Not only Beckham, but Ferguson was also smilingâapplauding his playersâ performance. Everything seemed to be falling back into place, returning to the familiar rhythm of the Red Devils, Manchester United.
Just moments into the second half, United had scored, overturning a disastrous two-goal deficit. With nearly forty minutes left to play, Ferguson made the first substitution.
Cantona, who had been largely invisible in the first half, was taken off for Scholes. Watching from the touchline, Robertson noticed Ferguson giving Scholes detailed tactical instructions. He understood immediatelyâFerguson was looking to stabilize the tempo of the game.
Now that United held the lead, it was City who would be feeling the pressure. Bringing on Scholes added control in midfield, and with Unitedâs defense reinforced, Scholes could also serve as a lethal outlet for quick counterattacks.
At that time, Scholes didnât have a fixed role in the midfield. He frequently drifted close to the penalty area, taking up advanced positions. In fact, in the two years that followedâbefore the arrival of Yorke, who would go on to form a deadly partnership up frontâmany fans were already calling for Scholes to replace the inconsistent Andy Cole as a striker.
A team that goes from leading by two to trailing by one... how mentally devastating must it be to concede three unanswered goals?
Naturally, City needed fresh legs to respond.
Ronaldo, whose stamina was failing to keep up with the matchâs tempo, was replaced by Henry. Then Larsson, who had made little impact throughout the game, was taken off for Lampard. Finally, Trezeguet came on to wreak havoc in Unitedâs penalty areaâreplacing Van Bommel to sharpen Cityâs attacking threat.
Robertson patted each of them on the shoulder with a smile as he handed them their jackets. "Good jobânow take a rest."
With these changes, Robertson deployed his strongest formation: a 4-3-3, featuring Henry, Trezeguet, and Okocha up front. In midfield, he placed Lampard, Pirlo, and Neil Lennonâa mix of creativity, control, and grit.
In the stands, Manchester United fans began to sing loudly, their voices echoing across the stadium like rolling thunder.
Meanwhile, City fans in the East Stand sat in stunned silenceâbewildered by how their two-goal lead had slipped away.
But not for long.
Blazing Squadâs Carl Morran suddenly rose to his feet. Glancing around, he clenched his fists and began to chant at the top of his lungs: "We shall not, we shall not be moved! We shall not, we shall not be moved! Cause weâre the team thatâs gonna paint it red! We shall not, we shall not be moved!"
He looked left and right, repeating the chant with unwavering spirit. Slowly but surely, the East Stand erupted in a unified chorus, their collective voice growing louder, prouder, defiant.
Richard felt deeply gratified by the sight. After investing in various initiatives, it was clear his efforts hadnât been in vain. These young members of the Blazing Squad could very well become the crucial twelfth man in Manchester Cityâs most important matches.
Still, even though there were no disturbances between the fans in the stands, behind the calm facade lay Manchester United fansâ scorn for their cross-town rivals.
They saw themselves as affluent magnates, while City fans appeared to them as street beggarsâso why should they pay any heed to those asking for alms? Wouldnât that only sully their own eyes, dirty their hands, and degrade their reputation?
After Scholes came on, it became clear that Manchester United were trying to toy with Cityâpassing the ball around confidently in midfield to assert control.
City, however, responded with a frantic yet coordinated press, refusing to let United dictate the tempo for even a moment.
Scholes had the ball at his feet and intended to play it back to Keane, but the fresh-legged Lampard intervened with a quick interception, poking the ball toward the right flank.
Beckham barely managed to get it under control before Zambrotta came sliding in with a perfectly timed tackle, stealing the ball cleanly and leaving Beckham wobbling, unable to regain balanceâlet alone recover defensively.
"Run!!!" Richard roared from the VIP box as he leapt to his feet.
This was itâCityâs chance!
Zambrotta surged forward, and every City player pushed up with him in unison.
Butt tracked Lennon closely, while Keane sprinted across to help cover the flank. After a slick one-two with Henry, Zambrotta cut inside, taking two touches toward the left edge of the penalty area.
Gary Neville adjusted his position to keep an eye on Henry, who was drifting toward the box.
City had focused most of their first-half attacks down the left, forcing Unitedâs defense to habitually shift to that side. From Nevilleâs view, only Zambrotta and Henry were active threats at that moment.
Bruce May and Gary Pallister tightly marked Trezeguet and Okocha, who both made sharp, coordinated runs toward the center, aiming to overload the heart of Unitedâs defense. The movement drew the defenders inward, opening the field wider for what was to come.
Just as Zambrotta found himself running out of space to carry the ball, he opted to pass it to the nearest optionâNeil Lennon.
Lennon stepped up, but instead of continuing the attack directly, he stunned everyone by threading a low pass across the middle. Shock rippled through Unitedâs defense.
Was that a through ball?
Even Nicky Butt, who had been trailing behind Lennon, was caught off guard by the move.
Turning to look, the defenders realized that neither Henry nor Trezeguet had advancedâthey had only feinted forward to draw the attention of Pallister and Bruce May.
However, as the ball rolled toward the center, a City player burst forward to meet it.
Who was it?
Lampard!
Fresh legs, full of energy.
Lampard, making a late run into the box, had surprisingly positioned himself right at the edge of the penalty areaâcompletely unmarked!
With Unitedâs defense tilting to the right, their attention had been drawn away by the two forwards, whose movement cleverly occupied the center-backs. This left the box wide open for Lampard, and no one picked up his run. The defensive support arrived too late.
