Whoosh!
The Wanda Metropolitano erupted into a storm of red noise, Manchester United flags whipping wildly in the evening breeze.
"It's in!" Peter cried, his voice rising above the roar. "Jeremy Ling has broken the final open!"
"City had the ball, City had the structure, City had the control," Jim said, almost laughing in disbelief, "but United had the one player who can turn a single loose moment into a goal."
"One chance," Peter continued. "One burst through the middle, one collision of power and nerve, and Manchester United strike first in Madrid!"
Across commentary booths around the stadium, voices rose at once.
Neville had both arms in the air, waving wildly.
Manchester City had controlled the game firmly. Their possession had climbed as high as seventy-five percent at one point.
But football had never belonged completely to possession charts, passing maps, or shot totals.
Goals could arrive in an instant.
That was the beauty of the sport.
That was Manchester United under Mourinho!
The Red Devils needed only one opening to crush an opponent's rhythm.
"This is why United are so dangerous," Jim said. "They can spend twenty minutes without the ball and still hurt you the moment you make one mistake. Pogba's dummy, Matic's pass, Ling's turn, the power through Otamendi, the finish under Ederson — it's brutal efficiency."
Peter's voice carried the moment. "A priceless goal from a priceless player. Manchester United are one step closer to defending their crown."
The stadium DJ knew exactly how to pour fuel onto the fire.
With a deep, hoarse voice, he roared into the microphone.
"Scoring for Manchester United, number seven—Jeremy ... LING!"
Immediately after, tens of thousands of Manchester United fans answered in unison.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Under the spotlight, Ling sprinted toward the corner, leapt into the air, punched upward, and struck the space in front of him with both fists.
His unique celebration had already become one of the symbols of this Manchester United side.
And after the way he had scored that goal, the celebration only felt more explosive.
Speed.
Power.
Skill.
All of it had been displayed in a single attack, striking directly into the hearts of the United fans and setting their blood on fire.
"What a counterattack that was," Jim said as the replay began. "United spread the pitch beautifully, almost like a fan opening out. That width drags City's back line apart, and once the middle opens, Ling attacks it immediately."
Peter added, "And even then, there are still defenders there. Fernandinho is there. Otamendi is there. Ederson and Laporte both try to close the gate. But when Ling reaches full force, the gate simply doesn't hold."
"I'm not sure there's a defender in the world who can guarantee stopping him one-on-one," Jim admitted. "You can only try to delay him, foul him, or hope he makes the wrong choice."
Manchester United fans watching on television saw the replay, raised their glasses, clinked them together, and drained them in one go.
Then they wrapped arms around one another and jumped wildly, celebrating as if they were inside the stadium themselves.
On the pitch, Ling had just prepared to strike another pose when Mahrez rushed over and messed up his carefully styled hair.
"That goal was unbelievably cool!"
Mahrez glanced toward the Champions League trophy standing near the pitch.
"Let's push harder and try to get another one before halftime."
"It won't be that easy," Ling said helplessly, fixing his hair. "We caught City off guard. They'll adjust now. Don't underestimate Guardiola."
"You're absolutely right," Maguire said with a cheeky grin. "After all, he's your future father-in-law."
Ling's future father-in-law was currently stroking his bald head on the touchline.
Guardiola understood Ling's ability better than most, but even so, there was still a hint of surprise in his expression.
Not because Ling had broken through Fernandinho and Otamendi.
He knew Ling could do that.
What surprised him was Ling's reading of City's new tactical structure.
The boy had understood the weakness far too quickly.
'Maybe I should let him take over in the future,' Guardiola thought, already imagining decades ahead.
'He might be the successor to the integrated attack-and-defence philosophy.'
Then he shook his head, forcing the thought away.
Now was not the time for that.
"Don't doubt the tactics, and don't doubt yourselves!" Guardiola shouted toward his players. "Keep controlling the midfield as planned. We are at the front of a new era in football!"
True champions did not doubt themselves easily.
Guardiola and Mourinho were the same in that sense.
The Manchester City players gradually shook off the disappointment and began discussing how to regain midfield control and limit Ling's influence.
Fernandinho, however, could not help speaking.
"If I had been just a little faster earlier, I could've stopped him outside the box. That goal wouldn't have happened."
Once, Nesta had been beaten by Messi and briefly considered retirement.
Fernandinho now understood that feeling.
He could feel his age. If he were younger, maybe he still would not have caught Ling, but at least he might not have been beaten so cleanly.
"We're a team," David Silva said, waving the thought away. "What's done is done. No point staying there. The only thing that matters is how we play the rest of the match."
Soon, the game resumed.
Manchester City kicked off.
Even if they told themselves not to dwell on it, disappointment was unavoidable. That was human nature.
"Defensive line, don't push too high!" Mourinho kept shouting from the touchline. "Midfielders, drop deeper! Keep squeezing the space!"
When two coaches with elite in-game adjustment ability faced each other, the match became a constant chain of reactions.
One move.... one counter-move.
One change in spacing, one shift in pressing angle, one player stepping five yards higher or five yards deeper, and the whole rhythm could transform.
After several difficult minutes, City's early awkwardness began to fade. Their possession gradually became smoother, more familiar, closer to the rhythm Guardiola wanted.
But Manchester United became even more cunning.
Ten players crowded into their own half, forming a dense defensive block.
Ling positioned himself on the left side of the pitch, hovering in the exact gap left whenever Stones pushed forward.
That alone irritated Otamendi and Kyle Walker. Neither could step up as freely as before, because they were forced to keep one eye on Ling at all times.
With United's counterattacking ability and efficiency, they could easily repeat the first goal if City left the same space unguarded.
Time slipped away slowly, like sand through fingers.
