Claire watched the chaos unfold before him, itching to grab Vidic by the collar and give him a piece of his mind. The earlier goal they'd conceded could be chalked up to strategy, but this one was just a plain mistake!
Still, with the match far from over, there was nothing Claire could do yet. He could only join the other players, walking over to Vidic, patting his shoulder, and quietly saying, "It's alright, we can handle this. Let's do this together!"
Finally, the referee's whistle signaled the end of the first half.
Newcastle United's players lingered on the pitch, celebrating, while Manchester United's squad and the fans in the stands shared the same dejected look.
The gloom in the locker room and the subtle gestures among Claire and the others didn't escape Sir Alex Ferguson's notice.
"I've given you your chances," he said sternly. "If you can't turn this game around in the second half, I don't care if you're a starter or a sub—you won't set foot on Old Trafford again."
Without a single word about tactics, Ferguson left the locker room with an air of indifference. The moment he was gone, Rooney jumped up, fuming. "What the hell! Why didn't anyone tell me about this plan?"
Claire turned to Rooney, looking innocent, while Giggs, sitting nearby, chuckled dryly. "I thought something big had happened! I'll step back in the second half—this game's for you young guys now."
But Ronaldo, sitting to Rooney's right, shook his head helplessly, trying to explain. "Every time I try to talk to you on the pitch, you're sprinting like a madman! What am I supposed to do? You shove me away, looking pissed, whenever I get near!"
"That's a rough one," Rooney mumbled, scratching the back of his head awkwardly as he sat down. Just when Claire thought Rooney was about to lay into him, Ronaldo unexpectedly took the blame. If Ronaldo hadn't spoken up, Claire would've had to explain himself after the match.
After all, "tactics" sound different coming from Claire's mouth than from Ronaldo's.
When the teams switched sides, Claire stole a glance toward Du Juan and little Simon in the stands. Seeing Du Juan sitting there, calm and composed as ever, Claire couldn't help but flash a warm smile.
When Du Juan noticed Claire looking her way, her usually serene face flushed red down to her neck. Meanwhile, little Simon, still rocking his adorable Batman outfit, looked around curiously.
From the kickoff, Newcastle's players charged into United's half like wild bulls in spring, relentless and aggressive. United, meanwhile, focused on maintaining possession without launching any real attacks. The occasional offensive push, led by Ronaldo, quickly fell back into defense.
But Claire had shed his first-half sluggishness. He constantly adjusted his positioning, searching for gaps in Newcastle's attack. Whether it was his imagination or not, Newcastle's game seemed riddled with holes in his eyes.
Michael James Owen, the striker from Liverpool's youth system, was leading Newcastle's attack with the ball at his left foot. But something about Owen's left-footed play felt off to Claire.
Raising his left hand, Claire signaled an attack. The United defenders, previously looking defeated, snapped to attention as if they'd received a battle cry, ready to sprint.
"Hey, you sure the two of us can handle this?" Ferdinand asked.
Claire didn't answer directly, instead asking with a puzzled look, "Is Owen left-footed?"
"Oh, no way! He was sidelined last season with a fractured right toe. Didn't you watch Ferguson's tapes?"
Claire shook his head, embarrassed. He'd been at that damn gala that day. But there was no time to dwell on it—his only mission now was to stop Owen's attack and turn the game around fast.
"Don't defend! Let him through!"
With Claire's shout, the midfield line, organized by Ronaldo, split without hesitation, pressing forward into Newcastle's half.
The backup defenders near United's box quickly moved to intercept Owen and his crew. Claire, leading the charge, shouted, "His left-foot rhythm's off! Cut him off from the left!"
The moment those words landed, Vidic, who'd caused an own goal in the first half, lunged at Owen. Ferdinand, meanwhile, dropped back to cover.
With his holographic vision fully engaged, Claire flanked Vidic, assisting in the attack.
[A: Left-front slide tackle, 100% success rate!]
Owen, focused on his attack, glanced back at United's wide-open midfield but had no time to think. He faced the double-team from Vidic and Claire.
"Owen!" He nodded toward his teammate Shearer, who was positioned diagonally ahead for support.
As Owen prepared a step-back move to outmaneuver, Vidic closed in aggressively. Owen, seemingly anticipating it, calmly prepared to sprint and pass.
But in a flash, Claire darted forward, as if he'd predicted Owen's left-footed move, perfectly cutting off his path.
"Vidic, lock down Owen!" Claire shouted without looking back, his eyes fixed on the ball. Ferdinand, covering Shearer, let out an excited yell.
Seeing the empty midfield, Claire didn't hesitate. He unleashed a powerful volley toward Newcastle's box.
If United's half was sparsely populated, Newcastle's box was a powder keg, packed with players from both sides jostling for position.
As Claire's thunderous shot soared, players from both teams surged toward the box, realizing the ball wasn't aimed at the goal.
The ball arced down toward Newcastle's goal like it had a mind of its own. Suddenly, Ronaldo burst from the sideline, executing a stunning bicycle kick to send the ball rocketing into the net!
"Goal!"
Old Trafford erupted in celebration, as if the fans booing United in the first half were a distant memory.
But the United players didn't celebrate. They quickly fell back to their positions, ready to defend.
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