Hero Na Crosses the Empty Midfield!
Hero Na charged across the empty midfield!
"Aim low!"
The moment Rooney knocked Anton down and lost his balance, I launched a sliding tackle. Then I got up, nudged the stolen ball forward, and whipped it up with my left foot.
Thwack—!!
Zola received the pass, toed the sideline, and angled toward the Man Utd goal to build the attack.
Thud—!!
Zola nutmegged Neville and burst into the box. As the panicked defenders rushed him, he dragged them in as far as possible before slipping a pass to the onrushing Gudjohnsen.
Thwack—!!
From afar, I raised my arm to share the joy. Everyone in the stadium knew it. Where West Ham's attacks were springing from.
I glanced at Ferguson on the sideline. I didn't even want to imagine his mood right now. With his star defender Rio Ferdinand out long-term from a dumb mistake, and getting hammered by the very center-back he tried to sign.
"Sorry, old man. But... fighting Man Utd is really fun."
Man Utd ramped up the pressure, their focus sharpening with every hit they took. This was the resilience of a powerhouse. Giggs and Ronaldo tore down the flanks, Rooney rampaged through midfield, and Van Nistelrooy lurked in the box, hunting for goals.
Thwack—!!
"Damn it! This freaking kid!"
But when Saha broke through the back four, I was always waiting at the end. I hadn't allowed a single breakthrough so far. And with me dominating the aerial duels too, Van Nistelrooy was getting pissed. It was different from last season. He'd aged a year, and I'd grown into an adult. Plus, my core muscles were honed through functional training. My body was different now.
"You're extra grumpy today. Gotta work on that mentality, Van Nistelrooy sunbae~"
"Shut your trap, kid."
Van Nistelrooy's anger meter was rising, and the incident exploded on a corner kick. 18th minute of the second half. Marking him on Man Utd's corner—the most dangerous guy in that spot. He shoved me with his arm. I shoved back. Then he grabbed my jersey to rile me up.
Thwack! Scholes's corner curled tight to the near post. Van Nistelrooy released my jersey and used the momentum to leap.
Oh crap!
In that split second, he stole my timing and finally headed it. Thud! But the shot ricocheted off a crossing player.
"No!"
The rebound fell right to Ronaldo. He swung his right foot hard, and the mishit bounced into our goal. A nasty goal woven from mistake, chance, and luck.
Van Nistelrooy fumed that Ronaldo poached his goal, his face twisting despite the team equalizer. He'd held onto reason so far. But then...
His patience was tested by Ferguson's Fergie Time! The sideline sub board lit up with his number.
"What!? Pulling me now!? Don't you wanna win!? Is that old man crazy?!"
Van Nistelrooy lost it, raging before subbing for Louis Saha. He even kicked over a water bottle on his way out.
Ferguson chewed his gum furiously, face beet-red. Van Nistelrooy's tantrum deflated Man Utd's momentum just after equalizing.
"This is our last chance."
25th minute of the second half. 2-2 deadlock. I'd stuck to sweeper duties at the back, fending off Man Utd's onslaught—but also laying groundwork for a final counter.
With Saha on, Rooney shifted. Both second strikers roamed freely outside the box. Gone was the static post play; now two dynamic threats confused our five-back.
Fergie Time was spot-on.
"Huh!?"
Covering, but something felt off. !
A flash from a past-life Man Utd match hit me.
Thud—!
Rooney dragged Anton and Mark, lobbing perfectly to Ronaldo infiltrating from the right. I moved before the ball even dropped from Rooney's foot, cutting it off. Without that ingrained footage, I'd have been fooled perfectly.
! Ronaldo lunged to steal it back.
Snap—
"Where you going! Get lost!"
I calmly shoved him with my arm and dribbled on. Shoulder-checked the clinging pest and powered forward. His scrawny physique was no match.
"Woooooo!"
With us hunkered in defense all game, Man Utd's block tilted forward. Suddenly, the vast midfield held only Scholes and Roy Keane.
Tap— Tap— Tap—
I veered slightly to the flank, advancing. Six Man Utd players ahead. Tilt them one way, open the other. Roy Keane guarded the center for the back four; Gary Neville marked Zola. Aiming for Carrick tussling with Scholes—
"Hey! Here!"
Mark overlapped bravely. I passed without hesitation. Mark Noble was the guy you trusted in the clutch.
Thwack!
Zola cut centrally, Carrick shifted wide to drag Scholes. Even Errington infiltrated left—Roy Keane didn't budge from center.
"You bastard!!"
Roy Keane ignored the chaos and charged me. Thud! Mark's pass flew my way. He'd sniffed our play. Fake run to lure him out, then my mid-range shot.
Tap!
Boom—!
In the crash, I shouldered him aside. And fired a one-touch return with my left. Slightly mishit, slower—but Man Utd's arc was empty.
Thwack—!!
Swish—!
East London's raw talent Mark Noble stabbed Old Trafford's heart. The stadium fell silent. Then eternal roars erupted.
"Waaaaaah!! Hammers! Hammers!"
"Mark Noble! United!"
Mark and I embraced hotly in front of the Man Utd goal. Fatefully met in youth team, now here.
West Ham fans stood roaring till the end. They knew: this match would live forever in their club's shabby 100-year history. Lucky witnesses to history.
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeep—!!
We dropped back after the winner, pure defense till the whistle. Man Utd hounded with Rooney-Saha, but I weaved through the four shields, no more goals conceded.
Post-match, Ferguson stormed off red-faced. Man Utd players slunk away amid boos.
Named MVP, I did the interview.
"First, thanks to the Hammers who traveled from London to this faraway place..."