"You guys are already in London? We're just heading out, should arrive at the airport by 3 PM. Got it, I understand."
At Milan Airport, Suker hung up the phone.
Beside him stood Simic, Simunic, and Srna, all dragging their suitcases.
"They've already arrived. We'll head straight to the hotel," Suker said as he pocketed his phone.
Srna leaned on the handle of his luggage:
"Luka and Pranjić are both playing in the Premier League. They probably got here first. What about the others?"
"They're on their way," Suker replied casually, turning to see that boarding had begun.
"Let's go."
The four of them boarded the plane, encountering plenty of fans along the way asking for autographs and photos.
Ever since they'd become famous, this kind of thing had become a daily occurrence.
Especially for Suker, who often caused traffic jams wherever he went, requiring special arrangements.
This time, with help from airport staff, they managed to clear a path and find their seats.
"Once I'm richer, I'm definitely buying my own plane," Suker vowed silently.
One or two times was fine, but constantly dealing with this was getting on his nerves.
Away games were exhausting enough, and if the journey wasn't peaceful, it drained even more energy.
If it weren't for Berlusconi being out of town, Suker had even thought about borrowing his private jet.
"England's going all-in," Suker said, reading the British press.
Srna rested his chin on his hand:
"They have to. They can't afford to lose this match—if they do, they're out of the Euros."
Suker smiled:
"Who would've thought Russia would beat England at home?"
"They really screwed up a winning hand," Srna shrugged.
"McClaren's finally learned his lesson. No more Lampard-Gerrard pairing this time."
"Well, of course not—Gerrard's suspended with a red card. That alone shows how poor England's form is; he got that red playing away against Israel."
"Rooney's back though."
"Doesn't matter. Their midfield is still a mess."
"I'm just glad we have Luka."
Srna grinned. England had solid offense and defense, but their rigid midfield prevented them from reaching their potential—that was the core issue.
On top of that, McClaren's disastrous handling of the "Lampard-Gerrard dilemma" had dragged England into a desperate situation.
This was a must-not-lose match for England.
One loss, and they'd miss out on Euro qualification entirely.
In that case, Croatia and Russia would qualify first and second.
For a European powerhouse like England, failing to qualify in the group stage would be a huge embarrassment—not just in Europe, but especially at home.
And English fans were notorious for being explosively passionate.
3:00 PM – London Heathrow Airport
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO——
As Suker and the others arrived, they were greeted by a chorus of boos from English fans.
These guys had gone out of their way to come here and boo them—talk about petty.
British media swarmed to request interviews, but all of them were turned down—per national team orders.
Suker also knew: those English journalists had no intention of asking anything nice.
Better to say nothing and avoid trouble.
They got into the national team's assigned vehicle and headed to the hotel, with British reporters snapping photos and even filming the whole time.
England National Team Training Center – London
Coach Steve McClaren watched the news report on TV.
"At 3 PM this afternoon, Croatian internationals including Suker, Srna, Simunic, and Simic arrived in London. They'll conduct a one-day training session in preparation for their final Euro qualifier in two days. Though Croatia has already qualified as group leaders, they've called up their full-strength squad…"
Click.McClaren crushed his paper cup.
After 11 matches, he could hardly believe the group favorite—England—had ended up in such a terrible position.
The matches they should have won, they didn't.
Now, heading into a must-win final match against Croatia, the pressure was unbearable.
What infuriated him even more was Croatia's attitude.
They'd already qualified.
Last round, they used a mixed lineup of starters and backups—Suker, Modrić, and others didn't even play.
But now, facing England?Coach Bilić had summoned his entire A-team.
Everyone knew what this meant:
Knock England out during the qualifiers.
As angry and bitter as McClaren was, he had to face reality.
This Croatian side was nothing like the "pushovers" of years past.
Suker, Modrić, Pranjić, Srna—none of them were easy to deal with.
England might have home-field advantage, but that didn't make this match any easier.
Thankfully, Terry, Rooney, and Neville had returned, boosting their strength.
And with Gerrard suspended, the Lampard-Gerrard dilemma was at least resolved… for now.
Still, the midfield remained stiff and uncoordinated.
Even though England had Carrick, Croatia had Modrić—and Carrick wasn't exactly a game-changer at United.
Up front, Rooney and Crouch looked threatening, but… could they really outgun a monster like Suker?
McClaren looked at Croatia's projected starting XI and winced.
This was a match he had to win.
Not just for England.
"This is do-or-die…" he muttered grimly.
If he lost, he and England would go down together.There was no room for failure.
Croatia National Team Hotel – London
Suker walked into Modrić's room.
"Good afternoon!"
The room was already full.
Pranjić and Dujmović lay sprawled on the beds.Mandžukić and Rakitić leaned against the wall.Modrić sat by the window and waved.
"You guys just got here?"
"Yeah," Suker said, plopping onto a bed and pushing Dujmović inward."Scoot over!"
"Go sit somewhere else!" Dujmović grumbled as he made space.
"Say that again and I'll make you treat us to dinner," Suker threatened.
Dujmović instantly shut up.
"We've got one more training day, then match day," Srna sighed."Looks like Bilić really wants to bury England."
Pranjić:
"Of course. They're a traditional powerhouse. You never know if they'll suddenly explode in the knockouts or group stage. Better to knock them out early than let them fester. Besides, they're not in great shape right now."
"Luka, any intel?" Suker grinned."How's Rooney doing lately?"
Modrić rolled his eyes.
"He's alright. He's not as tactically prioritized as Ronaldo, but still playing well."
"What about the tall guy?"
"Crouch? He's in good form. He even helped beat Liverpool recently."
Pranjić grinned:
"That Welsh guy looked even better in that match. He's so fast—might even be as fast as Suker!"
Suker looked over at him.
He guessed Pranjić was talking about the Welsh star who just joined Tottenham this season:Gareth Bale, aka "The Welsh Wizard."
"As fast as Suker?" Srna was surprised.
Pranjić:
"Feels even faster. But aside from speed, the rest of his game is a mess."
Suker grinned.
Early Bale was indeed a raw talent—rough around the edges.It wasn't until years later that he truly exploded onto the world stage.