Football Dynasty

Half-Time Break – Manchester United Locker Room

Ferguson stopped talking, and the locker room fell silent again. But beneath the quiet, an undercurrent of tension brewed. After a while, the sound of heavy breathing grew louder. The gaffer knew the moment was right.

"Well, lads, we can't win this match on hot blood alone. We still need to use our brains." He tapped the tactical board. "I think we all know what kind of football City plays. So—who's going to try showing off fancy footwork in front of them? No one? Good."

"In the first half, they pressed us hard all over the pitch. Their results were excellent, and we couldn't react well. But the second half is destined to be our time. Use the width of the field. Move more. Play direct passes. Keep it straightforward. They want to trap us in midfield—don't give them the chance. Break through quickly, and if they want to counter, we'll counter them." Ferguson then looked at Gary Pallister and Teddy Sheringham, both on the bench.

"You two are on for the second half. Gary, you're replacing Ronny. Teddy, you're in for Andy. Everyone—listen!" His voice rose. "When you get the chance, shoot! Don't waste time dribbling here and there. Catch them off guard!"

As Ferguson's eyes locked on Pallister and Sheringham, it was clear to everyone that the key to turning the game around rested with these two.

Meanwhile, Andy Cole and Ronny Johnsen sat on the side, preoccupied with questioning how they had fallen behind, paying little attention to the tactical adjustments.

While Ferguson laid out the second-half strategy, Miss Heysen quietly stepped out to check the situation in the stands.

The earlier disturbance had subsided, but there were still many empty seats.

The Red Devils' end was mostly quiet, except for a few frustrated die-hards still singing the team anthem with defiant passion. Some supporters clung to optimism, while others had already left Maine Road early—or chosen to distract themselves with the food stalls.

Three rows of fully armed riot police stood on both sides of the visitors' section. Occasionally, rival fans exchanged insults over the human barricade, but overall, the situation had calmed. It seemed the second half could proceed without incident.

Meanwhile, in City's locker room, O'Neill addressed his players."United are in trouble—they can't control the game, and they're clearly at a physical disadvantage. We've worn them down. That's why the second half is ours to kill this off."

He paced slowly, pointing toward the tactics board.

"They'll try to bypass the midfield now. That means they'll look for direct balls into space. Be ready. Keep the lines tight and force them into mistakes. When we win the ball, don't waste time—turn defense into attack instantly. Zizou, Henrik, Ronaldo—stay sharp, keep stretching their back line. The gaps will come."

He turned to the midfielders. "Make them run. Every time you get the ball, make them chase. They're already heavy-legged—by the 70th minute, they'll be crawling."

Then looked at his defenders. "Don't lose focus. This is where United will try desperate shots from outside the box. Block everything. Every tackle—make them feel it."

Finally, he stopped in front of the group, voice rising just enough to carry over the clatter of boots on the floor.

"One more goal, and the game is finished. Don't let them back in. You've got 45 minutes to turn a great performance into a famous win. Let's get it done."

The players erupted with shouts of determination, pounding their chests and clapping hands as they prepared to head back out onto the pitch.

PHWEEEEE~

Finally, he stopped in front of the group, voice rising just enough to carry over the clatter of boots on the floor.

"One more goal, and the game is finished. Don't let them back in. You've got 45 minutes to turn a great performance into a famous win. Let's get it done."

The players erupted with shouts of determination, pounding their chests and clapping hands as they prepared to head back out onto the pitch.

PHWEEEEE~

Right from the start, however, Manchester United displayed visible fatigue, with a significant drop in their off-the-ball movement. This allowed their forwards to be closely marked by defenders. For example, Solskjær—despite his usual skill at finding space and working tirelessly—had little to show for his efforts today.

What was the point of creating space if no one could deliver a precise pass to him? Deprived of service, he simply couldn't find an opportunity to shine.

Ferguson's character, the deep-rooted heritage of Manchester United, and the fierce spirit of the Red Devils all mean they can never adopt the mindset of smaller clubs content with a narrow defeat.

True champions like them do not fear failure; what they truly fear is losing the will to win—lacking the courage to fight, to resist, and to keep pushing until the very end.

Thus, Manchester United began to mount a frantic attack, while City remained remarkably calm and disciplined, especially as United's players started to tire.

