"Brilliant from Drogba!"
Andy Gray's voice rose sharply in the commentary box.
"Thirty-six minutes gone, and what a turn from the striker! The centre-back simply couldn't live with him. Drogba rolled him, burst into the penalty area, went one-on-one with the goalkeeper, and finished superbly!"
Martin Tyler was equally impressed.
"Watch the replay carefully. When Drogba brings the ball down, his head is already up. He's looking for Robben, Hleb, or Kaká.
"Only when he realises there's no immediate passing option does he decide to take the defender on himself.
"And look at the finish. Once he gets through on goal, there's no panic whatsoever. He's completely composed."
Gray laughed.
"People call Drogba the African Elephant. After seeing that, perhaps Elephant King would be more appropriate."
"Do you know what his teammates called him when he first arrived in Manchester?" Tyler asked.
Gray shook his head.
"No idea."
"Rough Guy."
Gray burst out laughing.
"Seriously?"
"Absolutely. The supporters have songs for practically everyone. There's one for Curtis, one for Kaká, and Drogba's original song was all about how rough his technique was."
"Why?"
"Because when he first came to Newton Heath, his touch really was rough, especially his finishing. There was a joke around the squad that Drogba couldn't hit an elephant's backside from twelve yards.
"At the time, he was almost entirely a physical centre-forward.
"Strong, quick, aggressive, brilliant in the air, but technically limited.
"Now look at the touch and turn he just produced.
"That was the movement of a top-class striker."
Gray sounded genuinely surprised.
"Then his development over the last two years has been remarkable."
"It has.
"And he isn't the only one.
"Curtis, Terry, Essien, all of them have improved enormously.
"Even Juninho has become a more complete midfielder. His reading of the game is better now.
"That little combination with Redondo before the goal was almost cruel. Málaga's midfielders might as well have been training cones."
Tyler chuckled.
"That ability to improve players is one reason so many of them have stayed despite interest from bigger clubs.
"Drogba had Premier League and foreign clubs watching him in January.
"So did Essien and Curtis.
"Yet they all chose to remain."
Gray nodded.
"It's becoming a remarkable football club."
...
With Redondo and Juninho controlling midfield, New Manchester United played with remarkable patience after taking the lead.
Mourinho saw no reason to rush.
They were away from home.
Málaga were the side who now had to take risks.
The Spanish players became increasingly anxious after falling behind.
They pushed forward more aggressively and their challenges became heavier, but for all their urgency, they still struggled to threaten Čech's goal.
Instead, their impatience created mistakes.
New Manchester United intercepted several loose passes and launched dangerous counter-attacks, although none produced a second goal before the interval.
Redondo rarely became involved in heavy physical duels.
He did not need to.
His experience allowed him to read passing lanes early and position himself where the ball was going rather than where it already was.
Every interception drew applause from the stands.
And because Drogba's goal had originated from Redondo's pass, his influence was impossible to ignore.
When the referee blew for half-time, the loudest applause inside La Rosaleda was reserved for him.
"Excellent, Fernando."
Mourinho greeted him with praise the moment he entered the dressing room.
New Manchester United had dominated the first half.
Away to a Spanish side, they had controlled possession and dictated the rhythm with technical football.
Andy Gray had joked before the break that Málaga looked more like the English team, while the Red Rebels looked Spanish.
Tyler had immediately corrected him.
New Manchester United's football might be technically refined, but there was still an unmistakable physical edge underneath it.
They could play intricate combinations.
They could also turn the match into a battle.
That combination was what made them dangerous.
Mourinho looked at Redondo.
"How do you feel?"
Redondo was breathing heavily, but nodded.
"Fine, José."
"I'll give you another twenty minutes."
Redondo hesitated.
"Could I have a little longer?"
Mourinho raised an eyebrow.
Redondo smiled faintly.
"A lot of people came here just to see me.
"I don't know how many more chances I'll have to play in Spain.
"Just for tonight, I'd like to give them as much as I can."
The dressing room became quiet.
Everyone understood what he meant.
Redondo was almost thirty-four.
His knee had already survived two operations.
His return itself had been extraordinary.
Nobody knew how much football remained in his career.
Mourinho studied him for several seconds.
"Thirty-five minutes."
Redondo looked up.
"That's the limit.
"Not one minute more."
There was no room for negotiation in Mourinho's voice.
Redondo smiled gratefully.
"Thank you."
Curtis, sitting beside him, suddenly stood.
"In that case, Fernando, you should get forward more in the second half."
Redondo looked at him.
Curtis grinned.
"Try to score."
For a moment, something flashed in Redondo's eyes.
Desire.
Then caution returned.
Before he could refuse, Curtis continued.
"Don't worry about the defence.
"I'll handle it.
"John's there.
"Kolo and Lahm are there.
"We'll cover you."
"And I can drop deeper when necessary," Kaká added, standing as well.
Drogba immediately joined in.
"Go for it, Fernando.
"We'll do the running.
"You just get yourself into position and score one."
One after another, the other players began encouraging him.
Redondo was clearly tempted.
But he still looked towards Mourinho.
He knew exactly how seriously the manager treated tactical discipline.
