only for an England fan to photobomb with a Tristan cardboard cutout and wrap a scarf around the flagpole.
Gabby stepped aside as a mini-scuffle broke out behind her, laughing. "And that's just a taste of what it's like down here. One thing's for sure, Europe is watching. And no matter who wins tomorrow… the rest of the continent already has strong opinions."
She angled back toward the camera.
"Back to you, Gary."
Back in Studio – BBC Sport Desk
The screen cut back to the BBC desk, where laughter was already echoing through the studio.
Gary was shaking his head, barely holding it together.
"Well," he said, grinning, "not exactly a neutral continent, is it?"
Rio leaned forward. "You'd think we invaded half their countries last week, not a century ago."
Shearer sipped his water, deadpan. "We're the villains in everyone's group chat."
Henry lifted his hands with a mock-innocent smile. "What can I say? The continent has taste."
Desailly chimed in, nodding. "You can't blame them. England wins one knockout game and suddenly it's 'it's coming home.'"
He mimicked waving a flag. "Parades, tattoos, Christmas number ones. They make one semifinal and you'd think they cured cancer."
Henry added, "They don't even need to win. Just almost winning is enough to make them unbearable."
Rio was nearly wheezing. "He's not wrong."
Shearer pointed across the table. "This from the guy who kissed the badge after scoring in a friendly."
Henry grinned, leaning back. "At least I kissed a badge we actually won something with."
That drew playful oohs and mock gasps from the panel.
Gary finally sat up straight, still smiling. "Alright, alright before this turns into another war…"
He turned to the camera, his tone sharpening into something just a bit more serious, just a bit more iconic.
"France versus England. Marseille. One ticket to the semifinals. And by the looks of it, half of Europe ready to riot either way."
He paused, the studio going quiet behind him.
"We'll be here with full coverage tomorrow night."
"Until then, goodnight from Marseille."
The lights faded on the desk. The last shot: Marseille's harbor glowing under moonlight. Just calm enough to forget the storm coming.
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If you guys have time and are interested in my other stories please do check them out.
One is a Naruto one, called Naruto: The Greatest Uchiha , had to change the title, lol.
Link: https://www.webnovel.com/book/34559048308213005
And Basketball's Greatest.
Link: https://www.webnovel.com/book/34373284400173805
And join discord or Patron if you want to.
Patreon Link: patreon.com/Sinbad_
Discord Link: https://discord.gg/s2DVMbqSf4
Besides that, peace.
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