Football Dynasty

O'Neill's second confrontation with Wenger in the Premier League ended in a bitter 4–0 defeat for the Frenchman.

It all unfolded in the second half when Mourinho adjusted the system to a 4-3-3, shifting Ronaldo into the central role while introducing Henry and Pires as the left and right wingers.

The impact was immediate and devastating. With Ronaldo occupying defenders in the middle, Henry's blistering pace on the left and Pires' craft on the right stretched Arsenal's backline to its limit. Every attack seemed to carry danger—Henry cutting inside to unleash shots, Pires weaving clever passes and crosses, and Ronaldo exploiting the chaos with ruthless efficiency.

The balance of power had tilted. What began as a tactical tweak soon turned into an overwhelming storm that Arsenal simply couldn't withstand.

As the final whistle blew, jubilant chants filled Maine Road, with Manchester City's anthem, "Blue Moon," echoing around the stands.

Originally written by Rodgers and Hart, "Blue Moon" first became associated with the club in the 1989/90 season. City supporters began singing it after a match at Anfield, and its wistful, melancholic tone struck a chord with fans during one of the club's most turbulent eras. What began as a spontaneous chant quickly grew into a tradition, the song's bittersweet mood reflecting the struggles and resilience of the fanbase.

By the mid-1990s, "Blue Moon" had become inseparable from Manchester City's identity, a rallying cry through both triumph and turmoil. Even during the chaos of Alan Ball's tenure—which culminated in the club's infamous double relegation—the anthem endured. For the fans, it was more than a song: it was a symbol of loyalty, survival, and an unbreakable bond with their club.

O'Neill approached Wenger for a handshake. Their exchange was brief—just a quick clasp before going their separate ways.

Wenger walked down the tunnel, while O'Neill lingered, taking a moment to shake hands with each departing player.

"Boss!"

The familiar voice cut through the post-match clamor. Thierry Henry had spotted Wenger just as he was about to disappear.

Wenger froze, turning back toward the pitch, his eyes meeting Henry's.

"Thierry?" Wenger called softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

The sight of Henry stirred a wave of memories. Back at Monaco, Wenger had always believed in the young forward's blistering pace, often deploying him wide to exploit defenders. Tonight, it felt almost like déjà vu—City had used Henry in that very role, and Arsenal had suffered for it.

But...

But what Wenger had never imagined was seeing Henry paired with Ronaldo. His game seemed to have evolved.

The two were devastating together—constantly interchanging positions. One moment Ronaldo drifted into the center as the striker, the next Henry cut inside to take up that role, while the other pulled wide to stretch the defense.

For Arsenal's back line, it was a nightmare. Marking them became impossible; the defenders never knew who to track or when to step up. Every time they switched, it opened fresh gaps, and their blistering pace made any hesitation fatal.

"You played well," Wenger said in French, extending his hand.

Henry clasped it firmly, smiling in return. Before Wenger could let go, a hand touched Henry's shoulder. He turned and immediately broke into a grin.

"Robert!" Henry exclaimed, embracing Robert Pirès. The two laughed, exchanging a few words before Pirès turned politely to greet Wenger.

Wenger's smile broadened as he shook Pirès's hand, his expression glowing with pride. Yet beneath the warmth, he felt a quiet ache—envy, even. These were players he had once believed in, talents he understood better than most, now flourishing in the colors of another club.

For a brief moment, Wenger hesitated. Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, his thoughts sharpened.

'Wait—David promised me that if Arsenal reached the top four this season, he would back my request in the transfer market.'

Wenger's gaze lingered on Henry and Pirès, standing side by side, laughing like old comrades. Slowly, an idea began to take root—a plan that could reshape Arsenal's future.

Up in the director's box, Richard watched closely. He didn't care about their interaction, but when his eyes settled on Wenger's weary face, he let out a sigh. The Professor, as many called him, carried the look of a man burdened by transition.

Every team, Richard thought, must endure its moments of change—its painful in-betweens. Arsenal's was only just beginning.

At that moment, he could empathize with Wenger's struggles in the Premier League. Perhaps Wenger was simply too principled—he never gloated when he won, nor did he hide his dejection when he lost. He refused to indulge in the hollow rituals of social pleasantries.

On the pitch, the players enthusiastically thanked the traveling supporters, while O'Neill made his way off the field to warm applause from the home crowd. He raised his hand in acknowledgment before disappearing down the players' tunnel.

How could it not be so? Manchester City unexpectedly topped the Premier League table, now nine points clear of second-placed Arsenal—the equivalent of a three-match cushion!

Meanwhile, across town, Manchester United were faltering. Three consecutive matches without a win had cost them dearly, allowing Chelsea to leapfrog into third place, just a single point ahead.

Premier League Table

Manchester City – 73 pts

Arsenal – 64 pts

Chelsea – 56 pts

Manchester United – 55 pts

In the post-match press conference, O'Neill delivered a measured and succinct evaluation of both teams.

