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Murray was a little emotional.

Cantona, seated in the front row, turned and gave Huang Kaiwen a thumbs-up.

These retired old-timers were the main guests at the awards ceremony.

The younger players had long since been itching to get started on their holidays.

Huang Kaiwen nodded at Cantona.

They were both kings, so they could barely be considered of the same generation. The only difference was that Huang the Ball King was the Ball King, while Cantona was merely the King of Old Trafford.

Inzaghi said quietly, "You kind of remind me of Michael Jordan. A lot of people used to idolize him."

"Jordan?"

Ramos said disdainfully, "Even if his status in basketball was comparable to Kevin's in football, he was nowhere near him in other sports. And Kevin has been injured more than two hundred times. If it were Jordan, he might've retired long ago."

Inzaghi nodded.

Huang Kaiwen's injuries were undeniably real. The key was that no matter how he got injured, it never affected his form.

Even Milan's team doctors said it was something science could not explain.

He had injured his soleus, his groin, his meniscus, his ankles—he had even suffered plenty of upper-body injuries. Any one of those injuries was torturous enough. Bale, Hargreaves, and even the early Robben had all been frequent stretcher cases.

Yet Huang Kaiwen acted as if nothing had happened.

Inzaghi felt that Huang Kaiwen might be even better at being a faith healer than playing football.

Then came the Best Team of the Year award.

The nominees included the Miami Heat, the Red Bull Formula One team that had won three straight championships, the United States Men's Basketball Team with fourteen Olympic gold medals, the China National Table Tennis Team that had swept four golds and two silvers at the