Football Dynasty

Chapter 133: Preparing for the Impossible

Manchester City had faced challenges before.

But this?

This was the ultimate test — the first after Richard’s takeover, and after so long, it was their moment to prove themselves.

Manchester United, widely regarded as the best team in England, awaited them in the FA Cup Third Round.

Sir Alex Ferguson’s Manchester United, with its perfect blend of youthful energy, seasoned experience, and offensive brilliance, had solidified their place as one of the most formidable teams in the current Premier League. They were an undeniable force, feared by everyone.

And nobody — absolutely nobody — gave Manchester City a chance.

This was the perfect moment for the media and the "flies" to downplay City’s chances. The football world had already written the match off.

The Mirror: "A routine win expected for Manchester United as they face second-division side Manchester City."

The Guardian: "City stands no chance. This Manchester derby already has its winner."

The Sun: "Manchester Derby Joke! Manchester United vs. Second-division Manchester City? A training exercise for United. Richard Maddox will be responsible for it!"

Richard’s mouth twitched at this. Usually, when something happened, it was always the team or the manager who made the headlines. But why was his name the one being dragged into it?

The entire world seemed to expect City to crumble before the might of United, especially those "flies," the annoying ones, City’s past legends, and even those currently dissatisfied with how Richard was running the club.

"United will put four past them by halftime. If City can even hold on until halftime, it’ll be a miracle." Tony Book gave his commentary, his voice filled with conviction as a pundit.

"I’d be shocked if they don’t score at least seven." Petter Pettigrew, the most vocal of the bunch, was blunt in his assessment. "City will be demolished," he added with a firm shake of his head.

"This is a complete mismatch." Ken Barness, ever the tactful commentator, offered his take. He shook his head slightly, his tone steady as he spoke, highlighting the disparity between the two teams.

Richard read every headline. He heard the pundits laughing and saw the fans predicting a five- or six-goal loss.

He shook his head.

The Manchester derby was no longer the passionate rivalry that seeped into every pore of the city, though it still held the thrilling power to defy rationality.

United, it’s no surprise people support them, as City is currently stranded in the third tier and still fighting for playoff promotion.

Richard then opened the document listing the current United squad.

Goalkeeper: Schmeichel

Defenders: Denis Irwin, Steve Bruce, Gary Pallister, Gary Neville

Midfielders: Lee Sharpe, Roy Keane, Paul Scholes, Ryan Giggs

Forwards: Andy Cole, Brian McClair

Subs: Gary Walsh, Mark Hughes, Graeme Tomlinson, Nicky Butt, Andrei Kanchelskis, Paul Ince, Phil Neville, David May

Richard exhaled.

How do you survive against a team that dominates every single opponent they face?

Defend deep. Stay compact. Hit them on the counter.

And Richard was right. The current training session for Manchester City, tailored by O’Neill, is focused on the only way to survive.

All the coaching staff began with a brutal defensive drill. The players were split into two teams—one defending, one attacking.

The defending side couldn’t leave their half. The attacking side had unlimited possession.

Goal?

The defenders had to hold their shape, block passing lanes, and stop any shots.

Richard looked out from his office at the ongoing training session.

"You cannot panic. You cannot lose focus!" O’Neill roared. "This isn’t about skill anymore. This is about mentality. We fight for every tackle, every second, every blade of grass."

Two days passed, and soon it was time for the preparation to face the giants, United.

Matchday was approaching, and O’Neill faced the media. It was different from the usual City interviews—this time, the room was packed. Every major football outlet had sent reporters.

The first question came from The Sun.

"Martin, your team is facing the biggest club in England. Compared to City, you stand no chance. Do you realistically think Manchester City has a chance?"

What kind of question was that?

Telling his team they stood no chance, but then asking if they still had a chance? O’Neill was confused for a moment, but he stayed professional.

He leaned forward, gripping the microphone.

"Football is played on the pitch, not on paper."

The room fell silent.

The Sun reporter’s eyes lit up. "So, you believe you can win?"

O’Neill’s voice remained steady. "I believe that when the whistle blows, it’s 11 vs. 11. I believe we will fight. I believe that nothing is impossible in football."

Richard, standing at the entrance, shook his head. O’Neill had taken the bait.

"Let’s see what happens when they step onto the pitch."

Old Trafford was a fortress. Fifty thousand Red Army fans filled the air with chants, fully expecting a one-sided demolition.

"Glory, Glory Man United~ Glory, Glory Man United~"

The energy in the stadium was different. This wasn’t a League Cup game against Manchester City. This was a full-strength, Early Fergie’s Fledglings, the best team in England, playing at home.

Different from the current Manchester Road director’s box, Old Trafford didn’t have things like that — VIP boxes or special viewing platforms. That made Richard promise that the moment City built their own stadium, he would create a viewing platform like that, the most luxurious one.

Soon, both teams began walking onto the pitch, and Richard had a bad feeling about it.

’Ronaldo, why is he so pale...?’

He couldn’t help but grab his phone amidst the roaring crowd, trying to reach O’Neill or anyone who could give him an answer.

The phone was finally picked up.

"Hello? HELLO?"

Richard opened his mouth to speak but quickly realized that even he couldn’t hear himself over the deafening noise.

The atmosphere was far more intense than anything he’d experienced at City, watching them steamroll their opponents.

United’s fans were on their feet, cheering passionately for their players. Richard raised his hands in the air too, but he wasn’t cheering for the opposition. Instead, he was shouting and cursing at the top of his lungs.

It was pure chaos. He wasn’t concerned about causing a scene, knowing the people around him couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

’That damn Old Trafford security system! How can these fans be considered safe?""God damn it! United fans aren’t friendly at all!’

After he finished grumbling, Richard sat down and watched the match. The people around him must have thought he was a very ardent fan of Manchester United.

The match kicked off on time at two o’clock in the afternoon. As soon as the referee blew the whistle, Old Trafford erupted like a cauldron. He could barely hear anything except the deafening screams of the home crowd.

O’Neill had set up a deep defensive block—a 5-4-1 formation designed to absorb pressure and break on the counter, trusting Ronaldo’s freedom and creativity to break down United’s defense. But the problem was...

They were suffocated, especially the current Ronaldo.

Since yesterday, Manchester’s weather had been relentless rain, and the temperature was bitterly cold, making the roar of Old Trafford feel dizzying.

City was essentially playing 10 vs. 11.

Add to that Sir Alex Ferguson’s attacking philosophy—they strangled the game.

Scholes would collect the ball from deep, scanning the pitch like a general commanding his troops. Both Roy Keane and Ryan Giggs would always drift between the lines, always an option, always moving.

For a full minute, the ball didn’t leave City’s half.

United recycled possession, shifting it from left to right, waiting, probing, searching for the smallest gap.

At first, City players kept their shape, shifting as a unit.

But how long could they keep this up?

4th Minute

Then, the first real crack appeared.

Ryan Giggs glided across the midfield like a ghost, receiving the ball from Scholes just outside the box.

He feinted left, then quickly slipped a disguised pass into Andy Cole, who had penetrated from the center and was already deep in City’s penalty box.

He looked up—and let fly.

A venomous, curling shot aimed for the far corner.

For a brief second, time seemed to slow.

The Old Trafford crowd held its breath.

Given exploded off his line, reading the shot instantly. He stretched, diving full length to his right, arms extended. The ball curled—just enough to—Boom.

Old Trafford erupted.

4th Minute.

Yes, just four minutes in, and there were still 86 minutes for City to survive the onslaught.