The Future Goat?
December 20, 2015 – Late Afternoon | Aegean Coast, Greece
The beach was alive — not rowdy, just full. Couples wandered barefoot along the tide line, kids chased each other with plastic buckets, and music drifted lazily from a bar further up the coast.
Barbara sat beneath a white parasol on a private stretch, the rope barrier separating their space from the rest of the coastline. Pale sand warmed her toes. The sun dipped low, its reflection dragging gold across the sea like someone painting with light. Her sunglasses were pushed back into her hair.
She let out a breath. Not bad for a work trip.
After wrapping a morning photoshoot in Athens, Sophia had all but shoved her into a cab and ordered her to "go be a rich woman on holiday." And now here they were.
A few meters down, Biscuit was having a staring contest with a dried-up crab. Sophia — assistant, agent, part-time therapist — was draped across a lounge chair with her hat covering her face and a Diet Coke tucked in her elbow.
Barbara leaned back, soaking it in. Greece always made her feel like she was back home. Hungary of course, not England.
Then came the hesitant voice.
"Excuse me… sorry — are you… Barbara Palvin?"
Barbara opened one eye. Two girls stood just beyond the barrier rope, holding iced coffees and that unmistakable mix of courage and panic. Early teens maybe. French or Belgian accents under the English. One wore a vintage Leicester top — of all things.
Barbara smiled. "Guilty."
The one in the jersey lit up like a flare. "Oh my God, we love you! Sorry, we didn't want to interrupt — it's just… you're kind of iconic."
"Especially in that Dior campaign," the other added. "You were so pretty."
Barbara laughed. Thank you."
"Could we get a quick picture?"
She stood, brushing sand from her legs. "Of course, it's no problem."
They giggled, fumbling with their phones. Barbara posed with them, smiled naturally, made a little peace sign in one shot and stuck her tongue out in another. Biscuit came trotting over halfway through and stole the show entirely.
As the girls left, they waved and called, "Tell Tristan we love him!"
Barbara grinned. "I'll let him know."
Once they were gone, she sat back down, brushing a curl from her cheek.
Sophia shifted under her hat. "You do know you're more famous than half the actors in Europe, right?"
Barbara rolled her eyes. "Actors don't have to hold their breath in every dress they wear."
Sophia grunted. "True. But they don't get fan hugs from girls wearing their boyfriend's football kit either."
Biscuit climbed into her lap like a queen returning to her throne.
Barbara grabbed her phone going through her emails before opening up Youtube.
Immediately on her recommended page was of course about her boyfriend.
Recommended for you:
"Rise of Leicester & Tristan Hale | A Football Documentary"
By Football Iconic
A new youtuber but quickly gaining thousands of views and subscribers from this one single video.
She hesitated.
For a moment, her thumb hovered over it. She didn't even know why. Maybe it was the thumbnail — a picture of Tristan in his jersey with the caption Future Goat next to it. Or maybe it was just curiosity. Or pride.
[Image > Here]
Or both.
She tapped it.
.
The video cut to a small room — dimly lit, warm-toned. Brick wall behind him, a single poster of Johan Cruyff half-visible on the left. A standing lamp cast soft light across the desk.
In frame sat a young man in his early twenties — lean, sharp-featured, olive-toned skin, dark hair parted neatly, and wireframe glasses resting just above a thoughtful gaze. There was a calmness in the way he looked into the camera.
He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped just out of frame.
"Alright," he said, voice smooth, clipped with a South London accent. "Welcome back to the channel — or if you're new here, my name's Reuben, and this is Football Iconic."
No dramatic music. No jump cuts. Just him, the mic, and his story telling.
"I usually like to do deep dives — players, eras, systems, moments. But sometimes, football doesn't wait for retrospectives."
A pause.
"Sometimes… the story writes itself while you're still watching it."
Cut to black. Then white text:
AUGUST 8th – DECEMBER 20th, 2015
LEICESTER CITY FOOTBALL CLUB
Reuben's voice continued, layered now over visuals: a low, wide shot of the King Power under floodlights, fog drifting over the pitch.
Cut to grainy footage:
Tristan Hale tugging his shirt on for the first time — an FA Cup tie against Stoke. The crowd restless. No music yet. Just raw stadium noise. Nervous. Uncertain.
"The story didn't start with fireworks. It started with a substitution board."
Cut to a close-up of the number: #22 – HALE ON.
