Ridsdale’s sighs struck his assistant as peculiar, carrying less the weight of burden than the tone of petulant complaint.
"What a pointless thing to moan about,"
After all, without good players, any club was destined to drift into irrelevance. Success on the pitch was the lifeblood of everything else—the gate receipts, the sponsorships, the trophies that filled the cabinets and the pride of the supporters.
Consider Manchester United: without the gifted Class of ’92, without figures of stature like Schichel in goal, Keane in midfield, or Stam at the back, what would have remained?
Certainly not the dominance of the ’90s, nor the comrcial empire that followed. Without great players, even giants could stumble, their fortunes shrinking to nothing.
The most important thing was the na of Manchester United.
From that na alone ca a power that made people follow without thinking twice. That na carried its own weight, inspiring millions who wore the badge proudly. Even before a ball was kicked, the brand of Manchester United promised prestige, history, and victory.
"And Leeds, for Peter Ridsdale, definitely has a target regarding this. Because this season, they aim to at least compete in European competitions."
Ridsdale replied calmly, "If Leeds can qualify for the UEFA Cup and contend for the league title, then this is a price worth paying. Manchester City spent a fortune rebuilding their team in the sumr of ’94, didn’t they? I rember the whole of England mocking Richard for paying transfer fees that, in total, exceeded those of the top three Premier League clubs combined, while also offering salaries higher than Manchester United’s first team. Many thought City would go bankrupt within two years, yet two years later their value had multiplied more than tenfold."
His assistant nodded. On this point, he couldn’t argue with Ridsdale. If Leeds United—the White Rose—was to bloom, relying solely on Graham and a few hogrown talents would never be enough. They needed high-level players to achieve imdiate, qualitative improvents in performance.
As the second half began, Manchester CIty’s offense was straightforward, direct, and blunt, throwing bodies forward in search of an equalizer. Yet Leeds United showed trendous resolve.
Every player fought for every ball, every tackle carried weight, and every clearance was made with conviction.
Graham’s reputation as a manager who specialized in grinding out 1–0 victories was on full display. This was George Graham’s hallmark.
Leeds had no intention of opening up space or trading blows. Instead, they dug deep, organized themselves, and erected a defensive wall that Manchester City found impossible to penetrate.
It was, in every sense, the classic "park the bus" strategy—unyielding, stubborn, and brutally effective. The team defended in numbers, closing every gap, chasing down every loose ball, and leaving Manchester City frustrated at every turn.
PHWEEEEE!
As the final whistle blew at 90 minutes, the score remained 1–0, and Manchester City trudged away from Elland Road in disappointnt.
At the end of the day, for the first ti this season, Manchester City were forced to swallow their first league defeat.
Richard, who noticed the result imdiately, turned toward Marina. "What about Arsenal and Manchester United?" he asked quickly.
Marina, who had been keeping a close eye on the other matches—especially United and the Gunners—answered without hesitation.
"Both won."
Richard let out a heavy sigh. The news hit hard. Arsenal’s victory had cut City’s lead down to just two matches, while United’s win kept them four matches behind. What had seed like a comfortable cushion only weeks ago was now shrinking fast.
The league table read as follows:
Manchester City – 79 pts
Arsenal – 73 pts
Manchester United – 69 pts
Leeds United’s fans celebrated as if it were a festival. O’Neill walked straight over to shake hands with George Graham, who approached him with enthusiasm, eager to exchange a few words. O’Neill, however, preferred not to linger; he simply nodded politely before leaving the field.
At the post-match press conference, the dostic reporters wore serious expressions. As soon as O’Neill arrived, one of them asked, "What was the reason for Manchester City’s loss in this match? Did you underestimate your opponents?"
O’Neill shook his head firmly. "Underestimate them? Certainly not. Leeds United perford better today—they deserved the win. My players were too fatigued; we haven’t fully recovered from the exhaustion. I believe their performance will improve in the next match."
The mont he finished speaking, the room’s tense and gloomy atmosphere eased, replaced by a sense of calm and even relief.
The next day after the match, Richard arrived a little earlier than usual at Maine Road. He headed straight toward Manchester City’s cafeteria, only to find a surprising sight.
José Mourinho was already there—long before anyone else. The Portuguese assistant manager sat alone at a table, scribbling notes with intense focus, the morning light spilling across the pages. His concentration was absolute, as if the outside world did not exist.
Richard paused for a mont, watching silently. He hadn’t expected Mourinho to be this early, nor to see him working so diligently after such a bitter defeat. Clearly, the setback at Elland Road had stirred sothing in him.
"Isn’t it?" Richard muttered under his breath.
Well, no one would ever know if he didn’t ask.
Richard walked over with a faint chuckle. "José, what are you up to?" he asked.
Mourinho, brow furrowed in concentration, was montarily startled. He looked up from his notes, blinking as if pulled back from another world.
"Oh—," he replied, his tone carrying a mix of respect and slight embarrassnt at being caught so absorbed in his work.
