Football Dynasty

After the third fixture of the 1996/1997 English Premier League season, Manchester City's dramatic away match against Manchester United sent shockwaves through the football world.

Fleet Street's media reacted in unison—this game dominated the headlines. From tabloids to broadsheets, nearly every major publication gave the match front-page treatment. The Times, The Daily Telegraph, The Guardian, The Sun, and The Daily Mail all featured extensive coverage of what was already being called an early contender for "Match of the Season."

Among them, it was The Daily Mail's spread that pleased Richard the most. The layout was stunning: on the left, a photo capturing Ronaldo executing a flawless Cruyff turn; on the right, a snapshot of young Andrea Pirlo celebrating after scoring a thunderous goal for Manchester City.

Manchester United had always been the media darlings, but this time, it was City that stole the show.

The buzz was deafening.

For once, all of English football seemed to be asking the same question: Can Manchester City really keep playing like this?

The story of a small club fighting a giant always sells best—and this time, instead of the usual Manchester United headlines, it was City who captured all the attention.

Some who watched the match replays were puzzled to see that it was Manchester United who appeared to play the dirtier game. One moment, in particular, drew widespread controversy—a penalty awarded to United after Gallas collided with Solskjær from the side.

While the decision was debatable, what left fans even more frustrated was the referee's apparent blind eye to Roy Keane's repeated rough challenges throughout the match, none of which were called as fouls.

Football analysts shared diverse opinions as they analyzed the match. The BBC's Premier League highlights program, which boasted the highest viewership, dedicated a segment featuring many football legends providing insights and tactical reviews of the game.

Richard expressed sincere gratitude to the FA after reading the final report. Manchester City's milestone debut in the Premier League had come against none other than a titan of the game—Manchester United. It was a high-stakes introduction, and despite the controversy, it had thrust City into the national spotlight exactly as he had hoped.

This early burst of attention allowed the public to quickly understand how City played—fast, physical, and fearless. As a result, curiosity about City began to grow rapidly.

More fans started following their matches, tuning into broadcasts, and sharing highlights. Naturally, this also led to a noticeable uptick in ticket sales. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the Premier League's boldest newcomers—especially now that they had proven they could rattle giants like Manchester United.

It was the ideal start to transforming City into both a competitive force and a box-office draw.

In truth, Richard was determined to replicate the miracle of Nottingham Forest in their debut top-flight season—he needed City's first year in the Premier League to be as impressive as possible

The three men were soon on their way to the headquarters of the FA: Soho Square.

Richard, Lewis, and Robertson stepped out of the car and took a moment to take in their surroundings.

Before them lay a quiet, modest green square, dotted with tall London plane trees. Their bare winter branches stretched overhead, casting a spindly canopy across the space. Richard imagined that in summer, the dense foliage would blot out the sky entirely, turning the square into a pocket of leafy shade.

Surrounding the square were low-rise buildings—charming but unassuming. Richard noted the distinct lack of towering skyscrapers. Since entering central London, he had barely seen a building rise higher than four stories. Most were classic Victorian structures, three or four floors tall, their aged brickwork telling the story of a bygone era.

The FA headquarters ahead of them followed suit in scale, though its façade had clearly been modernized—a modest facelift that still preserved the old-world aesthetic. Richard recalled hearing that the gleaming towers of modern London were mostly clustered in the newer districts out west, far from this quieter, more historical corner of the city.

The three men had barely stepped into the foyer of the FA headquarters when a professionally dressed woman approached them. Her posture was straight, clipboard in hand, the kind of reception that struck the balance between polite and perfunctory.

She glanced up, recognizing they were expected guests. "Sir John Robertson?"

"Yes, and..." Adam Lewis stepped forward smoothly, offering a business card with a courteous nod. "Adam Lewis. We're here for the hearing—representing Manchester City."

The woman smiled politely and said, "Please follow me."

She turned and led them down a short hallway lined with framed memorabilia—sepia-toned team photographs, historic matchday posters, and portraits of English legends.

They were brought to a meeting room that wasn't especially grand. It was only slightly larger than a standard office, with plain beige walls and a heavy oval table in the center.

"Please, come in, sir."

After Robertson entered the hearing room, Richard and Lewis remained outside for a moment.

Richard had come to London today not just for moral support, but also to conduct a surprise inspection of one of Maddox Group's subsidiaries. Knowing the hearing would be a closed session, he soon bid farewell to Adam Lewis.

"If anything happens, you'll represent him fully as legal counsel," Richard said.

Lewis nodded with calm assurance. "Leave it to me."

The strategy for today's hearing, as advised by Lewis, was simple: Robertson needed to be as meek and mild as a lamb.

Not only was he to fully acknowledge the inappropriate nature of his remarks, but he was also instructed to heap praise on the newly reformed FA under Keith Wiseman's leadership. He would explain that his post-match comments had been misrepresented by the media and that he had never intended to undermine the authority or integrity of the FA.

He was to present himself as a caretaker manager overwhelmed by pressure following a heartbreaking decision of referee—someone who had spoken in frustration, not malice. Now, with a clear head, he deeply regretted the outburst and welcomed the opportunity to appear in person, believing that only a face-to-face meeting could properly express his remorse.

In essence, he was to turn the hearing into a formal, heartfelt apology—and a sincere gesture of goodwill toward English football's oldest institution.

Flattery, as it turned out, could get you everywhere—and Robertson didn't disappoint.

Consequently, when the verdict was delivered, the punishment was far more lenient than anyone had anticipated.

Originally, the FA had planned to issue a heavy penalty: an eight-game suspension and a £100,000 fine. But to everyone's surprise, the final ruling was just a two-game suspension and a £20,000 fine.

It was, effectively, little more than a slap on the wrist.

Three hours later, Richard wrapped up his inspection and returned to Soho Square to pick up Adam Lewis and Robertson.

Robertson was the first to spot the car—he opened the front passenger door and climbed in, looking noticeably more relaxed than he had earlier.

Meanwhile, Lewis slid into the back seat beside Richard, gave a nod, and smirked. "It went better than expected. Honestly, when this decision gets out, that poor referee you roasted—and probably George Graham too—will feel like they've been mugged in broad daylight."

Richard let out a snort of laughter, while Robertson in the front muttered, "I'll send them flowers. Cheap ones."

Amid their chuckles, the car pulled away from the FA building, leaving behind bureaucracy, scandal, and the faint scent of charmed nonsense as it cruised back toward Manchester.

While Richard and the others were still cruising up the M1 highway, the FA held a brief but tense press conference at Soho Square to announce their verdict on the recent disciplinary case.

The FA spokesperson stepped up to the podium, a sheet of paper in hand, and calmly delivered the statement:

"After reviewing the case and hearing from all relevant parties, the FA has decided to suspend Manchester City's caretaker manager, John Robertson, for two games and impose a fine of twenty thousand pounds."

The room erupted.

Murmurs quickly turned into heated debates among journalists. Some muttered that it was far too lenient, especially given the inflammatory nature of Robertson's remarks.

The British media wasted no time giving the scandal a name: "Rapegate."

It was their sensational label for the fallout between John Robertson, Manchester City, and the FA. Headlines blared across newspapers and tabloids alike, painting the incident in bold, scandalous strokes.

Now that the penalty verdict had already been handed down—unsatisfying as it was—there was little anyone could do to change it. What the media could do, however, was hype the controversy to its peak before the punishment lost relevance and the story expired from the headlines.

Richard didn't care what the media made of it. They could spin, twist, and shout all they wanted—City had bigger things to focus on.

Because their next fixture was just as crucial as the one against Manchester United.

Liverpool!