Chanting 'Rovers!' at Old Trafford
Heading to Old Trafford to face Manchester United, whose schedule had been adjusted after the Super Cup win.
"The timing's fucking awful, huh."
"Still, with our deep squad, we'll give it everything we've got."
Half of the marquee signings like Van Bommel, and the ever-reliable midfield anchor Gattuso, were both out. Called up for Netherlands and Italy A-matches. Next week, Duff and Figo would go, and the week after, Yoo Sung-chul would answer the call of Hiddink's Korea squad.
"I heard Ferguson actually blocked the national team call-up request for Van Bommel."
"That old bastard pulls every dirty trick in the book."
Heynckes, unfazed even by that, exuded confidence as he prepared for the Old Trafford away trip. He handed out cool sports drinks to the squad before their intense training session.
"Yoo, forget that 5-0 against Czechia—I'm looking forward to the Nigeria away game in September."
"Thank you."
It was right when Hiddink's team had suffered another humiliating 5-0 thrashing against Czechia after the France debacle, and public opinion was at rock bottom. With two Premier Leaguers and even a Serie A player, what the hell are they doing? Facing that media barrage, I'd even gone on record multiple times in England saying, 'Stop shaking Hiddink already.'
I comforted Yoo Sung-chul and tossed a word of encouragement to the others.
"Liliane, how's the condition?"
"I thought leaving Parma meant I'd be playing center-back, not right-back..."
"Center-back's world-class, right-back's out-of-this-world, right?"
"Opposite. I play better in the middle."
A grumble about position. But he was the guy who could lay waste to the EPL at right-back, so I kept pushing him there.
"Paulo."
"Ah, Mr. Lee."
Bento, who at his age had wanted to challenge himself in the EPL and trained twice as hard as anyone else.
"Condition good?"
"Good enough to run out there right now."
"Compared to Portugal?"
"Rougher, gotta run more, put in more effort."
Thinking of Bento from Sporting, I asked about a player who came to mind.
"Speaking of, Sporting's got a bunch of promising youngsters, right?"
"Tons. The academy's full of the next generation who'll be key players someday."
"How's Ronaldo?"
"That kid's rehabbing at Inter, isn't he?"
"No, no—the one at Sporting too? C. Ronaldo."
"?"
Bento paused, then nodded as it clicked.
"Yeah, there's a kid with the exact same name as Brazil's Phenomenon. Buck-toothed, skinny little guy."
"How's he doing?"
"Laid up after heart surgery."
"???"
"Diagnosed with tachycardia at a young age, so the club's covering surgery and treatment."
Ronaldo had some heart issue as a kid—guess that was it. Talented, but with all the flashy incidents matching his skill, I hadn't paid much attention. Oh well.
"Anyway, do your best, Bento."
"Thanks, boss."
After that, I cheered on Figo, Holand, Baggio, Larsson, and the rest through training that day.
Old Trafford. On this away trip that now felt almost familiar, the sea of 60,000 red waves converged, hurling mockery at Blackburn's players to intimidate the visitors.
"Let's go! Rovers!"
"Let's go! Rovers!!"
But our Blackburn lads weren't intimidated—they strode boldly onto Old Trafford's pitch.
Manchester United Lineup
Van Nistelrooy
Giggs Scholes Beckham
Roy Keane—Juan Verón—
Silvestre—Johnsen—Blanc—West Brown
Barthez
Blackburn Lineup
Larsson—Villa—
Duff—Bento—Holand—Figo
Bridge—G. Southgate—Thuram—Yoo Sung-chul
Brad Friedel
Grabbing a hot dog and Coke on the way to my seat, I spotted a familiar silhouette in the distance. Long, flowing blonde hair and a Man United scarf—had to be her, but she vanished into the waves of United fans.
"Hmm."
Anyway, I settled into the executive box to watch the match. Juan Verón, signed for a Man United record 43 million euros in the final transfer window splash, opened United's attack.
