In the stands, Sir Alex Ferguson sat stiff in his seat, his face was showing displeasure. Every fiber of his being wanted to leave Anfield, to escape this nightmare unfolding before his eyes.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. His first North West derby after leaving Manchester United and it had turned into this catastrophe.
Ferguson's gaze locked onto Julien, tracking the eighteen-year-old's every movement. He understood the comparison perfectly: this Liverpool side hadn't changed intensely from last season. The transformation came from one variable: Julien De Rocca.
It was Julien who had turned Liverpool's attack into something truly frightening.
Regret.
This emotion consumed him. He should have gone all-in. Should have broken the bank. Manchester United didn't lack the eighty million euros. They didn't lack the funds for a top Premier League salary.
But now that chance had slipped away. This French prodigy, this generational talent wore the red of their mortal enemies. Worse, he would be the cornerstone of Liverpool's resurgence for years to come.
That reality stung more than the scoreline itself.
Ferguson had wanted to watch Liverpool sink deeper into mediocrity. When he'd sanctioned Michael Owen's move to United, it hadn't been about squad depth, it was purely to twist the knife, to antagonize their rivals.
When the broadcast camera found Ferguson's stone-faced expression, Martin Tyler's voice carried a tone of irony: "One wonders if Sir Alex, seeing what's become of his Manchester United in his absence, regrets the timing of his retirement. Perhaps, one might suggest, he could have managed one more season."
Tyler continued, introducing the historical context for viewers: "If Liverpool can keep a clean sheet today, they'll achieve something remarkable: it would their first three consecutive wins without conceding dates back 101 years!
Furthermore, with his third consecutive league game with a goal, Julien becomes only the second Liverpool player after Robbie Fowler to achieve this feat. Fowler himself managed it at the start of the 1994/95 season. Julien is also the first Liverpool player to score in each of his first three league matches after joining the club."
Tyler's voice was filled with wonder, "Julien is like a record-breaking machine. After creating an astonishing series of records in Ligue 1, at just eighteen years old, he's writing new chapters in English football history and every page continues to amaze! Including friendlies, he's already scored twelve goals for Liverpool. He's an absolute goal machine!"
Tweet!
Through the noise of Anfield's roar, the match resumed.
Referee Andre Marriner actually felt some relief now. Large scorelines made his job easier, the pressure was dissipated when the result became inevitable. The most stressful moments came when matches balanced on a knife's edge, when every decision sparked fury from both sides.
With a comfortable lead, those tensions vanished.
United kicked off, still pushing men forward in search of a response.
But what frustrated United supporters was watching their attack depend completely on a forty-year-old veteran.
At 43rd minute, Ryan Giggs collected the ball in the right channel of midfield. Giggs suddenly accelerated, using a convincing feint to ghost past Henderson, then poked the ball forward with his toe, sending it through the narrow gap between José Enrique and Lucas.
A shared gasp rippled through Anfield's stands. The United section erupted with hopeful roars.
Giggs drove toward the left side of the penalty area. Facing Skrtel's challenge, he slowed, dropped his shoulder left as if to cut inside, then instantly flicked the ball outside.
Skrtel's weight shifted wrong causing him to stumble.
In that split moment, Giggs whipped his left foot through the ball, sending it arcing toward the back post.
But time had left its mark on him. The sequence of dribbles had sapped too much of his energy. The cross lacked its former venom, the spin was insufficient, the pace too, was too ordinary.
Van Persie, who had made his run perfectly had to check his pace. His header was weak rolling harmlessly wide of the far post.
After Liverpool's counterattack fizzled out, United built again from midfield, working the ball wide.
Once more, Giggs showcased his skills. Receiving with his back to goal on the touchline, he flicked a gorgeous backheel, nutmegging the onrushing Henderson. He combined with Carrick for a quick one-two, then burst into the box.
Giggs pulled the trigger but the shot lacked height and curve.
Mignolet gathered it comfortably.
Giggs planted his hands on his hips, shaking his head slightly. Sweat trickled down from his graying temples.
Martin Tyler's commentary carried distinctive melancholy,
"Look at that—Giggs can still produce those magical touches. He can still deceive players twenty years his junior with his trickery. But here's the cruelty of time: his mind remains sharp, his technique still exquisite, but his body simply can't keep pace anymore.
That Welsh wizard who once flew down wings for ninety minutes, who tore defenses apart countless times, is now like a fine aged whisky, still rich with character, but unable to ignite that old fire."
Watching Giggs continue to battle, the United away section broke into song:
"Ryan, we love you / Running down the wing / Our hearts begin to sing / You spin around and then / You set this game on fire..."
