"Why are you all overthinking things? Just focus on giving your all to win today, tomorrow, the day after, and every match that follows! That is the only mentality that matters at this club!"
Zlatan Ibrahimović strode to the center of the dressing room, his towering frame casting a shadow over the younger players.
He scanned the room like a lion king surveying his pride, his eyes burning with intensity.
"If my injury had healed, you wouldn't even be getting this chance! I would be out there scoring the goals," Zlatan barked, breaking the tension with his trademark arrogance before cracking a grin.
"This is our best shot at the title. If we don't win it in the end, I'm giving each of you a good punch in the face. I am serious."
Outside the heavy oak door, Jose Mourinho paused with a hand hovering over the handle.
He listened to the roar of approval from inside and withdrew his hand, a faint, satisfied smile touching his lips.
'Were they already motivating themselves? Good.'
That made his job significantly easier!
He turned and walked toward the tunnel, letting the players own the moment.
...
Moments later, the two teams lined up in the narrow, claustrophobic player tunnel.
The noise from the pitch was already bleeding through—a low, vibrating hum that shook the concrete floor.
The silence between the two sets of players was oppressive.
It felt like a powder keg ready to explode, the air was thick with the scent of deep heat and raw animosity.
Mohamed Salah stared straight ahead, his jaw set. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heart rate. Though he didn't harbor a deep, personal hatred toward Mourinho, seeing how highly the Portuguese manager valued Ling sparked a flicker of discontent within him.
'Why?' Salah thought, his eyes narrowing.
'Why are you willing to give him so many opportunities, yet you ignored me when I first arrived at Chelsea? You cast me aside.'
He was determined to punish his former manager today.
He wanted to completely overpower Ling, securing his absolute dominance in the Golden Boot race while fulfilling that three-years-overdue proof of his quality.
Today was about revenge!
Behind him, Trent Alexander-Arnold bounced on his toes, his eyes darting toward the United players.
He glanced sideways at Ling, analyzing him. He found nothing particularly remarkable about the physique of the United Number 7.
Recalling Jurgen Klopp's pre-match speech, the young Scouser felt his blood pumping faster, his emotions reaching a fever pitch.
"You'll become the Premier League's strongest fullback!" Klopp had shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"You won't become Beckham—you'll always be Alexander-Arnold! Go fight for Liverpool! Fight for your city!"
Soon, led by the head referee, the lines began moving forward.
The faint light at the end of the tunnel expanded, bursting into a blinding sea of red.
The roar of seventy-five thousand fans washed over them like a physical tidal wave.
Ling walked out onto the hallowed turf and clenched his fists tightly.
Even after countless starting appearances, the sheer magnitude of the North West Derby made him momentarily dazed. The noise was deafening and it vibrated in his chest. T
his was what obsession and passion felt like.
This was the pinnacle.
High above the stands, in the glass-fronted Sky Sports commentary box, the atmosphere was equally heated.
"Sadio Mane's speed, Roberto Firmino's vision, Mo Salah's efficiency—when they push forward, no one can stop them! It is the best front three in the world!" Jamie Carragher held his microphone with wild enthusiasm, his Scouse accent thick with bias.... like always when it come to fucking liverpool.
"Then how come Manchester United beat Liverpool 2-1 in the last match?" Gary Neville retorted dryly, leaning back in his chair.
"That was just your luck! Lady Luck won't always stand by your side, Gary! And don't forget our bet," Carragher grinned sinisterly, reaching into his bag.
He pulled out a bright red Liverpool jersey with 'SALAH 11' on the back and spread it flat on the table.
"If Ling doesn't score twice today, you're putting this on right here, live on air."
Neville's eye twitched uncontrollably as he looked at the jersey.
It was repulsive to him!
If he were to actually put on a Liverpool jersey in front of millions of viewers and the Old Trafford faithful, he would face such vicious abuse that he'd have to delete his social media accounts.
He suddenly felt a pang of deep regret.
But having come this far, backing down was out of the question.
He reached into his own bag and pulled out a Manchester United jersey with 'LING 7' printed on it.
He gritted his teeth. "Same goes for you, Carra. If Ling bags a brace, you are wearing the Red Devils colors."
"We'll see about that!" Carragher scoffed, though his throat bobbed nervously.
"Gentlemen, let's not get too caught up in the wardrobe just yet," the host, David Jones, interjected helplessly.
"First, let's introduce the starting lineups for both teams to our viewers."
"In the red shirts, attacking from left to right, is Manchester United," Neville took over, switching to his professional analysis mode.
