Football Dynasty-Chapter 38: Shocking the Entire Nation

UEFA Euro 1988 was truly a devastating experience for English football fans.

This time, Richard didn't hide. He took off his beanie, removed his black glasses and mask, and confidently made his way to the William Hall lounge. But this wasn't the Islington branch; this time, he was heading to The Strand.

Located near Covent Garden, one of the most iconic William Hall locations, this area was in the heart of Central London. It attracted a blend of tourists, theater-goers, and locals, making it a bustling and high-profile spot for betting shops.

As a VIP member of William Hall, no matter which branch he visited, the perks were clear. But here, in the heart of Central London, Richard could finally feel safe.

No violations, no wild rants, no fiery arguments. He could enjoy the experience in peace. If anyone wanted to get in his face here, they'd have to do it with a side of tea and polite apologies.

He was surrounded by a much more dignified group—people who had the subtlety to argue quietly over odds and strategy, their heated discussions framed in the most polite tones.

"Well, I do believe Italy will win easily this time... jolly good, right?" one man said, adjusting his monocle and taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Ah, but you're forgetting about the unpredictability of the Soviet side," another chimed in, stroking his well-groomed mustache. "They've been a force to be reckoned with."

"Quite right," came the reply, before he raised his own glass and clinked it with his friend's.

Richard couldn't help but smile.

The USSR had begun nervously and the game was less than two minutes old when Kuznetsov, imperious at the heart of their defence throughout in West Germany, picked up a yellow card that would rule him out of any final.

Still, the identity of the Netherlands' opponents three days later remained hard to guess as the sides went in for half-time at 0-0.

That was a positive portent for the unbeaten Azzurri, whose three group games had also been goalless at the interval – yet it was the USSR that stepped it up.

The breakthrough came on 58 minutes, when Kuznetsov advanced deep into Italy's half before laying off for Mykhaylychenko.

The midfielder scrambled the ball into Lytovchenko's feet and although his initial shot was blocked he prodded in the rebound.

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"GOOOAAALLL!" The commentator's voice blasted from the old television speaker, the sound crackling with the enthusiasm of a bygone era.

Richard's glass of orange juice trembled in his hand, the liquid swirling as the words hit him like a wave.

Despite knowing the exact score—his calculations all but perfect, a 99% certainty in his mind—there was always that nagging 1%. The butterfly effect.

The chaotic randomness of life that could still throw a wrench in even the most meticulously planned outcomes.

It was a constant he prepared for, just in case something unexpected—a surprise twist, a freak accident—changed everything.

For a moment, the room fell silent. All eyes were glued to the screen, where the commentator's excited voice continued to echo, almost in disbelief.

The very same people who had been discussing the game with the calm precision of seasoned gamblers were now caught off guard, their glasses held halfway to their lips, their words stuck in their throats.

"Italy has a change of heart. It's Italy, after all," one man, still adjusting his mustache with a slightly trembling hand, let out a deep, rueful chuckle. He tried to mask the shock creeping up on him.

Soon, more voices joined the quiet chorus, and though they spoke in whispers, the tension was unmistakable.

"Seems like the Soviets are full of surprises, after all. Hah, haha!"

"Yeah, Italy's still not quite firing on all cylinders. Hahaha."

The laughter was a bit too forced, like a cover-up for the unease hanging in the air. People slapped their hands on the armrests as if trying to shake off the weight of the moment, but the chuckles continued.

Deep down, they were still trying to process the shock.

Italy fought back, showing their resolve, in the 23rd minute, Gianluca Vialli had a golden opportunity. He squandered it, and the collective groan from the crowd in Islington echoed—an "Ahhh!" of disappointment.

It was one of those moments when hope felt so close, only to be ripped away.

And finally.

Olexandr Zavarov, ever the danger on the left flank, weaved past defenders with his characteristic speed. With a deft touch, he squared the ball to Oleh Protasov, using the outside of his right boot.

Protasov needed no invitation. He latched onto the pass and slotted the ball home, sending the crowd into raptures.

2-0.

The final was set. The USSR would meet the Netherlands.

Two goals in five second-half minutes sent the Soviet Union through to their fourth UEFA European Championship final – Italy had no answer to their strength and guile.

Richard dropped his glass, but everyone ignored it. His hand was shaking—he knew he would be set for life.

Humans are fascinating creatures, their emotions a mix of both rational and irrational thoughts. When someone unexpectedly strike it rich, some are taken by surprise, others may try to replicate the success, but almost always, there's an underlying sense of jealousy that keeps them apart from the fortunate ones.

£100,000,000!!!

People are dying in envy.

The Maddox family was once again caught in a storm, but this time, they weren't stuck in fear or uncertainty. Instead, they were settling into their hotel room, surrounded by the warmth of a celebration.

Pop!

The champagne bottle erupted with a pop, its cork shooting into the air.

"Hahaha, good son, good son," Bryan, his father, laughed heartily, patting Richard's shoulder, unable to stop himself.

