Old Trafford, 71st Minute.
The game was poised on a knife-edge.
United led 2-0, but the momentum was shifting.
Mauricio Pochettino, standing on the edge of his technical area, made his move.
He brought on Erik Lamela and Fernando Llorente for Son Heung-min and Danny Rose.
The tactical shift was drastic.
Spurs moved from a back four to a back three (3-5-2). This allowed the wing-backs more flexibility and aggression, flooding the midfield to cut off United's supply lines while increasing the pressing system's adaptability.
Clearly, Tottenham was launching their final, all-out assault.
For them, losing by 2-0 or 5-0 meant the same thing: zero points.
Why not risk everything for a chance at a miracle?
No sooner had Pochettino made his changes than Mourinho responded with his signature pragmatism.
He signaled the fourth official.
Ashley Young made way for Matteo Darmian—a defensive upgrade.
Jeremy Ling, the hero of the hour, was replaced by Marcus Rashford and Zlatan Ibrahimović, having run himself into the ground, was swapped for Henrikh Mkhitaryan.
Rather than stacking the team with pure defenders, Mourinho maintained a counter-attacking threat with Rashford and Mkhitaryan.
He knew that without an outlet—someone capable of carrying the ball out of the defensive third—United would suffocate under Tottenham's renewed pressing system.
Ling slowly walked off the pitch, the adrenaline fading, replaced by a dull ache in his legs.
He felt a tinge of regret—he had two goals.
He had narrowly missed out on a hat trick.
He was well aware that he had never scored a senior hat-trick in his professional career.
'When will that chance come again against a top-six side?'
But as he crossed the white line, Old Trafford rose as one.
The Manchester United fans in the stands erupted into the warmest, loudest applause seen at the theatre in years.
Without a doubt, the protagonist of today was the 18-year-old walking toward the bench.
They hadn't witnessed such an exhilarating individual performance since the days of a young Cristiano Ronaldo.
"Number Seven! Number Seven!"
A chant started in the Stretford End.
It was faint at first, then grew louder.
"Give him the shirt! Give him the shirt!"
Ling remained unaware that his jersey number had just become a topic of fierce debate among the fanbase.
He was too busy high-fiving Mourinho, who pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering something into his ear that made Ling grin.
Martin Tyler: "Listen to that reception. That is special. Jeremy Ling makes way, and Old Trafford bows down. A brace in a game of this magnitude? At his age? Unbelievable."
Gary Neville: "He deserves every bit of it, Martin. He's been absolutely electric. But look at the game now. It's going to get ugly. Lamela is on. He's here to disrupt. United need to keep their heads."
Little did Ling know, as he took his seat on the bench and wrapped himself in a heavy coat, that the match was about to descend into trench warfare.
The Tottenham players, driven frantic by the deficit and the humiliation of the second goal, began committing increasingly aggressive fouls.
The "dark arts" of Pochettino's Spurs were on full display.
Within just a few minutes, Erik Lamela—the Argentine winger once hailed as the "next Messi" but now known more for his elbows—clattered into Juan Mata.
He grabbed Mata's jersey and nearly tore it off his back in frustration.
Yellow Card.
Nevertheless, Manchester United's defense remained rock-solid. They had switched modes. They were no longer the expansive team of the first 60 minutes.
They were the Iron Curtain.
They never dwelled on possession in their own half. Smalling and Jones opted for long, no-nonsense clearances or channeled balls into the corners for Rashford to chase.
Although successful advances were few and far between, this strategy effectively drained the clock, broke Tottenham's rhythm, and wore down the opposition's spirit.
The Tottenham fans in the away end, frustrated by the stifling gameplay and the time-wasting, incessantly cursed Mourinho.
"Anti-football! You're a disgrace! Play the game!"
But to the United faithful, this was beautiful.
This was winning.
As time rapidly dwindled, the match entered stoppage time.
Four minutes added on.
Harry Kane, who had been marshaled brilliantly by Phil Jones all afternoon, mustered his last ounce of strength.
He found a yard of space outside the penalty area and unleashed a venomous, swerving drive toward the top corner.
It was destined for the net.
But David De Gea was there.
The Spaniard soared through the air, his body fully extended, and plucked the ball out of the sky with two hands.
He didn't just save it; he caught it. It extinguished Tottenham's final glimmer of hope.
With this save, his tally for the match reached eleven.
It was a stunning display of his world-class abilities at their absolute peak.
