Richard sat in the directorâs box with the others, his eyes fixed on the pitch below. The air was electric â different now, heavier with expectation rather than awe. The clash between Manchester City and Manchester United no longer carried the same sense of intimidation it once did.
Three years ago, City had approached this fixture as outsiders, challengers desperate to prove they belonged. Back then, playing against Manchester United felt like standing before a mountain â immense, immovable, and far above them.
But times had changed.
The Premier League and Champions League triumphs had reshaped everything. Cityâs fans no longer looked at United as an untouchable giant. The players, too, had shed the inferiority that once haunted them. They had beaten United before, and they knew they could do it again. The fear was gone â what remained was ambition, hunger, and a fierce resolve to prove themselves once more.
PHWEEEEE~
The refereeâs whistle pierced through the roar of the crowd â kickoff.
Manchester United started with the ball.
In midfield, Scholes received the first pass, his movement calm and methodical. He glanced up, then rolled the ball to Giggs on the left flank.
Giggs didnât rush forward as he often did; instead, he played short one-twos with Keane and Irwin, easing United into rhythm, letting the team breathe and settle.
City, on the other hand, held their shape. OâNeillâs men didnât press aggressively. They waited, patient and composed, forming a compact block that mirrored Unitedâs cautious start. The opening minutes felt like a chess match â two experienced players testing each otherâs defenses, looking for a crack but refusing to expose themselves too early.
The tension in the stands was almost physical. Every completed pass drew murmurs of anticipation, every interception a cheer. The fans could sense it â the calm before the storm.
This wasnât the kind of match decided in the opening moments. Both sides understood that. The priority was simple: donât concede first. The full-blooded, end-to-end battle would come later â once someone dared to draw first blood.
On the right wing, Beckham took possession, his signature long stride carrying him down the touchline. Immediately, Ronaldinho closed in â light on his feet, his body shifting with feline agility as he shadowed Beckhamâs every move.
"Booo~"
A faint chorus of boos rippled through the stands whenever Beckham touched the ball.
The echoes of the 1998 World Cup still lingered, and the criticism Beckham received during that tournament had not been forgotten. Thankfully, the Maine Road crowd reacted calmly. It wasnât the seething hatred Beckham had often faced in other stadiums since that infamous red card made him Englandâs villain.
Yorke controlled the ball neatly before slipping a pass to Giggs, who darted into the box. Realizing that Zambrotta had expertly blocked his path inside, Giggs changed direction, darting wide before whipping in a cross from near the touchline. Cole narrowly missed the connection, but Yorke was quick to follow upâonly for Lucio to retreat in time and clear the danger over the byline.
Both teams began cautiously, feeling each other out. The tempo stayed measuredâbrief flashes of acceleration followed by moments of calm. Neither side wanted to open up too soon; pressing too hard might create chances, but it also meant leaving gaps to be punished.
At the back, Manchester Cityâs defense looked solid. With Materazzi (RB), Thuram (CB), and Lucio (CB) anchoring the line, their aerial presence at set pieces was formidable. Beckhamâs corner curled in beautifully, but the trio rose in unison to clear, denying United any opportunity to capitalize.
Applause rippled through the standsâfans could sense the newfound stability brought by the clubâs latest signings.
On the touchline, OâNeill and Mourinho stood side by side, eyes sharp, their expressions unreadable. Every time City transitioned from defense to attack, the instructions were clear: play through Ronaldinho.
The reasoning was simpleâKeane and Scholes were tasked with shielding Unitedâs midfield. If they drifted wide to help the full-backs, Okocha and StankoviÄ would exploit the gaps through the middle.
"Here comes Ronaldinho with the ball! Beckhamâs sprinting back to coverâtrying to cut off his inside lane! Nevilleâs dropped his stance, ready to block himâwhatâs Ronaldinho going to do? Will he play it safe and pass back? Waitâno! Ronaldinho bursts into a dazzling move! A feint to the rightâNevilleâs caught flat-footed, Stamâs trapped insideâhe spins, drives toward goal, and fires! But Schmeichel reads it perfectly and smothers the shot!"
Richard shot to his feet, ignoring the dark look on Martin Edwardsâ face beside him. He clapped enthusiastically from the directorâs box, applauding the brilliant piece of play.
He had worried earlier that OâNeill might bench Ronaldinho again, but seeing the Brazilian not only startâbut dazzleâfilled him with genuine relief and pride.
