Football Dynasty

Chapter 599: Efficiency over Elegance

Drogba was still new, having been there for barely six months in the first team, and his technique was still notably rough around the edges. Yet there was something about him that seemed immovable. Manchester United players could throw themselves into tackles, but every time they tried to bring him down, they seemed to bounce off him like rubber balls.Then came a moment that nearly made Richard’s heart stop.

After the near-goal sequence, Manchester United center-back Ronny Johnsen attempted a sliding tackle from behind just as Drogba turned to receive the ball. Drogba sensed the challenge at the last second. He half-turned, using his body to shield the ball.

Johnsen came in too aggressively.

Instead of taking the ball, he collided heavily with Drogba’s back. The impact sent Johnsen off balance, and the Manchester United defender immediately crashed to the ground, rolling almost 180 degrees before coming to a stop.

The referee’s whistle shrilled.

Foul.

Drogba spread both hands in disbelief, his expression almost comically innocent as he stared down at Johnsen, who remained on the grass, clutching his hip.

Richard could hardly believe what he had just seen.

Drogba hadn’t even initiated the contact. Johnsen had simply committed too hard to the tackle. When Drogba shifted his position to protect the ball, the defender’s momentum carried him straight into Drogba’s back, sending himself tumbling.

"Ref! He was too eager for the tackle!" Richard yelled as he stood up.

PHWEEE~

Unfortunately, the decision is final and cannot be overturned.

People thought there would be protests, but unexpectedly, after a little talking with the referee, the moment he blew the final whistle, it was the City players who immediately headed for the dressing room.

And once they got inside, it was chaos.

And once they got inside, it was chaos. Players were talking over one another. Boots were being kicked off. Shirts were soaked with sweat, and the atmosphere carried an unmistakable tension. But it wasn’t a bad kind of tension. If anything, it seemed like they were waiting for something.

Richard was already inside. He had personally secured permission to be there and had been allowed into the dressing room as an observer. He kept himself against the side of the room, trying not to draw attention.

"Don’t mind me. I’m here for the technology," he whispered to Mourinho.

Mourinho glanced at him, then gave a small nod. A moment later, he stepped into the middle of the room.

"Everybody sit down! Sit!"

The remaining conversations died almost instantly.

"We don’t have much time. Ramm."

Ramm Mylvaganam, the ProZone consultant, immediately moved toward his equipment.

"Tell me what happened in the first half."

Ramm nodded. He connected his device, brought up the analysis, and began displaying the data he had collected during the opening forty-five minutes.

The screen came alive.

Richard was seeing it for the first time, and he was instantly fascinated. He knew modern football was beginning to use data. He had read about it, heard people talk about it, and understood that clubs were becoming increasingly analytical.

But he had never actually seen it with his own eyes.

Ramm paused the footage.

"Look here."

A section of the pitch appeared on the screen. Colored lines traced the movements of the players.

"This is where they’re losing control," he explained. "Their midfield is being pulled too far to the right. When the ball moves here, their central midfielder follows the movement instead of holding his position—"

Richard stared at the screen.

To be honest, it was just a lot of dots, numbers, lines, and movement. Yet somehow, it revealed something that watching the match normally couldn’t. It stripped away many of the preconceived notions people had about how other teams played.

Instead of simply saying, They’re attacking more down the right, or Their midfield looks vulnerable, the data showed why.

CLAP! CLAP!

"Alright, listen up!"

Mourinho’s voice cut through the dressing room as he clapped his hands twice. The players gradually turned their attention toward him.

"I think we’re not gonna go too deep into this, because we don’t want to get you guys loaded with too many formations and information. So, let me just summarise what we got from the data."

He walked toward the tactics board and pulled it closer to the middle of the dressing room, making sure everyone could see it.

"I think for sure, sooner or later, Paul Scholes is coming into this area. And every time Scholes has the ball, he will have the vision. He will have the quality of the pass."

Mourinho reached toward the magnetic pieces on the board.

"So I can imagine Scholes from a position like that."

He pulled one of the magnets away from the midfield line and placed it slightly higher up the pitch.

"And a beautiful pass here for Giggs to run onto. Scholes will improve the quality of their passing, so we need to press him, force him to the left, where the weakness is with Denis Irwin, and control everything away from him. Understand?"

A few players nodded, their eyes still fixed on the tactics board.

"Yes, sir. Got it."

Mourinho gave a quick nod.

"Good. Let’s go. Let’s go."

The squad filed out of the dressing room, the atmosphere suddenly sharper and more focused than it had been a few minutes earlier.

PHWEEEE~

The second half began.

As the game kicked off, Manchester City quickly showcased the individual technical ability of their players, especially Ronaldo and Ronaldinho—a hallmark often associated with South American football. South American clubs traditionally lagged behind European teams tactically, but they often compensated with exceptional individual skill. Now, combined with the experience of playing in Manchester City, that individual quality made them a frightening opponent.

They had a higher possession rate than usual and were patient, waiting for the right opportunities instead of rushing their shots. City were clearly playing a possession-based game today, deliberately minimizing the space United could use to launch counter-attacks.

The match started slowly, with few genuinely exciting moments.

"This is a typical European-style approach to football. Manchester City are displaying great dominance with their continuous passing. Their attackers are constantly moving along the front line, stretching the defense from side to side. But they’re being cautious with their final passes, seemingly only attempting a dangerous ball when they’re almost certain it will succeed."

