Paul Scholes’s last-minute strike brought the score to a dramatic 4–4 in a pulsating clash between the Red Devils and City. Old Trafford erupted in thunderous celebration — but there was no ti to bask in the mont.
Still hungry for victory, the United players snatched the ball from the net and sprinted back to the center circle, eyes blazing with determination
A draw wasn’t enough to satisfy the Red Devils — they wanted more, and they wanted it now
Richard scratched his head, feeling sowhat helpless.
The ga was unusually fast-paced, with montum swinging wildly — it was impossible to predict when the next goal might co.
City had their share of golden opportunities but couldn’t convert. United, by contrast, capitalized on theirs, striking with precision on their attack.
The players looked dejected.
Neil Lennon was even seen falling to his knees, sorrowfully biting his lip and closing his eyes.
Both teams were drenched in sweat. City’s players wiped their brows, gasping for breath as they quickly regrouped for the restart.
PHWEEEEE!
Just before the match finally kicked off, Ferguson used the last two of his substitutions. Andy Cole ca on to replace Denis Irwin, and Karel Poborský — recently signed from Slavia Prague for £3.5 million — also entered the pitch. Poborský had played a key role in helping the Czech Republic reach the final of UEFA Euro 1996.
Manchester United had gone mad!
There were four minutes of stoppage ti — partly due to Scholes’s goal, and because both clubs had used up all their substitutions in the second half.
With Andy Cole and Karel Poborský now on the pitch, the Red Devils’ passion erupted once more.
All-out attack. Fergie ti!
For those four minutes, the entire Manchester United squad pressed forward, launching a frenzied assault on City’s goal.
Thankfully, City had built a solid defensive wall in front of their net, forcing most of United’s shots to either be blocked by defenders or... saved by Buffon.
Richard couldn’t be more grateful for choosing Buffon as Lehmann’s backup — the young keeper was proving himself worthy of every bit of his na.
92nd minute – Ryan Giggs cuts in from the left and curls one toward the far post — Buffon tips it over the bar.
93rd minute – Andy Cole gets on the end of a long ball and shoots — Buffon makes a point-blank save.
94th minute – Beckham’s corner finds Steve Bruce — Buffon rises above the crowd to catch the header mid-air.
95th minute – A last-gasp scramble erupts in the box — United unleash three shots in rapid succession, but Buffon pulls off a sensational triple save just before the final whistle blows.
Richard was pacing back and forth anxiously, while the fans in the East Stand were on their feet — definitely tense and breathless — as they watched Manchester United relentlessly bombard City’s defense.
94th minute – Beckham’s corner finds Steve Bruce — Buffon rises above the crowd to catch the header mid-air.
95th minute – A last-gasp scramble erupts in the box — United unleash three shots in rapid succession, but Buffon pulls off a sensational triple save.
"Good heavens — Buffon again! What a save — and another! This is simply extraordinary! Manchester United are throwing everything forward, and this young Italian is denying them at every turn! You wouldn’t believe he’s only 18 — the composure, the reflexes... Ferguson must be tearing his hair out on the touchline!"
Pallister even ca up for a shot, which struck Ferdinand and flew out of bounds.
Manchester United earned a corner, and by now, the clock read 95:42. Despite the allotted stoppage ti being nearly a full minute over, the referee still hadn’t blown the final whistle. This prompted protests from the City bench — especially from coach Robertson, who yelled furiously at the fourth official.
"Sir, please mind your language. I will report everything in the match report," the official warned.
"You better write it down word for word!" Robertson snapped. "I’ll be filing my own report — you lot just extended the ti and showed clear bias toward Manchester United!"
Robertson was visibly fuming, eyes fixed on his watch, counting every second with mounting frustration.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath, eyes widening as he saw Peter Schichel sprinting forward to join the attack for the corner — a sign that this was United’s final throw of the dice.
He watched helplessly as the towering Danish goalkeeper took his place in the box, jostling among the defenders like a striker.
The City bench was on edge, players half-standing, staff biting their nails. The pressure was suffocating. Every tick of the clock felt like a hamr blow.
Robertson glanced at his watch again. 96:04.
