Chapter 881: The Sixteenth FA Cup Title
Time flew by quickly, and before anyone realized it, the first half was over with both sides locked at 0–0 heading into halftime.
For today's match, Manchester United had drawn the "home" designation, so they used the main dressing room at the new Wembley Stadium.
Inside, José Mourinho was giving out precise tactical instructions.
"Chelsea are getting anxious!"
"They're thinking only about attack!"
"That's our moment!"
He turned to Marcus Rashford, the left winger. "For the first fifteen minutes of the second half, you don't need to track back. Stay forward—attack them, hit them on the counter!"
Rashford's eyes lit up—this was exactly what he loved to hear.
Then Mourinho looked at his captain and midfield maestro, Bruno Fernandes. "Long passes on the counter. Skip the midfield entirely—just like in training. Go straight for the kill."
Both men nodded.
"Kane," Mourinho said, turning to his striker. "It's time for you to use your strength as our pivot."
"Understood," replied Harry Kane, tall and powerful, capable of holding off defenders and excelling in the air.
"Kane will set up the play. Rashford—do you know what you need to do?" Mourinho asked, staring straight at him.
"Put that damn ball in the net!" Rashford gritted his teeth.
"Hah! That's right!" Mourinho laughed heartily, pushing the two of them toward the tunnel. "Go out there and kick Chelsea's backside!"
...
The fifteen minutes of halftime flew by, and soon the second half began.
Mourinho didn't return to the bench right away. After leaving the dressing room, he stopped by the restroom before heading out again.
By the time he reached the sidelines, the match had already resumed. He stood for a moment in the technical area, studying the game, then walked slowly back to the bench. Picking up a water bottle, he took a gulp—and promptly spat most of it out.
He was nervous.
This was his moment of decision. Watching the game closely, he realized instantly: Now is the time to strike.
He could see it with his own eyes—Chelsea's desperation. They were pressing recklessly, leaving huge gaps behind. Their players had pushed forward almost completely, with only two left in their half for coverage.
This was the opening he'd been waiting for. The chance for a counterattack!
Mourinho didn't know exactly how it would end. Maybe it would fail. Maybe by pushing out, they might even concede. But he didn't hesitate—he had to go for it.
He had prepared for this very moment. If he missed it and Thomas Tuchel regained composure, United might never find space again.
When it's time to strike—you strike.
...
"Hakim!" Tuchel shouted from the sideline, holding up three fingers toward Hakim Ziyech, about to take the free kick. "Number three routine!"
Ziyech nodded in acknowledgment. Tuchel turned to walk back toward his seat and happened to catch Mourinho a few meters away awkwardly coughing and splashing water on his shoes. The sight, oddly enough, lightened Tuchel's foul mood.
"So, Löw, what do you think of United's performance today?" Tuchel asked his assistant.
"They're solid defensively," Joachim Löw admitted after a pause. "But… they don't look like the United we know—so passive. It's like they're playing for penalties from the start."
"Yeah," Tuchel nodded. "That's Mourinho for you. United haven't played this conservatively in years, but if he wants to, he can park the biggest bus in Europe. Still, I think he's underestimated our attack. Once we score the first, the floodgates will—"
He stopped mid-sentence, noticing his assistant's stunned expression. "Thomas! Look—quickly!"
Tuchel turned toward the pitch—and froze.
Harry Kane was tussling with Reece James for position inside Chelsea's half—and above them, the ball was dropping.
A Manchester United counterattack?
Now?
Tuchel had wanted United to push forward—but not like this, not when his team was completely exposed.
...
Kane leapt high, towering over Reece James to win Bruno Fernandes' long pass, flicking the ball perfectly into Rashford's path.
It was the simplest, most direct counterattack imaginable.
Chelsea had just attempted an elaborate set-piece routine from their free kick, using three players for decoy runs—but when N'Golo Kanté made a clean sliding clearance, Bruno picked up the loose ball, turned, and launched a first-time long pass forward.
Just like that, with one swift movement, United carved open Chelsea's defense. Only two defenders remained in their half. Reece James was beaten in the aerial duel by Kane, who played the ball on.
César Azpilicueta, retreating to cover, expected Rashford to control the ball—but the forward instead cushioned it off his chest and burst forward in one motion, his pace leaving Azpilicueta for dead.
With too little distance behind him and no time to adjust, the Chelsea captain was completely beaten.
...
"Harry Kane with the flick-on!"
"Rashford's through! He's outpacing Azpilicueta!" shouted the MUTV commentator.
"He's in! The keeper's rushing out—shoots! GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!"
Chelsea's goalkeeper—United academy graduate Dean Henderson—came out to narrow the angle, but Rashford's quick footwork was sublime. A simple feint sent his former teammate sprawling, and the United winger calmly rolled the ball into the empty net.
"A brilliant goal from Marcus Rashford!" screamed the MUTV commentator. "1–0! United lead Chelsea! Rejoice, Red Devils!!!"
"Unbelievable! United have been pinned in their own half all game, yet score from their first shot! A lightning counterattack!" exclaimed Gary Lineker on the BBC broadcast. "Chelsea's luck has deserted them—six shots and no goals, while United need just one! What an efficient, devastating strike!"
Even if he disapproved of Mourinho's defensive tactics, the goal's quality was undeniable. Praise was mandatory.
...
Tuchel was stunned.
What just happened?
A single counterattack—just one—and they were behind.
Completely shell-shocked, he could only watch as United reverted instantly to their defensive shell.
Chelsea threw everything forward, but United's defense was an unbreakable wall. Their attacks shattered against it like waves against rock—scattered and futile.
Ironically, it was Chelsea now tasting the frustration opponents once felt facing Mourinho's own former Chelsea teams. His defensive discipline had clearly rubbed off on United.
As attack after attack failed, frustration set in. Chelsea grew chaotic, disorganized, and exhausted.
Mourinho, however, resisted every temptation to press for a second goal. He ordered full retreat—total defense.
In the final fifteen minutes, the scene was almost comical: Chelsea attacking with just a few players, while every single United man fell back behind the halfway line.
"This is the ugliest FA Cup final I've ever commentated on!" Lineker fumed. "Chaotic Chelsea—gutless United!"
...
Chelsea did come close once.
In the 88th minute, Thiago Silva lofted a perfect pass to Ben Chilwell, who volleyed across goal. Virgil van Dijk's clearance bounced off Victor Lindelöf and into the net—only for VAR to rule Chilwell narrowly offside. No equalizer.
Five minutes later, the referee blew for full time. Chelsea fans booed furiously from the stands.
They had every reason to be angry—their side had played well enough to win on paper—but Manchester United had snatched the trophy through sheer pragmatism.
Tuchel stood frozen, devastated, unable to accept what had just happened.
But the result was final: Manchester United were crowned 2020–2021 FA Cup champions—their fifth title in six years, and the sixteenth FA Cup in club history.
(END CHAPTER)
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