Football Dynasty

Manchester City managed to defeat Barcelona!

At first glance, it was one of the most astonishing results of the season. City, who were hardly considered among Europe's elite at the time, overcame the Spanish champions in a match that stunned pundits across the continent.

However, while the blue half of Manchester celebrated wildly, the victory did not escape scrutiny.

Barcelona had dominated the match from start to finish, recording nearly 75% possession, while City were forced to sit deep and defend for long stretches. Wave after wave of Barcelona attacks poured forward, but City's back line, marshalled by sheer determination and a resolute goalkeeper, somehow held firm.

The newspapers called it a footballing miracle. For a club often overshadowed by their red rivals across town, this triumph was a reminder that Manchester City, on their day, could upset even the giants of Europe.

Yet even in victory, debates raged — was this the sign of a new City rising, or simply a lucky escape against a wasteful Barcelona side?

Nevertheless, whatever the national media and pundits had to say, the local Manchester press paid little attention and instead chose to focus on the contrasting fortunes of Manchester United and Manchester City.

Unlike Manchester City, who managed to defeat Barcelona, Manchester United on the other hand were held to a draw and ended up being eliminated by AS Monaco in the Champions League quarter-finals.

After a 0–0 draw in the first leg, United once again drew 1–1 in the second leg, which allowed AS Monaco to progress on away goals. The second leg was played at Old Trafford—similar to their city rivals, who had earlier played at Maine Road.

This contrast prompted the Manchester media to make comical comparisons between the two clubs.

The Manchester Evening News quipped that while City had "brought down the mighty Barcelona with a thunderous roar at Maine Road," United had "tip-toed meekly out of Europe at Old Trafford against a side whose name barely fits on the scoreboard."

Other columnists joked that the red half of the city, usually so proud of its European pedigree, had been left in the shadows of their supposedly hapless neighbors.

One headline even read: "From Barça to Monaco: City party, United sulk." Another went further, teasing that "Manchester's kings of Europe might not wear red this season."

Though largely tongue-in-cheek, the coverage captured the rare moment when United's aura faltered and City briefly stole the limelight.

In the end, Alex Ferguson's side saw their campaign collapse in disastrous fashion this season, having been pipped to the Premier League title by either Manchester City or Arsenal, who were locked in a close race for second place.

From Eric Cantona's sudden retirement to Roy Keane, who missed nearly the entire season with a cruciate ligament injury, Manchester United could not find the spark to elevate their performances.

Even Teddy Sheringham, brought in from Tottenham to add experience and attacking options, took time to adapt to Ferguson's system and struggled under the heavy burden of replacing Cantona.

Now, after Manchester United's exit from European competition, all that remained was to wait for the weekend's draw to determine who Manchester City would face in the semi-finals.

For Richard personally, if he were following modern football results, the obvious expectation would be either Real Madrid or Bayern Munich. But in the late 1990s, things were different.

You could not underestimate Borussia Dortmund, the reigning European champions, nor Bayer Leverkusen, who had begun to establish themselves as a serious force in German and continental football.

Dortmund's squad was stacked with talent: Matthias Sammer, the 1996 Ballon d'Or winner, provided authority in defence and midfield; Andreas Möller offered creativity and vision; and Karl-Heinz Riedle delivered goals on the biggest stage.

Leverkusen, meanwhile, were emerging as Germany's great "nearly men." Backed by Bayer's corporate wealth, they had invested wisely in a crop of exciting young players. Stars like Ulf Kirsten, Emerson, and Jens Nowotny made them one of the Bundesliga's most entertaining sides, capable of beating anyone on their day.

Done with the Champions League, Manchester City decided to shift their full attention to the Premier League.

When Richard held a meeting with O'Neill and Mourinho, he sighed as he glanced at the calendar. Their next opponent was none other than Wimbledon F.C.

"Of all the clubs… Wimbledon," he muttered under his breath.

The room fell silent for a moment. Everyone knew what that meant. It wasn't just about facing a football team — it was about surviving ninety minutes of bruising tackles, long balls launched from another planet, and the infamous Crazy Gang antics.

"I guess we need to play it safe in the end?" O'Neill said half-jokingly, though his face showed he wasn't entirely kidding.

