Ling imdiately dropped back deep to physically support Herrera, but his movent intention was too obvious to the defense.
"The tempo must be faster! No useless possession!" De Bruyne yelled, positioning himself perfectly in front of Ling's passing lane.
He cleanly intercepted Herrera's panicked pass and directly, instantly played a laser-guided ball to Leroy Sané on the wing.
Damn! Ling cursed inwardly and imdiately turned to chase back toward his own goal.
Logically speaking, after falling behind three separate tis in a hostile derby, a normal team might not necessarily give up, but their overall morale should have dropped significantly.
But looking at the wide-eyed, excited expressions of the Manchester City players... one would think they were actually leading the match!
After being fiercely reprimanded by Guardiola on the touchline earlier, Sané no longer stubbornly tried to take on Wan-Bissaka one-on-one.
Instead, he intelligently cut inside, actively seeking to combine with Sergio Aguero.
Liverpool legend Grae Souness once famously comnted on Aguero.
"He has fewer touches than most strikers, but they are all in incredibly dangerous areas; they are devastating, fatal touches."
David Luiz didn't dare to leave the Argentine unmarked for a second, quickly closing in to physically disrupt his receiving angle.
Kante also frantically closed in to double-team the striker.
Argentinians seem to have an innate, street-football flair, not to ntion Aguero being Diego Maradona's son-in-law... Oh, wait, forr son-in-law.
As for why "forr"? Because Aguero famously cheated on Maradona's daughter, Giannina, nearly giving the fiery football legend a heart attack and earning his eternal wrath.
Neville: "Aguero with a brilliant, disguised backheel pass through the legs of Luiz!"
Jamie Carragher: "Bernardo Silva finds it!"
Neville: "His ghostly, untracked run puts him half a step ahead of Luke Shaw! De Gea is still so distance from his near post! Bernardo Silva just needs to gently tap it—"
Neville's voice cut off abruptly as he stared wide-eyed in horror at the chaotic scene unfolding below.
Luke Shaw threw himself forward with absolutely full, desperate force!
It was an extrely dangerous, last-ditch slide tackle from behind—if it hit the player first, it would be an automatic red card and a guaranteed penalty; if it hit the ball cleanly, it could easily result in an unpredictable own goal.
Luke Shaw had briefly considered the dire consequences before making the desperate tackle, but he still decisively decided to go for it.
Because he deeply feared conceding a clean goal, but he feared doing absolutely nothing and watching them score even more.
After experiencing that rough, dark period of depression following his horrific leg break, he had beco ntally stronger and far braver on the pitch than before.
THUD!!!
Luke Shaw's outstretched toe made heavy contact with the ball first, denying Silva the shot, but then he squeezed his eyes shut in pure agony as montum carried him.
Gary Neville: "OWN GOAL?! Surely not!"
Neville shouted in sheer disbelief, feeling an overwhelming, crushing sense of frustration in the booth.
As an excellent forr right-back himself, he fully understood that in such a desperate, last-man situation, a defender had to gamble—and could only gamble!
Bet entirely on being able to miraculously clear the ball out for a corner.
But luck often isn't on your side when you gamble that big in a derby.
At least Luke Shaw certainly thought his luck was completely terrible!
The violently tackled ball instantly changed direction, deflected sharply toward the United goal, hit the inside of the right post with a ping, and ricocheted into the net past a helpless De Gea.
If the tackle angle had been even slightly different by a milliter, perhaps the outco would have been completely different.
3-3!
Luke Shaw buried his face deep in the wet turf, unsure whether it was sweat or bitter tears that dripped down his face one by one.
He hadn't felt this specific kind of profound sporting despair even when he broke his leg, because that physical pain was only his own personal burden to bear.
But this devastating Own Goal in a title decider would potentially ruin the tireless efforts of everyone at Manchester United this season.
Inside Manchester United's penalty area at that mont, the scene was stark.