When Scholes took Verón's pass and ran, Holand barreled into him roughly and fed it to Bento. Bento passed to Figo, who charged forward, but Roy Keane countered with an equally brutal tackle and stole it away.
Up top, Van Nistelrooy grabbed it and looked for a chance, but a black shadow darted out and cleanly dispossessed him. Thuram.
Playing center-back, Thuram covered all the way to right-back Yoo Sung-chul's zone, then passed up to the midfielders during the buildup.
United tried pass play centered on Scholes and Verón, feeding the lone striker Van Nistelrooy for goals. But first Holand's rough tackles blocked them, and even if they broke through, Thuram stood firm. A first half where nothing was going right for Ferguson.
The guy who usually lounged chewing gum now stood, gesturing wildly and barking at his players nonstop.
Thud—Tweet—
Roy Keane and Holand clashed again. The ref pulled a yellow card immediately, but Holand shrugged it off, waving his hand as he jogged back.
The Old Trafford scoreboard lit up the moment perfectly, Roy Keane's eyes blazing with fury that I could feel from here. Looked like another sending-off was brewing today.
36th minute of the first half. Verón kept trying to break through from midfield to attack but got shut down by Bento and Holand every time. On the flank, Figo shook Giggs and charged again. From distance, he unleashed a volley that Barthez leaped for and... caught? Wha—?!
Thwack!
Thought he'd catch it, but he spilled it. The ball bounced up off the turf, and as he scrambled to grab it, Larsson was right there.
Larsson calmly headed it down, sidestepped Barthez like it was nothing, and tapped it into the empty net.
1-0.
Idiot—punch it out or smother it. Stretching with both hands and letting it slip? Barthez lived up to his 'greasy hands' nickname, gifting Larsson the opener.
End of first half 45th minute. United looked beatable today.
"Alright, let's go, Rovers! Let's hear Wild Rovers echo through Old Trafford!"
Second half kicked off with both sides pushing forward unchanged. Holand, already on a yellow, threw himself at United players without mercy, Bento cleared and sent it wide. Yoo Sung-chul and Bridge sped forward.
If we won today, one thing was clear: United were way slower than last season. Verón, Blanc, Beckham relied on long balls to Van Nistelrooy's head or feet instead of their old quick counter-dribbles. Heynckes exploited it, pushing the line high, man-marking aggressively off the opponent's line.
Abandoning their strengths for a soccer style funneled to one superstar striker? Ferguson was making a ton of mistakes this season.
13th minute of the second half: Bento subbed for Scott Parker, making the midfield even more dynamic and quick. Sensing the flow, our bullet-man Sean Wright-Phillips was warming up on the touchline, gunning for speed.
Figo powered through with heavy, rapid dribbles, outmuscling and outskilling Blanc—the Stam replacement this season—and slotted a left-footed chip past Barthez one-on-one.
United crumbling at home!
Around the 80th minute of the second half, Ferguson finally yanked Verón for Nicky Butt. Heynckes countered by subbing Figo for Wright-Phillips.
Heynckes going all-in on relentless dribblers to the end. Central battles raged—who sends it wide vs. who recycles through midfield?
Holand stripped Roy Keane, about to feed Wright-Phillips... Crack—
"!?"
Tweeeeeet!!!!
[Crowd boos erupt]
......
..........Insane!
Roy Keane did it. The moment he lost the ball, he charged Holand and low-kicked his leg—not the ball.
Holand collapsed clutching his leg, unable to rise. The ref brandished a red without hesitation, but furious Blackburn players swarmed Keane.
As chaos threatened, United fans hurled objects from the stands, forcing security to swarm and barely quell the riot.
Final score: Blackburn win 2-0. But that wasn't what mattered.
I rushed to the medical room.
"Alf!"
The team doctors and physicians examined Holand urgently.
"We need to get him to the hospital now."
"How bad?"
"That mad bastard went full force at his knee. Suspected ligament and cartilage tear—needs to go straight for surgery eval."
"God..."
Holand was rushed off in an ambulance, leaving a victorious yet somber Blackburn camp. A day when victory songs should have rung out, but my head was spinning.