Football Dynasty

Chapter 166: Yes—applause! Louder and louder!!! I’ll buy you lunch for that!

Brentford F.C. finished second last season, and it’s worth noting that they did so impressively, despite not having any standout star players.

Their success in the league was primarily driven by the remarkable cohesion of their squad, a group of "bees warriors" who worked tirelessly together year after year.

While their balance between offense and defense wasn’t perfect, they managed to lose the matches they were expected to lose and win the ones they were supposed to win. On average, they scored and conceded around 1.5 goals per game.

Their head coach, David Webb, could be said to have had a wonderful season, as he and his squad firmly believed they could press Birmingham ahead of them.

Every match was a statement of their ambition, and their confidence grew with each victory. However, no one expected them to be suddenly overtaken by a team they hadn’t accounted for from the start.

Manchester City.

And coincidentally, they would meet them in the opening match.

As the opponent for the opening fixtures, the current vice chairman of Brentford naturally had high expectations.

He didn’t hesitate to back David Webb in his goal of competing for the top spots in the First Division, even bringing in the experienced Paul Davis from Arsenal, hoping he could bring a positive influence to Brentford.

Just like him, the current manager, David Webb, was equally busy. He had thoroughly studied Manchester City—everything from their summer spending spree to their tactical performance last season. However, one thing that stood out to him was a comment from Martin O’Neill, who said they were simply hoping for Manchester City to survive in the league.

"They’re done for," said David Webb to Jeffer Coff, the vice chairman of Brentford.

"Are you confident of defeating them?"

"Not only defeating them, I will crush them," Webb snorted.

He found that whether it was Richard Maddox or Martin O’Neill, they were somewhat self-aware, understanding the importance of establishing a foothold in the First Division rather than setting unrealistic expectations of winning the title.

Webb couldn’t help but feel disdain for an owner who lacked true ambition.

Moreover, what was the point of buying so many young and unknown players at once? Do you really think assembling this group of newcomers will lead to team cohesion so easily?

So, Webb snorted dismissively, convinced that their loss to City last season had been nothing more than a fluke.

With this kind of reassurance and guarantee, naturally, Coff became more complacent. He arrived at Griffin Park with his head held high as he made his way toward the VIP box.

And this is where he crossed paths with Richard.

One hour before the match, Coff casually discussed the club’s transfer targets with his manager, David Webb.

With just over four days remaining in the transfer window, there was still time to act. Unsatisfied with only bringing in Paul Davis, Brentford were looking to further strengthen their squad—particularly by securing loan deals from bigger clubs.

For clubs like theirs, every transfer window became a season of "stitching and mending"—a time to patch holes rather than build anew.

But mid-conversation, Coff noticed that Webb had suddenly gone quiet, a strange expression settling on his face as he stared at something behind them.

Curious, Coff turned to look—and there he saw the tall, sharply dressed figure of Richard, his navy suit catching the eye even from a distance.

With a calm smile, Richard stepped forward and extended his right hand toward Coff.

"Hello, nice to meet you," he said gently.

"..."

But the response wasn’t what Richard had expected.

Silence.

And then—

"Who are you? Why are you here? How did he even get in?"

"..."

Richard was stupefied by the response, his hand still frozen mid-air.

Assuming he had been mistaken for a trespasser, Richard maintained his calm smile and said,"I’m Richard Mad—"

His outstretched hand still hung in the air, only to be coldly and awkwardly ignored—interrupted once again.

Coff scowled. In an old-fashioned manner, he waved his hand toward the nearby security team, who were busy escorting Brentford players and staff.

"Where is the security team? Why is this man even allowed in here?"

Richard’s expression stiffened.

In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Brentford’s players and coaches walking by, all sharing bemused looks at him.

The stands fell silent as fans curiously observed Richard’s reaction to the bizarre situation—his hand extended in greeting, only to be met with cold indifference and a barrage of insults in his direction.

