Though the first half of the match was largely one-sided, with Charlton firmly in control, it was City who came out on topâthanks to a brilliantly executed counterattack.
With that, the first half ended with Manchester City leading 1â0 against Charlton Athletic, and Maine Road was absolutely buzzing.
After the laughter died down, Robertson raised his hand to signal the players to quiet down and focus on the tactical briefing.
Standing in front of the tactical board, he pointed out the positioning of the opposing defenders and calmly explained.
"Charltonâs attackers spent most of the first half around the penalty area, and their defense pushed high up the pitch. In the second half, Iâm certain theyâll do the sameâmaybe even more aggressively. So your task is simple: just like with the first goal, we want to catch them off guard on the counterattack. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach!" everyone roared in unison.
At Maine Road, the chants were truly electric.
"Wembley, Wembley!~"
"Weâre the famous Man City and weâre going to Wembley~"
Twenty thousand sky-blue fans packed the stands, and it was the home sectionâfilled with City supportersâthat made the most noise. Their chants echoed across the stadium, a relentless reminder to Charlton that this was a battle.
A few minutes in, and Robertson could sense something was wrong. Charltonâs early attempts to organize attacks were all snuffed out by Cityâs defense, but stillâsomething didnât sit right.
"Why the sudden change?" he pondered.
He couldnât help but put himself in Alan Curbishleyâs shoes. When youâre trailing 1â0 in the second leg, you definitely donât want to play conservatively. At the very least, youâd aim to get a draw and take it to penalties, right?
Robertson remained on the sidelines, hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing at Alan Curbishley.
The matchâs momentum was clearly against Charlton. How could he not see it? Then why was he still so calm?
As the game approached the 60th minute, Charlton finally organized their first real attack of the second half.
Defensive midfielder Peter Garland passed the ball to Kevin Nicholls, who settled it quickly and, without waiting for any City players to close in, launched a long ball to the left wing.
There, Carl Leaburn brought it down with a beautiful chest trap.
Van Bommel rushed in from the side, while Cafu positioned himself to block his path ahead.
Robertson stood on the sideline, watching closely. Suddenly, a red blur streaked past behind Van Bommel, darting into his blind spot.
Every City fan who realized what was happening felt their heart skip a beat. No one had seen him make the runâit happened so suddenly.
Who was that?
Richard, from the stands, squinted at the playerâs number and nameâand a sense of dread gripped him.
Charltonâs 24-year-old center-back, Steve Brown!
Holy shit. What is this? A center-back joining the attack?
Wait a second... OâNeill had once used this same strategyâsending Materazzi forward to wreak havoc with his sheer physicality.
For the first time all game, Brown had pushed into the attack, leaving Charltonâs back line dangerously exposed.
They were betting everything on this attack. If they lost the ball now, a counter-attack was almost guaranteed. But they didnât careâthey committed fully.
In one swift movement, Brown received Leaburnâs pass and surged forward. Cityâs players were too far away to stop him.
Damn!
Realizing the danger, Cityâs defenders scrambled in a panic, shouting at each other to cover the threat.
Rio Ferdinand sprinted forward to intercept Brown, but the moment Brown saw him closing in, he knew he couldnât get past him.
He shifted his shoulder slightly, feinted one way, then darted to the left. Then, in a flash, Brown swung his leg and fired a powerful low shot!
It was a powerful shot, level with a person hips, and instinctively, Ferdinandâwho saw the ball flying toward himâdodged because the ball was heading straight for his hand, he thought.
Thanks to Ferdinandâs quick reflexes, the ball went straight to Lehmann, who was shocked because his view was slightly obscured by Ferdinand. He only saw the ball suddenly pass him and rocket toward him.
With no other choice in that split second, Lehmann brought his thighs together and placed his hands in front to face the shot, trying to prevent the ball from going in.
"Unbelievable! Lehmann pulls off an incredible save to deny Brownâs thunderous shotâwhat a reflex! But waitâhere comes Carl Leaburn, right in front of goal! Can you believe it? The danger isnât over yet! This game just exploded into life!"
While Lehmann managed to block the thunderous shot, the danger wasnât overâunexpectedly, the ball rebounded... straight to Carl Leaburn, who was already standing right in front of Lehmann!
"Absolute madness! The ball ricochets off Lehmann, and Leaburn pounces like a predator to score! The stadium eruptsâthis goal could change everything!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. Charltonâs players gathered in celebration, lifting their heads high as they returned to their half.
Alan Curbishley, having witnessed the goal, clenched his fist briefly before remaining calm and composed.
Robertson clapped his hands calmly on the pitch, encouraging his players not to lose heart. After all, conceding a goal only brought them back to square one.
