Yang Yang had never liked losing, and he hated it.
In his career, no defeat had ever felt like today's.
When he saw the Germans celebrating their World Cup triumph, he felt no regret.
Although he had once come infinitely close to the Hercules Trophy, and although he had once had the chance to win it, he knew that he and his teammates had truly given everything.
Everyone had limits. Perhaps this was the limit of the China Team—and his own limit as well.
He did not blame the teammate who had missed the penalty. He knew that after battling through 120 minutes of extra time, anyone's legs would go weak, and anyone's movements would become distorted from exhaustion. It was unavoidable.
Many people might think that if they had gritted their teeth and held on a little longer, scoring that penalty, the championship would have belonged to China. But Yang Yang felt that a loss was a loss, regardless of whether the penalty went in. The key was that they had been inferior in skill.
Only by acknowledging the gap could they hope to narrow it.
If they kept looking for excuses and reasons, they would never make any progress.
Surprisingly, despite losing the final, hardly anyone on the China Team cried.
Perhaps that was what it meant to have a clear conscience.
Yang Yang went from player to player, pulling his teammates up, embracing them one by one and comforting them.
Wu Lei was crying his eyes out. He had fought for the full two hours in this match, yet had failed to perform particularly well against the Germany Team, which left him feeling somewhat regretful.
Yang Yang smiled and put an arm around his shoulder. "Work harder in the future and strive to bring our National Team