From the mont Di María surged forward with the ball, Gao Shen's heart was in his throat.
As soon as he saw Di María evade Vidic's attempted tackle and break through, he knew there was a real chance.
When Di María reached the edge of the penalty area, facing Evans one-on-one, Gao Shen almost shouted out two words: Take him on!
Di María was incredibly fast with superb footwork. Given space to run, he could be a lethal threat.
Of course, his dribbling wasn't on ssi's level, but combined with his speed, it was still spectacular. He often pulled off monts of brilliance on the pitch.
This ti, as he charged straight at Evans without slowing down, he forced the Manchester United defender to backpedal repeatedly. Just as he reached the penalty area, Di María suddenly stopped, planting his left foot on the ball and rolling it behind him. Evans, who had just shifted his weight, instinctively stopped as well.
Then, as if preparing to cut inside, Di María feinted again, luring Evans into adjusting his stance.
But just when Evans thought he had anticipated the move, Di María revealed it was all a bluff. His right foot didn't even touch the ball, he perford a step-over, then used his left foot to push the ball toward the byline before accelerating explosively.
In that instant, Evans was completely deceived, lost his balance, and tumbled into the penalty area.
Now deep in the left side of the box, Di María was trapped at a tight angle. Van der Sar had closed off most of his options, there was barely any room to shoot.
Then, in another sudden move, Di María faked a shot, tricking Van der Sar into committing early. Instead of firing at goal, he smoothly sent a cross into the middle of the box.
The ball skimd across the penalty area, rolling perfectly toward the right side.
Sánchez, who had been lurking on the edge of the box, tid his run perfectly. Sprinting in from the right, he t Di María's pass first-ti with his right foot, sending the ball straight into Manchester United's net.
Van der Sar, stranded at the near post, had no chance.
"GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
"Napoli have equalized!"
"An outstanding assist from Di María, and Sánchez finishes it off with composure!"
"It's 1-1!"
At that mont, Gao Shen jumped up.
They had leveled the score!
A 1-1 draw wasn't the best result. Napoli had conceded a crucial away goal, but at least they had pulled even.
Still, Gao Shen rushed to the touchline, shouting encouragent at Di María and Sánchez, celebrating their brilliant link-up.
The Napoli fans in the stands erupted, their cheers shaking the stadium.
After all, an equalizer was sothing to celebrate.
On the pitch, Napoli's players gathered near the sidelines, fists pumping in the air as they celebrated wildly. They turned to the stands, motioning for the fans to cheer even louder.
The supporters responded with a deafening roar, urging the team forward, one goal wasn't enough.
A 1-1 draw wouldn't be a good result heading into the second leg at Old Trafford.
Ferguson seed to realize the danger as well. He imdiately ordered his team to drop back.
In the closing minutes, Napoli pushed forward aggressively but couldn't carve out another clear-cut chance.
Manchester United launched a quick counterattack once again, Berbatov played a through ball. This ti, however, it wasn't Ronaldo on the receiving end, but Rooney.
The English striker charged into the penalty area, but Lichtsteiner read the situation well, getting a crucial toe on the ball to poke it away to Bonucci.
And that was it—the final whistle blew. The match ended in a 1-1 draw.
---
The mont the whistle sounded, the first thing Gao Shen did was reach for his water bottle.
His throat was dry, and his voice was hoarse from all the shouting.
The match had been incredibly intense. The pressure was suffocating.
Looking back, Napoli had played well, they hadn't made any glaring mistakes. The goal they conceded had been the result of brilliant interplay from Manchester United's attackers.
But Gao Shen had to admit: he and his coaching staff hadn't anticipated Berbatov linking up with Ronaldo so effectively.
They had tried that combination sixteen tis before without success. But on the seventeenth attempt, it finally worked.
Talk about frustrating.
"Do you think Ferguson planned that?" Gao Shen mused aloud.
"No way," Zidane said, shaking his head. "At most, he hoped they'd get it right and created the right environnt for it. But to say he knew it would succeed? That's unrealistic. It's a mix of skill and luck."
Berbatov had the technique to pull off the pass under pressure. Ronaldo had the speed to beat Vargas.
But let's be honest, sixteen failed attempts before one success? That was just as much luck as it was skill.
"Zinedine's right," Carlo agreed. "You're overthinking it. Ferguson's not so all-knowing genius. He's just experienced. If you play against him more, beat him a few tis, that 'legendary aura' will disappear on its own."
Carlo had noticed it before the match, Gao Shen respected Ferguson too much. Almost to the point of overestimating him.
There was no doubt Ferguson was a great manager. But even the greatest managers lose. Even the best make mistakes.