Despite the early season sale of Dean Holdsworth to Bolton Wanderers, Wimbledon showed the "Crazy Gang" spirit once more as they were still standing fourth at the beginning of December.

Wimbledon are quite the oddity in the Premier League. They are the poorest club in the division, even renting their stadium from Crystal Palace, yet year after year they watch wealthier sides tumble into relegation while somehow avoiding the same fate themselves.

Since Christmas, the suspense over this season's Premier League title race has largely faded. But as we move into mid-March, the focus has shifted to a far more pressing question: which three clubs will be relegated?

The field of potential candidates is unusually crowded, and with the Premier League set to sign a lucrative new broadcasting deal in the summer — rumored to be worth at least double the agreement from five years ago — the stakes for survival have never been higher.

This season is no different. The Dons sit comfortably in ninth place, seven points clear of tenth-placed West Ham United, creating a noticeable gap in the table.

Theoretically, Wimbledon have no reason to worry about relegation. But below West Ham, the picture is far less settled: ten clubs are still caught in the scrap for survival. Apart from Crystal Palace, who look destined for the drop, any of the other nine could realistically fall.

Among them are some surprising names — clubs that hardly sound like relegation contenders: Newcastle United, Bolton Wanderers, Tottenham, Everton, and others.

Wimbledon, so often tipped for relegation, find themselves completely at ease this year, turning their attention instead to their FA Cup run — their top priority — before resuming focus on the Premier League.

Manager Joe Kinnear was hopeful that this could finally be the season when Wimbledon achieved a UEFA Cup place, but the team's form steadily deteriorated during the second half of the season.

This resilience may be tied to their tough, uncompromising brand of English football. Many clubs can sustain a particular style for a season or two, but it is rare to find one that clings to the same approach for an entire decade without ever wavering.

Perhaps it is this unwavering determination that has allowed Wimbledon to remain in the Premier League. They may not aspire to the title, but they continue to stand tall among their rivals.

The fixture on the 26th kicked off at Selhurst Park.

Less than a minute into the match, Wimbledon's enforcer, Vinnie Jones, clattered into Lampard. The referee blew his whistle, signaling a foul. He gave Jones a stern verbal warning but chose not to brandish a card.

Jones, with his trademark thug-like demeanor, grumbled as he walked back, spitting on the ground in disdain at Lampard's supposed softness.

Richard, on the touchline at Selhurst Park, cursed and spread his hands in protest, though deep down he didn't believe there was anything inherently wrong with Wimbledon's style of play.

Thanks to the Crazy Gang's bruising approach, most of Manchester City's players were unwilling to engage fully, and as a result City produced one of their dullest performances of the season.

You could criticize Wimbledon for their lack of ambition, relying on outdated long balls and endless crosses.

You could mock them for their rough, uncompromising play, which lacked finesse.

But football has no fixed standards: some players are poets, others are battering rams.

Wimbledon's blue-collar troops may not have embodied beautiful football, but they had carved out a firm place in the Premier League. No opponent could ever expect an easy win against them.

It was precisely this fearless, tough spirit that allowed them to defy the rules of football's capitalist game, thriving in the top division despite their modest finances.

Faced with this group of muscle-bound fighters, even Mourinho — who had only heard the rumors — felt a twinge of apprehension. He was reluctant to risk City's key players in a physical war. He worried they would emerge battered, and he knew their usual passing and combination play might not be the best strategy against Wimbledon.

So, while Wimbledon launched long balls, City decided they would play the same way.

In midfield, the tenacious trio of Van Bommel, Nakata, and Lampard dictated the tempo, transitioning seamlessly between attack and defense. They surged forward with intent when in possession, and fought ferociously to win back the ball when out of it.

With three forwards leading the line, Trezeguet stands as the focal point in attack, while Shevchenko and Okocha lurk dangerously on the flanks and inside the penalty area as opportunistic predators. Their offensive strategy revolves around building play through the center, while the wing-backs continually whip crosses into the box.

Supporting them from behind is Lampard, who in this match plays with an unpredictable edge, often making surging runs forward that can catch the opposition off guard.

The first half unfolded with a relentless rhythm of physicality — tackles flying in, bodies hitting the turf, and constant confrontations. Inside Wimbledon's penalty area, chaos reigned.

