The counter-attack launched by Modric's audacious heel-flick instantly put Kaka into a wide-open area. Makelele, recognizing the existential threat, spun around and charged at Kaka the moment the Brazilian received the pass. But as Lineker had just stated, the 34-year-old French "iron waist" was simply no match for the Kaka at his explosive peak. With a simple, deceptive change of direction and an immediate surge of acceleration, Kaka left the legendary veteran floundering behind him.
But Makelele was an old warrior; he wouldn't give up easily. He immediately spun and chased, while in front of Kaka, the central defender Alex had already charged up, blocking the Brazilian's clear path toward goal. Makelele, despite being beaten, retained a sliver of hope: surely, with a coordinated attack from the front and back, they could stop Kaka?
Kaka saw Alex coming, but he didn't give the towering defender the opportunity to get close enough for a tackle. Kaka was like a gust of wind at full speed; he didn't slow down for any extra feints. Instead, he used his right foot to subtly shift the ball further to his left and then injected another burst of acceleration, directly splitting the space Alex had tried to block. The Brazilian ran right past the committed tackle, leaving Alex grasping at the air.
After bypassing Alex, a gaping void opened up. Kaka only needed one more strong touch to reach the ball and take another step forward, and he would be one-on-one with Petr Cech.
The Chelsea defense descended into frantic desperation. Alex scrambled to chase Kaka, but the pace differential was too great. Makelele, realizing the chase was useless, ran toward the penalty area instead, hoping to cut off a potential pass or use his body to block a fraction of the shooting angle when Kaka finally unleashed his strike.
Seeing the imminent danger, Belletti, Chelsea's right-back, who was the closest man to the ball's trajectory, finally committed to the chaos. He abandoned Bale on the left flank—a calculated risk that felt less disastrous than letting Kaka shoot—and sprinted toward the Brazilian. He decided that it didn't matter if he committed a foul; Kaka hadn't entered the box yet. Belletti simply planned to slide and destroy the ball as soon as he reached the necessary distance.
It turned out to be a good judgment of the situation. To successfully clear Alex, Kaka's final, brilliant touch had been a little heavy. The ball was running slightly ahead of him. As Belletti launched into his desperate, low tackle, Kaka was just catching up to the ball.
The Brazilian's mind raced. If he tried to continue dribbling, the ball would likely run away from him, and Belletti would only succeed in fouling him just outside the box. As he struggled with the split-second decision, a white blur appeared in his peripheral vision.
Without a moment of hesitation, Kaka used his toes to execute a magnificent, improvised scoop-pass, picking the ball up and over the sprawling body of Belletti and into the penalty area. He then used the last sliver of strength in his legs to leap into the air, completely avoiding the bone-jarring tackle.
As Kaka rose from the turf and looked up, he witnessed the culmination of his heroic run.
Gareth Bale, the white figure Kaka had seen in the corner of his eye, had surged into the box, perfectly receiving the aerial scoop. Bale took one perfect touch and swung his powerful, sturdy left leg.
Cech reacted, but the shot was a cannonball. His flailing arm, waving uselessly in the air, didn't come close to touching the ball. The strike flew past the Czech keeper like lightning and slammed into the back of the net!
GOAL!!! Leeds United Takes the Lead!
"Goooooooooooool! Beautiful!! Beautiful!! Beautiful!! It's Gareth Bale!! 2-1! In the 64th minute of the game, Leeds United have seized the lead!" Lineker screamed, the excitement of the goal overshadowing any trace of impartiality.
"It's impossible to defend! It's impossible to defend at all!" the co-commentator gasped. "Kaka only used two changes of direction to completely eliminate both Makelele and Alex! And I have to say this, though it's very impolite: Mourinho'ssubstitution is an absolute disaster!"
As Lineker's voice echoed the verdict, the Leeds United players ran to the corner flag for the second time, facing the now-frenzied fans in the stands to celebrate the spectacular go-ahead goal.
Arthur was not about to be outdone by his team. After hugging his assistant, Simeone, to celebrate the goal, he spun around to face the mass of fans in the stands and launched into his signature "Farmer's Three Punches"—his awkward, joyful celebration. Unlike the previous goal, the fans didn't merely cheer in response. This time, their reaction was a coordinated, overwhelming force.