While he hadn't broken the Premier League record of 14 (set by Tim Krul and later equaled by De Gea himself against Arsenal), an 11-save clean sheet against Spurs was a monumental achievement.
Peep! Peep! Peeeeep!
The Referee blew the final whistle.
Manchester United 2 - 0 Tottenham!
Old Trafford erupted in thunderous applause once more as Ling and his teammates gathered in the center circle to thank the supporters.
Beaming smiles lit up every player's face—defeating a title rival at home was a massive statement.
But in the tunnel, the mood was toxic.
The Tottenham players had retreated to the locker room, the sound of United's celebrations ringing in their ears.
Hugo Lloris, usually the calm captain, was enraged.
He ripped his gloves off and hurled them to the floor.
"SONNY!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Why didn't you track back after the counterattack?! Don't you realize that puts immense pressure on the defense? You left Trippier alone again!"
Son Heung-min, already seething with pent-up frustration from his substitution and his poor performance compared to Ling, could no longer contain his anger.
He stood up, his face flushed. "What exactly is your problem?!" Son shouted back.
"Why single me out? What about the midfield? What about the defense? Aren't they responsible too? Aren't you responsible for the second goal?!"
(love this scene ngl thats why i add it)
It was a flashpoint.
Lloris stepped forward aggressively.
Harry Kane and Moussa Sissoko quickly intervened, stepping between the two men before the confrontation could escalate into a physical altercation.
"Stop it! Both of you!" Kane roared. "We lost. Deal with it like men, not children."
Had that escalated further, Tottenham would have faced a massive media backlash.
The All or Nothing cameras weren't there yet, but the eyes of the world were.
Seeing Kane's intervention, Lloris fell silent, though his glare remained fixed on Son.
He knew better than to provoke the club's talisman.
From a distance, Ling caught a glimpse of the commotion.
He shook his head.
He considered himself fortunate to have encountered Ibrahimović and Mourinho.
Zlatan would never let a teammate be singled out like that by anyone other than himself.
'A team that fights itself cannot fight the enemy,' Ling thought.
....
Back in the studio, the post-match analysis was underway.
Gary Neville was practically glowing.
"Congratulations to Manchester United on a thoroughly convincing victory. They've successfully defended their unbeaten home record, and they did it against a very, very good Spurs side."
Jamie Carragher: "I have to give credit where it's due. In this match, there are two individuals who were the difference. The first is Mourinho. He won the tactical battle against Pochettino today. The subs, the shape... every in-game adjustment played a huge role."
Neville: "And the second is young Jeremy Ling. We can't stop talking about him. His unflappable composure under pressure and that second goal... that is the moment of the season so far. Two brilliant goals in a game of this magnitude."
Martin Tyler (Voiceover): "As for young Ling, his journey is only just beginning. But on the evidence of tonight? The sky is the limit."
....
Half an hour later.
The post-match press conference room was packed.
Mourinho sat down, unbuttoning his blazer, looking relaxed and vindicated.
"In my pre-match expectations," he began, leaning into the microphone, "I thought this game would end in a draw. Both sides are strong. It is a chess match."
"We all know that a single defensive mistake can lead to defeat. But fortunately, it was the opponent who made that mistake today. And we punished them."
A reporter asked about Ling. "And... Ling seized the opportunity perfectly," Mourinho nodded, a proud smile breaking through.
"Speaking of Ling, I must admit his performance today was absolutely outstanding. That second goal? World-class strike. It's been a long time since I've seen such a beautiful technique."
He paused, looking for the right analogy. "I once said that young players are like melons," he said, his eyes twinkling. "You only know how sweet they are once you cut them open and taste them."
The room chuckled
"Now I can tell you clearly: Ling is an incredibly sweet melon."
Laughter erupted.
"I really like players like him. Humble, hard-working, and lethal." He added one last remark, protecting his veteran.
"Of course, Zlatan performed excellently. He is back. He occupies the defenders. It is only a matter of time before he scores."
In the other conference room, the atmosphere was somber.
The questions were sharper.
Pochettino looked tired.
"I'm very disappointed," the Argentine said, his voice quiet. "Because I believe Tottenham deserved more chances. We controlled the game for long periods."
"But since we've lost the match, there's no point in making excuses about luck or wonder goals." He looked up, defiant.
"We are a young team. We are still improving. If we face Manchester United again... I believe we will win."
He made this bold statement before quietly standing up, turning, and leaving the room, the weight of another trophy-less season pressing down on his shoulders.
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