While the Manchester United board were planning on introducing soone plenty of them believed could be the club’s next saving grace alongside Cristiano Ronaldo, the world hadn’t yet let go of the news of Ronaldo’s return to United. The football world was still buzzing, and nowhere was this more evident than in one of those classic British football argunt shows, where passionate fans debated with all the energy of gladiators in an arena.
It was one of those nights—one of those live streams destined to be clipped, d, and debated across social dia for weeks. Four of the most recognizable faces in football fan dia—Mark Goldbridge, Adam McKola, Robbie Lyle, and the ever-controversial Taiwo "Ty" Ogunlabi—were locked in an explosive, wildly entertaining, and borderline ridiculous argunt.
The stream had barely been live for two minutes when Mark Goldbridge, already beaming with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning, burst into an impromptu, slightly off-key, but passionately delivered rendition of "Glory, glory, Man United! Glory, glory, Man United!" His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. The man was positively buzzing.
Adam McKola, lounging in his chair with a massive grin, shook his head and chuckled. "Here we go, Mark’s buzzing! Look at him, gassed like we just won the treble again!"
Mark shot a finger at the cara, eyes ablaze with excitent. "We’re getting Cristiano bloody Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro back! Are you mad? The best player in the world is returning ho. This is a monuntal day. This is—"
Ty cut in before Mark could finish, shaking his head with the kind of disdain usually reserved for referees giving Arsenal red cards. "You an you’re getting a 35-year-old man on pension? A has-been? A washed-up player who’s finished at the top level?"
Mark froze. He blinked, staring into the cara like Ty had just insulted his entire family. "What? Did this man just call Cristiano Ronaldo washed? Are you actually stupid? You an the sa Cristiano Ronaldo who just dragged Juventus to a Serie A title? The sa Cristiano Ronaldo who outscored almost everyone in that ’pensioner’s league’ you’re talking about?"
Ty, adjusting his iconic Arsenal headphones and jacket, scoffed. "Farrs’ league, Mark. Farrs’ league. Serie A is nothing but a retirent ho. Juventus win that league by default every year. It’s not an achievent! Aubayang would bag 50 goals a season over there now."
Robbie Lyle, the peacemaker of the group, waved a hand. "Alright, alright, let’s not get carried away—"
Mark wasn’t having it. "No, no, no. I need to deal with this nonsense real quick. ’Farrs’ league’? So let get this straight—Ronaldo, who just bagged 31 goals in Serie A, is a finished player? But Aubayang, who finished with 22 goals in the Prem, is sohow better? Explain that to , Ty, with your Arsenal logic."
Ty leaned in, arms crossed. "Aubayang’s doing it in the toughest league in the world. Premier League goals count double compared to Serie A goals."
Adam McKola burst into laughter. "Nah, you’re taking the piss now! What’s that logic? So by your maths, 22 Premier League goals equals, what, 44 Serie A goals?"
Ty nodded. "Exactly. The Prem is twice as hard."
Mark threw his hands up. "This is why Arsenal fans don’t deserve to be taken seriously! What kind of argunt is that? Ronaldo is the greatest goal machine football has ever seen, and you’re comparing him to Aubayang?"
Ty doubled down. "Aubayang is younger, faster, and still got ti ahead of him. Ronaldo is 35. You lot are paying 30 million for a guy who’s got maybe one year left before he turns into Ibrahimović with no legs."
Robbie sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I get both sides. Ronaldo’s still world-class, but he’s not the sa player he was in his pri. United still need more pieces to compete."
Mark leaned forward aggressively, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Robbie, I love you, but stop being diplomatic. This is Ronaldo we’re talking about! Five-ti Ballon d’Or winner. Three-ti Premier League champion. The guy who singlehandedly carried Portugal to the Euros. You don’t turn down Cristiano bloody Ronaldo!"
Ty, still unimpressed, scoffed. "Mate, we don’t need him. Arsenal are building for the future. We’re looking at long-term success, not short-term nostalgia. Man United fans living in 2008, acting like Fergie’s about to walk back through the door."
Adam smirked. "Ty, how’s that ’future’ looking when you’re finishing eighth?"
The whole panel erupted in laughter.
Ty crossed his arms. "It’s a process. Arteta’s building sothing special."
Mark shook his head violently. "You’re a delusional man. Arsenal fans, every year, say ’trust the process’ while you lot are playing in the Europa Conference League."