Every time Arthur threw a punch into the air, the more than 50,000 fans packed into Elland Road Stadium would shout in perfect unison, their voices echoing off the old stands:
"Arthur!!! Arthur!!! Arthur!!! Arthur!!!"
It was no wonder Arthur was so animated. He could see the truth: Chelsea had been utterly stunned by the recent relentless, high-speed offensive from Leeds United. They had been tactically beaten and mentally broken by the sheer persistence and creative density of the five-man midfield.
Although there were still more than twenty minutes left in the game, and the score was only 2-1, Arthur knew Mourinhowas trapped. The Portuguese manager had no credible way to strengthen his offense without completely exposing his defense. Arthur glanced at the Chelsea bench. He could see Mourinho's most likely move: replace Wright-Phillips with Shevchenko. But that substitution wouldn't have any real effect on Leeds United, which was now completely in the ascendant.
While Arthur celebrated, Mourinho was not idle. After arranging for Shevchenko to begin warming up—a move of grim necessity—he sat back down on the bench. He looked across the pitch at Arthur, who was smiling wildly and punching the air, his face unnervingly calm. In his eyes, however, one could see a distant image: the memory of himself leading Chelsea to win the Premier League championship just three years prior, a victory that now felt impossibly far away.
*****
Arthur was absolutely right.
The moment referee Martin Atkinson blew his whistle to restart the game, the tactical imbalance was immediately exposed. Chelsea, desperate to respond, mounted a swift attack that quickly broke down when the substitute Shevchenko, struggling to find his footing, sent a weak shot whinging harmlessly out over the goal line. Leeds United took possession of the ball once more, and the counter-press began, methodical and relentless.
The clock ticked past the 79th minute. The tension in the air was palpable, yet Leeds United played with the composure of a surgeon.
Sneijder took the ball near the midfield line and began to organize the attack, dribbling forward with deceptive ease. He carried the ball deep, reaching an area about thirty meters from Petr Cech's goal. Predictably, Essien, running on fumes after his relentless chasing, rushed up to defend the Dutchman.
Sneijder slowed his dribbling speed, a slight pause that functioned as a visual cue. He saw Adriano running out of the penalty area to meet him, acting as a crucial target man. Just as importantly, Sneijder glanced quickly at Carvalho, who was tailing Adriano. After a split-second assessment, Sneijder tapped the ball wide and played it to Adriano.
The psychological warfare began the moment Adriano received the ball. Carvalho had a yellow card hanging over his head like a guillotine. Although he was physically close to the Brazilian striker, he dared not commit to a full tackle. He knew the theatrical tendencies of South American forwards: if his outstretched foot missed the ball and Adriano went down, there was a high probability that two yellow cards would become one inevitable red card, and he would be sent off.
In this compromised situation, Adriano easily used his massive frame to lean on Carvalho, establishing control. He didn't turn. Instead, he simply knocked the ball back with a smart, sharp touch to Sneijder, who had continued his run past the exhausted Essien.
Two passes. That's all it took.
When Sneijder received the return pass, he was already standing right on the edge of the Chelsea penalty area line. In front of him, the box was crowded with white shirts: Adriano had run back in, and Kaka, De Bruyne, and Bale were surging forward, advancing rapidly from different angles, each dragging a Chelsea defender behind them like a desperate tail.
Sneijder lifted his right leg high, winding up for a cross. Every Chelsea player on the field stared at him, their eyes wide with panic, trying to calculate the landing point of the inevitable ball into the packed penalty area.
But then came the surprise. Sneijder did not choose to hang the ball up. He executed another perfect feint, making a soft, sideways pass that knocked the ball back to the completely vacated space at the very top of the Chelsea penalty area.
Carvalho, who had been occupying that space previously, had followed Adriano back into the thick of the penalty area. The result? The critical zone at the edge of the box was completely empty.
The next second, a familiar white blur appeared in that precise position. There was not a single Chelsea defender within five yards of him!
"Xabi Alonso!!!" Lineker shrieked, recognizing the danger instantly.
Alonso took the shot without any adjustment whatsoever. His right foot connected with the ball with massive power, driving it forward like a lightning bolt, devoid of any rotation, making it notoriously difficult for the goalkeeper to track.
Cech flew into the air, a huge silhouette against the floodlights, but the ball was already past him. He didn't get a fingertip to it.
One agonizing second later, the third thunderous cheer of the afternoon erupted, shaking the foundations of Elland Road!!!