Zidane and Okocha, in particular, became even more influential, actively contributing to the defense and covering for Makelele's occasional gaps. With Pirlo also in the mix, even when Poborský and Butt pushed forward to join the attack, United still found themselves unable to make any impact through the middle.

Finally, in the 68th minute, United managed to carve out a real chance — but Beckham squandered it, dragging his shot wide past the goal line.

Butt wasted no time. He scooped up the ball and hurled it toward his teammates Poborský.

Without hesitation, the Czech winger turned, ready to sprint back toward the City half.

But as he spun around, Makelele and Zanetti were already charging straight at him.

Makelele closed him down with a crunching challenge, knocking the ball loose. Zanetti pounced instantly, sweeping it away and surging forward.

The roar at Maine Road erupted like thunder.

Seeing this, Larsson, Ronaldo, Zidane, and Lennon all surged forward together.

United's backline was left with only two center-backs, who could do nothing but retreat hastily to defend the penalty area.

"Oh, that's careless from Poborský... he's just turned straight into trouble there. And now look at this—City breaking forward in numbers..."

"To be fair, Martin, if we're being honest, the first two goals… well, you could say Poborský had a hand in them as well. He just didn't track back, didn't do the work off the ball. That's criminal at this level."

"It's a lapse you can't afford in a game of this magnitude."

Zanetti swept the ball forward into space for Lennon, who caught up with it in full stride. With a quick adjustment, Lennon whipped a low pass across the pitch into the middle.

David May stepped up to close down Zidane, but the Frenchman moved like a snake, slipping through his guard with a sudden feint before drifting toward the right side, pulling Butt, Neville, and Pallister with him. Out on the right flank, he spotted the opening. He didn't force the cross; instead, he calmly laid the ball back toward the arc at the edge of the penalty area, shaping it toward the left side.

The ball rolled gently into position—perfectly inviting. Ronaldo didn't need to take a touch. Everyone expected him to smash it first time. Schmeichel, reading the shot, launched himself into a full stretch…

But in a flash of genius, Ronaldo didn't strike.

He stopped the ball dead with a delicate touch, letting it slip just beyond Schmeichel's reach. The keeper was left stranded, momentum carrying him the wrong way, as the ball rolled invitingly into space for the final blow.

GOAAL!!!

"Another goal! Manchester City now leads by three, and I feel like there's no suspense left in this match—even with thirty minutes still remaining. Ronaldo's way of tricking Schmeichel was truly beautiful. That's why they call him Il Fenomeno! This Brazilian star, who shone in the Champions League with his five goals, is undoubtedly City's superstar and one of the best in the Premier League!"

After scoring, Ronaldo ran toward the away fans, pumping his fists in a roar of triumph. City's supporters erupted, some even trying to leap over the barriers to embrace him, but the stadium staff held them back.

On the sideline, O'Neill tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and smiled in satisfaction. One hand was in his pocket, the other clenched in a small, triumphant shake, while the rest of the coaching staff rushed out to celebrate with the players.

Ferguson's face turned ashen. He knew his side couldn't keep playing like this. With the remaining minutes of the second half slipping away, he needed to steady the team. Conceding another goal could completely collapse them. Three–nil down was already a nightmare. He gestured to his players to calm down, determined to prevent any further damage.

His original plan had been to use two midfielders to completely freeze Zidane's influence, as the Frenchman had been the main distributor in previous matches. But to Ferguson's surprise, Zidane's role in organizing play had already been diminished—not by his design, but because Pirlo had quietly taken over.

The young Italian was almost inconspicuous on the pitch, yet under Makélélé's protection, he handled the ball with composure and precision. Butt and Poborsky, meanwhile, were completely bewildered. Sheringham, who had replaced Solskjær, dropped too deep, further weakening United's attacking threat.

In the final minutes of the half, United made adjustments. Ferguson pushed Keane forward, hoping he could press City, snatch a goal, and provide a focal point for Giggs or Beckham during transitions from defense to attack—thus expanding their space to play.

Seeing United's tactical shift, Mourinho was the first to stand, leaning toward O'Neill to whisper something in his ear. O'Neill's faint smile suggested he knew United had underestimated City.

Marking Pirlo and Zidane didn't mean City couldn't organize. Had Ferguson forgotten who was City's playmaker last season? Neil Lennon.

