Football Dynasty

In most Premier League broadcasts, the camera work tends to focus heavily on close-up shots of the action — tight angles on the players, managers, and specific moments on the pitch. However, at the start of this season, the live broadcasting crew decided to broaden the visual scope by incorporating more wide-angle shots.

To make this possible, they added six new camera positions strategically placed around every Stadium, with several mounted high above the stands.

The change brought a noticeable shift in perspective. Unlike the towering arenas of Old Trafford, Anfield, Highbury, or Stamford Bridge, the current Maine Road was an intimate venue by Premier League standards, with stands that rose only modestly above the pitch and a capacity of under 30,000.

From the newly elevated camera positions, the wide shots captured not only the full sweep of the playing field, but also the compact scale of the entire ground.

On television, this intimacy became even more pronounced — the low-rise stands and tightly packed seating stood in sharp contrast to the grand, imposing structures of the league's larger stadiums

From an aerial view, this make Maine road Stadium live broadcast enriched the visuals significantly. With the wider shots, you could clearly see the players' movements and runs, which made the game's footage much more dynamic.

However, the current Maine Road looked rather odd.

"What the fuck?!"

The roar of the crowd had turned into a wave of confused murmurs as the floodlights at Maine Road died in unison.

One second the pitch was alive with movement — Anelka jostling with Cannavaro, Bergkamp lurking nearby — and the next, everything was swallowed by darkness.

Miss Heysen and Marina, who had been seated near the halfway line, shot to their feet in shock. The sudden blackout wasn't just unusual.

Fortunately, there was no Richard here tonight — a small relief, considering what he might have said or done in a situation like this — but both women knew the incident could spiral into chaos if it dragged on.

Miss Heysen's instincts kicked in instantly. She didn't waste time asking questions; she reached for her phone and started dialing every contact she could think of, her voice sharp and urgent as she spoke into the receiver.

"This is not a drill — the lights are out, and I want the entire operations team on standby."

Ten minutes earlier~

Inside the stadium, the power distribution room sat tucked beneath one of the stands. From here, the main circuit breakers and controls could turn on or off different lighting zones, including the floodlights.

Two men had arrived in Manchester under the guise of football enthusiasts visiting from abroad. They blended in easily — scarves around their necks, cameras slung casually at their sides. One was an electronics engineer from Penang; the other, his associate. But they weren't here for the football alone.

The mission: shut down the floodlights, stop the match, and cash in on the fixed score.

The trick was simple in theory, dangerous in execution.

Under Far Eastern betting rules, if a match was abandoned after the second half had begun, all bets were settled on the score at that moment. If you knew exactly when the blackout would happen, you could make a fortune.

The men had done it before — in London, at Upton Park and Selhurst Park — slipping into stadiums days before kick-off to tamper with the wiring in the power room. A hidden relay and a remote control were all it took to plunge the pitch into darkness.

Now, they wanted Maine Road.

For many direct access to the English game has allowed them to combine two of the region's favourite pastimes - football and gambling.

Thanks to modern technology, Premiership matches broadcast live in Britain on the BSkyB channel are also shown live throughout the Far East, helping to make some clubs household names in the region while giving them a fantastically large fan base. Manchester United are estimated to have more than 50m fans in the Far East.

A few days before this very match, they were quietly escorted into the bowels of the ground, tools in hand. Nobody paid much attention; security at football grounds was nothing like an airport checkpoint.

The device was already in place long before kick-off. But as the match wore on, and the electronics engineer watched the battle between Anelka and Cannavaro on the edge of the box, his patience cracked.

"Damn it! What are they doing? Is that a penalty? That's a penalty for Arsenal — we need this now!" he muttered.

But that was the problem — all their money was riding on Manchester City.

Most of the gamblers were wealthy businessmen placing wagers with clandestine bookmakers who operated under a handicap system, where a team was given a half-goal or one-goal head start. Those backing the team that beat the handicap could double their money.

For today's match, Arsenal had been given a half-goal start. If the game ended in a 1–1 draw, anyone backing Arsenal to "win" under that handicap would double their stake.

A penalty for Arsenal, then, could ruin everything.

The syndicate's plan was simple: fix the match by tampering with the stadium's electrics. With a hidden remote-control mechanism, they could shut off the floodlights and force the game to be abandoned. Under Far Eastern betting rules, if a match was abandoned after half-time, all bets stood on the score at the time of the stoppage.

One of them pressed the button.

At first, nothing seemed wrong — just a faint flicker in the corner floodlight.

"Hey, you! Who are you? What are you doing here?" the security guard on duty barked, having spotted two suspicious men in the power distribution room.

"Shit!" both men cursed. Just as the security guard moved to chase them, the floodlights went out.

The two men didn't wait — they sprinted for the exit.

But with chaos already erupting inside the stadium, the captain decided the blackout was the priority. He ordered a few officers to go after the suspects while he turned his attention to the crisis.

"Hurry, hurry! Fix it!" he shouted to the mechanics behind him.

Five minutes later, the floodlights finally flickered back to life, bathing the pitch in bright white once again.

On the touchline, Arsène Wenger and O'Neill were deep in discussion with the fourth official. Gestures were exchanged, brows furrowed — neither manager seemed entirely sure how to proceed before the floodlights finally returned to full brightness.

