Richard frowned as he watched Larsson’s performance unfold.
Sothing was off.
It wasn’t just that Larsson failed to contest the duel—he outright backed away. Normally fearless in one-on-one battles, the Swede had pulled out of the challenge, allowing Liverpool to break down the flank unchecked. Within seconds, the ball was in the net. Robbie Fowler had equalized.
Richard’s mind raced. That wasn’t like Larsson at all.
Then he saw it—the slight limp in his stride, the way he grimaced after turning. The pieces fell into place with a sinking weight in Richard’s chest.
On comntary, they were already dissecting the situation.
"Liverpool’s wide play has been dangerous all night. They’re relying on individual brilliance to draw defenders and open space. anwhile, Larsson looks far from his usual self. He’s not engaging in aerial battles, not tracking back with urgency. His movent’s sluggish—he looks unwell. Weak. Like he’s running through mud."
PHWEEEEEEE!
The referee’s whistle cut sharply through the noise. Using the break in play caused by the goal celebration, he urgently waved to the sideline, signaling for the dical team.
The Manchester City bench reacted imdiately. Two dics grabbed their kits and sprinted toward the box.
Soon, Larsson’s teammates began to take notice. Just after conceding the goal and before the kickoff resud, Ronaldo turned to him with a serious expression, sweat streaming down his face.
He asked quietly, "Hey, are you alright?"
Larsson shook his head silently—but his face said it all.
Soon, Larsson cradled his sore right foot, groaning in pain before lying back and covering his eyes with one hand, feeling utterly defeated.
After enjoying a stellar season with Manchester City last year—earning a pay rise, a contract extension, and solidifying his place as a key starter—he had beco one of the team’s most trusted players. Hendrik Larsson had experienced a truly wonderful year with the club.
But during the sumr break, he had grown a little too indulgent. Late-night parties, extravagant als—he had let himself go more than he should have. When the new season began, he still perford reasonably well at first, but it didn’t take long for reality to catch up with him.
Sotis, especially when entering the second half of matches, his body just couldn’t keep up with the intensity—as he had painfully realized during the clash at Old Trafford.
His conclusion? It was a matter of match fitness. Or rather, the lack of it.
Determined to return to peak condition, he had thrown himself into training—working harder than any of his teammates. He hit the gym relentlessly, pushing past his limits.
But today—unexpectedly—he had twisted his ankle. And while he had tried to play through it, the pain in his right foot kept pulling his focus away from the ga. He couldn’t give his full effort—not like this.
Just monts ago, in his desperation to make an impact, he had leapt up to challenge Matteo, forgetting to protect his injured foot. The sharp sting that followed forced him to pull out of the challenge at the last second, abandoning it completely.
Now it was over.
Everything he’d worked for felt like it had just collapsed around him.
Larsson buried his face in his hands, unable to look at anyone—not his teammates, not the staff, not even the dical team rushing to his side.
England has a rather callous tradition when it cos to injured players. Once a player goes down, it’s as if they beco invisible. From the head coach to their own teammates, their presence fades into the background—ignored, unspoken, almost deliberately overlooked.
Even when the coach needs to communicate with them, it’s rarely done directly; instead, the ssage is typically relayed through a third party. The practice borders on superstition, yet many clubs continue to observe it, as if acknowledging the injury too openly might sohow make it worse—or invite bad luck.
This mindset is also closely tied to football hooliganism and England’s deeply ingrained football culture. In England, football has long been perceived as a man’s ga—a symbol of toughness, vitality, and resilience, much like a battlefield.
Players who can’t get up after a fall are often seen as weak or as having failed. To avoid disrupting team morale, clubs traditionally keep injured players at a distance from the main squad. Only with the internationalization of the Premier League did this mindset begin to shift.
Richard takes a more rational view of tradition. He believes good traditions—like maintaining the privacy of the locker room—are worth preserving. But he has little patience for customs that dampen the spirits of injured players or place unnecessary psychological pressure on them.
That’s why Richard had already given firm instructions to O’Neill and his staff: collaborate fully and listen to Schlumberger and Fevre on this matter.
Larsson could no longer walk on his own. He was being helped off the pitch by two external doctors from Wythenshawe Hospital as they carefully brought him to the sidelines.
Walford and Genoe, the two n in charge today, were already waiting there with Dave Fevre.
"When did you get injured?" Fevre asked, frowning.
It had happened so suddenly. Even during training yesterday, there had been no sign that Larsson was injured—and there hadn’t been any tackles either. Which ant there was a high probability that Larsson had been hiding the injury all along.
"Yesterday," was the only word Larsson managed to say.
Every football player wants to play—and Larsson was no different. He just didn’t want to admit it. Deep down, he was afraid. Afraid of losing his place in the starting lineup. Afraid that if he showed weakness, soone else would take his spot—and he might never get it back.
Terry Genoe, City’s goalkeeping coach, gently patted Larsson on the shoulder and said in a calm, steady voice, "Henrik, getting injured isn’t the problem—these things happen. But hiding it? That’s serious. Take care of yourself. The team will be here when you’re ready."
Larsson, who had endured the intense pain without shedding a tear, suddenly felt his eyes begin to well up. His voice caught in his throat as he looked up and murmured, "Yes... I’m sorry."
Fevre shook his head gently. "You have no reason to apologize. It’s your body, Henrik. You have to learn to protect it. Your health always cos first."
As soone who had been forced into early retirent due to injury himself, he genuinely wanted to warn this young man—to help him see the bigger picture, rather than pushing himself to the point of no return.
Larsson nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."
He was then taken into the players’ tunnel by the two external doctors to et with Dr. Schlumberger, while Fevre remained outside.
As everyone focused on Larsson, Walford had already taken action. He had Pirlo and Lampard warming up on the sidelines.
With Larsson now leaving the field due to injury, making a substitution before kickoff was the only logical option.
He approached the two midfielders, who were closely observing the action on the pitch. Speaking in a low voice, he asked, "Andrea, Frank—do you know what you need to do once you’re on?"
Pirlo responded without hesitation. "Yes. Exploit Liverpool with long passes. Redknapp, Thomas, and Barnes all tend to push forward, and Mark Wright is slow—he doesn’t cover much ground. There’s too much space between their midfield line and the back three."
Lampard added, "I’ll protect Pirlo. Liverpool’s midfielders will try to disrupt him and get physical. I’ll deal with them and drive the counterattacks forward."
"Good," Walford nodded, his voice steady and his eyes firm.
As soone who had coached both of them on a daily basis, he knew their strengths inside out. While Robertson currently preferred a midfield combination of Van Boml, McNamara, and Lennon—favoring energy, grit, and physicality—this ti, Walford chose to place his trust in Pirlo.
He believed that if properly honed, his ability to read the ga would definitely surpass that of many other City players.
"Frank, when you go on, you can frequently swap positions with Mark to protect Andrea. To put it simply—if Mark is already covering Andrea, you push forward. Make a run and create so space for breakthroughs."
"Got it."
With this change, the 4-3-3 formation was inevitably shifted back to the old 4-4-2, with Ronaldo and Shevchenko up front, and a midfield composed of Mark van Boml, Neil Lennon, Frank Lampard, and Andrea Pirlo.
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