"Tristan Hale — eighteen years old. A kid no one outside Leicester had ever heard of. He came on in the 60th minute. Leicester were losing, 1–0. I went back and watched the clip — you can literally hear the confusion. The commentators? Baffled. The fans? Murmuring. People were asking who? All people saw was a fresh new face."
"Turns out, Nigel Pearson knew exactly what he was doing."
The screen flashed to:
— Tristan's first touch.
— A clean swivel.
— The through ball.
— Jamie Vardy scoring.
— Crowd exploding.
"One touch. One assist. Game tied."
A second later:
— 88th minute. Tristan collecting a loose ball outside the box.
— Striking across goal.
— The net rippling.
— The away fans melting down.
"And then… a late screamer to win it. That was it. That was the moment. A kid walked onto a professional pitch for the first time, with his team losing — and turned it around in 30 minutes."
"That's how Tristan introduced himself to the world."
Quick-cut montage:
— Tristan being mobbed post-match.
— Pearson grinning, patting his shoulder.
— Tristan starting the next league game.
— His first assist.
— Then his first goal.
— Then a hat trick.
— Then… the first double hat trick in league history.
"It escalated fast."
Then cut to a clip of Peter Drury poetry over roaring crowd noise:
"What a moment, ladies and gentlemen! At just 18 years old, Tristan Hale has just done what every young boy dreams of—he's written himself into the history books. From the youth fields to Wembley, from Leicester's academy to the pinnacle of English football, he's just defeated the Premier League giants, Arsenal, and won the FA Cup for his boyhood team! It's a dream come true—a triumph that's been 140 years in the making for Leicester City! Remember this name—Tristan Hale, remember his face."
"Tristan Hale — remember the name!"
Back to Reuben's narration:
"Since then, he hasn't looked back. No loan spells. No benchwarming. Just steady dominance. Game after game. Season after season. What started as a substitution… turned into a movement."
Cue slow-motion:
Tristan lifting the FA Cup above his head, blue and white ribbons fluttering beside Wes Morgan and Marc Albrighton.
"Leicester weren't supposed to win the FA Cup. Not against Arsenal. Not with a kid in midfield pulling strings like Pirlo on Red Bull."
Then:
— Crowd footage from the 7–1 thrashing of Manchester United.
— All of Tristan's celebrations
Reuben's voice returned, now laid over the slow-motion aftermath of the 7–1 humiliation of Manchester United.
"Then came the maulings."
Clips:
— Tristan flicking a pass through three red shirts.
— Mahrez toe-poking it in.
— Vardy celebrating with a knee slide.
— United fans leaving in droves.
"7–1. Against Manchester United. My beloved United, the biggest club in England. Not Burnley. Not Wigan. United. That was the night Tristan stopped being a prodigy… and became the problem."
Cut to stat graphic — stark, clean:
TRISTAN HALE | 2014–2016 (Age 18–19)
— 26 assists (Premier League record)
— 21 goals
— 1st player since Thierry Henry to record 20+ goals and 20+ assists in a single league campaign
— 75 goal contributions in one season
— 125 total G/A in his first 56 professional matches
"He didn't just rewrite the record books. He rewrote what was possible."
Reuben appears on screen again. Focused, almost reverent now.
"Let me put this into perspective."
Cut to side-by-side player images:
— Thierry Henry
— Dennis Bergkamp
— Frank Lampard
— Wayne Rooney
— Cristiano Ronaldo (United-era)
— Ryan Giggs
— Cesc Fàbregas
"Henry's best season: 24 goals, 20 assists. Absolute peak.
Lampard? 22 goals in '09, 16 assists.
Bergkamp? 16 goals, 13 assists in '98 — legendary.
Henry? Held the Premier League assist record with 20.
And now, Tristan Hale. 26 assists. 21 goals. And he was nineteen."
Cut to footage of Tristan in the Championship:
— Rain pouring down at Deepdale.
— A no-look assist.
— A volleyed winner from the edge of the box.
— Tristan being hugged by fans after a match.
"Now sure — 30 of those contributions came in the Championship. But that's no Sunday League. That's England's second-highest division. That's professionals. Grown men. And this teenager sliced through them like a buzzsaw."
Clips of FA Cup final:
— Tristan holding the trophy over his head.
— Champagne spraying.
— Arsenal players watching from the sidelines, stone-faced.
"He's already won more silverware than half the England squad had by 25. And he's barely legal to drink in America."
Final visual:
— Tristan doing his signature celebration
Reuben's voice returns, softer now:
"He doesn't play like a kid. He doesn't think like one. He doesn't act like one. Football isn't just what he does — it's all he is. We've never seen anything like it."