"They've deployed their most frequently used formation this season, the 4-2-3-1. De Gea starts in goal... Interestingly, unlike the Champions League match, Mourinho has opted for David Luiz and Chris Smalling as the center-back pairing. He's also chosen Juan Mata for the right midfield position, likely to strengthen ball control and link-up play in the final third."
"Now, let's look at the visitors," Carragher said. "Klopp has set them up in his trademark 4-3-3 high-energy system. Liverpool currently has two goalkeepers, Loris Karius and Simon Mignolet. Klopp had been alternating, but he's now designated Karius as the number one. The main reason for the loss last time was the goalkeeper difference—United had De Gea making eleven saves. It'll be interesting to see if Karius can handle the pressure today."
"Let's wait and see!"
...
Peep!
With the referee's sharp whistle, the match officially began.
Liverpool, having won the toss, kicked off and immediately looked to take the initiative away from the hosts.
Their formation shifted fluidly.
Emre Can, stationed in the midfield, dropped deep into the defensive line to form a back three alongside Dejan Lovren and Virgil van Dijk, allowing the fullbacks to push high and tuck inside, creating passing channels in the half-spaces.
However, Manchester United pulled out a surprise tactic of their own. Instead of setting up their usual low defensive block—Mourinho's famous "parking bus"—they pressed high up the pitch as a unit, engaging in a frenzied midfield battle that caught Liverpool off guard.
After a chaotic series of passes, the ball found its way to Alexander-Arnold.
The Liverpool academy graduate was full of confidence. He faced up to Ling, dropped his shoulder, and executed a sharp body feint.
When Ling shifted his weight, Arnold played a crisp diagonal pass out to Salah on the wing.
"That's our boy!" Carragher cheered. "Could Liverpool score early here?"
Before Carragher could finish his sentence, Salah was already swarmed.
Nemanja Matic and Ashley Young closed him down instantly.
The Egyptian King, honed over several seasons in Italy and England, had elevated his game to a world-class level.
He was no longer just a speed merchant, he could drop deep, hold up the ball, and turn defenders inside out.
He tapped the ball repeatedly with his left foot, baiting Ashley Young.
He spotted a fraction of space and pushed the ball forward sharply, simultaneously darting to nutmeg the United fullback.
But Ashley Young was ready.
The veteran Englishman twisted his body desperately, sliding in with a crunching but fair tackle that sent the ball spinning out for a corner kick.
"Beautiful defending!" Neville shouted. "A clean, decisive tackle! Ashley Young is up for the fight today!"
Fans might have thought this was just the opening act of a thrilling, end-to-end match, but the ensuing play on the pitch turned into a tactical grind.
Liverpool's high press was being stifled by Manchester United's physical midfield intensity.
Possession constantly changed hands in the middle third, with neither side able to keep the ball for long.
The star wingers, Salah and Ling, were heavily targeted.
For Salah, Mourinho had revived a tactic he hadn't used in years: the "classical defensive shadow."
He had instructed Ashley Young to man-mark Salah for the entire ninety minutes.
Young's role was solely to neutralize the Egyptian, with absolutely no regard for offensive contribution.
It was a sacrificial role, a straightforward trade-off to delete Liverpool's best player.
For Ling, Klopp's approach was more sophisticated. By implementing a high press with a specific directional focus, he forced Manchester United to play the ball out to their right side—toward Juan Mata—thereby cutting off the supply line to the left.
Mata, brilliant as he was technically, struggled to maintain possession under the intense physical harassment of Virgil van Dijk and Andy Robertson.
Seeing this, Ling had no choice but to drop deeper into the midfield to collect the ball, though this was dangerous. Any further back, and he would run straight into a triple defensive cage formed by Salah tracking back, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, and Alexander-Arnold.
...
The game became a stalemate of attrition.
In the 8th minute, Liverpool realized the right side was locked down and switched their attacking focus. Oxlade-Chamberlain looked up and delivered a sweeping diagonal long pass to Sadio Mané on the left flank.
Antonio Valencia, guarding that side, was physically strong but his positioning was noticeably weaker than Ashley Young's disciplined marking.
Mané used his blistering pace to burst past Valencia.
With no tall target players available in the box for a high cross, Mané whipped a dangerous low ball across the face of the goal.
It looked destined for Roberto Firmino's boot!
But suddenly, a mass of curly hair intervened.
David Luiz, reading the danger perfectly, threw himself ahead of Firmino.
..
Internet reaction was swift.
@RedDevil_Tactics: Mourinho has Young playing as a second skin on Salah. It maybe ugly, but it's damn working. #MUNLIV
@KloppStopp: Why are we forcing it down the right? Use Mane! Valencia is the weak link!
@NeutralFan: This is a chess match, not a football match. Someone needs to make a mistake!
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