The wild, unbridled joy of one side contrasted sharply with the crushing sorrow of the other, fully showcasing the brutal extres of human emotion in sports.
"It's..." De Gea had stepped forward, wanting to pat Shaw and say 'it's okay,' but the hollow words caught in his dry throat.
How could it possibly be okay?
Their grueling hard work, their literal sweat and blood, their massive hopes for the entire season—all were seemingly shattered in this one unlucky mont.
Even the most optimistic person in the stadium would feel intense disappointnt.
Ling was no exception.
He remained completely silent for a long mont, staring at the turf, before slowly turning his head to the left.
On the massive LED screen above the Stretford End, the digital ti read 85 minutes and 26 seconds, with the agonizing score: Manchester United 3 - 3 Manchester City.
Was there realistically still a chance to score again against this City team? Yes.
But after taking the lead three separate tis only to be equalized each ti, and in such a dramatic, demoralizing fashion…
He felt an unprecedented, heavy physical and ntal exhaustion, and a dark thought even briefly crossed his mind—why not just let it end here in a draw?
After all, he was still very young, and there would be many more opportunities for titles in his future career.
Besides, maybe Manchester City would unexpectedly falter and drop points in their final three league matches and hand the title back to Manchester United anyway?
Suddenly, his gaze drifted up and fell on the bronze statue of Sir Matt Busby in the stands.
After a mont of profound silence, he vigorously ruffled his sweat-soaked hair and muttered to himself.
"Well, since I'm already here on the pitch, I might as well see it through to the end."
He wasn't being overly dramatic or sentintal—he just didn't want to leave any lingering regrets.
After all, if he looked back on this specific day years later after retiring, he would surely wonder: What if—What if he had persevered and sprinted until the very last second?
Would things have turned out differently?
The most frightening, haunting thing in the world is "what if."
So, Ling walked over and forcefully grabbed Luke Shaw by the jersey, pulling him to his feet.
He shouted directly into his ear over the crowd noise, "What's one lucky Own Goal, Luke?! You literally made it through a horrific broken leg that almost ended your career! This is nothing!"
Seeing Luke Shaw's slightly reddened, devastated eyes, Ling pointed aggressively at Maguire nearby and added, "If you're still feeling sorry for yourself, think about Harry. Did you bla him when he scored a clumsy Own Goal earlier this season?"
"Well... actually, skip, I did a little bit," Luke Shaw replied honestly, his mind seemingly short-circuiting under the stress.
Maguire: "???"
Ling: "..."
'So everything motivational I just said went in one ear and right out the other,' Ling sighed.
Yet the heavy gloom in the hearts of the nearby Manchester United players visibly dissipated sowhat because of this bizarre, slightly codic exchange.
De Gea retrieved the ball from the net and shoved it firmly into Ling's chest.
"Ling, do you know what the lads call you in private in the dressing room?"
"The Miracle Kid!" Maguire chid in cheekily, trying to lighten the mood further.
Ling was once again left speechless, thinking that this overly dramatic, comic-book nickna didn't suit his pragmatic style at all.
"So you've got to push even harder now to live up to it!" De Gea added, clapping him on the back.
Ling took the ball and walked forward to the center circle, offering no further words of flowery encouragent.
Because he looked at their eyes and knew his teammates hadn't given up the fight either.
Kante's eyes darted around the pitch—he had definitely made the right choice coming to United from Chelsea!
Look at the resilient, supportive atmosphere within the Manchester United squad right now.
If this mistake had happened at Chelsea under Conte, they'd probably already be physically at each other's throats in the box.
"Manchester City's wingers and full-backs are at their absolute physical limit from pressing. Let's attack aggressively down the flanks and overwhelm them with overlaps. Look for crossing opportunities and send them right to my head in the box!" Ling gave the final, decisive tactical instruction to his midfield.
Sotis, the simplest, most direct tactics yield the best results late in gas.
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