"Ryan, we love you
Flying down the wing
Watch the whole crowd sing
You weave past one, then two
You set Old Trafford alight
Red devils taking flight
Magic in your boots tonight"
This anthem had echoed around Old Trafford for over twenty years. Whether they were born in the '80s, '90s, or 2000s, if you supported United, Giggs was indelibly printed in your memory, he was one of the Red Devils' greatest legends.
If you supported United's rivals, that same Welsh winger likely featured in your nightmares. As a speed merchant in his youth, as a midfield maestro in his later years, he always found ways to dismantle opposing defenses.
He'd witnessed every moment of United's Premier League glory. United, in turn, had crafted his extraordinary career.
But tonight, the stage no longer belonged to the forty-year-old warrior.
After Liverpool went three goals up, they controlled the tempo, strangling United's hopes.
Tweet!
Marriner's whistle signaled halftime.
Anfield erupted in a earsplitting roar. The Kop stand rose as one, fifty thousand voices were united in "You'll Never Walk Alone," red scarves raised high like a crimson ocean surging across the terraces.
Liverpool's players gathered in a tight huddle, embracing one another, sweat was glistening on their red shirts as they walked toward the tunnel together.
On the touchline, Brendan Rodgers high-fived each player forcefully. When Julien passed, he squeezed his shoulder with extra emphasis.
"Brilliant work, son!"
The broadcast camera lingered meaningfully on the scoreboard: Liverpool 3-0 Manchester United—the digits were glowing like beacons in the gathering darkness.
United's players hurried toward the tunnel with heads bowed.
As Giggs walked off, Anfield's lights stretched his slightly hunched shadow long across the turf. Scattered applause rose from the United section in equal parts encouragement and helplessness.
In that moment, time's ruthlessness and football's cruelty were laid bare on the green pitch.
Julien caught sight of this scene. If things went as expected, Giggs would retire at season's end. And it would be ceremonial—after David Moyes's dismissal, Giggs would take the helm while still registered as a player. His farewell match would see him substitute himself onto the pitch.
Many knew Beckham had been personally recruited by Ferguson as a teenager. Fewer remembered that Giggs had followed the same path. As a boy, Giggs played in Manchester City's youth system. On his fourteenth birthday, Ferguson arrived at his doorstep, persuading him to join United instead.
From that day forward, one man and one club. Giggs had guarded the Red Devils into his forties.
As the players disappeared into the tunnel, Martin Tyler delivered his halftime summary: "We've just witnessed a first half worthy of the history books! Forty-five minutes, three goals, five yellow cards, and countless explosive confrontations—this wasn't just a football match, it was a blood-and-thunder English derby at its most visceral!
Without question, the star of this half has been Liverpool's record signing, Julien De Rocca. His brilliance has illuminated Anfield! This eighteen-year-old talent delivered two goals and an assist, making United's defense look utterly exposed.
But equally shocking is the match's sheer nastiness—Cleverley's scissor tackle, Van Persie's retaliatory foul, players sharpening up at every opportunity. Marriner's run out of cards!
Van Persie's challenge—should it have been a second yellow? Cleverley's lunge—was that a red card offense? The debates will rage. But United's frustration is written across their faces. When they couldn't match Liverpool technically, they resorted to stopping them physically.
Giggs has created moments, but age catches up with time. He's forty years old, what more can you ask of him?
Then there's the contrast in the directors' box—Ferguson's expressionless face versus Kenny Dalglish on his feet at the barrier, singing with the fans. These images capture what this match means to both clubs.
Now Moyes faces an impossible dilemma: continue attacking and risk humiliation, or park the bus and accept defeat?
But look at the fire in Liverpool's eyes! Steven's still arguing every decision with the referee. De Rocca's a threat every time he touches the ball. Moyes's defensive plan for the French captain has failed completely!
Consider these suffocating statistics: De Rocca attempted five shots with two goals, created six key passes leading to five clear chances. Most remarkably, he succeeded with all eight of his dribble attempts—Evra and Carrick looked like carousel horses!
United's defense has fallen into nightmare. Every time De Rocca receives the ball on the right, United's backline loses its composure like bulls seeing red. That nutmeg assist was a perfect fusion of artistry and humiliation!
So how does Moyes stop this unstoppable force? Substitutions? Tactical changes? Targeted fouling? But we must warn United, De Rocca's scoring rate after being fouled this season stands at forty percent!
And what of Rodgers? Holding such a strong lead, how will he set up Liverpool for the second half?
Let's take a short break. In fifteen minutes, we return to Anfield for the continuation of this century-old rivalry!"
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