Chapter 31
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Manchester United and the Number 9
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With the League Cup on the horizon, we headed into league play.
Of all opponents, the next match was against Manchester United.
When we faced Manchester United once again at Ewood Park for a home game, Ferguson's interview aired on TV.
After last season's miraculous Treble, he had now been knighted as Sir Alex Ferguson.
Sir Ferguson, you're up against Blackburn, who's been on a hot streak lately. How do you plan to approach it?
Ferguson let out a snort right then.
These days they call a sixth-place team "on a hot streak"?
...What the hell?
Sure, whatever. Being above Liverpool is a miracle in itself. But even so, that team's Blackburn—still just Blackburn.
That old man's trash-talking before the game's even started.
Ferguson had always treated every EPL team below Manchester United with a massive superiority complex.
Against Tottenham, he'd say, "They're just Tottenham at the end of the day," or "We're not Manchester United if we lose to the likes of Newcastle or Man City"—always belittling opponents.
Don't talk to me about facing strong teams unless it's Leeds or Arsenal. We're staying at the top—no plans to come down.
I remembered that interview and headed to the training ground.
"Oh, Mr. Lee."
"Ferguson said in his interview, 'Still just Blackburn'."
"Huh?"
Dalglish cracked a wry smile the moment he heard it.
"I've crossed paths with that Ferguson guy plenty of times at Liverpool and Blackburn. We're already at a disadvantage in squad depth, so we need to prepare properly."
"I leave it in your hands."
For now, just telling the manager was enough.
It would land way better than me going to the players and saying something pointless like "Win no matter what!"
I trust you, Dalglish.
I want to see us take down Manchester United this time.
That evening.
Dalglish held individual meetings with the players.
The first one in was Southgate.
"Gareth, how's captaining at Villa compare to here at Blackburn?"
"Haha, for one, I've got a bunch of young players who respect me, which is a relief. Plus, with veterans like Ian, Peter, and Paul leading by example, it makes things a lot easier."
With captain Southgate and vice-captain Ince, the team atmosphere was solid.
No matter how much drama there was, teams anchored by proven veterans made it easy for the youngsters to just follow their lead.
"About the next match against Manchester United."
"Yes, boss."
"You'll be marking Roy Keane."
"..."
"Was it '95? When I won the league with Blackburn, you got into it with him before Manchester United's FA Cup final."
Southgate was at Crystal Palace back then.
It was a brutal match. Southgate went in for a tackle to stop Roy Keane, but Keane flew into a rage and stomped on Southgate's ribs with his studs, earning a straight red.
Without Keane, Manchester United lost the FA Cup final to Everton and settled for runner-up.
"It was just part of the game. I don't hold it against Roy Keane even now. And I'm still playing at a high level myself."
"Think you can get him sent off again?"
"...Pardon?"
Dalglish explained a certain "tactic" to Southgate.
Next up was vice-captain Ince.
"Still want to stick it to Ferguson?"
"You kidding? I've been sharpening my blade for that exact day."
"I'll put you in the center for the scrap. It'll be Butt or Scholes marking you."
Ince's brow furrowed deeper.
Ferguson had ditched him and groomed Nicky Butt as his replacement because Ince's influence at United was too strong—too close to the manager's authority.
'Tossing me aside like yesterday's trash to build around the youth he raised himself.'
Manchester United had given him glory, and he respected Ferguson as the best manager, but he could never forget that fallout.
"Ferguson called us 'still just Blackburn.' Do we look like some B-list team to you right now?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Then we flatten Ferguson's nose for saying it."
Dalglish passed on one "tactic" to Ince as well.
Blackburn's Ewood Park.
The roar from the home crowd facing Manchester United was deafening.
"Hm, nice view."
"Mr. Lee, the stadium's right in front of us—why the portable TV?"
John Williams looked baffled, but I pointed to the antenna on the DMB screen showing the live broadcast.
We could even see Ferguson smugly chewing gum alongside the team benches.
"This seat's comfy and all, but we can't see the benches' reactions in real time. Let's borrow Sky Sports for a look—Ferguson's ugly mug."
And so the match kicked off.
As always, United came out guns blazing on attack, but today Gattuso sat on the bench while Ince and Gareth Barry held the midfield.
Gattuso's on the bench today. Injury like last time?
He looks pretty pissed off, and coach Ian Porterfield's trying to calm him down. Must be something to it.
Gattuso not starting—saving him to sub in someone later?
Anyway, in the first skirmish in midfield, Giggs made his move.
Giggs broke through at terrifying speed, but Martin Taylor, partnered with Southgate, stepped up and smashed into him.
Tweet—
The ref blew the whistle, and Southgate came over, pleading his case calmly—hands clasped like he was begging. The ref glared at Taylor but issued a verbal warning.
