April 15, 2000.
The Theatre of Dreams, Old Trafford.
Manchester United's Premier League Matchday 33 ho fixture against the Black Cats, Sunderland, was nearing its end.
In the stands, the Red Devils supporters were beside themselves with joy, cheering their team on at the tops of their voices.
Every now and then, songs praising United's stars rang out around the ground.
Although Manchester United would find it hard to reproduce the magnificent feat of last season's Treble, they were still the unshakable overlords of the Premier League.
A sixth Premier League title in eight years was now within touching distance for the Red Devils.
This season, United's montum had made every other opponent look inferior by comparison.
Beckham, Giggs, the Neville brothers, Keane, the Cole-and-Yorke strike partnership, Scholes, Stam.
With such a star-studded squad, it was no surprise that Manchester United had built a dostic dynasty.
Ferguson's red machine had once put together an eleven-match winning streak in the league, setting a new Premier League record.
With five league matches remaining, league leaders Manchester United were fifteen points ahead of second-placed Arsenal.
In the Premier League's sixth-from-last round currently being played, United were already leading Sunderland 4–0 at ho.
In another match, Arsenal were also leading by a large margin away to Leeds United, but they could no longer stop Manchester United's charge toward retaining the title.
When the final whistle sounded, Old Trafford erupted with a roar like a crashing tide.
A ruddy-faced Ferguson was preparing to leave.
He walked along the touchline toward the players' tunnel in the corner of the ground.
As applause and praise from the nearby stands followed him, Ferguson smiled brightly, clapping and waving back at the supporters.
Just then, a young man dressed in a shirt and trousers suddenly climbed over the barrier at the edge of the stand and rushed in front of Ferguson.
The sight stunned quite a few people.
Ferguson imdiately stopped, his expression turn cold.
The young man calmly patted down his shirt, as if trying to make himself look a little more presentable.
Ferguson looked closely.
The young man was a little over 1.8 ters tall, with an Asian face.
He was handso, clean-cut, and wore a confident, radiant smile. His eyes were full of energy.
Security guards at pitchside were already rushing over, but the young man remained unhurried.
With a polite manner, he spoke to Ferguson, "Hello Sir Alex, my na is Lynn. I want to work for you and join Manchester United's coaching staff. Trust , I can help you achieve even greater glory."
Lynn, who was almost twenty-three, was smiling at that mont.
He had the vitality, grand ideals, and soaring ambition that a young man ought to have.
He was determined to accomplish sothing earth-shattering!
He had persisted for four years for the sake of all this.
Although his mother, who taught at Swansea University, had strongly opposed him at first, he had still chosen this path.
He had studied to beco a football coach.
Four years later, he had graduated with coaching licence in his hand.
He was qualified to work as a coach at any football club.
He did not intend to rely only on the knowledge he had learned.
He also possessed the 'Pro Evolution Soccer card system' he had gained when he returned to 1996.
He firmly believed that, through training, he could make a player better, make a good player outstanding; make an outstanding player shine brighter and make a shining star beco truly extraordinary.
In order to get in front of Ferguson and recomnd himself, Lynn had used connections to buy a ticket for today's match.
He had specifically chosen a front-row seat near the touchline, making it easier for him to rush onto the pitch when the opportunity ca and appear before Ferguson.
And now, he was standing before the godfather of the Red Devils.
Ferguson adjusted the fra of his glasses.
He found the scene in front of him extrely absurd.
He said to Lynn, "If Manchester United Football Club needs to recruit new staff, we will announce it. You may apply for any position you believe you are qualified for."
Lynn heard the perfunctory tone in Ferguson's words.
The security guards were almost beside him now, so he spoke urgently.
"Sir Alex, I sent Manchester United a recomndation letter. I also went to the club's human resources departnt and submitted my docunts, but no one replied to . I don't want to wait any longer."
"Give a chance! Three months—no, one month. I will make you believe that I can absolutely bring a positive effect to the Red Devils and help you build an even stronger Manchester United empire. We can dominate Europe!"
Ferguson smiled.
There was no contempt or prejudice in that smile.
Perhaps he simply regarded Lynn as a die-hard Manchester United supporter who loved the club too much.
When two security guards arrived at Lynn's sides, one on the left and one on the right, ready to take him away, Ferguson rely said to them, "He ans no harm."
After saying that, Ferguson continued walking toward the players' tunnel.
Lynn stared, dumbfounded.
He had never imagined that he would brush past Ferguson just like this.
His boundless passion and grand ideals had been ignored by Ferguson so easily.
The security guards escorted Lynn away.
His act of rushing onto the pitch was recorded as a breach of stadium safety and reported to The FA.
...
After Lynn left Old Trafford in low spirits, a reporter latched onto him.
Martin Samuel of the Daily Mail listened very seriously as Lynn explained why he had rushed in front of Ferguson.
Lynn also hoped to use the dia to spread his desire to work for the Red Devils.
But the next day, when the sports section of the Daily Mail was published, Lynn saw the report Samuel had written. Furious, he tore the newspaper to pieces.
