Type "2006" into a search box, and the very first autocomplete suggestion that pops up is "2006 World Cup."
Football—undeniably the world's number one sport. With its unmatched tournament popularity, massive global awareness, and elite competitive standard, it stands alongside the modern Olympic Games as the peak of the sporting world.
The World Cup final took place at the Olympic Stadium in Berlin, Germany, with France and Italy battling for the championship.
It is worth noting that France's talisman, "Zizou" Zinedine Zidane, had announced prior to the match that he would be retiring afterward, making this final the absolute final game of his professional career.
Back at the 1998 World Cup, playing on home soil, Zidane had scored two headers against Brazil to secure France's first-ever World Cup trophy.
In 2006, his swan song commanded the attention of the entire world. Fans eagerly anticipated another lifting of the trophy to punctuate his career, a picturesque curtain call for his time on the pitch.
The final kicked off on July 10 at Yanjing time.
In the first half, Zidane scored with a Panenka penalty to give France the lead. Italy kept the pressure on, and Marco Materazzi soon equalized with a powerful header.
Just as all viewers were engrossed in this evenly matched tactical chess match, hoping the superstar Zidane would forge further glory, the unexpected happened—defying everyone's imagination.
After ninety minutes, the score was deadlocked at 1:1, dragging the final into extra time. Shortly after extra time began, Italian defender Marco Materazzi resorted to petty tactics, repeatedly tugging at Zidane's jersey.
Materazzi then hurled insults at Zidane. Such incidents usually go unnoticed, completely uncaptured by pitchside cameras.
Yet the very next second, Zidane violently drove his head into the other man's chest, knocking Materazzi flat onto the turf. An uproar instantly erupted across the stadium!
"Zidane?" CCTV5's commentator gasped in disbelief. "It's actually Zidane! What is wrong with Zidane? What is this? The referee is reaching into his pocket!"
A red card.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh..."
"What is going on here! You can't end your career with a move like this! Up until this moment, he was the king ruling the pitch..."
Zidane was sent off with a red card for his headbutt.
The expression on his face held a detached bewilderment, a desolate regret, and lingering fury. Only then did the cameras manage to capture his retreating figure.
Zidane's back brushed right past the World Cup trophy standing by the edge of the pitch.
This moment became an eternal regret, deeply frozen in the hearts of football fans.
On the pitch, a France side lacking Zidane clearly lost its edge. After a penalty shootout, the final score stood at 3:5, leaving France in bitter grief.
...
Back then, after watching the broadcast, the fans and friends around Lu Man blew their gaskets right where they stood.
Some guessed that Materazzi had a foul mouth and had hurled insults at Zidane's mother and sister; unverified online leaks claimed Materazzi called Zidane's sister a prostitute; others said Zidane had been raised by his older sister since childhood, sharing a deep bond, holding her in the highest regard, and that no real man could stomach such provocation.
That night, Lu Man witnessed firsthand what kind of scene unfolds when fans' anger spins completely out of control. They were watching the match on a massive screen set up outside an appliance store, and the plastic stools provided by the shop bore the brunt of their rage—hurled and smashed to pieces. A cascade of profanities echoed endlessly through the air.
Several hundred people roared curses in unison, directing greetings toward Materazzi himself and his female relatives. While one couldn't quite say the echoes lingered in the rafters, they certainly rattled the clouds.
The appliance store employees and owner cowered in a corner, shivering. The next day, a second-generation rich kid among the fans voluntarily stepped forward to compensate them for their losses.
Italy champions, France runners-up. Lu Man remembered this vividly.
...
Lu Man walked into a sports lottery kiosk. The narrow, elongated room suffered from poor lighting. The owner stood guard by a computer printing out tickets, while a few middle-aged and young men clustered around the betting rule board, pointing and discussing wagers.
Right beside the notice board hung a promotional poster of Gu Yan, looking ancient and stiff: "Our city's renowned private entrepreneur, Mr. Gu Yan, donates a basketball court and senior fitness equipment..."
Following Lu Man into the shop was a young guy sporting a shock of mainstream-defying dyed hair. As soon as he stepped inside, he shouted loudly, "Boss, what kind of World Cup lottery tickets do you have?"
The store owner pointed a finger at the rules posted on the wall: "It's all written right there. We've got eight-match win-loss pools, six-match half-full matches, the quarterfinal guesses, and the semifinal guesses."
"Damn, so many fancy options," the punk muttered.
The semifinal guess—that was the one. Lu Man's eyes lit up.
For a half-baked fan like Lu Man, the other betting methods were a bit too complicated, and he couldn't keep track of the details anyway.
However, the final option, guessing the top four, was relatively straightforward and offered a massive payout.
Football sports lotteries had one distinct advantage: they weren't just a random string of numbers.
To guess the top four, one had to pick the champion, runner-up, third place, and fourth place out of the thirty-two teams. Both the team names and their exact rankings had to be correct. Sales closed on June 20, and the results of the final on July 10 would determine the winners.
"Dammit, these quarterfinal and semifinal guesses are the only ones worth playing," the punk tossed his head.
Hoping to upsell him, the owner explained, "Guessing the quarterfinals just means picking which eight teams make it through, without needing to rank them first through fourth. You can even do a multiple bet of picking eight out of twelve. But the prize money for that is pretty average—probably a few hundred bucks a ticket. Young man, I suggest you give that a try."
"What about the top four?"
"For the top four, you have to guess both the teams and their exact ranking. The difficulty skyrockets, but the prize money could easily reach tens of thousands."
"That simple?"
The punk asked without thinking: "Doesn't that mean it's a guaranteed profit? There are only about ten teams I consider strong, so if I just buy one ticket for every possible combination of those ten, won't the big prize be mine?"
The store owner chuckled—yet another kid who had skipped class: "Do the math. If you buy tickets for all ten teams in every combination, you're looking at 5,040 tickets. That's over ten thousand bucks."
A troubled expression crossed the punk's face. After pondering for ages, he still couldn't wrap his head around why just ten teams would require over 5,000 tickets.
"Forget the math, whatever, I'll rely on my luck."
He pulled out a yellow-jade Guanyin pendant dangling from a mechanical skull keychain. Lu Man took one look—holy cow, cyber Buddhism.
Clasping his hands together over the pendant, he picked four teams: "England, Argentina, Brazil, Spain!"
Lu Man bit back a laugh. All that dramatic posturing, and he didn't get a single one right.
Taking advantage of this cannon fodder paving the way, Lu Man stepped forward: "Boss, give me a top-four guess ticket too."
"Which teams are you picking?"
"Italy, France, Germany, Portugal."
"Coming right up."
In his memory, a classmate back then had bought "France, Italy, Germany, Portugal" in that exact order. If only the champion and runner-up had been swapped, he would have won a 50,000-yuan grand prize.
That foul-mouthed Materazzi didn't reveal what he had actually said to Zidane until an interview in 2020.
"Zidane said to me, 'Brother, please don't pull, if you want my jersey so badly, I can give it to you after the match.'
I replied, 'I'd rather have your sister than your shirt.'"
Perhaps, had it not been for those words from Materazzi, France might have smoothly claimed the championship, and that classmate would have had more than enough prize money to put down a down payment on a house.
So while most of his classmates filled their QQ status updates with cheesy non-standard text, that particular classmate's signature read: "Materazzi is a massive dumbass."
He kept that signature unchanged for years, standing entirely alone.
France, Italy, the host nation Germany, and the fruity nation of Portugal—an easy sequence to remember.
Lu Man counted the cash in his pocket; he had only brought a single hundred-bill when he left the house: "Give me 49 tickets."
Leaving two bucks behind for the bus ride home.