Chapter 141: Against Manchester-5

There was no one left to cover the back post. Manchester United's defense had collapsed in transition, and Ribery was all alone when the ball from Bale sailed across the box. It landed right in front of him—perfect height, perfect speed. Ribery didn't even need to stretch. Instead of killing the ball dead at his feet, he let it roll slightly forward with a deft touch of his right boot, just enough to set himself up for the finish. The ball slid forward a few feet into the ideal striking zone—he could take the shot in stride, without breaking rhythm. Van der Sar saw it unfold and charged out. The Dutch keeper flung his arms wide, rushing to narrow the angle, but he was in a hopeless position. He had to guess—go big and block the shot, or stay planted and risk a finesse finish. He went all in, diving forward. But Ribery, cool as you like, didn't shoot. Just as Van der Sar committed himself, Ribery opened his hips and gently rolled the ball across the face of goal with the inside of his right foot—a cutback rather than a strike. Sliding in, right on cue, came Yaya Toure. Charging from deep like a freight train, Toure met the ball in full stride and side-footed it calmly between Van der Sar and Neville, who were both rooted to the spot. The ball kissed the turf and rolled neatly into the back of the net. Elland Road erupted. "Yaya Toure!!! A perfect quick counterattack!!! A perfect bit of teamwork!!! Leeds United equalize!!!" Eddie Gray's voice barely rose above the thunder of the crowd. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!!" Lineker screamed in the studio, completely carried away. "Just seven minutes after Manchester United took the lead, Leeds United strike back out of nowhere! It's their first real shot on target, and it came from a devastating counterattack off a corner! They've been muted in attack all game, but one moment of brilliance from Toure turns it all around!" The replay rolled on screen, showing the entire move from the corner clearance to Toure's burst forward. "This all started with Toure," Lineker continued. "That brilliant Marseille turn to send Carrick spinning. From there, it was five Leeds players surging against three Manchester United defenders. Bale's pace tore down the left, his cross found Ribery, and then this—this clever little reverse pass to Toure, who never stopped running. Just eight seconds from defense to goal!" He took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. "And now I think we finally understand Arthur's tactical setup today." He turned to Blackwell in the studio with a knowing smile. "Kevin, did you notice what happened there? Carrick's been struggling all game against Toure. First the yellow card, and now this. Toure just brushed him aside and split open United's shape. And that explains why Arthur didn't go with a more technical option like De Bruyne or Rivaldo in midfield—they might not have matched up physically. But Toure? He's bullying Carrick!" Blackwell, who had been noticeably quiet during the celebrations, forced a stiff smile. His tone was awkward as he replied. "Well... maybe that's one way to look at it. But let's not get carried away. Leeds have equalized, yes, but the match is still tilted. Ferguson won't ignore this—he's already seen the danger Toure presents. I wouldn't be surprised if we see an adjustment soon. From a broader perspective, Leeds still need to tighten up." Back on the pitch, the roar inside Elland Road was peaking. The home fans, who had been anxious and subdued since Berbatov's goal, were now surging with renewed energy, chanting and singing with everything they had. Toure turned to the corner flag, arms spread wide, chest puffed out. His teammates sprinted toward him—Bale, Ribery, Torres, Lahm—all piling into the celebration. There was no fancy dance, no rehearsed pose. Just a raw, honest moment between teammates, arms around shoulders, laughing, shouting, embracing. They'd been under pressure since kickoff, but now they had struck back with a goal that came straight out of the training ground—and out of Arthur's tactical playbook. On the touchline, Arthur could barely contain himself. He leapt up from his seat and grabbed Simeone by the shoulders, shaking him wildly like a kid who had just won a bet. Simeone's eyes went wide as his boss rattled him like a maraca. "Arthur! Easy!" he laughed, slightly dazed, but grinning. Arthur didn't care. He was already storming toward the edge of the technical area, high-fiving every player who came near, shouting encouragement, clapping, fists raised. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. His side had been pinned back, criticized, second-guessed by pundits and fans alike. But here, in one blistering break, they had answered every question. And yet, even in celebration, Arthur's mind was still racing. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But it was game on. **** Ferguson cast a glance at Arthur, who stood on the touchline with a faint, satisfied smirk. The equalizer had clearly given him a jolt of pride—and Ferguson knew exactly why. His side had dominated for large stretches. They'd forced Leeds United into their own half, dictated the tempo, and finally broken through with Berbatov's clever finish. But before United could settle into control, Arthur's men had hit back with a blistering counterattack. A single wave of pressure undone in eight seconds. Ferguson sighed and rubbed his forehead. Carrick's body language didn't help. The midfielder stood a few yards from the center circle, hands on hips, visibly rattled. The yellow card earlier had shackled him. And Ferguson knew—if Carrick had committed fully to that challenge on Toure, and mistimed it even slightly, he'd be off. And Manchester United would've been down to ten for the final hour. It was a tough call. But still, that goal stung. Lineker's voice echoed through the studio broadcast, echoing the mood across Elland Road. "This goal came at exactly the right time for Leeds United. That quick counter not only pulled them level—it's shifted the momentum entirely." The camera panned across the pitch as Mascherano carried the ball forward again. "And now, you can feel it," Lineker continued. "Their confidence is up. They're winning second balls, pressing harder. United's players look like they're still processing what just happened. That lead they worked so hard for? Gone. Just like that." He was right. Leeds were suddenly more assertive, quicker in their transitions, bolder with their runs. Every pass had a purpose, and Arthur's side looked nothing like the one that had been pinned down earlier in the match. By the 41st minute, the pressure had mounted again. Mascherano took possession just inside his own half and drove forward across the halfway line. Carrick and Scholes tried to close him down, but Mascherano kept his composure and knocked the ball diagonally to his left, where Toure had drifted into space. Toure took the pass on his back foot, lifted his head briefly, and then drove a piercing ball straight through the gap between Patrice Evra and Nemanja Vidic. The pass was inch-perfect. Bale, already in motion the second Toure received the ball, sprinted down the left like a bullet. He flew past Evra—who was still turning his body—caught up with the ball before Vidic could intervene, and pushed forward toward the edge of the penalty area. Vidic tried to shepherd him wide, but Bale didn't even slow down. He cut around him with a slick change of direction and surged to the top of the box. Now Rio Ferdinand was stepping across to intercept. But this was dangerous ground. The moment Bale crossed into the box, any mistimed challenge could mean a penalty. Ferdinand hesitated—just slightly—but it was all the window Bale needed. Dribbling at a steady pace, Bale suddenly shifted gears. A quick flick with his left foot sent the ball diagonally to his left, creating just enough separation. Then, without breaking stride, he followed up with a thumping shot toward the near post. Bang! The crack echoed through the stadium. The ball screamed toward the top corner, a rocket of a strike—but Van der Sar was ready. The veteran keeper had read it just in time, stepping to his left before leaping high with both arms stretched. Fingertips met leather. The ball deflected off his gloves and flew just over the crossbar. The Leeds fans behind the goal had already begun to rise, ready to celebrate—but the breath was caught in their throats. Instead, they groaned in unison, hands in their hair, as the ball dipped just a few inches too high. But then came the applause. It rolled in from every corner of the stands—first from the home fans, appreciating Bale's electric run and powerful shot, and then, surprisingly, even a few Manchester United supporters joining in for Van der Sar's crucial save. On the sideline, Arthur clapped his hands and shouted toward the pitch. He wasn't upset the goal didn't go in. He was pleased to see his plan working—the counterattacks were flowing, and the confidence was back. Across from him, Ferguson was livid. His players looked flat, disorganized, caught between aggression and caution. He stomped toward the edge of his technical area and bellowed out instructions, waving his arms and pointing furiously. He didn't care if the cameras were on him. "Wake up!" he barked toward Ferdinand and Carrick. "Get tight! Don't give them space to run!" Whatever he shouted, it seemed to work. United's players snapped into focus during the final minutes of the half. They pressed with more intensity, closed down space faster, and denied Leeds the time to line up another direct chance. It wasn't graceful—but it was enough to stop the bleeding. The fourth official raised the board. One minute of added time. The ball pinged between midfielders, passed from one red shirt to another, and then finally into touch. "Beep~~~" The whistle echoed through Elland Road. After a half full of speed, tension, and tactical twists, the scoreboard showed 1–1. Halftime. Arthur turned toward the tunnel with a satisfied nod. It hadn't started perfectly, but he'd managed to claw the momentum back before the break. His young team had withstood the pressure, adapted on the fly, and delivered a punch of their own. And with forty-five more minutes to play, everything was still up for grabs. (I usually merge these chapters so it's not the same game for 5 matches. But that makes me translate more and takes my time. So I decided to keep the original chapters format.)