What on earth is happening?

Thankfully, the situation was interrupted by a plastic cup flying through the air, splashing cola near them.

THWACK!

The plastic cup hit the ground with a soft crack, sending cola splashing in all directions.

"Goddamn it! Security!" Jeffer Coff yelled, his voice rising in disbelief as everyone’s attention turned toward the mess.

"What the hell?! Where’s security?" David Webb also added.

While everyone else was fuming, distracted, or even finding the situation interesting, Richard saw it as a fortunate opportunity.

The brief distraction gave him the opening he needed to break free from his stillness. His senses kicked in, and he turned, spotting a young man—the culprit who threw the cup—darting through the crowd, likely realizing that security was closing in on him due to the ruckus.

Realizing this, Richard seized the chaos and also slipped away as well. But as he turned, his face hardened.

He was furious.

Without a second thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed O’Neill’s number. The pre-match talk—he knew O’Neill was probably deep into it with the team. But this couldn’t wait.

The phone rang twice, but the call quickly ended.

With no other choice, he sent a message:

[...Meet me outside. NOW!...]

And so, the grudge was established between the two owners.

The cheers of the Cityzens and the Bees echoed endlessly through Griffin Park Stadium as the match kicked off, and from the outset, it appeared overwhelmingly one-sided.

City launched wave after wave of attacks, with the ball spending most of its time in Brentford’s half.

O’Neill was a constant presence on the touchline, waving his arms and shouting instructions, urging his players forward. He was determined to take the initiative and overwhelm Brentford early on.

In stark contrast, Webb stood calmly at the edge of his technical area, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Despite the pressure, he showed no signs of panic. To him, the game wasn’t as lopsided as it seemed.

Brentford deployed a classic 4-4-2 formation, building from the back and the midfield before launching long balls forward in search of their strikers. Meanwhile, City’s approach was far more fluid and dynamic, with overlapping full-backs like Roberto Carlos and Cafu creating constant threats down the flanks.

That aggressive push from the full-backs was exactly what Webb had been waiting for.

Brentford had deliberately sat deep, biding their time—hoping to exploit the space left behind once City’s defenders surged forward.

It was basically just another traditional English 4-4-2.

A flat back four: solid, no-nonsense defenders, with full-backs who rarely ventured far forward. Their primary duties were to defend, clear danger, and mark opposing wingers.

Two central midfielders—one focused on breaking up play and making tackles, while the other pushed forward to link up with the attack, though both often leaned defensive.

Then, another two midfielders—classic touchline-huggers—operated on the wings, tasked with sprinting down the flanks and whipping crosses into the box.

Finally, two strikers: a typical pairing featured a strong target man alongside a pacey second striker.

Very classic.

Back when O’Neill was at Wycombe, he relied heavily on this kind of strategy. But after coaching players like Cafu, Roberto Carlos, and Ronaldo, his entire mindset evolved.

His 4-4-2 system had become far more dangerous—one moment of mistakes, and you’ done for.

First Half

From the opening minute, Manchester City pressed aggressively, their intensity palpable as they immediately claimed dominance over the pitch.

Just five minutes in, City made their intentions clear, delivering a harsh lesson to Brentford about the dangers of playing the ball out from the back instead of clearing it immediately.

On the edge of the penalty box, Brentford’s center-back, Jamie Bates, played a short, seemingly simple pass to their new midfielder, Paul Davis.

With a touch and turn, Davis tried to shield the ball, but the movement was anything but graceful. He moved like an oil tanker trying to make a sharp turn, slow and heavy-footed. What Davis didn’t notice also was the lurking threat.

By the time he had gathered himself, the danger was already closing in.

Ronaldo, ever the predator, read the situation perfectly and swooped in. He made a swift, precise tackle, dispossessing Davis and sending the ball to Larsson, who fired a shot toward goal.

