Old Trafford: February 25th
The 28th Round of the Premier League.
A clash of titans!
The sky over Manchester was grey and heavy, but the streets below were painting the city red.
Nearly 75,000 fans were converging on the Theatre of Dreams.
Police officers in high-visibility fluorescent vests lined Sir Matt Busby Way, forming a human barrier. Horses trotted nervously on the asphalt.
The tension was palpable.
Although the rivalry between Manchester United and Chelsea lacks the centuries-old geographic hatred of the North West Derby (Liverpool) or the proximity of the Manchester Derby, the bad blood runs deep.
It is a rivalry forged in the modern era of the Premier League.
In the 1970s and 80s, the violence between United's "Red Army" and Chelsea's "Headhunters" was notorious.
While those dark days of hooliganism were largely gone, the venom remained in the chants.
As the two groups converged near the East Stand, the shouting match began.
"Manchester bumpkins!" a Chelsea fan in a blue jacket scread, pointing a finger. "Today we shatter your dreams! You're nothing but history rchants!"
"Mourinho!" another Blue yelled. "You are a Judas! You betrayed the club that made you!"
"And that damn Number 7!" a group of Chelsea fans chanted.
They were still furious about Ling's "shushing" celebration at Stamford Bridge earlier in the season.
"We're going to break his legs!"
The United fans, naturally, didn't take this lying down.
"London plastics!"
"You bought your history in 2003!"
"Ling is going to score a hat-trick, you idiots! Just wait!"
Friendly hand gestures—mostly middle fingers—flew back and forth.
...
Inside the Manchester United team bus, the soundproofing muffled the noise, but the visual was clear.
Ling looked out the tinted window. He saw the sea of red scarves, the angry faces of the Chelsea fans, and the mounted police holding the line.
It reminded him of watching matches with his father on TV years ago.
The passion was terrifying and beautiful.
Mourinho sat at the front, staring impassively at the Chelsea fans holding "JUDAS" signs.
He didn't blink.
He fed on their hate.
"Boss," Rui Faria whispered, closing the curtains. "The Carabao Cup final just finished. Manchester City beat Arsenal 3-0. Guardiola has his first trophy."
Mourinho didn't react. "It doesn't matter. Let them have the League Cup. We focus on the big prizes."
"Any last-minute adjustnts?"
Mourinho turned his gaze to the tactical sheet.
"Stick to the plan. Ling draws Kante. We isolate him."
"And rember the trigger," Mourinho said, his eyes narrowing. "Whether we press or drop back, the target is Danny Drinkwater. He is the weak link. Cut off the supply from defense to midfield. Make them play through him, then kill him."
...
The warm-ups concluded. The air in the ho dressing room was thick with the scent of deep heat and adrenaline.
Mourinho stood before the whiteboard. He didn't look at Ling or Pogba. He looked straight at the man with the frizzy hair.
"David," Mourinho said softly.
David Luiz looked up.
"Rember why you ca here? Rember why I brought you to Manchester?"
The room went silent.
Everyone knew the story. Antonio Conte had exiled Luiz. He had treated a Premier League champion like a reserve player.
"Conte didn't want you," Mourinho hissed. "He threw you in the trash. He thought you were finished. But I picked you up. I believe in you."
"But you know how I am, David. I give chances, but I don't give charity. If you don't seize this opportunity today... if you don't prove him wrong..."
Mourinho left the threat hanging.
David Luiz stood up, his fists clenched. "Don't worry, Boss. I will show him. I will make him regret it."
Mourinho nodded.
That was the fire he needed.
"Everyone, rember your roles. Drinkwater is the target. Kante is the obstacle. Let's go."
The players stacked their hands.
"UNITED!"
...
"Good evening, viewers! Welco to Old Trafford!"
Martin Tyler's voice bood over the global feed.
"It is Manchester United versus Chelsea. Second versus Fourth. The Master versus the Apprentice."
"A fascinating context to this ga," Gary Neville added. "United traveled to Spain midweek for a grueling battle with Sevilla. Chelsea stayed in London. Physically, the Blues should have the edge."
"Let's talk money," Tyler continued. "The combined squad value on the pitch today exceeds €1.4 billion. United's squad is valued at €742 million, with Paul Pogba at €90 million. Chelsea sits at €694 million, with Eden Hazard the most expensive asset at €100 million. It is a clash of heavyweights."
"Let's see how they set up."
"Mourinho deploys a 4-2-3-1. In defense, a massive story: David Luiz starts against his forr club. Victor Lindelof partners him. In midfield, it's Matic and Pogba. And on the left wing, Ling starts. The young star has cented his place in the XI."
"For Chelsea, Antonio Conte sticks to his rigid 3-4-2-1."
"But look at the midfield duo: N'Golo Kante and Danny Drinkwater reunite, recreating the Leicester City title-winning engine room."
"Chelsea are unbeaten away from ho against the 'Big Six' this season. Can they keep that record alive?"
Peep!
Referee Martin Atkinson blew the whistle. The roar from the Stretford End was deafening.
Rolu Lukaku tapped the ball back to Jesse Lingard. Lingard moved it to Matic, who imdiately sprayed a diagonal pass to the left flank.
The ball zipped across the wet turf.
Ling trapped it cleanly near the touchline. He turned.
Victor Moses, Chelsea's right wing-back, ca out to close him down.
Ling didn't hesitate. He dropped his shoulder, faked to go inside, and then burst down the line. Moses was caught flat-footed.
Ling touched the ball past him. He was away.
Thump-thump.
Heavy footsteps approached rapidly.
Just as Ling prepared to accelerate into the space, a shadow fell over him.
It was N'Golo Kante.
Usually, Kante played on the left of the midfield pair to cover Alonso. But today, he was surging from the right.
The Frenchman didn't dive in recklessly.
He strode forward, low to the ground, and swept his leg through the ball with terrifying precision.
THUD!
Clean contact. Man and ball were separated instantly.
The ball flew into the stands.
Ling stumbled, fighting to keep his balance, before coming to a halt.
He looked up, surprised.
Kante stood there, expressionless, chest heaving slightly. He didn't look at Ling. He just turned and jogged back into position.
"Oh, that is interesting!" Neville exclaid on comntary. "Look at Kante's position! He is playing on the right side of the pivot today. Usually, he covers the left."
"Is this a specific adjustnt from Antonio Conte?" Tyler asked. "Has he switched his best destroyer to the right solely to man-mark Ling?"
"I think he has," Neville said. "Conte is terrified of Ling. He has put the pitbull on him."
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