Football Dynasty-Chapter 159: To Find the Rhythm

If City were playing in France or Spain, they would undoubtedly face a chorus of boos echoing from one end of the stands to the other. But here in Scotland, where the culture is not so different from English football, the moment your team is at a disadvantage—whether it’s a clearance, a tackle, or a collision, regardless of its legality—Raith’s supporters would cheer.

This is why English football has never fully shaken off hooliganism. Even their own fans take pleasure in such spectacles, so how could the club simply abandon this culture?

Fans don’t cheer based on whether their team plays conservatively or with flair, nor do they abandon their passionate chants when the scoreline turns against them. For them, loyalty—often passed down through generations—is steadfast, regardless of whether their club is in the depths of despair or basking in glory.

Currently, the one who is truly being cheered by Raith fans is not a player from Raith, but one from Manchester City.

"Bloody hell, that guy definitely didn’t kick the ball, did he? He was definitely aiming for the other guy’s leg!"

With his long blond hair, he stood out even more among the players on the pitch. But it wasn’t because of his skill or commanding presence—it was his...

"What’s the matter? Did I hurt your feelings? Shouldn’t have stepped on the pitch if you can’t handle it."

First, the snide provocation.

"Was that a foul, or are you just slow?"

Second, all the shirt tugs.

"Ref, are you going to give him a free kick for that? He’s been rolling around like he’s in the middle of a drama show!"

Third, the tactical fouls.

"You sure that was a foul, ref? You must be the only one who saw that—my mum’s got better eyesight, and she’s not even here!"

And finally, the referee had had enough of his antics...

PHWEEE!

A yellow card.

Not even ten minutes passed.

And Robbie Savage gestured towards being a hardman—without any of the iron-willed, kneecap-shattering menace the position demands.

Though the first half was far from thrilling and at times lackluster, Raith’s fans still savored it, cheering enthusiastically throughout, thanks to the presence of the blond man, Robbie Savage.

The reason is simple: this tough, tenacious persona—unafraid to engage in fierce confrontations with opponents—is exactly what fans admire most.

If a player hesitates to embrace contact or the fight for possession, it would undoubtedly leave the fans disheartened.

At the heart of English, Scottish, Irish, and Welsh football culture, there’s a deep belief that football is a man’s game. Fans crave intensity, passion, and unwavering commitment.

As the first half concluded with the score at 0-0, O’Neill was the first to stride down the players’ tunnel.

Although City spent much of the first half focused on defensive duties—showing commendable resilience—there was a noticeable lack of effective and fluid attacking play. This was especially evident considering O’Neill’s tactical instructions, which restricted all players, except the center-backs, from playing aimless long balls.

Raith, despite this being only a friendly match, were clearly treating it seriously. After all, they had just won the league last season, and they were eager to maintain that confidence by overcoming another title-winning club.

In the locker room, O’Neill stood calmly as his players filed in to rest. His tone was composed, but clear.

"The first half was solid. For a friendly, I’m not asking for perfection—treat it like a training session. But let me be clear: stick to the tactical plan. Defense comes first. Robbie, watch the fouls in dangerous areas in the second half. Henrik!"

Upon hearing the coach call his name, Larsson felt a flicker of anxiety, worried he might be taken off. But as O’Neill offered his advice instead, he nodded quickly in acknowledgment, eager to show he understood.

"Henrik, keep your movement sharp. Don’t drop too deep—let Solskjær handle the dirty work. I want you pressing their back line and staying alert for any loose balls. If we get a break, I trust you to finish it."

Tactically, O’Neill saw little that needed changing. The squad had only been training together for ten days, so expecting instant cohesion and intuitive understanding was unrealistic. freewёbnoνel.com

His instructions remained simple: hold your positions and take responsibility for your defensive roles within your assigned zones. With a solid defensive foundation, he believed the team would gradually find their rhythm and perform more fluidly.