Finally, after further discussion, a decision was made: the game would go on.

Watching the lamps finally roar back to life, Miss Heysen — the club's CEO — exhaled sharply, though her relief was short-lived.

The crisis wasn't over though.

As the bright glare returned to the pitch, she was already on her phone, her voice low but urgent, summoning senior staff to the control room. This wasn't just a technical glitch; she knew it could spiral into a public relations nightmare, an investigation, and potentially even sanctions from the league.

Both teams were already on the pitch.

PHWEEEE~

The whistle cut through the air, sharp and decisive. Overmars stepped forward, the ball waiting on the spot like prey under the gaze of a predator.

Overmars didn't blast it; he sliced it low and fast, angling it toward the bottom left corner, a shot driven with precision rather than brute force.

Buffon dived full stretch, fingertips brushing at nothing but air. The ball struck the netting and rippled violently, bouncing back with the force of the shot.

The stadium erupted — red shirts swarming toward Overmars, who simply raised one fist and gave a small, satisfied nod, the calm of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Manchester City 0 - 1 Arsenal

In this era, there was a greater emphasis on individual player abilities, just like Overmars. Close-up shots could capture the intricate footwork of the players, but City played a more collective style. Their footballing aesthetics weren't as visible in isolation, and live broadcasters from the previous season had already struggled to keep up with City's lightning-fast gameplay. The cameras often failed to follow the action in time.

What did it look like?

It resembled a video game — the ball zipped across the field in rapid, zigzagging patterns. One moment it was on the left flank, the next it was on the right. Before you knew it, the ball would be played out from the back, and after just a couple of swift passes, it was already in front of the opponent's goal.

Yet Arsenal refused to back down. The moment they shifted from defense to attack, they unleashed rapid counterattacks with almost no hesitation. These bursts often began from the flanks; whenever a gap appeared, they wasted no time in firing a direct pass forward.

Wenger's approach had clearly lit a spark. It allowed Arsenal's players to express their full range of talent, while also disguising tactical shifts in plain sight. Instead of ordering Adams to start in midfield — a move the defender would likely resist — Wenger kept him at center-back, only encouraging him to surge forward during attacks. In this way, Adams embraced the role willingly, turning defense into an unexpected weapon.

In Arsenal's attacks, an unusual pattern emerged. They build-up shifted more to the flanks.

Bergkamp worked tirelessly, his technique beyond doubt, but City's defenders refused to bite. They didn't dive in recklessly; instead, they slowed his tempo, blocking his angles and waiting for him to commit. With Anelka's pace as their only real threat in behind, Arsenal's attacks began to lose their sting.

After three failed attempts to break through, Bergkamp tried to go it alone.

He slipped past Capdevila, but was instantly intercepted by Thuram, who drove the ball quickly down the left. Thuram found Pirlo, who, after a single touch to steady himself, pinged a diagonal pass to the right. Zidane, completely unmarked, collected it with ease.

Zidane then swept the ball to the left flank, where Trezeguet was charging in at full speed. Timing his run perfectly to beat Keown, Trezeguet let the ball drop, shaped for a shot—

In Arsenal's attacks, an unusual pattern emerged. Bergkamp was flawless in possession up front — short or long passes, grounded or airborne, he handled them with effortless grace. Whenever he received the ball, his first touch was a small work of art. Yet, when Adams or Bould ventured forward to support, the contrast was stark — they sometimes struggled to control even the simplest short passes.

Gradually, Arsenal's build-up shifted more to the flanks. Bergkamp worked tirelessly, his technique beyond doubt, but City's defenders refused to bite. They didn't dive in recklessly; instead, they slowed his tempo, blocking his angles and waiting for him to commit. With Anelka's pace as their only real threat in behind, Arsenal's attacks began to lose their sting.

After three failed attempts to break through, Bergkamp tried to go it alone. He slipped past Capdevila, but was instantly intercepted by Thuram, who drove the ball quickly down the left. Thuram found Pirlo, who, after a single touch to steady himself, pinged a diagonal pass to the right. Zidane, completely unmarked, collected it with ease.

Zidane then swept the ball to the left flank, where Trezeguet was charging in at full speed. Timing his run perfectly to beat Keown, Trezeguet let the ball drop, shaped for a shot before—BANG.

PENALTY!

Keown had gone to ground with a sliding tackle but caught Zidane's shin instead of the ball. Zidane winced but stayed aware enough to look up and see the referee already pointing to the spot, yellow card in hand for Keown.

"Penalty! City have been awarded a spot-kick — and it's come out of nowhere! The cameras could barely keep up. Andy, did you see that?"

"How quick was that? We know City can punish teams on the counter, but that was blistering — from regaining possession to Zidane being fouled in under 10 seconds. I hope we get a wide-angle replay, because that was textbook counterattacking football."

Keown, unable to contain himself, stood over Zidane and accused him of going down too easily. Zidane rolled his eyes, sprang to his feet, and got in Keown's face.

In this era, especially among English players, such flashpoints were part of the game — closer to a friendly nudge than real malice.

The referee saw no need to intervene; these were, after all, national teammates and regular defensive partners. Fans at the time had little patience for the theatrical flailing and face-clutching that would plague future generations.

Zidane stepped up to the spot and dispatched the penalty with ease, putting City 1–1 draw.