"The Charm of the Red Devils: Die-Hard Fan Driven to Schizophrenia!"
In the article, every word Lynn had spoken was written up as nothing more than his fantasy.
Samuel had even flattered Lynn in a twisted way by comparing him with historical figures such as Plath, Garland, Mingus, and Wilson.
The difference was that the people Samuel cited were all geniuses, while Lynn was described as a pitiful and tragic young man in urgent need of help, soone suffering from either a ntal or psychological disorder.
...
April 23.
Another Sunday.
North London, Highbury.
There were still fifteen minutes before the Premier League's fifth-from-last round kicked off.
Attendance in the stands was impressive.
The Frenchman, Wenger, had changed the dull, lifeless tactical style Arsenal had once played under George Graham.
The kind of football that had made even their own supporters drowsy was now history.
Tickets for Highbury were becoming increasingly difficult to obtain, and Arsenal had already begun preparing plans to build a new stadium.
Wenger's team could no longer catch the Red Devils this season, but the supporters were still happy to co to the ground and back the Gunners.
Even without a title, matches still had to be watched.
Wenger did not like putting pressure on his players before a match.
He would not give fiery, impassioned speeches in the dressing room.
He preferred to let the players relax. Because of that, he often entered the stadium early.
Sotis, he would even go up into the stands and chat with reporters.
Today, as expected, he had entered early and gone into the stands, where he was casually chatting with BBC reporter Ornstein.
It was common knowledge in English football that Ornstein was an expert when it ca to Arsenal-related information, so it was hardly surprising that he could have an enjoyable conversation with the Arsenal manager.
While the two of them were talking, a young man suddenly sat down beside Wenger.
Wenger turned his head curiously.
He thought he might have taken the young man's seat and was just about to apologize when the young man spoke first, getting straight to the point.
"Mr. Wenger, hello. My na is Lynn. I am willing to work for you, use my strengths, and help the Gunners build a team with greater competitiveness and fighting power. You are known for giving young players opportunities. I hope you can also give an opportunity in team managent."
"Words alone prove nothing, and since I cannot prove my ability to you right now, I hope to use another thod to make you give a chance. There are five nas on this piece of paper. Please have a look. These five nas are five players. If Arsenal can sign them, they will absolutely make an enormous contribution to Arsenal's future."
After Lynn finished speaking, he handed Wenger a slip of paper.
Wenger subconsciously took it.
When he saw the nas written on it, he did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"Van Nistelrooy? You must have seen the news, haven't you? Manchester United are planning to sign him this month."
Lynn nodded and said, "But because of Van Nistelrooy's right knee injury, the signing has been put on hold for now. This is the perfect ti for Arsenal to step in. If Arsenal can sign Van Nistelrooy before Manchester United, I believe the Premier League title race over at least the next four years will look completely different. Arsenal will hold a clear advantage."
Wenger stared at the serious expression on the young man's face, then shook his head.
"We have Henry."
In his eyes, Lynn looked more like a fraud putting on an act.
Manchester United's interest in Van Nistelrooy was hardly a secret.
Was he trying to spark Wenger's interest with a player everyone already knew about?
It was not as though Arsenal did not have a scouting network.
The number of players on their watchlist might not be in the hundreds or thousands, but saying there were at least fifty would not be an exaggeration.
Of course, paying attention to a player was one thing. Whether the club actually signed him was another matter.
Wenger patiently continued looking at the next na on the slip.
"Ronaldinho? The Brazilian talent who scored six goals at last year's Confederations Cup?"
The look Wenger gave Lynn was full of amusent.
He was almost certain that Lynn was trying to be mysterious for the sake of it.
Perhaps to Premier League fans, "Little Ronaldo," also known as Ronaldinho, was still unfamiliar.
Perhaps not many had heard his na.
But for Arsenal, whose scouting network covered such a wide area, how could they possibly have never heard of a Brazilian talent produced in Brazil itself?
He continued reading.
Deco, playing for Porto.
Cambiasso, loaned out by Real Madrid.
Xabi Alonso, who had just begun to make a na for himself at Real Sociedad.
The five nas were actually not that unfamiliar to Wenger.
Porto were giants in Portugal and also a talent base for Europe's bigger powers.
Their players naturally received attention.
Real Madrid's academy had also contributed high-quality fresh blood to European football.
Cambiasso had already been part of Real Madrid's youth system at the age of sixteen.
As for Xabi Alonso, perhaps he was slightly more unfamiliar, but not to the point of opening Wenger's eyes.
Instead, it only made Wenger more certain that Lynn was pretending to be profound.
While Wenger remained silent, BBC reporter Ornstein, who was sitting beside him, curled his lips into a faint sneer and spoke to Lynn.
"Last week you were a die-hard Red Devils fan. This week you've turned into a loyal Gunner? Your imagination really is impressive. It's a waste that you don't write fantasy novels."
Wenger looked at Ornstein in confusion.
He had no interest in the Daily Mail's reporting, so naturally he did not know the detailed story of what had happened at Old Trafford the previous weekend.
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