At the end of the day, Ferguson was just a man. He wasn't infallible.
Gao Shen let out a bitter chuckle and nodded.
Carlo and Zidane had both given him advice before the match. They knew he was under imnse psychological pressure not just because of the semifinal itself, but because of Ferguson.
What they didn't fully understand, though, was that for Gao Shen, this pressure wasn't just about facing an idol.
The first book he had read after arriving in this tiline was Ferguson's biography.
His man-managent, tactics, in-ga adjustnts almost everything Gao Shen knew had Ferguson's fingerprints on it.
Of course, he had studied many legendary coaches, but Ferguson had left the deepest impression.
So while he had always talked about wanting to face Ferguson, actually standing on the opposite touchline was a different story.
---
"Well done, young man."
After the match, Gao Shen made his way to the visitors' dugout, shaking hands with Ferguson and the Manchester United coaching staff.
This was standard etiquette for any ho manager.
Ferguson regarded him with genuine appreciation.
"To be honest, sir, I was a bit nervous," Gao Shen admitted with a wry smile.
Ferguson raised an eyebrow, then let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
How should he put it?
"Do you know how old I am?" Ferguson suddenly asked.
"Sixty-seven, of course," Gao Shen answered instantly. "Born December 31st."
Ferguson was a little surprised, then let out a hearty laugh. "You've got a good mory."
"I grew up watching your teams play. I'm a die-hard fan," Gao Shen said sincerely.
Ferguson studied him with an amused smile. The more he looked, the more he found the young man in front of him remarkable.
He was only twenty-eight years old.
Looking at Gao Shen, Ferguson was reminded of his younger self.
Back then, he was still a player, nearing the end of his career. He had taken on a player-coach role at Falkirk in Scotland's second division, his first taste of coaching.
At the ti, he never imagined he would beco a great manager. For him, coaching was just another job.
Even when he took over at Aberdeen in 1978, he hadn't thought of it as the beginning of a lifelong career.
But Gao Shen was different. At twenty-eight, he had already won a Champions League title. He had taken a newly promoted team to back-to-back league championships. This season, he was on the verge of securing the first treble in Italian football history and potentially adding a second Champions League trophy to his resu.
For achievents like these, Ferguson could only sigh. It's good to be young.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, Ferguson shook his head and chuckled.
"I always felt like you were just flattering ," he said. "I've been managing for decades and only won two Champions League titles. You won one in your very first season and now you're in the semifinals again."
"Of course, you won't win it this year," he added with a smirk, "but reaching the semifinals is already impressive. And since you lost to and Manchester United, well... you know what? Hearing you say you're my fan actually puts a lot of pressure on ."
"You get what I an?" Ferguson asked, raising an eyebrow.
Gao Shen grinned and nodded. "Are you really feeling the pressure?"
"Of course!" Ferguson scoffed. "Go ask that damn Portuguese fellow after he lost to you, he didn't sleep well for days!"
He paused for a second before adding, almost sheepishly, "He told not to say anything, so don't go telling him I let it slip."
Gao Shen couldn't help but laugh. The old man had just casually exposed Mourinho's past frustrations.
"Truth be told," Ferguson continued, "all that talk about being happy to see young managers succeed? It's nonsense. Every manager wants to win. Nobody likes losing. I'm sixty-seven years old, how could I stand losing to a twenty-eight-year-old like you?"
Gao Shen understood that sentint well, but he still couldn't help but smile.
"Honestly," Ferguson went on, his expression turning serious, "you were a bit restrained tonight. Napoli didn't play to their full potential. If you go to Old Trafford with the sa mindset and the sa performance as tonight, you'll definitely lose."
His voice carried the certainty of a man who had seen it all.
Gao Shen knew he was right. But pressure wasn't sothing that could just be turned off like a switch.
"I'll do my best to overco it," he said.
Ferguson smiled. He reached out, hesitated for a mont, then gave Gao Shen a pat on the shoulder.
Even such a small gesture carried weight.
Because Gao Shen was no longer just a promising young coach. He was now one of the top managers in Europe.
Of course, Gao Shen didn't mind the gesture of familiarity.
"Are you really my fan?" Ferguson suddenly asked.
Gao Shen glanced at him, and for a split second, an absurd thought crossed his mind.
Ferguson's expression right now, it was the exact sa one he had when talking about Guardiola.
Sure enough, this old man was as cunning as ever!
"Let test just how much of a fan you really are," Ferguson said with a smile.
Gao Shen considered it for a mont before nodding. "Go ahead."
Ferguson thought for a mont, then asked, "What's the na of the bar downstairs on Paisley Avenue West?"
***
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