Chapter 59: A Humiliating Disgrace
The first half ended with a long-range shot from Wayne Rooney.
The English prodigy struck it with power, but the ball soared over the bar, posing little threat.
It was a fitting summary of Manchester United's performance in the first 45 minutes—dominant in appearance, but toothless in execution.
By contrast, Bayswater Chinese had made their limited possession count. Their counterattacks were crisp, effective, and even saw them net a "goal"—though it was ruled out.
"United's midfield control isn't what it used to be," Brian Kidd said, walking shoulder to shoulder with Yang Cheng back to the dressing room, a touch of nostalgia in his tone.
Back in the day, he and Ferguson had built United's golden midfield quartet: Giggs, Scholes, Roy Keane, and Beckham. With relentless running and pinpoint passing, they had dominated Europe.
Now, Beckham had moved to Spain. Giggs, Scholes, and Keane were all past 30—their legs no longer what they once were.
And with that, United's control in midfield had faded too.
"No doubt their backline has problems too—especially the right side with Phil Neville and O'Shea," Yang Cheng added.
Franck Ribéry had been a menace all half, tearing into United's right flank.
Of course, part of that was down to Ribéry's brilliance.
But it also exposed United's defensive weakness.
Gary Neville was out injured. Phil Neville and O'Shea were the only ones left who could fill in.
In the center, Ferdinand was also sidelined—already ruled out for the Liverpool match, never mind the League Cup.
Wes Brown was injured too.
That left Ferguson with few options at center-back: Silvestre, Heinze, O'Shea, and the teenager Gerard Piqué.
Silvestre or Heinze had to play left-back, which left only two center-backs.
Ferguson clearly didn't fully trust Piqué yet.
The future linchpin of Barça and Spain was still a month shy of 18. Highly rated, yes—but too raw for such responsibility.
So Ferguson went with O'Shea and Silvestre.
But on the pitch, that right side couldn't handle Ribéry.
Yang Cheng had noted it. He knew what had to be done.
Back in the dressing room, he first praised the team for their first-half performance.
0–0 at Old Trafford? Against Manchester United? No one was disappointed.
Still, he pointed out a few issues.
Lass Diarra was everywhere on defense, but his tracking back wasn't always timely.
"We're going to tweak things a little in the second half."
"Franck." He turned to Ribéry.
"Be more aggressive. I want you to crack open their right side—Phil Neville and O'Shea."
"Luka. Richie." He motioned to Modrić and Lambert.
"You two support him."
"Aaron," Yang Cheng said, turning to Lennon, "your job is to pin down Heinze on the other flank. Hit them hard on the counter when the chance comes."
With both Diarra and Andreasen performing well, Yang Cheng felt confident about the defense.
Kevin Foley, only 20, was calm and focused—he could be trusted to defend.
"Alright!"
He clapped his hands, drawing the team's attention.
"After that first half, you all know what kind of team United is. You've felt it."
"But it's 0–0. That means we're not worse than them. And we've had more dangerous chances."
"That means we were right!"
"But now we change. In the second half, we press the attack, force them into a war of attrition!"
Ferguson couldn't risk exhausting his squad with Liverpool looming on the weekend.
If he spent everything tonight—what would he have left for Anfield?
…
Sure enough, Ferguson made a change at halftime.
Giggs came on for Scholes.
Rooney moved centrally. Giggs took the left wing.
United shifted to a 4-4-1-1, Rooney playing just behind Saha.
Right from the restart, United came forward.
Within a minute, Rooney drew a free kick off Koscielny.
Cristiano Ronaldo stepped up—but his shot was harmless.
Bayswater Chinese weren't rattled.
On the contrary, they responded with fire.
They launched their own attack.
Ribéry led the charge.
United cleared the initial thrust—but Bayswater's front line immediately pressed again.
Ribéry even chased all the way to Tim Howard, forcing the American keeper into a hurried clearance that went straight to Diarra.
His shot from distance flew over—but United were rattled.
One minute later, another attack.
Ribéry collected the ball in the left channel, shook off Phil Neville, danced past O'Shea at the edge of the box, and fired a low shot with his left foot.
Howard dived—but couldn't reach it.
At the far post, Heinze arrived just in time to clear it off the line.
