"The match is over! Croatia wins with three goals, maintaining their top position in the Euro Qualifiers group."
"In this game, we saw a well-coordinated Croatian squad. They're looking better and better — with dazzling attacking routines and solid defense. I think qualifying for the Euros is no longer in doubt. I'm already looking forward to what surprises these boys will bring us at Euro 2008!"
The match had ended, and players from both teams shook hands.
Arshavin approached Šuker to exchange jerseys.
"Хорошо!" (Harasho — "Great!" in Russian)
Šuker gave a thumbs up and handed over his jersey.
Arshavin gave him a strange look and said,
"I speak English."
"Nice!"
Šuker instantly switched to English.
Arshavin shook his head — it seemed Šuker's English wasn't great either.
With a language barrier and little to talk about, the exchange was brief. They each went their own way after trading shirts.
Šuker looked at Arshavin's back.
At this point, the "Tsar" still seemed raw and immature. His real breakout would come during Euro 2008 and in the Premier League.
But even at his peak, Arshavin would never reach the heights that Šuker was at now.
"Let's go thank the fans."
The Croatian players walked to the sidelines to interact and show their appreciation.
In the stands, two young fans were visibly emotional.
"That was incredible!"
"Let's go! Let's go!"
Mateo Kovačić shouted with excitement.
His eyes sparkled. This match had him fired up — and the opponent was Russia, no less!Yet Croatia had carved through them like slicing through butter.
Šuker, Modrić, Vukojević — every single one of them looked like a star.
"I can't wait any longer," Kovačić said, turning to his friend. "Let's go train again later."
His companion gave a slight nod.
He wasn't much of a talker, but his eyes were fixed on the Croatian players — more specifically, on their jerseys.
His heart was burning too. He also wanted to wear that jersey someday.
His name was Marcelo Brozović, a youth player at Dinamo Zagreb, and a teammate of Kovačić in the academy.
On the other side of the stands, a teenage boy sat with his parents, watching Šuker and the rest.
"Dejan, it's time to go!"
His mother called out and tugged his arm, but the boy didn't move.
"Just let me look a little longer," he said, turning around — a youthful face full of longing.
"I want to play football with them!"
The mother stayed quiet, while the father smiled and said,
"Then you'll have to work even harder. Those are the best players in all of Croatia."
"Just watch me!"
The boy responded with energy.
His name was Dejan Lovren, currently playing for the first team in Bosnia's Zenica, but he had made up his mind:He would transfer to a Croatian club one day.
Across from them, Ivan Perišić watched as fans around him cheered and celebrated.
His heart surged too. After all, Croatia had won — and in such thrilling fashion.
But his emotions were mixed.
Still playing in the first team of Hajduk Split, Perišić had always looked up to Šuker during his youth career.
Now, watching Šuker's performance up close, he began to waver.
"Did I set my goals too high?"
Seeing this version of Šuker, even the proud and ambitious Perišić had to admit:They weren't even on the same level.
One was a regular in Hajduk's lineup.
The other was a core attacker at AC Milan, a Champions League and Serie A Golden Boot winner.
Still, Perišić didn't give up.
He clenched his fist.
His new goal: join the Croatian national team before Euro 2008.
That would require a whole new level of performance.
As the applause rang through the stadium, the Croatian players finally began to leave the pitch.
In the locker room, the players packed up their gear and chatted.
With the match over, the holiday officially began.
"So… where are you guys going for vacation?"
Dujmović asked, leaning over.
Modrić:
"Spain. I went there last time — great spot. Taking my girlfriend this time."
Dujmović:
"Take me too—"
Vukojević:
"Dude, it's a couple's trip. Don't butt in."
Modrić (smiling apologetically):
"Sorry, Tomi. Just the two of us this time."
Dujmović nodded and turned to Vukojević.
"What about you?"
"Why?"
"To be your third wheel!"
"Get lost!"
"Not going anywhere. I'm coming!"
The others burst out laughing at their playful bickering.
Šimić, grinning, turned to Šuker:
"Where are you vacationing?"
Šuker:
"Vacation?!"
His voice shot up, full of resentment.
"What vacation? I have to go back to work!"
Šimić:
"The season's over — where would you work?"
Šuker (gloomy):
"You don't know the pain of too many sponsorships…"
This season alone, Šuker had taken six endorsement deals, with four commercials and five public appearances.With everything scheduled, his entire vacation would be filled up.
While others went on holiday — he had to work.He had to earn that money.
"Damn it…"
On the final night, everyone gathered at Šuker's private estate for one last celebration.
After a night of partying, the next morning everyone went their separate ways — some to vacation, some to "third wheel," and Šuker… to work.
He boarded a plane back to Milan the next morning.
As soon as he landed, Zorančić was already waiting at the airport.
"I just got off the plane!" Šuker exclaimed.
Zorančić nodded:
"Yes, and it's time to get to work. This afternoon, you'll shoot a commercial. In the evening, you'll attend an event. It's a full schedule. I checked — you have two days of rest in the middle, and three more before the new season begins."
Šuker counted on his fingers.
"My holiday is… just five days?"
Zorančić corrected him:
"Possibly five days."
And so, Šuker was dragged straight into a full work schedule.
He wanted a break too, but he had taken the money, so now he had to deliver.
While Šuker was working, Ancelotti was also hard at work — as was all of Milan.
Every post-season, the club ran at full speed.
They had to prepare for the new season — budgets, finances, transfers… a mountain of tasks.
After a grueling year of fighting on all fronts, Ancelotti was more convinced than ever of the need for squad depth.
He needed signings.Big ones.
Having defended their Champions League title, AC Milan's market appeal had largely returned.
Now was the perfect time to strengthen the team.
Ancelotti had even drawn up a shortlist — just waiting on the money.
But the money never came.
Instead, Milan vice president Galliani showed up — and brought bad news.
"I'm sorry, Carlo. Our transfer budget this season is… not much."
Ancelotti's heart sank.
"How much is 'not much'?"
Galliani held up four fingers.
Ancelotti immediately closed his eyes.
There was no way that meant €400 million — it had to be €40 million.
But what could he do with €40 million?
Forget Šuker — even Kaká was out of the question.
Still, Ancelotti wasn't ready to give up.
"Is that really all we have? We defended the Champions League! Didn't we get any new sponsors?"
"We did… but it all went into filling financial gaps. What's left is what I can give you."
Galliani felt guilty watching Ancelotti's disappointed expression.
After all, the man had gone all out to deliver back-to-back Champions League titles and a league title. He deserved better.
"How about… I add another €5 million?"
Ancelotti's face darkened further.
Galliani chuckled awkwardly and offered a few encouraging words —Stuff like "the future will be better," "tough times are temporary," and so on.
He knew Ancelotti wasn't buying any of it, but there was nothing else he could do.
There was no money.
Milan was broke.
After Galliani left, Ancelotti shook his head and sighed.
This was the poorest transfer window he had ever experienced.
Last year, he still had €50 million.Now, after winning everything — he had less?
Of course, he understood.
That €50 million last season might have been squeezed out of Berlusconi by Galliani —And now they had to pay it back.