Hearing Brian Clark's words, Director Harris gave a bitter smile. “I know my own abilities. Even if I weren’t injured, even if I made it onto a professional team, I’m afraid I’d still have a hard time making it. I might just end up like Yan Qing, retiring in my twenties... Honestly, Brian, sometimes I regret ever choosing football... You tell me, I spent so much time learning football—what did I get out of it? What does what I’m doing now have to do with football? Absolutely nothing! Driving around making deliveries... My parents didn’t give me this name hoping I’d play football... Why the hell did I ever decide to learn football? I never even had any talent for it...”

Listening to Director Harris grumble and curse, Brian Clark didn’t know what to say.

In fact, Mr. Harris could be considered a victim of football. He never enjoyed any benefits from it; the skills he learned didn’t help him find a job or support himself after leaving the pitch. You could say that learning football wasted a huge chunk of his time. If he’d gone to school or learned a practical trade instead, would his life have turned out completely different?

We always say that Chinese football lacks talent and has a weak grassroots foundation. But professional football is supposed to be the pinnacle of a pyramid—beneath every professional player are hundreds of failures and those who were eliminated. People only pay attention to the successful ones, but they’re not interested in the fate of the failures. But those failures are living, breathing people too—they need to eat, to find a wife, to build a family and a career... Who is responsible for the ten-plus years of youth and time they’ve wasted?

Some insiders in the football world question how many Chinese parents are willing to send their children to play football, but why not ask why parents are unwilling? Gambling a child’s future on football—if they make it, great, but what about the vast majority who don’t? What parent wants their child to be a stepping stone or a statistic for someone else’s success?

Brian Clark couldn’t come up with any grand theories, but looking at Mr. Harris, who was venting his hatred and regret for football under the influence of alcohol, he still felt that maybe there was something wrong with the way we cultivate football talent...

...

Director Harris had no idea how much he’d drunk; by the end, he was almost a puddle of drunken mess, saying things he’d never say otherwise, showing a side of himself that Brian Clark had never seen before.

Brian Clark paid the bill and helped him outside to get a cab—there was no way Mr. Harris could take the bus after drinking so much.

But as soon as they reached the roadside, Director Harris suddenly started dry heaving, then bent over and vomited everything out of his stomach.

Brian Clark quickly patted his back as Director Harris retched again and again. When he finally finished, he wiped his mouth with his hand and then wiped it again on his clothes.

“Feeling better, Mr. Harris?”

“A bit better...”

“Sit down and rest for a while.” Brian Clark supported him, and the two of them sat down together on the curb.

The evening breeze blew by. Even though they were in the south, the December wind still brought a chill.

“Brian, honestly, I’m a little jealous of you...”

“Hmm?” Brian Clark looked at Director Harris beside him in surprise. He was slumped over, head buried in his hands.

“I wish I had your talent... I don’t want to drive deliveries, I don’t want to live like this... I still want to play football, I still want to be a professional player, earn more than I do now, live a more glamorous life... No worries about money or women. I still... I still love football... I don’t want to be a cripple...”

Director Harris mumbled, his voice changing as he spoke, until he finally choked up.

Brian Clark watched his shoulders shake.

Mr. Harris was crying.

But Brian Clark didn’t know how to comfort him. It’s easy to spout some motivational words, but for someone like Mr. Harris who’s stuck in a rut, it wouldn’t help at all.

After being released by AC Milan, Brian Clark had thought fate was unfair to him. But after returning home and meeting Mr. Harris, he realized he was already very lucky—fate was even more cruel and merciless to Mr. Harris.

They say happiness is relative, but he didn’t want to measure his happiness against Mr. Harris’s misery.

Not knowing what to say, Brian Clark could only hug Mr. Harris's trembling body tightly, giving him a little warmth on this cold winter night.

Cars passed by one after another on the road in front of them, the swishing sound never stopping. Across the street was a bustling commercial district, neon signs lighting up the city’s night sky in a riot of colors. A giant Christmas tree stood in front of the biggest building in the complex, wrapped in strings of colorful little bulbs. People entered the lively area in groups, then came out with big bags and satisfied, happy smiles. They stopped in front of the huge Christmas tree to admire it, the colorful lights reflecting on every smiling face as they raised their phones to capture the vibrant night scene.

This was just one corner of a provincial capital in southern China. In this huge city, there were countless places just as lively. In different places, there were similar crowds and the same hustle and bustle.

But the city’s prosperity had nothing to do with these two young men sitting together on the roadside.

Chapter 11: Goodbye, Old Man