It wasn’t until the 67th minute that something interesting finally happened.

Zambrotta made a long clearance from the back, sending the ball toward the halfway line. But he miscalculated, allowing Scholes to collect it on the left side of midfield.

Lampard immediately moved to close him down. But before he could even get close, Scholes had already released a long, perfectly weighted pass.

Lampard could only stop and stare as the ball sailed over his head and into the space behind the defense.

Giggs, who was about forty yards away, expertly controlled the ball with his first touch.

Richarl immediately shot to his feet.

"What the—?"

He stared at the pitch, his eyes widening as he watched the move unfold. That was exactly what Mourinho had warned them about.

Manchester City’s players immediately surged forward, and even the defenders joined the attack.

Giggs skillfully carried the ball forward, using his pace to drive past William Gallas. He cut inside, lifted his head, and glanced toward the goal.

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to shoot.

Giggs swung his leg, aiming toward the far corner—but before he could get a clean strike away, Zambrotta came flying across.

The same man who had miscalculated his earlier clearance had recovered brilliantly.

THUD!

Zambrotta’s tackle caught the ball cleanly, knocking it away from Giggs before the Welshman could finish.

"OOOOHHHH!"

The crowd exploded.

Giggs stumbled and went down, while Zambrotta rolled across the grass from the force of the challenge. But the Italian didn’t stay down for long.

He pushed himself up almost immediately. He simply looked up, searching for the next pass.

Pirlo was there. Zambrotta played it to him.

And that was when Manchester United realized their problem. Almost everyone had pushed forward. Their midfield had been dragged toward City’s penalty area, the full-backs had advanced, and the defensive line was suddenly exposed.

Pirlo took one touch.

Then—

"HEY!"

Pires, completely unmarked on the left, raised his hand.

Pirlo glanced over.

Among all of City’s attackers, Pires was probably the least willing to track back. Mourinho had demanded that everyone contribute defensively, but Pires was always the exception who needed a little more convincing.

Ironically, that habit had now worked in City’s favor.

Because while everyone else had moved, Pires had remained exactly where he needed to be.

Pirlo saw him.

BAM!

He clipped a beautiful ball over the midfield and toward the right flank.

Pires took it in stride. His first touch killed the ball almost immediately. Then he accelerated.

Denis Irwin, who had been caught higher up the pitch, turned and sprinted back. Jaap Stam also reacted, abandoning his position to close the angle.

Pires was running directly at them. This was where he was dangerous. Everyone knew what Pires liked to do.

Stop. Change direction. Drag the defender one way. Then explode into the other.

So, Irwin lowered his stance, and Stam shifted across. Pires slowed down, just as expected, one step, two, then— STOP. He suddenly cut inside.

Irwin instinctively followed. Stam also stepped toward the middle. For a split second, both defenders had been pulled toward Pires.

And that’s exactly as he wanted.

The right side opened, so Pires glanced up. And there he was.

Zambrotta.

The Italian full-back had continued his run after making the tackle, sprinting into the enormous space that Manchester United had left behind.

Pires didn’t hesitate.

He slipped the ball through.

"GO!"

Zambrotta received it in full stride. He was suddenly completely free. He took one touch forward before lifting his head. The entire United defense was scrambling.

Zambrotta looked toward the penalty area, then he swung his right foot.

WHOOOSH!

The cross flew into the box, curling away from the recovering defenders.

And this was exactly where the detailed report from Ramm Mylvaganam earlier became relevant. His analysis had broken down each player’s individual characteristics, tendencies, and habits. City’s defensive marking had been precise and deliberately targeted, although there were moments when things didn’t go exactly according to plan.

Zambrotta was a perfect example. His recovery tackle on Giggs had been flawless.

He whipped a vicious cross into the penalty area. The ball rose high, then began to dip sharply toward the far side of the six-yard box.

"Cross coming!"

Johnsen immediately turned.

’Ah. It’s him again.’

But this time, Drogba was already prepared. He had read the cross the moment Zambrotta lifted his head. Instead of waiting for the ball to arrive, Drogba was already on the move, building momentum as he attacked the space between the defenders.

Drogba lowered his shoulders and accelerated. Johnsen immediately stepped across, trying to get his body between Drogba and the ball.

BUMP!

The collision was heavy.

Johnsen planted his feet and tried to hold his ground, but Drogba was already moving at full speed. He powered through the contact, using his strength and balance to keep his run alive.

The ball met Drogba’s forehead cleanly.

A powerful header.

Not a simple redirect—the kind of header that came with the full force of his jump and momentum behind it.

The ball rocketed toward goal, down toward the far corner.

Peter Schmeichel pushed off his line and threw himself across the goal, stretching one arm toward the shot. But the header was too powerful and too well placed.

The ball flew beyond his fingertips.

CRACK!

It smashed into the inside of the net. For half a second, the entire stadium seemed to freeze.

Then—

"DIDIER DROGBA!"

The commentator’s voice rose above the noise.

"WELCOME TO THE PREMIER LEAGUE!"

Drogba looked toward the stands, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Zambrotta sprinted over and grabbed him from behind.

"That’s it! That’s it!"

Drogba laughed as more teammates surrounded him, patting his head and pulling him into the celebration.

The crowd roared again when the replay showed Drogba powering through Johnsen before rising above him.

The commentator could barely contain himself.

"What a way to introduce yourself! Didier Drogba has arrived—and the Premier League has just found out exactly what kind of striker he is!"