Meanwhile, Ronaldoâs threat on the opposite flank forced Giggs to track back much deeper than usual. Manchester United knew his game inside outâand it had to be said, one man alone couldnât contain
Il Fenomeno
.
That was why Ronaldinho had become the key to breaking the deadlock. If he could consistently outplay Neville in one-on-one duels, Beckham would be forced to drop back and defend, limiting his ability to push forward. City might not seize total control of the match that way, but they would successfully blunt one of Unitedâs sharpest weaponsâtheir dominance on the wings.
In the previous season, if City managed to suppress both wings of their opponents, it was almost equivalent to prying open the gates of victory. But this seasonâs Manchester United posed a different challenge.
With Yorke capable of holding up the ball and orchestrating play through the center, United could still launch effective attacks even when their flanks were under heavy pressure. As long as Yorke retained possession, the wings could time their runs and support the attack fluidly.
Richard couldnât help but nod approvingly toward OâNeill. The manager had clearly done his homeworkâhe understood Manchester Unitedâs patterns inside and out.
On the opposite touchline, Ferguson stepped closer, his expression darkening as he barked instructions. The tempo of Unitedâs attack was far too slow for his liking.
Beckhamâs lack of pace was proving to be a problem. By the time he advanced from deep, Cityâs defense had already settled into shape.
Even when he received the ball, he found himself in awkward positions, too far from goal to deliver an effective cross.
Zambrotta is the problem. He marked his zone with precision, never giving Beckham an inch near the dangerous areas. Cityâs defensive line was disciplinedâif an opponent entered within 35 yards of goal, they immediately closed down and fought to reclaim possession.
With Beckham forced to operate far from goal, even his famous crosses lost their sting. City defenders stayed compact, refusing to be drawn out of position, rendering his deliveries largely harmless.
Then, on the opposite flank, Ronaldinho lit up the pitch once again. Dribbling forward with effortless flair, he executed a flurry of step-overs, dazzling Neville before slipping past him on the outside. But before he could burst into the box, Beckham came tracking back and clipped him from behind, sending the Brazilian tumbling onto the turf.
The referee wasted no time blowing the whistle and brandished a yellow card toward Beckham.
A murmur ran through the stands as Ronaldinho picked himself up, brushing grass off his shirt.
He placed the ball carefully on the turf, standing over it with quiet focus. Okocha jogged over, lowering his voice so only Ronaldinho could hear.
"Take it," Okocha said.
"...?" Ronaldinho tilted his head in surprise.
"Take it. The wallâs a bit close," Okocha muttered, glancing at the referee. "If I step over it and drag Keane and Scholes out, you curl it near post. Schmeichelâs leaning too far left."
"Wait, what? Iâm the one taking it?" Ronaldinho asked, still unsure.
Okocha only shrugged. "Donât waste the chance."
"..."
Ronaldinho was stunned â but deep down, anticipation began to build.
His eyes flicked toward the goal, reading the setup in an instant. "Near post, yeah? If they bite, Iâll go over the wall."
Okocha gave a small nod and backed away, his body language selling the idea that he might take the kick himself.
Ronaldinho kept his eyes locked on the goal. He had it â the skill â though it wasnât fully developed yet. Heâd been working hard on his free-kick technique in training, fine-tuning his accuracy and power. Even those around him could sense his growing confidence.
Ronaldo stood at the top of the arc, drawing Manchester Unitedâs attention and forcing them to commit defenders to him â they knew if he got the ball, it could spell disaster.
The rest of Cityâs players were tightly marked, making passing options nearly impossible.
As Ronaldinhoâs gaze hardened and he prepared to take the free kick, he suddenly bent slightly and placed one hand behind his back, giving a subtle signal. Okocha, who caught it out of the corner of his eye, was momentarily taken aback.
Manchester Unitedâs defenders expected the ball to be passed to Okocha â but Ronaldinhoâs faint gestures, his eyes, and the look on his face made them hesitate for just a split second.
PHWEEEEE~
Sure enough, every Manchester United defender had the same thought the moment the referee blew the whistle â
âHeâs going to shoot!"â
Ronaldinhoâs posture sold it perfectly: his stance, the slight lean forward, the intense stare at the goal â everything screamed
direct shot
. Even Schmeichel braced himself, shifting his weight, ready to dive.
But thenâ
Wait!
The Brazilian boy was bluffing!