Richard snatched the tactical notebook from him, flipped to a new page, and began jotting down three nas along with numbers reflecting his assessnt of their roles:
Makelele: Defense – 90, Organization – 25, Offense – 10
Pirlo: Defense – 15, Organization – 90, Offense – ?
Zidane: Defense – ?, Organization – ?, Offense – 90
Neil Lennon: Defense – 65, Organization –70, Offense – 80
Van Boml: Defense – 75, Organization – ?, Offense – ?
"What is this?"
Mourinho coughed, embarrassed at seeing his private world exposed by Richard.
"Ahem..." he cleared his throat before explaining. "My own assessnt. Just a rough breakdown of what I think each of these players brings."
Richard was intrigued by the idea. Wasn’t this the sa as FIFA or Football Manager, quantifying skills into numbers?
"Interesting," he said. "But football isn’t just numbers. You can’t asure Zidane’s influence with a rating, nor reduce Makelele to a score on defense. You know that, right?"
Mourinho nodded. "Of course not. But numbers help fra the picture, don’t they? And besides, sotis players are easier to compare when you strip it down like this."
No wonder.
Before he recruited Mourinho, there had already been rumors about his obsession with details and notes. As a young assistant at Barcelona under Bobby Robson, he built a reputation for ticulous preparation. Taking notes, compiling match reports, and producing detailed dossiers on opponents was part of his daily routine.
Mourinho always balanced numbers with intuition. He knew football couldn’t be reduced to spreadsheets, but he used data as a frawork to support his tactical instincts.
Richard could only nod in return, still studying the page as if weighing whether to argue further—or to add his own corrections.
Richard handed the notebook back, and perhaps noticing that Richard didn’t quite follow the notes, Mourinho hurried to explain.
"But this is only my estimate—my own personal thoughts," he said. "It’s not absolute, not so fixed asurent. Just the way I try to understand players, to compare their strengths and weaknesses."
He tapped the page with his pen, emphasizing the point."These numbers aren’t facts. They’re only tools—sothing to help think."
"It’s okay," Richard said, waving his hand before pointing at the notes. "Explain it to in more detail."
"Well..." Mourinho began, clearing his throat. "This is only a static estimate of their capabilities. In an actual match, these roles can evolve depending on the circumstances. The key point here is balance—the contributions of these three players must co together to achieve maximum effectiveness in organization, defense, and attack."
He continued. "Take the current setup for the attacking midfielder. Both organizing and attacking responsibilities are heavily emphasized, while defensive duties are often neglected. At the sa ti, many midfielders lean too heavily toward defense, leaving all organizational work to the playmaker. That imbalance creates problems.
"Defensive midfielders with strong passing ability are beginning to play a much more significant role—look at Albertini or Paulo Sousa. People outside say we’re creating history, but that’s just nonsense. What we’re really doing is simple: we give players multiple roles while demanding they cover extensive ground. But they can’t do everything. There must always be a clear distinction between their primary responsibilities and their secondary contributions."
"Are you talking about Pirlo with Van Boml and Makelele?" Richard asked, stopping briefly as he organized his thoughts. Then he continued, his tone more deliberate. "Sothing like this: Makelele and Van Boml sit deep, covering the defensive spaces, which compensates for Pirlo’s weaknesses without the ball. That way, his lack of defensive bite isn’t so costly, and he can focus on what he does best—dictating the tempo and launching transitions into attack."
Mourinho’s eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth tugging into a faint smile. Richard had grasped the essence quickly."Exactly," he said, tapping the notebook. "With the right balance around him, Pirlo’s vision becos a weapon instead of a liability. He doesn’t need to win every duel; he just needs the freedom to orchestrate. However—"
Mourinho’s tone suddenly shifted, his expression turning serious.
"It can also be a double-edged sword. Think about it this way: if Makelele positions himself too high during the attack, he risks being marked out of the ga completely. His true value lies in transition. His speed and stamina allow him to move fluidly from defense to attack, creating options that destabilize the opposition. His late forward runs force defenders into difficult decisions—that’s what makes him unique. If soone else tried the sa, they’d most likely fail."
He leaned closer, voice firm.
"Pirlo, of course, has his weaknesses defensively. But his creativity and vision? They’re unmatched. Many players can pass well, yes—but very few can consistently see and choose the right pass at the right mont. That’s the difference. So midfielders boast an 85% pass completion rate, but when you analyze, most of those passes are sideways or safe. They don’t break lines. They don’t shift the rhythm. Pirlo’s passes, even when riskier, alter the ga—opening angles, creating tempo, unlocking attacks. That’s the kind of influence statistics alone can’t asure."
Richard exhaled softly, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
’Impressive,’ he said to himself.
He couldn’t help but applaud Mourinho’s ticulous observation and sharp tactical thinking. It was clear now why the Portuguese had earned such a reputation even in his early years.
’No wonder,’ Richard thought.
This man would one day be known as the Special One, the only manager capable of challenging Pep Guardiola’s great Barcelona dynasty. His obsession with detail, his relentless analysis, and his ability to turn theory into strategy—these were the traits that set him apart.
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