For Manchester City, he admitted there was still room for improvement despite the emphatic scoreline. Dominance in one match did not mean perfection, and he emphasized the importance of consistency if City wanted to remain at the top.

When asked about Arsenal, O'Neill struck a more sympathetic tone. He reminded reporters that setbacks were an inevitable part of progress.

"This is the natural course of football," he said. "You can't rebuild overnight. Even last season, we ourselves endured painful defeats, particularly during the Christmas rush and its aftermath, when fatigue set in and performances dipped. It's part of the game."

As for Wenger, O'Neill refrained from making pointed remarks. Instead, he kept his response dignified, acknowledging the difficulty of Wenger's task without stoking the flames.

"Every team in transition has to endure its share of growing pains," he concluded, leaving it at that.

Unbeknownst to him—or even to Richard himself—several pairs of watchful eyes were studying the match from the stands. Scouts and tactical analysts from Manchester United, AC Milan, and Real Madrid had quietly taken their seats, blending into the crowd.

Post-match, the biggest headline in the UK wasn't Manchester City's emphatic 4–0 dismantling of Arsenal. To the surprise of many, the news cycle was quickly hijacked by a bombshell from Spain:

Barcelona had officially announced the dismissal of Bobby Robson!

Within hours of Robson's departure, Barcelona confirmed his replacement: Louis van Gaal,

Barcelona had entered the season with ambitious plans, making a bold statement by signing Rivaldo for a world-record fee to spearhead their pursuit of glory. Expectations were sky-high, but by February, the cracks had already begun to show.

The team was slipping out of contention for the La Liga title, and their performances in Europe suggested that even reaching the Champions League semi-finals was a fading dream.

With the shock of Barcelona's managerial shake-up still reverberating across Europe, the spotlight quickly swung back to Manchester City.

Across the UK, football legends and pundits dissected the reasons behind City's seemingly unstoppable momentum. Theories flew, some more convincing than others, but a few hit the mark: the team's relentless intensity, technical precision, tactical awareness, and remarkable camaraderie.

City's evolution carried a distinctly European flavor, and its influence was already rippling through the Premier League. Certain aspects, like improved physical conditioning, could be emulated quickly. Others—such as intricate passing patterns and fluid positional play—were far more difficult to replicate.

Within City's squad, nearly every player showcased reliable passing fundamentals, from goalkeeper to striker. While few possessed the elegance of a Bergkamp when controlling a ball mid-air, errors were rare, and the team's collective assurance in possession set them apart.

As rival clubs scrambled to devise ways to blunt City's dominance—or to mimic their success—O'Neill, as player-manager, chose a different path.

He gathered his squad for a celebratory dinner at an upscale Manchester restaurant, rewarding them not only for their derby triumph but also for embracing the ethos that had propelled them to the summit.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was warm and friendly. Everyone enjoyed the camaraderie within the team. Although there was competition for places, it remained healthy and positive.

O'Neill, with his managerial experience, had learned how to manage rotations and nurture talent effectively, maintaining harmony in the dressing room. He was always willing to give young players opportunities, but he never rushed into trusting them fully.

Some youngsters would get carried away after just a match or two, and O'Neill would promptly remind them to stay grounded, making them sit on the bench to observe their teammates and reflect on their own performances.

In the days that followed, Manchester was gripped by alternating spring rains that disrupted the team's training schedule. Forced indoors, they moved sessions to the youth academy facility—much to the excitement of the academy players.

Most of the youngsters looked up to the senior stars in admiration, though a few also felt a spark of competition—none more so than Ronaldinho.

In a practice match, his youth team lost, yet his dazzling performance caught the eye of several first-team regulars.

Zanetti leaned toward O'Neill, tapping his chin with a finger before murmuring, "It's time to move that kid up to the first team, don't you think, boss?"

O'Neill frowned in mild confusion, unsure of what Zanetti meant. He followed the direction of the defender's chin-pointing gesture, and only then did he understand.

A faint twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It reminded him of a saying from Boro Primorac before the coach moved on to Barcelona. Even Steve Walford, his successor with Manchester City's U-17s, had admitted that certain talents were already ripe for picking—it was only the timing, the right opportunity, that hadn't yet arrived.

And Zanetti had his reason for bringing it up.

Whenever he stopped by to watch the youth sessions, his eyes were inevitably drawn to one boy.

The lad dribbled like a madman—reckless yet mesmerizing. Defenders tried, lunged, and scrambled, but none could stop him.

There was a rawness to his play, untamed and unpredictable, but in that chaos lay a spark of genius waiting to be honed.

Sometimes, when City held indoor training, or when the senior players were free, Zanetti would liven up the U-17 sessions.

The academy boys were ecstatic when they learned that the captain of City's senior squad would be joining their training. Yet their excitement quickly dissolved into stunned silence—wide-eyed disbelief replacing their cheers.

Just three hours earlier, before dinner, Zanetti had joined the U-17 session. Yet he could only watch helplessly as he ended up sprawled on the ground, stunned, while the ball slipped cheekily through his legs and rolled away at Ronaldinho's feet.

He had been nutmegged!