NOVPUB
Chapter 104: The Partying Problem was Starting to Show
MADISON SQUARE GARDEN – NIGHT – WRESTLEMANIA 𝒏𝒐𝙫𝙥𝙪𝙗.𝒄𝙤𝙢
The iconic New York arena is a roaring sea of fans, signs waving high, camera flashes flickering like fireworks. The squared circle in the center glows under the spotlights.
Announcer (Jim Ross): "Ladies and gentlemen, the atmosphere is ELECTRIC tonight at Madison Square Garden! History is about to be made—again—as Yokozuna defends the WWF Championship twice in ONE night!"
Co-commentator (Gorilla Monsoon): "You said it, JR. First against Lex Luger, and later... against Bret ’The Hitman’ Hart! Can Yokozuna really survive TWO challengers back-to-back?"
Cut to: FANS in the crowd — some chanting "Let’s go Lex!", others holding up Bret Hart 4 Champ signs. There’s a buzz in the air, people on the edge of their seats.
PYRO EXPLODES. Lex Luger’s music hits.
The crowd explodes as the All-American hero steps into the arena.
Cut to: VIP SUITE – PRIVATE BOX OVERLOOKING THE RING
Richard, in a sleek grey suit, sits at a table draped in white linen. In front of him: a perfectly cooked medium-rare filet mignon, garlic mashed potatoes, and a glass of vintage red. The clatter of silverware is drowned by the deafening roar of the crowd.
"Now this is how you watch a fight, isn’t it?" Richard said with an interested expression as he glanced over at the young girl seated beside him—Stephanie Marie McMahon, the daughter of Vince and Linda McMahon, though the world would one day know her simply as Stephanie McMahon.
A waiter quietly refilled Richard’s wine glass, careful not to obstruct the view of the ring. Stephanie dabbed her mouth with a napkin, eyes still fixed on the spectacle before them.
"Imagine this level of hype... but for football," she said curiously. "Think you could ever get Manchester City to draw a crowd like this?"
Before the event, her father had personally instructed her to accompany Richard—and more importantly, to learn from him. Vince believed there was plenty she could pick up from a man like Richard when it came to business, and Stephanie wholeheartedly agreed.
She had already begun working for the World Wrestling Federation at just 13, modeling for merchandise catalogs—but this was a whole new playing field.
Now freshly graduated from Greenwich High School, she was eager to learn more. With university just around the corner, Stephanie saw this as the perfect chance to capitalize on an opportunity to learn directly from someone who had built his empire from the ground up.
Richard smiled, casually swirling the orange juice in his glass before answering, "Give me time."
He paused for a moment, then continued, "Just like why I invest in your father’s company. The main focus of these events is the championship—the drama of who wins the title in the end, which underdog overcomes the impossible odds, and what happens to the villain everyone loves to hate. It’s pure theater."
Back in the ring, Yokozuna enters—massive, menacing—his manager, Mr. Fuji, waving the Japanese flag.
Jim Ross: "And here comes the 568-pound juggernaut! The WWF Champion, Yokozuna, flanked by Mr. Fuji. This is gonna be a WAR!"
The crowd erupts in a chant: "USA! USA! USA!"
As the match begins, the fans rise to their feet, stomping and screaming, living every punch, every suplex.
Richard leans forward, chewing thoughtfully. ’The commentator is just as important,’
Whether it’s providing context, live play-by-play, analyzing the game, or enhancing the atmosphere—in other words, for a lower league club like Manchester City, the quirkier the commentator, the better for building the drama and keeping viewers engaged.
For national or international broadcasts, commentators are typically neutral, meaning they are not affiliated with either team playing in the match. However, some broadcasters or networks do have team-specific commentators, especially for local broadcasts.
Liverpool, for example, often featured ex-players and passionate local voices, with Radio City delivering commentary that felt deeply connected to the club’s fanbase.
Arsenal embraced a fan-centric approach through platforms like Arsenal ClubCall and regular features in their official club magazines.
Tottenham received consistent coverage from Capital Gold and other prominent London-based broadcasters, maintaining a strong presence in London’s football discourse.
Meanwhile, up north, Newcastle United—riding the wave of Kevin Keegan’s ’Entertainers’ squad in the early ’90s—benefited from strong local commentary provided by Metro Radio and other North East media outlets. These voices captured the growing excitement surrounding a team that, in recent seasons, had gone toe-to-toe with Manchester United in the race for the league title.
Richard glanced at the roaring crowd below, then at the ring. Almost instinctively, he pulled a small notepad from his jacket and jotted something down.
"Entertainment, loyalty, merchandise, media, narrative... Emotion is currency," he mumbled to himself. He wasn’t here for the winner—he was here to understand the machine behind it all.
The event featured 10 matches, including two major bouts, running for approximately 3 hours and 30 minutes.
Cut to: RING – Lex Luger with a massive clothesline!
The crowd roared as Lex Luger sent his opponent crashing to the mat. The commentators were nearly losing their voices, their excitement palpable.
Gorilla Monsoon: "LEX HAS GOT HIM! THIS COULD BE IT!!"
Back in the VIP section, Richard stood up and turned toward Stephanie McMahon, who was still on the edge of her seat, captivated by the action unfolding in the ring. "Done here," he said, straightening his suit jacket. "Are you staying?"