Still grinning, Bryan sipped from his champagne, savoring the moment before grabbing a slice of pizza.

"Hahahahaha."

His laughter mixed with gratitude and relief as he finally let go of the pressure from losing his job. Without a doubt, today was the best day of his life.

His mother, Anna, was also swept up in the joy. Normally, she would have kept things more restrained, perhaps reminding the family to keep things in check, but tonight was different.

"Hundred... hundred..." she kept repeating, holding a bottle of champagne in her hands.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes twinkled with a hint of tipsiness. She was, for once, truly carefree, no longer worrying about keeping up appearances.

"Hahaha, we're rich!"

Next week, Harry would start his journey as a new student at the prestigious Oxford University. So, before his days in the dorms began, it was better to start crazy first.

Seeing his entire family swept up in the euphoria of the hundred-million-pound celebration, Richard couldn't help but feel happy. However, he knew he had to settle things first before fully joining in the moment.

Central London, the William Hall Strand branch, people were waiting.

They weren't having it. The people waiting were regular gamblers, some already trapped in the damaging cycle of depositing, losing, and never withdrawing.

Hearing someone claim a hundred million pounds sent the crowd into a frenzy, their hopes ignited by the possibility of a similar windfall.

So, they waited.

Waited for the protagonist to appear.

They wanted to place their bets the same way he had, hoping to catch a piece of his luck or, at the very least, ride on what they had begun to call "Richard's roller."

However, their hopes were quickly dashed.

Richard never appeared.

The crowd, once buzzing with excitement, began to deflate. Their optimism, even after the match began, started to fade as time passed.

Anticipation turned to realization, realization to disappointment, and disappointment soon turned into anger.

But Richard never let them have their chance.

The world's first commercial DBS system, Sky Television, went on air just a day after the Euro final, where the Netherlands claimed the trophy, defeating the Soviet Union 2-0.

[Anchor Returns to the News...

Richard Maddox, a former footballer and renowned figure in the world of sports betting, has made a generous donation of £1 million to the victims of the Hillsborough disaster. The tragedy occurred during the FA Cup semi-final between Nottingham Forest and Liverpool. Now, let's go live to Richard Maddox for more details. Richard, over to you...]

After that, Richard appears on screen.

"I express my deepest sympathy for all those affected by this devastating event," Richard said. "This donation is meant to assist the families of the victims and support the ongoing efforts to bring justice to all those impacted by the disaster."

His donation has been met with widespread praise, with many within the football community viewing it as a powerful and heartfelt gesture of solidarity and compassion.

Sky Television wasn't stupid. With Richard's name as the hundred million-pound bettor attached to him, it was no surprise that all eyes were on him.

His name was still as hot as a steaming plate of fish and chips, and that's exactly why they eagerly jumped at his request to air his donation for the Hillsborough disaster.

Who could resist watching a millionaire sports bettor make such a big-hearted move? It was the perfect TV material—charity, football, and a dash of controversy, all wrapped up in one.

But everything wasn't over yet. Soon after the Euro final concluded and Richard's live broadcast wrapped up, another piece of news emerged that shocked the entire nation.

Gary Lineker fell seriously ill.

The FA, as the governing body of English football, needed a scapegoat.

They required someone to shoulder the blame for their humiliating failure at the Euro, where they couldn't even secure a single point despite fielding a team full of star players.

In their eyes, Lineker was the perfect candidate—not only to take the fall but to set an example for others they believed were avoiding criticism.

Thus, Gary Lineker's name was on the chopping block.

The fact that he had struggled so badly throughout the tournament, to the point where people had urged Bobby Robson not to play him in the final match against the USSR, made him the natural target.

But Lineker didn't care about the blame. He was still battling severe fatigue and illness. On top of that, he started losing weight—something alarming, considering he was never carrying extra pounds.

Then came the news: after returning home, Lineker collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.

The truth finally came to light when he was diagnosed with hepatitis shortly after the tournament had ended. Bobby Robson, feeling guilty, visited him to apologize for dismissing his request to rest.

BOOM!!!

It was like someone just dropped a bomb.

"This is what disgusts me the most. Don't any of you see how badly Lineker is playing?

"Mr. Gary Lineker, I need to say something to you."

"Mr. Gary Lineker, if a player is not physically there, they shouldn't be out on the pitch—no matter what. I'm not talking about who's better at football; everyone knows who's better. What I'm saying is whether you should even be playing in the first place—"

Everything Richard said when he became a one-day wonder pundit on BBC was immediately talked about all over Britain—and even Europe.

The fact that he predicted Gary Lineker was unfit to play for England in the Euro—not because he wasn't skilled, but because he was unwell—shook the public.

It caused an uproar, with people criticizing the FA and Bobby Robson, the manager of the Three Lions. The blame for the team's failure was no longer just about tactics or performance, but about the failure to recognize the player's condition and the pressure he had been put under to play.

What is the use of the medical team then?

Useless!