One gets the impression that the opponents are not rational footballers but a pack of wild rhinos. Amid the crowded fray, their defensive patterns may be difficult to read, but the sheer intimidation of their reckless charges is undeniable.

Wimbledon executed their tactics with precision. As the away team, their goal was to hold firm; a draw would give them another crack at it. After all, they were short on cash, and every extra match meant more ticket sales and broadcast revenue.

This was a test of willpower: Manchester City's players could not afford to show fear. They had to keep faith in their ability to win; otherwise, they risked falling victim to their opponents' ferocity.

The struggle was fierce.

Wimbledon resorted to foul tactics outside the box, throwing their bodies in the way of long-range shots. As City bombarded the area with high balls, their players often ended up on the ground after collisions, while Wimbledon's men frequently fell from the sheer impact of the ball striking them.

The fans were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. City supporters bore no animosity toward the Crazy Gang; in fact, most British fans in attendance hardly cared whether the style was rough or refined—so long as it was played like "real men."

Tackles, collisions, and fights—this was their kind of football.

By halftime, six Wimbledon players had already been booked, yet they somehow held the score at 0–0.

In the locker room, O'Neill observed his players, who were grumbling in frustration. Once the noise died down, he turned to Lampard and asked, "Are you angry?"

Lampard replied indignantly, "Why wouldn't I be? They play as if they're not even footballers."

He had been knocked down at least three times in the first half and was on the verge of lashing out at his opponents.

O'Neill then looked at Zanetti. "What about you? Are you angry?"

Zanetti simply shrugged. "There's nothing to be angry about. It's normal to get kicked."

O'Neill was momentarily speechless. But Zanetti wasn't lying—he had endured plenty of kicks back in Argentina's lower leagues with Banfield. For him, this was nothing new.

The truth was, there's no absolute definition of "clean" or "dirty" football. As long as the refereeing isn't corrupt, the rules dictate the punishment: fouls mean yellow cards, and two yellows mean a red—or sometimes a straight red. That's football.

"I feel like some of you are starting to treat football as a gentleman's game," O'Neill began. "Maybe you believe football should reflect our tactical style—teamwork, skill, a chorus of players combining into a glorious symphony."

The players listened in silence.

"That's fine—it's our way. But we can't impose our ideals on others. You can't just dismiss Wimbledon as 'not football.' They're playing their style, different from ours, and they're doing it well. We should respect that. Confront it. And beat it. Think about it—look where they are in the table, and remember who knocked out Manchester United. They may not have the talent you do, but they've built their own strength. That's something to respect."

The room fell into thought. After a moment, O'Neill smiled. "So, is anyone still angry?"

Lampard was the first to shake his head. The others soon followed.

"Good," O'Neill said. "Then what do we do in the second half?"

"Beat them!" came the reply.

"Exactly. Now, here are the adjustments…"

O'Neill's tactical tweaks were minimal—Lampard and Makelele would alternate late runs into the box, and the crossing strategy would be slightly refined.

The second half began much like the first. Wimbledon sat deep, their defense as stubborn as ever. Offensively, they relied on set pieces, though they lacked both pace and conviction to truly threaten.

The deadlock dragged on until the 75th minute. O'Neill was just about to call Zidane to warm up when Zanetti launched a long diagonal into the box. Trezeguet rose at the far post, flicking it back across goal. Shevchenko met it with a towering header.

The Wimbledon keeper somehow got a hand to it, but with bodies flying everywhere, the rebound ricocheted off a defender and into the net.

"It's in! After 76 minutes of relentless pressure, Manchester City take the lead!"

On the sideline, Mourinho and O'Neill exhaled in relief, barking fresh instructions as the players regrouped after their celebrations.

From there, City needed balance.

Wimbledon, desperate to avoid defeat, threw themselves forward. But City's defense, led by Thuram and Lucio, stood strong, repelling long balls with towering clearances.

In the final five minutes, Lampard, deep in his own half, launched a searching long pass. Trezeguet wrestled with defenders, shielding the ball, when it spilled loose. Shevchenko burst in, took control with one touch, and sprinted clear.

Facing the advancing keeper, he calmly slotted the ball into the bottom corner—2–0.