Redondo's primary job was to control midfield.
Scoring goals was secondary.
Mourinho folded his arms.
"Your job is still to control the match.
"But if you can score without destroying our structure, I won't complain."
The dressing room erupted.
Players immediately crowded around Redondo, joking and offering suggestions.
"When Kaká drops deep, go beyond him."
"If Robben pulls wide, attack the edge of the box."
"I'll lay it back if I get the chance."
"Just don't try to dribble through three people, old man."
Redondo laughed.
For a player who had spent two years wondering whether he would ever compete again, the scene meant more than any of them probably realised.
...
Twenty-five minutes into the second half, the score had become 0-2.
Unfortunately for Redondo, the second goal was not his.
Robben burst down the left shortly after the restart and sent a cross towards the far post.
Hleb arrived unmarked and finished.
Redondo had still played a major role.
His long diagonal switch had released Robben in the first place.
He had now been involved in the build-up to both goals and remained one of the best players on the pitch.
Málaga, meanwhile, had begun to unravel.
One of their forwards committed another reckless foul and received a second yellow card.
Red.
Down to ten men, the hosts lost what little attacking threat they still possessed.
New Manchester United's control became almost absolute.
Yet Redondo still had not scored.
Curtis glanced towards the touchline and then called Kaká over when the Brazilian dropped back to help defensively.
"Ricardo."
Kaká looked at him.
"José only gave Fernando ten more minutes.
"If we don't get him a goal soon, he's coming off."
Everyone knew Mourinho meant what he said.
If he had promised thirty-five minutes, then Redondo would leave after thirty-five unless something extraordinary happened.
"What do you want me to do?" Kaká asked.
Curtis shrugged.
"Give him more chances.
"Or win a penalty."
Kaká stared at him for a moment.
Then smiled.
"That might work."
He ran forward and spoke with Drogba, Robben, Hleb, and the other attacking players.
The idea spread quickly.
Create space.
Draw defenders away.
Whenever Redondo stepped forward, find him.
Curtis then told Redondo to push higher.
"Málaga have taken off one of their forwards and they're down to ten.
"We're fine at the back.
"Go."
Redondo hesitated only briefly.
Then he began advancing.
What followed was one of the strangest periods of the match.
New Manchester United had Málaga pinned deep inside their own half.
Normally, they would have used Drogba as the focal point and attacked the penalty area directly.
Instead, the forwards repeatedly dragged defenders away and rolled passes towards the edge of the box.
Every time, they were looking for Redondo.
Shoot.
Another effort blocked.
Shoot.
Wide.
Another attempt deflected.
Nothing would go in.
Curtis almost grabbed his head in frustration.
"Is scoring really this difficult?"
The penalty area was crowded.
Long-range shots kept striking defenders.
And sending Redondo into the middle of that congestion was hardly sensible.
At his age and with his knee, asking him to wrestle with centre-backs inside the six-yard box would be reckless.
Kaká exchanged a glance with Robben.
Then with Cristiano Ronaldo, who had come on for Hleb.
No words were necessary.
If they could not create a clean shooting lane for Redondo, there was another way.
Drive into the penalty area.
Force Málaga to tackle.
Win a penalty.
Suddenly, New Manchester United's three attacking midfielders began doing exactly that.
Robben attacked from the left.
Kaká drove through the middle.
Ronaldo repeatedly cut inside from the right.
Again and again, they ran directly at defenders.
On one occasion, Ronaldo was clipped just beside the corner of the penalty area.
The Red Rebels immediately surrounded the referee.
Inside!
Penalty!
The referee pointed firmly outside.
Free kick.
The players groaned.
From behind them, Redondo understood exactly what they were doing.
His throat tightened.
He had spent much of his career in elite dressing rooms.
He had played alongside legends.
Won trophies.
Represented Argentina.
Yet this group of young players, many of whom had grown up watching him from afar, were desperately trying to manufacture one last special moment for him.
The warmth he felt was almost painful.
The supporters realised it too.
Soon the travelling Red Rebels fans began chanting.
"Fernando, score us a goal!"
The Spanish supporters joined them.
Then more sections of the stadium picked it up.
Before long, the sound rolled around La Rosaleda.
Redondo's name.
Again and again.
The clock kept moving.
Thirty-four minutes of the second half.
Mourinho looked at his watch.
Then towards the bench.
"Daniele."
De Rossi immediately removed his tracksuit top and began warming up.
Thirty-five minutes.
Mourinho called him over.
The fourth official prepared the substitution board.
Redondo's time was almost finished.
On the pitch, nothing had changed.
Then Kaká received the ball through the centre.
He accelerated.
One defender stepped across.
Kaká slipped past him.
A second arrived.
Another touch took him beyond that challenge too.
Now he was inside the penalty area.
A Málaga centre-back panicked.
His leg came out instinctively.
Kaká went down.
For a fraction of a second, the entire stadium froze.
Then La Rosaleda erupted.
Players from both sides turned towards the referee.
The stands roared.
One word thundered around the ground.
"Penalty!"
"Penalty!"
"Penalty!"
Everyone waited for the decision.
(To be continued.)