Richard was left speechless by the goal they had conceded. Cityâs concession was not due to individual skill or player errors; it was entirely the result of tactics and surprises.
Charlton had clearly read Robertson well, predicting that they would launch an all-out attack to outsmart him tactically. Sometimes, tactics rely on surprising the opponent.
The score was tied at 1-1, yet it felt as if something earned had been taken away; it was a strange sensation. This was a natural human reaction, and everyone felt a tinge of it, too.
If City had conceded first and then equalized, their spirits would have undoubtedly lifted. However, having scored first only to be equalized, the players felt a slight sense of deflation.
It was this shift in emotions that worried Richard at the start of his team-building. Losing gamesâespecially being turned aroundâwas a huge taboo!
Around the 70th minute, Cityâs penalty area was packed with players.
Ferdinand shouted for his teammates to mark tightly as the tension on the pitch reached a boiling point.
Peter Garland stepped up to take the free kick, sending the ball soaring toward the front postâright where Ferdinand was tightly marking Garry Nelson.
As the ball hurtled toward them, Ferdinand pressed close against Nelson, their bodies locked in a fierce battle.
Ferdinand tracked the ballâs trajectory and felt a flicker of confidence, even though it was dropping fast near the goal line. Neither he nor Nelson were perfectly positioned to head the ballâthey were both rushing in. Still, Nelson leapt first, and Ferdinand followed, rising higher with determination.
Confident he could block the angle with his body, Ferdinand braced himself. But then, to his astonishment, Nelson suddenly hunched forward before snapping his head back.
The ball smashed off the top of Nelsonâs head and spun wildly awayâan unpredictable deflection.
Was it a deliberate headed pass? A clever back flick?
Confusion rippled through everyone. Even Lehmann, already kneeling and ready to catch the ball comfortably, was caught off guard.
That slight, unexpected touch from Nelson sent the ball spinning just out of reach.
Lehmann could do nothing but watch helplessly as the ball arced perfectly into the top corner of the net, his kneeling position making him look almost paralyzed.
"Unbelievable! That tiny deflection completely wrong-footed Lehmann! The crowd is in shockâCharlton take the lead in the most extraordinary fashion! This game has just exploded with drama!"
Manchester City 1 - 2 Charlton Athletic
All Charlton players immediately rushed toward Nelson, who beamed as he hugged Peter Garland. They basked in the roar of the fansâ cheers, still amazed that his subtle glancing header had somehow found the back of the net.
Ferdinand held his head in despair, staring blankly. He realized he had just been caught off guardâtwice.
Both of Cityâs goals conceded were his mistakes.
Not only had their lead slipped away, but so had their top position. He felt like he might collapse to the ground.
At that moment, two men approached himâCafu, the teamâs captain, and, unexpectedly, Henryâflanking him on either side.
"Rio, lift your spirits. That wasnât your fault; no oneâs blaming you."
"Keep your chin up. The game isnât over yet!"
Both of them said, essentially, the same thing.
Meanwhile, the moment that goal went in, Richardâs expression went blank and he slumped in his chair.
Seeing this, Ramm Mylvaganam began to pitch his product once again.
"If you used my system, youâd already know that your center-back wasnât going to perform today."
Richard was looked up and and couldnât help blurting out, "How?"
With a sheepish smile, Mylvaganam explained, "Itâs simple. Ever since I started working with Derby, Iâve developed what I call a âTsunami of Data Assimilation Protocols in Sports.â The results have been fantastic."
"Youâd be amazed at what you can learn from the data and analysis. It addresses player fitness for purpose by analyzing medical records, rehab progress, training intensity, game performance, and screening data." He then coughed lightly. "With another twenty thousand, I can build you what I call âPredictive Talent Insight,â giving teams the ability to make smarter decisions both in the transfer market and on the pitch."
"Why do I need to add twenty thousand? Donât tell me I actually have to buy another separate product from you after installing the main one?"
"No, no, noâdonât misunderstand!" Mylvaganam quickly explained, sighing. "Itâs because I need funding to develop the additional module. Itâs part of the same package, but for now, itâs still in the very early stages. I just need the funds to develop it further."
Richard nodded at this and said nothing further.
PHWEEEE!
The refereeâs whistle pierced the air.
"Oh! A substitution hereâThuram coming on for Ferdinand!"
The dejected Ferdinand could only lower his head and walk slowly toward the bench. His expression was blank, his steps heavy.
As he passed, Robertson gave him a firm pat on the backâa silent gesture of support and understanding.
Ferdinand sat down quietly, staring at the pitch, haunted by the weight of his mistakes.