Pressing Pirlo and Zidane would be even better—it would lure the snake out of its hole. But marking them both only allowed Lennon to operate freely.

Butt roamed the midfield, trying to limit Pirlo. But Pirlo, sensing the pressure, didn't hold onto the ball too long. He quickly released it to Makélélé, who also avoided danger by transitioning play through the flanks, creating space for Zanetti or Capdevila to push forward.

Zanetti took a lateral pass from Makélélé and advanced with the ball, Sheringham chasing him down. The Argentine then stopped suddenly, keeping the ball close, before casually passing it into the middle. Zidane darted in to receive it, accelerating instantly. Butt, shadowing him, lost his balance. But instead of simply taking the ball forward, Zidane spun with it, deceiving Butt, and then exploded past him.

With the ball at his feet, he surged toward United's penalty area, forcing May and Pallister onto the back foot.

Larsson and Ronaldo cut inside toward the edges of the box, while Lennon and Makélélé pushed up to create chaos in the middle, making United's defense tremble.

Zidane feinted a long-range strike. Neville shifted slightly to block—but in that moment, Zidane slipped a no-look pass straight through the penalty area. The ball rolled past Neville and split the defense.

Ronaldo, meeting it, chose not to shoot. Instead, with Schmeichel rushing out, he squared the ball across goal. Under May's pressure, Larsson slid in to finish, sending it into the net.

"Four–nil! This is Manchester City's 18th shot of the match, and United are helpless against it. Larsson scores, but he should thank Ronaldo for that unselfish assist. United look completely lost, with no idea how to stop City's relentless attack. Andy, what do you think? I believe United have no chance of a comeback. But the real question is—how can anyone stop this City side? This is not just Ferguson's problem; it's something every Premier League team needs to think about."

Like many top teams, once their central figure is neutralized, their attack usually collapses. In England, we often see reliance on wing crosses; in Italy, it's individual brilliance. But City has flipped the script. Pirlo, Zidane, Makélélé, and Neil Lennon act as the invisible commanders, the true engines of their creativity.

Pirlo, in particular, has the freedom to read the game and decide exactly where to start the attack. He may not directly score or assist, but most of City's creativity flows from his initial decisions.

"Well, the key isn't just about where the forwards position themselves—it's about the timing of their runs and passes. City excels in this, creating devastating counterattacks. This requires elite ability: the playmaker must deliver the pass at the perfect moment, and the forwards must anticipate it with chemistry. This isn't something an average team can replicate. Every City player has exceptional talent and discipline."

Ferguson's face flushed red, realizing this was not the same City from last season.

Last season, when they came to Old Trafford and scored three, they relied heavily on the individual brilliance of their full-backs. While there were tactical highlights, much of their success came from Cafu and Roberto Carlos's outstanding performances.

But today, losing those two full-backs hadn't weakened City—it had balanced them. And this balanced City had just dismantled an off-form United.

Exquisite ball control, physical strength—apart from Pirlo's slight lack of toughness, the rest were warriors. Ronaldo and Larsson brought pace; Zidane and Lennon brought creativity and stability; Makélélé brought steel. Their wing play left defenders without answers.

Ferguson ordered his midfield to narrow and switched to a 4-4-1-1, with Cole up top, Sheringham just behind, and a tight diamond midfield with Butt dropping deeper. Poborský had to be sacrificed for Henning Berg—another defender—to ensure no more goals were conceded.

What was more astonishing—and definitely caught the cameras' attention—was Poborský's reaction when he came to the bench. Unlike other players who usually received a pat on the back or a few words of encouragement from Ferguson, the Czech winger sat down in silence.

Ferguson remained stone-faced, offering no handshake, no glance, not even a muttered word. Poborský, lips pressed tight, stared straight ahead.

PHWEEEEEE~

FULL-TIME: MANCHESTER CITY 4 – 0 MANCHESTER UNITED

Unlike last season, after just twenty Premier League matches, Manchester United had already conceded thirty-seven goals — a statistic that would be remembered as a mark of shame.

This heavy home defeat would linger in the memory for a long time.

Manchester City, on the other hand, had now racked up ten consecutive victories. With twenty league fixtures played, they sat twelve points clear of last year's champions, Manchester United!