Football Dynasty

At the end of the year, France Football magazine announced the top three nominees for the European Footballer of the Year: first place went to European Championship winner Matthias Sammer, followed closely by Ronaldo in second, and Alan Shearer in third.

As for why it was still called the European Footballer of the Year: when the award was first created in 1956 by France Football, it was only open to European players playing in Europe. That's why many people continued to refer to it that way.

At the press conference before the weekend's league fixtures, a reporter raised the topic of the Ballon d'Or, and O'Neill's expression instantly hardened.

"What do you want me to say?" he shot back. "I don't understand the selection criteria for this award. It's just a group of journalists casting votes as if they represent the entire footballing world. Is that fair? Hardly."

He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "Why does Sammer deserve the trophy? Because he scored more goals than anyone else? No. He got it because he captained Germany to the European Championship. Fine, but if that's the standard, then explain to me why Alan Shearer doesn't even come close. He not only won the Premier League Golden Boot, he also finished top scorer at the European Championship. Doesn't that count for anything?"

O'Neill then shook his head, visibly frustrated. "Meanwhile, Ronaldo was dazzling everyone—do we really need to talk about assist numbers too? He scored 54 goals in 57 games! Then he started the 1996/97 season at Barcelona with an unbelievable scoring run. And yet, because he 'only' won a domestic cup, that somehow puts him below? The whole thing feels inconsistent. One year it's about trophies, the next year it's about goals, the next it's about reputation. No one knows what the rules are, and that's the problem. If it's truly supposed to crown the best player in the world, then the voters should at least be clear about what they're voting for."

The room fell silent in an instant. The reporters hadn't expected O'Neill to suddenly launch into a tirade against the Ballon d'Or selection process.

The original question had been casual—journalists had merely intended to gather each manager's opinion for their articles, hoping to hear his evaluation of the three players. Instead, they got a bombshell, leaving them momentarily speechless.

After a brief pause, the reporters raised their hands frantically, shouting questions over one another.

If O'Neill had been just an ordinary fan, he wouldn't have cared who won the Ballon d'Or. To him, it would have simply been a matter of enjoying the matches. But as a manager, he had to consider the award's influence and the factors involved.

Matthias Sammer

Ronaldo Nazário

Alan Shearer

Ronaldo could only finish second despite having a historic year. Many felt he should have won, but the award at the time was judged mostly on the previous season and performances within that calendar year. Voters leaned heavily toward Euro 1996 performances, which gave Matthias Sammer the edge.

Heavy Euro 1996 bias!

Critics argued that the Ballon d'Or had effectively become "a tournament award" that year, rather than reflecting the full scope of club and international performances across the season. This meant players from countries that didn't perform well at Euro 1996 (such as Brazil or the Netherlands) were at a clear disadvantage.

It was also a case of limited voting pool and European-only bias.

At the time, only European journalists could vote, and until 1995 only European players were eligible. Non-European players became eligible only if they were playing for European clubs, which still restricted recognition.

This system meant that great players outside Europe, or even those playing in smaller European leagues, struggled to receive full acknowledgment. For example, Alan Shearer had an excellent Euro 1996 (winning the Golden Boot) and scored heavily for both Blackburn Rovers and Newcastle United. However, some critics argued that ranking him above players like Alessandro Del Piero or George Weah owed more to England's media influence than to a balanced evaluation of performances.

Well, to be honest, arguments like this were already raised by many journalists, but most were reluctant to say it publicly.

Additionally, the rise of the digital television age was a crucial factor. It coincided with a time of advanced broadcasting, and when paired with Ronaldo's explosive emergence, it created a media storm that quickly elevated him to global superstardom. Many admired Ronaldo, especially for what they called his "dribbling textbook."

The reporters, however, were like sharks who had smelled blood in the water. Their pens hovered, their mouths hung open, all waiting to devour whatever headline came next.

"Mr. O'Neill," one voice shouted, "are you suggesting there's a scandal behind the Ballon d'Or voting?"

"No," O'Neill replied, his tone icy. "I just think this year's result represents a victory for media coverage, not the true values of football."

"What do you mean by the values of football?" another reporter pressed.

O'Neill leaned forward, his voice steady and sharp. "We always say football is a team sport—that the collective comes before the individual. So if team honors are the measure of a team's greatness, why isn't the same standard applied when judging the best player? If a player fails to help his team win anything, what right does he have to be crowned the best?"

One journalist tried to bait him. "Isn't that contradictory? Are you suggesting that Matthias Sammer, for example, didn't help Germany win Euro '96?"

O'Neill frowned, catching the trap instantly. "I never said that. But let's be clear—the Ballon d'Or isn't supposed to be a forecast of future stars, nor a popularity contest. It should have consistent standards. Instead, one year it's about team achievements, the next year it's about individual flair, the next it's about reputation. As long as it doesn't crown a truly average player, the voters can justify anything. That's not fair to the players. Especially not to mine."

After all, the sports world thrives on sharp, contrasting viewpoints. If the majority only offered praise and applause, what would be the point?

"That's it then," O'Neill snapped, pushing back his chair with a scrape. "And by the way—Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year." Without waiting for another question, he rose from his seat and strode out, leaving the press room buzzing in his wake.