Stephanie, her eyes glued to the ring, nodded distractedly. Her excitement was evident as the match reached its peak. Richard smiled to himself, knowing she was absorbing every bit of the entertainment her father had carefully crafted.
"Alright," Richard said, already moving toward the exit. "I’ll catch up with you later."
He made his way to the back of the arena, where he was escorted to a private office. Inside, a few of the event organizers were wrapping up their business, finishing up some last-minute payments and settlements.
Richard glanced at the piles of paperwork, then at the man in charge. "How many viewers tuned in for the pay-per-view event?"
"Oh, Mr. Richard. Wait for a moment," the man said.
After a moment, he answered, "A total of 420,000 people watched the event."
Richard nodded, satisfied with the result. It was basically in line with Fay’s projections. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Let’s get this payment sorted. I expect the funds to be in my account by the end of the week."
The man nodded quickly, tapping away at his computer. "Of course, Mr. Richard. Everything is in order. We’ll get it processed for you right away."
"Thank you very much," Richard said before slipping a few $20 bills into the man’s hand. He walked out without another word.
While Richard was in America handling business, Manchester City was facing a major crisis back home.
The team had earned a new nickname: they were now being dubbed the "Draw Specialists."
They had drawn again, 2-2 at home against Burnley, and dropped another two points with a 2-2 draw at Northampton, following a previous 1-1 draw at home to Chesterfield.
And so with eight games played the Blues were out of the promotion pack sat in 7th, nine points behind leaders Stoke.
After a two-day break, the players showed a slight decline in their physical condition when they returned to the training ground. O’Neill stood on the sidelines for a while, observing their performance.
"Boss, do you think we should bring Ronaldo and Roberto back into the starting lineup?" Robertson, the assistant manager, asked cautiously.
"What?" O’Neill raised an eyebrow at the question, pretending he hadn’t heard it.
"..."
Robertson could only sigh. Six matches without a single win—if he was being honest, they needed someone who could break the deadlock. And to be honest, they already knew the answer.
In terms of rebuilding the team, progress needed to be made step by step. Facing a league like the Second Division, wing crosses were a tried-and-tested strategy. Emphasizing technical play could lead to collapse under rough fouls, meaning traditional wing strategies could not be discarded.
However, they had a secret weapon—Ronaldo.
He broke away from the mold of a traditional striker, bringing flair, unpredictability, and sheer menace to opposition defenders. If he kept up this level of performance in the Premier League, there was no doubt top clubs would start circling, regardless of how many years he still had left on his contract with City.
It’s the same with Roberto Carlos and Cafu. The role of crossing from the wings was evolving, now shared between traditional wingers and full-backs, reflecting the trend toward versatile player roles in modern football.
It’s just that they were in a dilemma now.
On one hand, they knew O’Neill always demanded strict discipline, which was why they 50% agreed to sideline Ronaldo and Roberto Carlos. On the other, another 50%, they hoped that starting the Brazilians might finally boost City’s performance.
Robertson Sighed, ’Why couldn’t they be more like their fellow countryman?’
This contrast left him and the coaching staff scratching their heads. Look at Cafu—he spent every waking moment dedicated to football. It was the complete opposite of the two Brazilians who had just shown up late for training.
With Robertson bringing up Ronaldo and Roberto Carlos, O’Neill’s mood became noticeably more somber.
He quickly blew the whistle and called for the session to stop. Then, he summoned the rest of the coaching staff for a brief internal meeting. The decision was swift: today’s training would be revised and shifted to focus solely on strength and stamina recovery.
Nothing else mattered right now but restoring the team’s physical condition.
O’Neill knew very little about training—just like during his time at Wycombe. He had always left that part to Robertson and Walford, his trusted assistant and coach.
Now, with the help of people like Meulensteen, Phelan, and McClaren, the coaching team’s division of labor was clearly defined. O’Neill didn’t need to worry about the technical details—his only job was to review and approve the training plans they presented.
This actually saved him time—allowing him to focus on other pressing matters.
After finalizing the changes to the training session, he made his way down to the physiotherapy room. Inside, the club doctor stood at a lightboard, staring intently at a set of fresh knee scans. His expression was grim.
"How’s Lake?" O’Neill asked quietly, referring to the extent of Paul Lake’s injury sustained during the match against Blackpool.
The doctor turned, clearly bracing for the conversation. "It’s not good. Same knee. The reconstruction’s failed again. We’ll need another full scan to be sure, but..." He exhaled slowly. "It’s looking like the end of the road."
O’Neill’s jaw tightened. "I heard your head physio said he was 100% fit," he said, his voice low but edged with frustration.
The doctor didn’t respond right away—only offering a slow, regretful shake of the head.
Seeing the silence, O’Neill let out a deep breath. "Will he play again?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"We’ll send him for another scan to confirm the damage. But I’ll be honest—another surgery, another rehab... it’s a long shot. And a cruel one. At this point, we’re probably talking about managing pain, not a return to playing."
The words stung, even if he’d expected them—especially for O’Neill. He gave a tight nod, then quietly left the room, the ache of the news clinging to him like a shadow.