Reuben came back on screen.
"Now raise your hand if you thought Leicester City — seventeen games into the 2015/16 season — would be top of the table. Undefeated. Unmatched. Unbelievable. One of the most dominant starts to a Premier League season in history. Not just the modern era."
A dry chuckle.
"Right. Now put your hands down. None of us did."
"From December 1st to December 20th, Leicester played five matches.
Four wins. One draw.
Fifteen goals scored. Three conceded.
They beat Arsenal. They beat Chelsea. They shut out Everton.
Oh — and before that? They humiliated United and demolished Newcastle."
A sharper cut now — slower footage:
"First came Newcastle. 6–2. The kind of beating you don't just feel — you carry. I've never seen a top-flight side get hunted like that. Leicester weren't playing a match — they were performing an execution."
Then — fade to red. Footage from the United match.
"And then… my dear Red Devils."
Replay: Martial's early goal. Then Tristan's response. The Panenka. The flick. The celly.
"We were winning. For five minutes. I started to believe. A draw? Maybe. Just maybe."
"And then he snapped his fingers. And all that hope — gone. In a blink. For the third time in two seasons, I had to watch Manchester United get picked apart by Tristan and his cast of misfits. And not scraped by. Not edged out. Beaten down. 4–2. And it could've been more."
A pause now. Long enough to sting.
"Let's put this in perspective again cause some folks still don't understand how much of a underdog Leicester City is."
Montage: Manchester United's glory.
— Roy Keane lifting the treble in '99.
— Beckham's goal vs. Madrid.
— Rooney's debut hat-trick.
— Sir Alex's final trophy lift in 2013.
— Van Persie's volley to win the title.
"Manchester United: 20 league titles. 3 Champions Leagues. 12 FA Cups. Built across decades of power, dominance, dynasty. Red shirts soaked in glory."
Hard cut: Leicester in 2013-2014.
— Championship side. Modest crowds. A team trying to hold on.
"Leicester? In 2013, they were just clawing their way out of the Championship. In 2014 — they win the FA Cup. The FA Cup. With a squad that cost less than United's bench. And now? Just a year later — they're top of the table. Unbeaten. Unbothered."
Back to Tristan's face on the screen. Calm. Sweat still glistening from the win.
"They don't play scared. They don't play humble. Best way to describe them is a a pack of hyenas led by a manager that never tasted proper glory before in his more than two decades of managing top flight football."
And on the field leading the pack… is a teenager. A teenager with 125 goal contributions in 56 matches which by the I'm not including this season stats. A teenager who's made England — and the Premier League — his playground."
He exhales softly, like he still can't believe it.
"So yeah. Roll your eyes. Shake your heads. Scream into the void if you want. But it won't change the truth: this is real. It's happening. And Tristan Hale dragging Leicester City — Leicester City — into footballing immortality."
"If they go on to win the league — and at this point, it looks more likely by the week — people won't just call it a miracle. They'll start whispering that word we reserve for the greats: dynasty."
"And Tristan? In just his third season, he's not chasing legends. He's lapping them. The numbers don't lie. The performances don't lie. If he keeps this up, he won't just be the best player in the league — he'll be the best player the Premier League has ever seen."
A pause. Then softer — more personal.
"Call me mad… but I genuinely believe we're watching the birth of the greatest footballer of all time."
"Anyway… enough of me and my wild predictions. Let's talk about the present. Let's talk about this season."
"Tristan Hale. Twenty years old. Twenty-four matches played in all competitions."
He leans in.
"Thirty goals. Twenty-eight assists."
A pause. He lets the silence sit. Like he wants it to echo.
"That's fifty-eight goal contributions. Before Christmas."
Another pause — longer this time.
"Let me give you something to think about. In 2012, Lionel Messi — the greatest scorer the game has ever seen — had what many consider the most ridiculous individual season in football history. Ninety-one goals. He shattered the laws of nature."
A soft exhale.
"And right now… Tristan is quietly on pace to do something just as absurd. Not in La Liga. Not in an all-time Barcelona side. But in Leicester. In the Premier League. The most physically brutal, tactically complex league in the world."
"He's not padding stats against farmers. He's doing this to United, to Chelsea, to Spurs, to Arsenal. Every team is on the menu. And every team is bleeding."
A slow shake of the head.
"There are no superteams here. No Galácticos. No prime Iniesta feeding him balls. No Busquets covering the spine. This is a twenty-year-old dragging an underdog into the heavens by sheer force of talent."
"Fifty-eight G/A in four months. At twenty."