Had he started with overly demanding tasks—balancing defense, attack, and intricate positional play—O’Neill feared it would only lead to chaos, disrupting not just the players but himself as well.

This was the time to shape the team, to lay down a solid foundation first.

After offering some calm encouragement during halftime, O’Neill clapped his hands, signaling his players to return to the pitch for the second half. He urged them to embrace the game freely, without pressure.

As the second half kicked off, Richard remained seated in the stands. He turned to Marina beside him.

"So, what do you think? How’s City looking so far?"

She paused briefly before replying,

"It’s fine I guess. But that guy with the long hair—are you sure he’s even a footballer?"

Richard burst out laughing.

"Haha!"

Indeed, Robbie Savage’s style of play was... unique.

Lacking exceptional talent, he made up for it with controversy.

Even years into the future, anyone with even a passing interest in football would have something to say about him. Few would offer praise—most would have some sharp words, if not outright insults. But that, in its own way, was a compliment.

If United had their own Eric Cantona—a magnet for controversy who kept people talking for decades—then perhaps City had found their own version in Robbie Savage.

Richard then saw from the bench that O’Neill had begun instructing several players to warm up: Materazzi, Van Bommel, Roberto Carlos, Cafu, Jens Lehmann, and Ronaldo.

The atmosphere on the field remained flat, as City continued to play conservatively, while Raith increasingly realized that City’s defense was resolute.

Ten minutes into the second half, they abandoned their attempts to build penetrative play on the ground and instead opted for the simplest method of attack: long balls and aerial crosses.

Finally, everything changed on the 65th minute.

O’Neill nodded and went to call for substitutions.

Soon, a group of substitute players darted to the sideline, waiting for their turn to enter.

"Marco Materazzi, Mark Van Bommel, Roberto Carlos, Cafu, Jens Lehmann, and Ronaldo, coming on for Rio Ferdinand, Robbie Savage, Steve Finnan, Richard Jobson, Richard Wright, and Solskjær!" the commentator announced.

Suddenly, a tidal wave of boos erupted from the stands as passionate fans shouted, "SAVAGE! SAVAGE! SAVAGE!"

Robbie Savage, ever the showman, raised his hand like he was some kind of rock star, soaking in the boos like they were applause. With a cheeky grin, he took a seat on the bench, as if he’d just pulled off the greatest performance of his career.

On the field, Raith attempted another cross from the flanks.

Their right midfielder managed to send a diagonal long pass into City’s penalty area just before Cafu could close in for a challenge.

The ball’s trajectory was perfect, landing right around the penalty spot—a golden opportunity for the strikers to dart in and head it.

Raith’s two forwards surged toward the ball’s landing spot, and the fans held their breath, nervously watching the attack unfold.

"Hoo..."

Richard exhaled in relief as Materazzi intercepted the ball, heading it clear of danger and straight to Neil Lennon’s feet.

Applause erupted from the stands, but the fans were quickly silenced as Manchester City launched a swift counterattack before the clapping had even subsided.

Lennon collected the ball, turned sharply, and noticed the opposing central midfielder pressing high up the pitch. With a calm feint, he passed the ball to Cafu, who had made a run up the right flank, determined to make up for his earlier mistake.

Cafu didn’t hesitate. He played a quick, diagonal pass to Larsson, who stood just inside the center circle.

Richard watched as City’s counterattack unfolded with fluid precision, and his heart raced. He stood up, shouting from the sidelines, urging his players to stay focused!

Larsson carried the ball forward a few steps and then passed it to Ronaldo, drifting in from the left toward the center.

Just before the defenders could close in, Ronaldo passed back to Larsson, who had already escaped his marker, as the defender switched focus from him to Ronaldo.

Everything happened so fast!

The ball from Ronaldo was cut in from the left flank to the outer edge of the opposing penalty area.

And here, Henrik Larsson, upon receiving the ball, took the shot...

"GOAL!!!"