Robbie, realizing the debate was getting out of hand, clapped his hands. "Alright, let’s wrap it up. All I’ll say is, Ronaldo coming back is massive for the Premier League. Love him or hate him, he’s going to make things more exciting."
Ty smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Just rember, this just ans Arsenal’s journey back to the top will be even sweeter. We’re happy Cristiano’s here—it’ll make it a whole lot sweeter when we beat you lot."
Mark rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright, mate. We’ll see who’s laughing at the end of the season."
And just like that, the show ended, but the argunts continued on Twitter, WhatsApp groups, and pub conversations across the world. Football never sleeps.
As the call ended, the football world remained in chaos, buzzing with excitent and debate. The return of Cristiano Ronaldo was about to shake the very foundation of the Premier League.
While almost all Manchester United fans were gushing about the potential return of Cristiano Ronaldo, there was one man who was not at all happy about the situation. Soone who was very key to Manchester United’s future.
In a modern Dutch ho, Erik ten Hag was pacing back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"Kees, what’s all this I’m hearing? I’m here choosing my new ho in Manchester with the missus, and now I hear they’ve signed Cristiano? Also, what is this about another signing? This is not what I agreed to! What’s all this rubbish? I already have set plans on how I want my squad and who I want!"
His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. On the other end, Kees Vos, his agent, was trying to remain calm.
"Erik, please, just calm down. I’ve talked to them. They are still in full support of you. They just said these transfers have been in motion way before they agreed to sign you. And honestly, is signing Ronaldo that bad? He’s still one of the best players in the world."
Erik exhaled sharply. "It’s the principle that matters, Kees! They are making these moves without consulting properly! And I’ve heard Ronaldo can be a bit of an issue in the dressing room. Make sure the club knows I demand full authority over my team. I won’t tolerate anything less."
Kees chuckled lightly. "Don’t worry, Erik. You have the board’s full backing. And all those stories about Ronaldo? It’s just dia noise. You know how they can be. I assure you, you’re the coach. Everyone will respect you."
Erik sighed, slightly reassured but still irritated. "That’s good to hear. But listen, I still want my players. This Ronaldo talk doesn’t concern . Tell them not to forget about Antony—I need him at United."
Before Kees could reply, a voice called from the other room. "Honey! I just found this place—it’s really nice. It’s near the stadium, and there’s a good school not far from it. It’d be perfect for the kids. Co take a look!"
Erik closed his eyes briefly, regaining composure. "Okay, dear, I’m coming." He turned back to his phone. "As you can hear, the missus is calling . Let’s talk later. And make sure they rember—my team, my players, my rules."
He ended the call and walked inside, but the frown on his face remained. The signing of Ronaldo had overshadowed what was supposed to be his ti to shine. Worse still, it wasn’t even official yet—just speculation, and it was already causing problems.
While the new Manchester United coach was going on an ego trip, even though he hadn’t even landed in Manchester yet, in Italy, sothing massive was happening.
The man who had set this storm in motion, the fad football journalist Fabrizio Romano, was in the middle of his newsroom, surrounded by his team. A huge grin was plastered on his face as he held his phone, barely able to contain his excitent.
"Yes, Robert, yes, I’ll do it now. But you’re sure? You people are 100% going for him?"
A firm "Yes. 100%." ca from the other end.
Fabrizio’s smile widened. "No problem. I know what to do."
He cut the call and turned to face his team, who were all staring at him, waiting in suspense.
"What happened? What did they say?" one of his colleagues asked.
Fabrizio’s eyes glead as he reached for his laptop. "Bring my system. Manchester United has just cented as the number one football journalist in the world."
His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. The mont was here.
I just got my first-ever gift, everyone!!! And it wasn’t just one—the amazing Joke_Tuase sent three! 🎉🎉🎉
Everyone, please help thank Joke_Tuase for being so generous. Thanks to her, I’ll be releasing another Chapter today—or at least, I’ll really try to! 😆
This Chapter and the next three are dedicated to you, Joke_Tuase! ❤️
To my other incredible readers, thank you so much for sticking with this far! I know all this information might be a bit dull, but I promise it’ll wrap up soon—I’m missing my boy David too!
By God’s grace, another Chapter—courtesy of the amazing Joke_Tuase—should be out today!
Love you all! 💖
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