"It's not just generational. It's unthinkable."
"Alright. Let me stop drooling over Tristan for a second — I know, easier said than done."
A slight laugh in his tone.
"Because here's the thing: as ridiculous as his numbers are, Leicester City aren't just the Tristan Hale Show."
The screen cut to a clean graphic — white background, sharp blue text. Side-by-side stats appeared like player cards from a video game.
Current Season – All Competitions
Tristan – 24 games | 30 goals | 28 assists | 8.9 avg rating
Vardy – 25 games | 25 goals | 1 assist
Mahrez – 27 games | 18 goals | 12 assists
"These aren't passengers. These are killers."
"Jamie Vardy is having the best season of his life. Mahrez is on fire. And somehow, Tristan's making both of them look like his supporting cast. Any other season it be Vardy and Mahrez we would all be talking about."
Reuben chuckled softly, almost disbelieving his own words.
"But let's take a step back. Because this team — this Leicester City team — is not just a statistical marvel. It's a miracle stitched together by pure refusal to give up. This team represents what makes the beautiful game so great."
Footage rolled: a younger Jamie Vardy sprinting down a muddy pitch, worn boots, a pitchside fence right up against the touchline. A Non-League camera angle — grainy, static.
"Jamie Vardy was playing in the eighth tier of English football. Getting paid £30 a game. A factory worker by day, striker by night. Most footballers retire before they ever get to where he started."
Cut to Vardy's first goal in a Leicester shirt. Then his first Premier League goal. Then a goal this season — whipped top corner, the crowd roaring behind him.
"Now he's twenty-five goals deep before Christmas. And he's doing it at 28 years old — an age when most strikers start to slow down. But Vardy? He's built different. He's still chasing like he's got bills to pay and nothing to lose."
The clip transitioned to Riyad Mahrez — shy smile, loose shoulders, a light step as he juggled a ball in training.
"And then there's Mahrez. A kid from Sarcelles, north of Paris — an area more known for riots than rising footballers. He was told he was too skinny. Too raw. Too much of a street player. Scouts didn't want him. Coaches told him he'd never make it."
Now Mahrez weaving past defenders. Turning Ivanovic inside-out. Floating in crosses. Curling one into the top bin.
"But here he is, lighting up the Premier League with 18 goals and 12 assists already. And doing it with a smile. I couldn't be happier for the guy."
A beat. Then a low hum of awe returned to Reuben's voice.
"And then there's Kante. N'Golo Kante."
A soft clip: Kante winning the ball cleanly off a midfielder twice his size. Then again. And again.
"The human cheat code. Signed from Caen for next to nothing. At the time? Nobody batted an eye. He was just another midfield option. Five-foot-six. Looked like he'd get bullied out of a tackle."
A slow-mo replay showed Kante outmuscling a Chelsea midfielder, then springing the counter.
"Now? He's covering every blade of grass. Every attack starts with him. Every counter runs through him. He's the lungs of this team — and the heart."
Reuben leaned back slightly, a soft smile spreading across his face like he was watching a fairytale write itself.
"You've got Marc Albrighton — once let go by Villa, now pinging in assists like prime Beckham. Wes Morgan — thirty-one, written off by everyone, now captaining the most fearless backline in the country. Schmeichel — the son of a legend, finally making his own name in goal."
Montage of tackles, saves, last-ditch clearances, wild celebrations.
"This team is full of second chances. Of players nobody bet on. Misfits, rejects, late bloomers — and yet they're playing like champions. Because they believe. And now the rest of the world's being forced to believe too."
A clip of the King Power Stadium at full volume. Flags waving. Blue everywhere. Fans singing "WE BELIEVE IN MIRACLES!"
"Leicester City isn't just winning matches. They're rewriting the rules."
Reuben's voice dropped again. Quieter now. Like he was letting the numbers breathe.
"He leads everyone. Messi. Ronaldo. Neymar. Suárez. So let me show you the stats again."
The screen faded into black. Then flashed again with bold white text:
2015–16 Season G/A (as of Dec 20th)
Messi: 38 G/A in 22 games
Ronaldo: 33 G/A in 23 games
Neymar: 27 G/A in 24 games
Suárez: 30 G/A in 25 games
Tristan Hale: 58 G/A in 24 games
(Everyone's numbers are bigger than irl.)
A pause. Then Reuben's voice, sharper:
"You read that right. A twenty-year-old from Leicester has more goal contributions than the four greatest forwards of the modern era."
"He's outpacing the best front line in football history — MSN. And he's not doing it at Barcelona. He's doing it in Leicester."
