Rebirth as an American Tycoon

[Chapter 807: Looks Matter]

The 1994 World Cup final was arguably the most worthy of criticism among all the matches.

The sharpest striker still couldn't break through the Italian defense.

Well, Brazil was just a little unlucky; their shots frequently grazed the goalposts. The Rose Bowl, packed with fans, occasionally echoed with boos.

William White didn't need to look to know it was America's doing. What a bunch of jerks -- they couldn't score a single goal!

"Ahem, William, it's time for a penalty shootout, right? They should have just started with penalty kicks."

"Alright, George, you're not wrong there. The Italian team is utterly exhausted, they're done for. However, Brazil did perform better." William shrugged, somewhat indifferent. Even if there were no goals, that didn't mean the game was garbage.

Both sides had given their all; this was their highest level of play. Playing 120 minutes in such weather was nothing short of madness.

"Well, luckily, these matches aren't frequent. Honestly, I'm a bit worried; what if those bastards demand refunds? That would be quite embarrassing."

"Not going to happen. Those who didn't enjoy it mostly cashed in. The scalpers must be thriving today."

"Can't believe it's actually full. William, does Los Angeles have that many football fans?"

William White genuinely didn't know how to respond. This was the final! Fans from all around the world were there -- you could tell just by seeing the crowds outside the stadium. There were still many who couldn't get in.

"William, from what I gather, you don't seem optimistic about the Azzurri?"

"What good does it do if I'm optimistic? If Italy wins, I can sell more of my jerseys."

"Ahem, you greedy guy."

In reality, just making it to the finals would boost sales for Diego Maradona's jerseys. William White was just being pretentious.

As expected, Italy lost. As Roberto Baggio stood there, dazed, the Samba team had already begun their celebrations.

Well, they performed better, obviously earning the champion title. However, William White didn't share the same sentiment; he wanted to play it up a bit.

"What? Sir, are you really going to do that?"

"Duh, the Brazilians have already taken the trophy. What's there to promote? They always win.

Look at that melancholic prince -- my goodness, I bet there are a ton of girls crying over him."

"Are you saying this just to sell more jerseys?"

"Of course! This isn't women's football, aside from business, what else should I care about?"

"Ahem, fair enough, you're the boss; I'll head to the live broadcast room now."

Bush, after hearing William White's words, elegantly flipped him a middle finger. He realized he had seriously underestimated the guy's shamelessness.

"Pfft, what's the big deal? Everything's business. Haven't you noticed there are more female fans of the blue team? Men care more about winning or losing; girls care more about looks. What good is it to play well? The commercial value isn't great either."

With nothing but a rueful smile, Bush seemed to have nothing else to say.

William White wasn't just rambling on -- look at later stars like David Beckham and Cristiano Ronaldo. Their commercial value surpassed even Messi's.

When it comes to who was stronger between Ronaldo and Messi, everyone had differing views. But Beckham couldn't hold a candle to the two.

However, regarding who had greater commercial value -- well, Beckham won there. Had he played at Messi's level? My goodness, he would have been a mobile vault of cash.

...

The 1994 World Cup ended smoothly, and everything was good enough. The host nation had been eliminated but hadn't floundered in the group stages.

One slight disappointment was that the player who accidentally scored an own goal was killed after returning home. Coincidentally, he was the one who helped the U.S. score a goal.

Suffering twelve gunshots was truly a depressing affair. Honestly, how much hatred could motivate such violence? For an excellent defender, scoring an own goal was incredibly difficult to avoid.

Watching from the sidelines were certainly no own-goal scorers. 

In reality, he may not have even been a true fan. He might have been involved in gambling, and this act was merely a means to vent his frustrations.

The media in America didn't cover themselves in glory regarding this incident. A great nation should act like one; it was frankly quite idiotic.

Regardless, taking a life was certainly not a pleasant affair. Was it really that difficult to express some condolences?

...

Overnight, the melancholic prince became a global superstar. Judging by the crowd, he looked less like a player and more like a celebrity. Plenty of girls wanted to bear his children.

Wow, the prince who missed the penalty kick had not just avoided a firing squad; he had attained worldwide fame. His number ten jersey was selling like crazy.

You know, the excitement of women could be utterly unreasonable. They hardly cared about the jersey size; they just wanted to get their hands on one.

"Oh my goodness, Athena, that's an old dude. If I remember right, you don't like football."

"Daddy, didn't you notice? His eyes are so melancholic; it's really heartbreaking."

"Ahem, come on, it's just a game. Participation is what counts. Remember? That's the Olympic spirit." William sighed, exasperated -- good grief, melancholic my foot; the guy was just exhausted.

Seeing the father-daughter duo being so sentimental, Suzuki couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably. This spoilt little girl really was quite willful.

Well, William White was not too mad. Being a young girl, she was bound to have some vague ideas.

Like something or not, if you leave her be, she'll move on in a couple of days. When faced with children who idolize stars, the best tactic was not to support or oppose them.

If you support, those celebrities will be miserable. If you oppose, it might backfire. As children grow up, they'll have some rebellious feelings. The more you resist, the more they'll dig in.

"Daddy, you should invite him to the Los Angeles Legends. Hmm, the Legends are terrible; Manchester United is better."

"Ahem, that's a bad idea. He's too old but still quite wealthy. He wouldn't care for the Legends; this is definitely a retirement spot for him. And as for Manchester United, Beckham is much better looking than that. Your judgment is clearly lacking."

"Is he really that old? I don't think so."

"Athena, the golden age of a player is typically between 20 and 25 years. Although someone can still play before turning thirty, an intense schedule is unsuitable. Just look at Manchester United now; besides the league, there are cup matches, plus European matches. If Baggio went over there, he'd be done in half a year."

"Oh, then let's pass. Hopefully, he can play in the next World Cup."

William White smiled without saying much. This round of publicity seemed to have surpassed its target. Ironically, if you ask anyone about the '94 World Cup, many would mention Baggio.

In truth, Brazil's team was incredibly strong. In addition to Romario and Bebeto, they had Ronaldo -- the big and little Ronaldo.

The two were mostly on the bench now. Ronaldinho still had a few kicks in him; Ronaldo had only the bench. The wealth of this squad was difficult to describe.

*****

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