As the ball rolled toward him, Lampard vividly recalled his personal training sessions when he first arrived at City.
Tactically, the coach had stressed the importance of perfectly timing his forward runsâhad they seen this moment coming?
Now, he had timed it to perfection. This was exactly what he had trained for. Known for arriving late and finishing clinically, Lampard was in the ideal position to seize the chance.
Lampardâs fatherâhimself a former assistant coach at West Hamâimmediately stood up in the stands the moment he saw his sonâs opportunity unfolding on the pitch.
Targeting Manchester Unitedâs vulnerable left side had been Cityâs tactical focus in the first half. But now, as United shifted to reinforce their right flank, Lampard found himself with greater freedom to drift centrally and exploit the space
Arriving at the edge of the box, Lampard had two optionsâmake a pass or take the shot himself. Whatever he chose, there was one rule: no hesitation.
As he spotted the gaping hole in Unitedâs defense, his eyes sharpened with determination. He had been tracking the play all along, noticing how Trezeguet and Henryâs runs had dragged defenders to the left.
Now, as the ball rolled to him on the right, Gary Pallister suddenly abandoned his mark and lunged toward himâthere was no time to think.
Was a pass the better choice... orâ?
No, there was too little space.
So Lampard made a decisive choice: a long-range shot. He knew full well that his dribbling or penetration couldnât match the othersâbut what he lacked in flair and experience, he made up for with sheer willpower and a burning desire to prove he was ready for a starting spot.
âKeep your eyes open... and watch this!â
As the ball reached him, Lampard had already adjusted his footing. He drew his right leg back and unleashed a fierce strike!
His body arched in perfect formâa snapshot of raw power and defiance.
Deep inside, Lampard roared:
âGet in that goal, damn it! I donât care if itâs Manchester Unitedâthose arrogant fans have had it coming!â
BANG!
The ball rocketed forward like a cannon shell, completely spinless, slicing through the air toward the top-left corner of the United goal.
Schmeichel sprang into action, fully outstretchedâbut the angle was too sharp.
Thenâa sharp, echoing
thud
. The stadium held its breath.
The ball had struck the underside of the crossbarâand bounced down over the line into the net!
Lampardâs eyes lit up. Gritting his teeth with a look of fierce triumph, he clenched both fists, then turned and sprinted toward the coaching staff with arms wide open, roaring in celebration.
Old Trafford fell into stunned silenceâthe roar of the Red Devils faithful replaced by sheer disbelief.
What? 3â3? Just like that?
That goal was flawlessâbeyond reproach, simply unforgettable! A strike to be envied by even the best.
In the East Stand, City fans exploded in celebration, a wall of blue erupting with thunderous cheers and waving arms, their voices forming a roaring tide of noise.
"What a screamer! A sensational long-range strikeâpure class! The Three Lions have unearthed another gem bound for the world stage. His name? Frank Lampard! Bloody brilliantâheâs just marked his debut against Manchester United with a goal for the ages!"
"GOA--"
Richard was ecstatic. He had already leapt up from his seat, celebrating wildly with the Cityzens around himâfists in the air and a wide grin stretched across his face.
RING~
Just as he was about to continue the celebration, his phone suddenly rang.
Thankfully, he had left it on the table rather than in his pocket, so the first person to notice wasnât himâit was Marina, seated beside him. She nudged him to take a look at his phone.
Richard snapped out of his euphoric trance, blinked, and glanced down at the screen.
It was his father.
Just as Richard picked up the phone, the person on the other end immediately pulled back from the receiverâhis booming voice cutting through the line before Richard could even say hello.
"Where are you, son? Why is it so damn loud over there!?"
Richard pressed a finger to his ear, trying to block out the roaring crowd around him. "Oh, Iâm at Old Trafford," he replied, grinning. "City just equalized against Manchester United. With this goal, they might actually walk away with a point."
Originally, Richard had wanted to invite his father and mother to watch the match at Old Trafford. But both of them had gone off somewhere on vacationâhe didnât even know where. So in the end, all he could do was give them his blessing and enjoy the match on his own.
"Oh..." his father finally said. "So that explains all the chaos Iâm hearing. But guess what, sonâtry and guess where your mother and I are right now. Go on, I bet youâll be surprised."
"Where? Greece again?" Richard asked, half-joking.
"No, Brazil!" the other party exclaimed. "Weâre in Porto Alegreâwatching a local futsal match right this moment."
Richard blinked in disbelief. "Brazil? Seriously?"
What could you possibly be doing there on vacation?
His father didnât miss a beat. "Son, listen to meâthereâs a kid here. Unbelievable talent. You
have
to sign him, no matter what. He just destroyed the oppositionâscored all 23 goals in a 23â0 win! I swear, it was like watching a young PelĂ© locked in a cage."
Richard paused, stunned. "Youâre joking."
"Iâm dead serious. This kidâs the real deal. Lightning fast, fearless, and itâs not just flairâheâs got real football IQ. You need to send someone down here
immediately.
"
Originally, Richard was only caught off guard by the numberâ23 goals? That was absurd. But then he rememberedâthis was Brazil. He exhaled slowly and calmly shook his head. If it was futsal, it was probably
FalcĂŁo
or one of those other well-known indoor talents. Impressive, sureâbut not what he was looking for. He wasnât interested.
But then... he heard the name.
And in an instant, Richardâs expression changed.