The ball slipped through Brentford goalkeeper Kevin Dearden’s hands, fumbling awkwardly as the wet ball escaped his grasp.

"Larsson, what a debut! So sharp, so composed. Dearden couldn’t hold onto it, and Larsson takes full advantage. That’s what you call being in the right place at the right time. For Bates, it’s a huge mistake—he played a good pass, but the ball was never meant to stay with Davis."

As the replay rolled, the commentator added, "The ball slipped through Dearden’s grasp—no doubt about it, the wet conditions played their part. But Larsson? He didn’t hesitate. He was ready for it. A perfect start to his First Division season!"

Following his goal, Larsson raced down the byline toward the corner flag, igniting a wave of celebration among the surrounding supporters.

Other City players quickly joined him, sharing in the joy as fans erupted in jubilant delight, their arms raised and cheers echoing with uncontainable excitement, the kind typically reserved for the happiest of moments.

The happiest of all was definitely Richard, who erupted with boundless excitement—his fists clenched and waving vigorously in front of him.

Soon, however, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. He couldn’t spot the bastard who had ignored him earlier.

The only person Richard could clearly see was the opposing manager, whose face was flushed with agitation as he shouted furiously toward the pitch.

Still, Richard shrugged it off. In his excitement, he grabbed the person beside him and yelled in his ear, "CHANT THIS AND I’LL COVER YOUR LUNCH! SPREAD THIS!" as he slipped a piece of paper into his hands.

The person, who had been celebrating just moments before, was taken aback when someone suddenly grabbed him.

He was about to get angry but stopped when he heard Richard’s words. His face then turned into one of surprise.

When Richard arrived at Griffin Park Stadium, he had already told Miss Heysen and everyone else that he wanted to relive the nostalgia of football, to support the team like he used to. Of course, with a bodyguard around him. So, he wore a scarf around his face to keep his identity hidden. But now, the person clearly recognized who he was.

"RICHARD MADDOX?!"

His shout turned heads instantly. As both teams were preparing for kickoff, people were in the midst of a cool-off period. Excited murmurs rippled through the surrounding crowd, with people introducing themselves and tossing in questions about City here and there.

The buzz was nonstop—so much so that the nearby bodyguards looked ready to step in. But with a subtle glance, Richard signaled them to stand down.

Always composed, he quickly shifted the crowd’s focus back to the match and leaned in with a simple request.

With the promise from Richard Maddox himself, people quickly agreed, and to Richard’s surprise, the person he had grabbed soon grabbed another man—someone Richard immediately recognized.

It was the same young man, or perhaps a kid, who had thrown the cola earlier, saving him from embarrassment.

Richard watched as the young man waved his hand toward another person, likely his friend, who nodded and allowed him to climb into his seat. This left Richard dumbfounded.

Because soon, he noticed something strange: all of them were wearing the same jacket with the same City logo.

’This... this group of people is City’s firm?! The Guvnors?!!’

PHWEEEE!

But soon, his thoughts were cut off as the whistle blew, signaling the start of the match.

Within minutes, City fans had already taken control of the atmosphere, especially with their new chant!

As the game unfolded, a thundering chant erupted from the stands, overwhelming the Bees and sending a wave of energy through the crowd.

🎵 "When we get the ball, we’re gonna score, we’re gonna win, we’re gonna roar!" 🎶

🎵 "City, City, City’s on fire, we’re gonna burn the place down!" 🎶

Listening to the thunderous roars of the crowd, Richard raised his arms high, urging the fans to amplify their cheers.

’City firm? Hooligans? Guvnors? Doesn’t matter. For now, let’s enjoy and humiliate that bastard!’

Positioned in front of the stands, standing on the bench with his back to the pitch, he spurred the fans on, his excitement infectious, making the atmosphere even more electric.

Since when had a club owner stepped out from behind the desk and become the orchestrator of such energy?

It felt like the natural expression of his passion, and for those around him, it was a moment they’d never forget.