By the end of December, Manchester City had stormed through twenty rounds of the Premier League with a flawless record: 20 wins, 0 draws, 0 losses. The achievement was even more astonishing than Newcastle United's fairytale run in the first half of the previous season, and it shook English football to its core.

Conceded only seven goals all season—a staggering statistic that left opponents demoralized before the matches even began!

The foundation of this defensive fortress lay in their back line. With Javier Zanetti's tireless leadership and discipline, Lilian Thuram's physical power, Fabio Cannavaro's impeccable reading of the game, and Joan Capdevila's consistency on the flank, City possessed a defense that seemed almost unbreakable.

The Times lamented that the suspense surrounding the Premier League title had already faded. Having secured the unofficial "first-half championship," Manchester City could all but crown themselves champions of the Premier League ahead of schedule.

The remaining intrigue in the league now centered on the relegation battle and the race for the second UEFA Champions League spot. Manchester United, Leicester City, Chelsea, and Arsenal all appeared to have a chance.

Compared to the grueling 46-match schedule of the Football League two years ago and last season's heavy focus on cup competitions, this campaign had seen City maintain a balanced rotation from August to December. Key players were given ample rest, while the squad primarily concentrated on the league, averaging just one game per week.

The opening match of 1997 pitted Manchester City against West Ham United.

When City had returned to prominence as a newly promoted team in English football, few could have imagined that just a year later, the mighty Hammers would find themselves in such an awkward position. City sat comfortably at the top of the table, while West Ham languished fifth from the bottom.

The first match of the new year kicked off at the Boleyn Ground.

The charged atmosphere was as fierce as ever. Cityzens waved banners mocking the Hammers, while the two sets of supporters traded chants and insults, their throats hoarse from the noise.

In the packed stands, fervent fans raised their arms menacingly. O'Neill and Mourinho stood on the sidelines, unable to make out the exact words from the terraces, but it was obvious they were just volleys of mockery hurled back and forth.

Harry Redknapp, meanwhile, stood with his hands buried in his jacket pockets, staring blankly at the pitch. It wasn't that he was dazed or disinterested; rather, his narrow eyes simply made it difficult for anyone to read the intensity he was feeling inside.

The Hammers had been hovering around the relegation zone since the start of the season, their form swinging erratically between momentary stability and sudden lapses back into danger.

PHWEEEEE~

"Andy, what's your comment about this match?" Martin Tyler asked as he watched the game unfold.

Both Andy Gray and Martin Tyler appeared disillusioned, noting that the contest looked more like a brawl inside West Ham's defensive third, with most of their players packed into the box.

"Perhaps Redknapp can halt City's winning streak, though this kind of approach doesn't inspire much pride. From a psychological standpoint, though, maybe even a draw would feel like a victory for West Ham," Andy Gray mused.

"Playing the way West Ham does means they don't really want to win, but they're terrified of losing. If football continues to develop like this, it's doomed," he added.

"But what else can Redknapp do? If he doesn't use such an all-out defensive strategy, he's almost certain to go home defeated. This is a bitter rivalry—both in terms of points and reputation, old Red can't afford to lose," Martin Tyler replied.

Sighing, Andy Gray summed up the situation: "At the end of the first half, the score is still 0-0. City had 17 shots, eight of which were blocked directly by defenders. The only real threat came from a long-range strike by Zidane that rattled the post."

As they walked into the locker room at halftime, O'Neill noticed the players voicing their frustrations about their opponents.

"They don't even want to win!" Larsson vented.

He had been tightly marked on all sides, managing only a single shot attempt in the first half—a strike that ricocheted off a defender. He was fuming. "I can't find any space to cut inside for a shot; the penalty area is just crammed with defenders everywhere!"

Larsson's comment caught everyone off guard for a moment before the room burst into laughter. The release of tension was brief but necessary, lightening the mood after such a frustrating half.

Once the chuckles subsided, Zanetti raised his head toward O'Neill. "Boss, should we take more long shots in the second half?" he asked seriously.

O'Neill didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced across the room at Mourinho, who leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on the players.

CLAP!

The sudden sharp sound jolted the room. Mourinho had smacked his palms together, stepping forward with the controlled aggression of a drill sergeant.

"Listen!" he barked, his voice cutting through the noise of boots shuffling and players muttering. "They want us to get impatient. They want Larsson to curse, Zidane to shoot from thirty yards, Lennon to run himself into the ground. That's their plan—to drag us down into a street fight inside their box."

He paused, scanning the faces of the squad. "But we're not here to brawl with West Ham. We're here to play our football. Keep moving the ball. Stretch them wide. Make their legs heavy. Then, when the chance comes…" He smirked. "We kill them."

A murmur of approval rippled through the squad. Zidane's lips curved into a faint smile; Lennon cracked his knuckles. Even Larsson, still frustrated, gave a firm nod.

O'Neill finally spoke, his tone calm but resolute. "José's right. Patience wins this match. They've locked themselves in a cage. Second half—we make the cage collapse."

The room fell quiet, the players processing the words. Then, almost in unison, they rose from their seats, their focus sharpened, their frustration now transformed into determination.