"Damn it! Damn it!" he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. If only there was still a substitution he could use to waste ti — but now, there was nothing left he could do. He had overlooked this detail; he still lacked experience in high-stakes matchups.
Overwheld by the intensity of the mont, he had pushed all caution aside.
Watching the corner unfold, no one could stay seated. In fact, nearly the entire stadium was on its feet — this was surely going to be the Red Devils’ final strike.
With players crowded in the box, Beckham stood ready to take the corner. And with Schichel now joining the attack, both teams effectively had equal numbers in open play.
PHWEEEE~!
As the referee blew the final whistle, Beckham slowly lifted his head, eyes scanning the box for one last target. This was it — the final breath of the match.
He delivered.
BANG!
The ball soared in a perfect arc, slicing through the tension that gripped Old Trafford. Bodies surged in the box — jostling, pushing, scrambling for inches.
And then, through the chaos, Roy Keane rose.
United’s captain — fueled by fire, fury, and responsibility — burst through the crowd, shoving aside a helpless Andrea Pirlo, who couldn’t match the Irishman’s raw intensity. With eyes burning and jaw clenched, Keane launched himself into the air and smashed a header toward goal.
There was no stopping it.
How could a young Pirlo, elegant and technical, ever contain a force like Roy Keane?
As captain, Keane knew he had to rise in this critical mont. Facing a newly promoted City side, a loss was unthinkable. A loss against newly promoted City — at Old Trafford, no less — would be more than just a blemish. It would cast a shadow over this generation of Red Devils.
BOOM!
"Ma che cazzo fate?!" Buffon roared in anger.
He turned just in ti to see Pirlo crumpled on the goal line, striking the turf in frustration as the ball nestled into the back of the net, forcing all City players to helplessly shut their eyes in pain.
Manchester United 5 – 4 Manchester City.
From the start of the match to this mont, Keane’s performance had been nothing short of disastrous — yet he still wore the Manchester United captain’s armband.
Now, he repaid all of it with this goal.
Keane tore off his shirt and whirled it above his head in a frenzy of emotion. Veins bulging, eyes blazing, he roared toward the Stretford End like a man possessed.
On the other hand, City players looked dejected. Lennon even fell to his knees, sorrowfully biting his lip and closing his eyes.
Why couldn’t they win?! They were so close!
Soone bent down and placed a hand on his shoulder. When Lennon opened his eyes, he saw the calm face of 23-year-old Zanetti.
He spoke gently, "Stand up. Lift your head. We need to thank the fans for their support."
Lennon was taken aback. The roar of the United fans was deafening, yet to him, it all faded into a dull, distant hum. He slowly lifted his head and looked around Old Trafford, where nearly all his teammates stood scattered — so with their heads bowed, others with hands on their hips, and a few just staring blankly into the night sky.
’Bloody hell... how could he be the one comforted by a player even younger than him?’
This was about pride. About holding your ground, even when the weight of defeat pressed down like a mountain.
With no other choice, Lennon drew a sharp breath, straightened his shoulders, and stood tall.
Side by side, he and Zanetti began moving — one by one, helping their teammates back to their feet. Even in heartbreak, they would leave with dignity.
Richar, seated high above in the VIP box, let out a slow sigh as the final whistle echoed across Old Trafford. The stadium was still trembling from the chaos of the last few minutes — the coback, the roar, the heartbreak.
He leaned forward, eyes scanning the pitch, but his gaze eventually drifted to the sideline.
Alex Ferguson.
Still standing. Still calm. Arms folded, jaw set — as if he’d seen this all before. And he had.
Richar shook his head slowly.
’In the end, it’s always about the manager.’
It wasn’t just the tactics, or the substitutions, or the way Ferguson had pushed his team to fight to the very last second. It was the belief. The presence. The way he commanded not just the players, but the mont itself.
While others panicked, he calculated.
While others slumped, he rallied.
Richard thought back to the chaos on the City bench — the protests, the panic, the desperation. Even Robertson had lost control; the mont had swallowed him.
Alex Ferguson, on the other hand, had bent it to his will.
That was the difference.
And that’s why United had won.
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