Quick-cut montage:
Leicester training in the cold.
Tristan doing wind sprints through sleet.
Flooded pitches. Mud. Concrete locker rooms.
"This isn't the Camp Nou. This isn't tiki-taka paradise. This is England. Rain, tackles, press, pain. And Tristan is still writing numbers you only see in video games."
Then: a clip of Messi from an interview aired on Spanish TV, just one month ago.
"Messi was asked: 'Who's the most exciting player in the world right now?'"
Cut to Messi's face. He smiles — not threatened. Just impressed. "Tristan," he says. "The boy at Leicester. He's… different.Like I said before, he's the world best."**
Reuben's voice returned, hushed with disbelief.
"Think about that. Lionel Messi — in the middle of one of the most dominant seasons of his career — just called a twenty-year-old from the Midlands the world's best with not a single fan disputing it because of course his own and Ronaldo's fans."
Clips rolled quickly:
Reports of Messi staying after training.
Spanish headlines: Messi entrena más que nunca.
Footage of Suárez hitting the net over and over again in drills.
Neymar running extra laps. Ronaldo grimacing after another hat trick.
"They've noticed. The legends. The icons. They've felt the shift. For the first time in years — they're not chasing each other. They're chasing someone new."
Cut to Reuben again, eyes narrowed.
"He's twenty. And he's disrupted the entire ecosystem of football."
Then — footage of Leicester. The city. The madness.
Mural of Tristan painted over a five-story wall.
Local barber shops renamed "Hair Like Hale."
Kids wearing No. 22 Hale shirts.
A church marquee sign: "God. Family. Hale. Leicester."
Streets packed outside the King Power, fans singing in the cold.
"In Leicester, he's already a god. But this? This isn't just local legend stuff. This is continental. This is seismic."
A beat. Then quietly:
"And it's only December."
"But it didn't start this season. Let's rewind."
Tristan Hale — Debut Season (2013–14)
— Championship: 19 games | 10 goals | 20 assists | 🏆 League Winner
— FA Cup: 6 games | 9 goals | 6 assists | 🏆 FA Cup Winner
— World Cup: 5 games | 2 goals | 3 assists | 🌍 Young Player of the Tournament
Total: 30 games | 21 goals | 29 assists | 50 G/A at age 18
"Eighteen years old. Thirty games. A domestic double. A breakout World Cup. Fifty goal contributions. Not in FIFA. Not in a film. In real life."
Cue footage of Tristan in the pouring rain, arms out after scoring in the FA Cup. Hair dripping. A teenager, but with the gravity of a veteran.
"And just when we thought that might be his high point... the next season happened."
2014–15 Season
— Premier League: 38 games | 24 goals | 26 assists
— Europa League: 9 games | 6 goals | 7 assists
— International: 9 games | 5 goals | 7 assists
Total: 56 games | 35 goals | 40 assists | 75 G/A
"He didn't just raise the bar. He snapped it over his knee."
Footage:
— Tristan's bicycle kick for the Puskás.
— The tearful end-of-season speech.
— Him hugging Vardy at full-time.
— Holding every individual award in one frame.
"Youngest PFA winner. Youngest FWA winner. First teenager to ever hit 50 G/A in the Premier League. Record-breaking. History-bending. All while still too young to legally rent a car in half the world."
A beat.
The screen goes dark again.
2015-2016 Season (So Far)
— All Competitions: 24 games | 30 goals | 28 assists
— Avg. rating: 8.9
Total: 58 G/A — Before Christmas
"Thirty goals. Twenty-eight assists. In four months. Before Christmas."
"Let me say that again. Before Christmas."
Slow zoom on Tristan walking down the tunnel post-match.
"And the craziest part?"
Pause. Reuben's voice softens like he's letting a secret slip.
"He's still only twenty." He said before switching to a child's voice.
Young Tristan, age 11, smiling awkwardly into the camera:
"I just want to win trophies for Leicester one day."
Back to Reuben's voice — reverent now, like he's standing in a cathedral.
"And now... seven years later... he's doing it."
Clips of silverware.
— The FA Cup.
— The Europa run.
— The title push.
"Last season, in the final game, with the cameras rolling and the transfer rumours swirling, he said one thing he wasn't leaving until in his words:
""Not until every player in this club — every one of us — accomplishes something historic. Something unforgettable.""
Reuben's voice, one last time, like a hush just before a legend is born:
"And now? We're not watching highlights. We're not watching hype. We are witnessing..."
"...the miracle of Leicester City."
.