Carlos Queiroz watched nervously as Cristiano Ronaldo was swarmed by three Newcastle players, but Sir Alex Ferguson sat calmly on the bench, cool as a cucumber. The Old Trafford fans, on the other hand, didn't care what was going on in the players' heads. If something on the pitch rubbed them the wrong way, they let loose with boos and curses. Some even started chucking stuff—water bottles, bananas—aiming at the United players who stood frozen as Ronaldo was boxed in.
Claire, eyeing a water bottle that landed nearby, muttered under his breath, "Winning comes first. If we play to please you lot now, the media will tear us apart when the game's over."
Not far off, Ronaldo's predicament was quickly resolved. Newcastle's players were hustling hard, but their trio couldn't contain Ronaldo's solo brilliance. His slick dribbling left Claire, standing slack-jawed, in awe.
But no matter how dazzling Ronaldo's skills were, Newcastle had numbers on their side. Their star man, Sammy Ameobi, came in from behind with a clean, crunching tackle that sent Ronaldo sprawling. The referee didn't blow the whistle, and the game rolled on.
Old Trafford's fans leapt to their feet, chanting "Come on!" for Ronaldo, but the rest of the United squad wasn't so lucky—dodging flying bottles and fruit. As Park Ji-sung passed by Claire Lee, he grumbled under his breath, "Don't pass to Ronaldo in the second half. He's hogging all the glory. We three agreed to grind quietly and stun everyone at the end, but he's out here sneaking in extra training! Isn't that just too much?"
Though the two were whispering their grievances, the crowd was already in a frenzy. The anthem The Nights echoed from the stands, but some of Claire's front-row music fans were starting to get annoyed at his lackadaisical attitude on the pitch.
Newcastle's forward Sammy Ameobi was playing selfishly, ignoring his teammates' waving hands. Instead of passing, he flicked the ball up near the halfway line with a cheeky touch. From the MUTV broadcast area, Lucy Pinder, her lips painted a striking red, shouted, "Volley!"
"Goal!"
"United's performance today is just embarrassing!" she added, exasperated.
Sir Bobby Charlton, seated as calmly as Ferguson, didn't say a word. When Newcastle's players huddled in celebration, he leaned over to Lucy and muttered, "This match is gonna be a high-scoring one. Wanna bet, young lady?"
"Bet on what? That Newcastle's gonna slaughter us?" Lucy shot back, one hand on the table, the other on her hip, her figure accentuated in a way that turned heads. But Sir Bobby wasn't fazed. "I bet United wins, and by a big margin. If I lose, I'll personally invite you to host from the Champions League VIP seats."
Lucy glanced at the big screen, where United's players still looked frustratingly passive. Biting her lower lip, she said, "Deal! If I lose, I'll tutor your granddaughter for a whole semester."
Sir Bobby started to protest, but Lucy cut him off. "I'm a USC grad student, you know. Still studying, but I'm pretty sharp!"
The wager in the MUTV booth didn't dampen the chaotic mood in the stands—boos, jeers, and songs filled the air, turning Old Trafford's darlings into outcasts.
The pressure was heaviest on captain Wayne Rooney. Ryan Giggs kept feeding him chances, but attack after attack fizzled, and Rooney's form was visibly off.
"Pull Rooney," Ferguson finally said. "If he keeps going like this, it'll mess up our rhythm in the second half."
Carlos Queiroz, hearing the boss's call, panicked. "You sure? Look at this lot—they're slacking! Even Ronaldo's getting dragged down by them!"
Queiroz's outburst didn't faze Ferguson, who calmly explained his reasoning to the referee.
Alan Smith, Claire Lee's loyal sidekick and soon-to-be Newcastle transfer, was subbed on. But with two minutes of stoppage time left in the first half, Rooney wanted one last crack. Ferguson's response was blunt: let Rooney play and enjoy himself.
"Looks like the big man's pissed," Ferdinand quipped, nodding toward the pitch's "culprit."
Claire, clueless about what Ferdinand meant, just glanced around warily to make sure no fans were lobbing anything his way.
Rooney's start wasn't smooth. Several times, Ronaldo tried to approach him, maybe to offer a word, but an increasingly frustrated Rooney dodged him. Ronaldo turned to his teammates, throwing up his hands in exasperation.
United's midfield, already nearing exhaustion, trailed behind Rooney, while the backline stayed pinned near their own box. That's when the physicality of the "big black brother" (Ferdinand) shone through. He lingered near midfield, casually pinging the ball around with teammates, keeping Newcastle's players chasing shadows. Rooney, meanwhile, adjusted his runs, hunting for a scoring angle.
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When Claire saw Rooney miss a gaping hole on Newcastle's right flank and veer left instead, he groaned inwardly. This could be another goal conceded. Turning to Edwin van der Sar, he shouted, "This attack's gonna flop!"
"I trust you! You called their left-side move earlier, and you nailed it!" van der Sar replied, giving Claire a thumbs-up. But before van der Sar could settle into position, the attack shifted dramatically.
Rooney, trying to set up Giggs for a move, flubbed the pass, sending the ball straight to Newcastle's defender Jean-Alain Boumsong. The powerhouse didn't hesitate, bursting through United's midfield in seconds and pulling off a one-man show against Park Ji-sung.
United's attack might've been lackluster, but their defense was sharp. Ferdinand stepped in to block, and Claire intercepted with a clean tackle. But out of nowhere, Newcastle's striker Alan Shearer swooped in, stole the ball from Claire, and went one-on-one with van der Sar.
Boom!
Newcastle's fans erupted as United's defender Nemanja Vidić gifted them an own goal.