Manchester City struggled to find clean passing lanes and were forced to rely more often on individual breakthroughs.
When Bernardo Silva dribbled forward and slipped past Ashley Young—
Thud!
Both players went down.
The referee blew his whistle and showed Young a yellow card.
That's right.
Manchester United were fully prepared to use rough, pragmatic fouls to disrupt City's rhythm.
Ugly? Cynical? Negative?
Mourinho did not care.
He wanted the trophy!
More than a decade earlier, in a Champions League clash between Chelsea and Barcelona, he had used similar methods to limit Messi.
That match eventually produced the famous image of Rijkaard glaring at Mourinho from the touchline.
City did not want to waste the set-piece chance and sent several tall players into the penalty area.
Gündoğan delivered a routine high cross.
"City load the box, but United have height and power waiting for this," Jim said. "This is not the easiest route against Maguire, David Luiz, Matic, and McTominay."
Peter followed the delivery. "Gündoğan lifts it in... and Maguire rises!"
Maguire won the first header and cleared the ball out of the penalty area.
Manchester United's counterattack was on again.
Under countless anxious eyes, the ball flew toward the edge of the box. Pogba adjusted his body and, with a flash of imagination, hooked an overhead pass forward.
"Don't let him get the ball!"
Stones shouted until his voice turned hoarse.
Kyle Walker hesitated for half a second, wondering if he could step in and intercept it first.
But Ling had already read the flight.
He cushioned the ball with his chest, then flicked it backward with a delicate touch.
It was three-dimensional spatial thinking.
Walker looked up at the ball, made his decision, and immediately wrapped both arms around Ling's waist.
Beep!
The referee's whistle sounded again.
Another yellow card came out.
"It's really difficult facing a forward like that," Walker sighed helplessly.
Otamendi nodded in agreement.
When you tried to compete with Ling for speed, he answered with technique.
When you tried to compete with him technically, he answered with speed.
How were you supposed to win when your strengths kept running into his advantages?
Before anyone quite noticed, the match had already reached first-half stoppage time.
Fernandinho tried his luck from range, but De Gea caught the shot cleanly.
Beep, beep!
The referee blew for halftime.
Manchester United 1-0 Manchester City!
The Champions League final entered the interval with red shirts ahead.
...
"Does Guardiola's 3-2-2-3 really look that impressive?"
Maguire scratched his big head, utterly confused.
With his tactical understanding, he could see the shape, but not the deeper logic behind it.
"It's not that simple."
Mourinho's tone was unusually serious.
"Do you know why De Bruyne didn't start?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"Because City weren't aiming to decide the match early," Mourinho said. "Or, more accurately, they expected us to try to fight them harder in the middle and later stages. That's why Guardiola used that shape in the first half and kept De Bruyne on the bench."
Everyone knew Manchester City's defensive midfield did not have enough steel, and Guardiola knew it better than anyone.
That was why he increased the number of players in midfield, using control to protect City from United's early attacks.
And to a large extent, it had worked.
City had survived the opening phase and dragged the match into the second half.
As for being one goal down?
For Guardiola, that was still acceptable.
"So, boss, how do we adjust in the second half?" Maguire asked.
Mourinho drew three lines across the tactical board.
"Manchester City are excellent at using space to create passing lanes. They have the technical quality to do it, so we need to compress the pitch and make those passes difficult."
He tapped the board.
"It's similar to the first half, but there's one key difference. Our line needs to push higher."
His eyes moved across the room.
"Since City have added numbers in midfield, we need to commit more defensive resources there as well. We build multi-player pressure in the two half-spaces, stop our defensive line from being dragged apart, and prevent gaps from opening between the centre-backs and full-backs."
Mourinho lowered the marker.
"Put simply, we have to fight for midfield control."
Everyone understood what that meant.
Pushing higher would leave space behind them, but there was no other choice.
If United simply retreated into their own half and tried to endure, City would slowly cook them alive, like a frog in warm water.
Yes, City's new system was not fully polished, and mistakes would come.
But relying only on the opponent's mistakes meant handing your fate to someone else.
Mourinho preferred to keep fate in his own hands.
"David," he said, turning toward De Gea. "You need to adapt. The modern goalkeeper can't just be a shot-stopper anymore. Coming off your line and distribution are just as important."
Mourinho had told De Gea the same thing before the season began, and the Spaniard had been trying hard to change.
But changing a style of play did not happen overnight. It took time, effort, and repeated experience. And sometimes, effort alone was not enough.
Otherwise, every hardworking player in the world would become a superstar.
De Gea nodded.
"I understand."
He did not say much more, that was simply his personality. He preferred to prove things through action.
In that sense, he had also been influenced by Ling.
"And Harry."
Mourinho turned to Maguire.
"I know your turning speed is slow, but when you have to foul, don't hesitate. Stay alert every second. I believe you have the ability."
"Leave it to me, boss. You can count on me!"
Hearing Mourinho's praise, Big Head Maguire was delighted.
He tried his best to suppress the corners of his mouth, but the effort was clearly failing.
Mourinho: "..."
The reason he was reminding Maguire was precisely because he was not fully confident.
Did Maguire see him giving Ling that kind of warning?
The handball incident in the penalty area earlier still haunted Mourinho. Even now, he could not understand why Maguire had reached out.
What had gone through his mind at that exact moment?
"Keep an eye on him," Mourinho quietly told David Luiz. "Remind him when necessary."
He had no choice.
If Maguire suffered another sudden brain freeze and made a mistake in the Champions League final...
Mourinho shuddered at the thought.
The online abuse would probably chase Maguire for years!
------
Some appreciation for Maguire, that guy is abused so much by all football fans, even made memes so often but he kept his head high, never answer back or post some shit on social media and the guy right now genuinely one of the best center back in the club.