Then he winked at Giggs—totally out of character.
Manchester United get a free kick. Beckham loves this angle, doesn't he?
Beckham lined up the free kick and unleashed it beautifully—but Schmeichel snatched it out of the air.
Thwack—
Peter Schmeichel! Grabs it spectacularly and roars at the Manchester players.
What the hell's up with him now?
He'd always been full of hustle, but he'd said he had no hard feelings against his old club?
Watching soccer with the DMB commentary made it twice as thrilling.
One thing was clear: Blackburn was playing rough today—like Leeds on steroids.
The back-and-forth continued, and this time Gareth Barry lunged at Roy Keane.
Keane stumbled and rolled from the sharp tackle.
"XXXX!"
After losing the ball, Keane grabbed Barry by the collar.
Tweet—Tweet!
Intimidation.
No way out of it—the card came out immediately.
21st minute of the first half.
Roy Keane: one yellow.
Ince rushed over and said something to Keane, who snapped—but Scholes, Giggs, and others pulled him back.
Clear provocation.
The game turned into a gritty defensive battle, fending off United's attacks with brutal physicality.
It was like if they came at you with a sharp knife, you swung a steel pipe yelling "Stay back!"
Cards started flying.
Ours: Ince yellow. Theirs: Nicky Butt yellow.
Then, at the 45th minute of the first half, shit hit the fan.
Tweet—
It started with a clash between Roy Keane and Southgate.
Keane jumped up furious again, but Southgate just smiled, patted him down, and moved on.
You could see him lightly tapping Keane's shoulder—"tap tap"—and Keane lost it, blasting the ball into Southgate's back.
Tweet!!!
No need to see more.
Roy Keane got a straight red right there, and even Ferguson stood up arguing.
Roy Keane's off!
That's unsportsmanlike. He was letting it slide—why kick the ball at him? Soccer balls are for goalposts, not people.
Unable to contain his rage, Keane stormed off after being held back by players and coaches, kicking an acrylic wall on the bench to pieces on his way to the locker room.
That's a 100% additional FA suspension incoming.
United played the second half down a man.
And in place of the carded Ince, Gattuso strode out like a king.
Like he was saying, "If I'd been out there first half, one United player would've been dead." He charged like a raging bull.
Duff took the ball and dribbled, with Gary Neville and Butt blocking—Duff veered toward Butt.
"Why cut central here?"
"...No way?"
If that was it, this was...
Thud—
Duff collided with Butt and tumbled rolling.
Barry quickly scooped up the ball and pushed forward without a stoppage.
Barry whipped in his signature left-footed cross, James Beattie leaped for it—but Stam and Wes Brown marked him.
The ball grazed Beattie's head, dropped, and fell to Kevin Phillips' foot...
"Goal!!!"
"Mr. Lee, Kevin did it again! Hahaha!"
This is the beauty of target man play! Nice assist from Beattie, perfect finish from Kevin Phillips!
Up 1-0, even on the grainy DMB screen, Sir Alex Ferguson's beet-red face chewing gum furiously was crystal clear.
Beattie jogged back, Blackburn set up defensively.
United, a man down, still pushed forward—Giggs up top, now Beckham as wing forward too.
Beckham-York-Cole-Giggs all forward; Irwin subbed for Scholes, midfield Butt-Scholes, defense down to three.
All-in attack, do or die—but Blackburn stuck like glue, never letting them near the box.
Then, 31st minute of the second half.
As Gattuso sparked clashes, fed-up Nicky Butt finally snapped.
Gattuso got the ball—Butt slid in recklessly, studs to the ankle.
Tweet!
Already on a yellow, the ref pulled no punches despite pleas from Neville, Beckham, Giggs, and York.
Manchester's second red! Roy Keane, now Butt off on accumulated yellows!
First half was too feisty—they needed to cool off, but Gattuso's been clashing hard today.
Gattuso clutched his ankle, got up ready to throw down—but the ref warned him off as Ian Wright (subbed for Southgate) held him back.
"Ha—ha! Manchester United, 'still just Blackburn'?"
Getting absolutely smashed by that "just Blackburn"! Nine men—Manchester United fighting with nine!
"M-Mr. Lee!"
I left the VIP box and headed down to the stands, close to the pitch.
The crowd's cheers as I dashed out even caught the broadcast cameras.
From there, I held up both hands toward the pitch—toward United's bench.
Last year it was 1-1, two fingers.
This time, both hands making a big "9".
United down to nine. The score? 11 vs. 9.
"Nine, Manchester United Nine! Eleven vs. Nine players!"
"Shit!!!"
Ferguson finally snapped—hurling a water bottle, kicking an ice box off the bench in fury.
We beat the league leaders, Manchester United.
The stadium erupted with the club's anthem Wild Rovers, dopamine levels maxed out.