Three minutes later, just when it seemed everything was going down the left, Andreasen switched play with a long diagonal ball.
Lennon flew forward on the right.
He tried to beat Heinze with raw pace.
But the Argentine flew in with a reckless tackle, bringing Lennon down just outside the box.
Right in front of Yang Cheng.
He exploded.
"BUTCHER! MURDERER! THAT'S A RED CARD!"
Old Trafford erupted.
United weren't playing well, and now this punk coach dared to scream here?
A wall of boos came down from the stands.
And among them—slurs, abuse, discrimination.
Referee Barry rushed over to calm Yang Cheng down.
But he insisted it wasn't malicious.
Lennon stood up, unfazed.
Yang Cheng wanted to kick him in the ass.
You should've rolled. Wailed. Sold it. Learn to act, damn it!
The ref showed Heinze a yellow, with a stern warning.
Next time, it's red.
Yang Cheng kept muttering and fuming on the sideline.
…
"That bastard—what is he, fresh out of Hollywood?"
Ferguson fumed, slamming into his seat.
Heinze's challenge had been rough—but not outrageous.
In the Premier League, that kind of tackle happened every weekend.
Experienced defenders used those moments to intimidate young players.
Yang Cheng's over-the-top theatrics were calculated.
And it made Ferguson furious.
"Smart little prick," muttered Carlos Queiroz beside him.
"He knows we have to hold back for Liverpool."
Ferguson clenched his jaw.
It was like fighting with your hands tied while your opponent swung freely.
Infuriating.
"We underestimated them," he admitted.
Queiroz looked surprised. It was rare for the old man to say that.
Always use full force—even to hunt a rabbit.
Ferguson had used his backups in the FA Cup against Exeter—and drawn.
He thought he'd learned his lesson.
So tonight, he fielded almost a full-strength squad.
But he'd told his players to save something for the weekend.
And now?
He was stuck.
Had they gone all-in early and scored, things would be different.
But now… they were playing on Bayswater's terms.
Ferguson was boxed in.
Fight now and risk exhaustion at Anfield?
Or play it safe and risk embarrassment?
Then, something else caught his attention.
"He's really only 24? No coaching license?"
Queiroz nodded, smiling wryly.
Everyone had been asking the same thing.
On the surface, it seemed like Brian Kidd was calling the shots behind the scenes.
That Yang Cheng was just a spoiled rich kid looking for attention.
But Ferguson knew Kidd too well.
He didn't have that kind of vision.
So this was all Yang Cheng?
That was terrifying.
A 24-year-old, straight out of university, never played professionally, never formally studied coaching—and yet he commanded the sideline better than most veterans.
And it wasn't just theory.
His in-game decisions were brilliant. Better than many with decades in the dugout.
Real-time tactics are incredibly difficult.
Even "tactical geniuses" struggle under pressure.
Even Wenger, for all his brilliance, wasn't known for in-game management.
But Yang Cheng?
He looked like he was born for this.
Ferguson looked back at the pitch.
Bayswater Chinese were now pressing United back, wave after wave.
They were dictating the pace at Old Trafford.
He was furious.
And helpless.
…
In the 67th minute, Ferguson brought on Alan Smith for Ronaldo.
That signaled his decision: play it safe.
Save strength for the weekend.
After all, the League Cup still had a second leg.
Yang Cheng responded with a like-for-like switch.
Kitson on for Lambert.
It was a signal: go for it.
And just one minute later—Kitson nearly scored.
Lennon crossed from the right. Kitson rose for a header—just over the bar.
But Bayswater were finding rhythm.
United were backpedaling.
The minnows were now dominating the giants.
The cameras cut to the sidelines.
"Ferguson looks absolutely livid. This might be the most humiliating match he's faced in years."
"The last time United were humbled like this at Old Trafford was in the Champions League Round of 16 last season—Porto drew 1–1 here and knocked them out 3–2 on aggregate."
"That Porto team was led by none other than José Mourinho, now dominating the Premier League with Chelsea."
"And this season's Bayswater Chinese? One of the most exciting teams in the Championship."
"Maybe, just maybe—we'll see them back here in the Premier League next year."
In the 75th minute, Ferguson subbed Gerard Piqué in for Silvestre.
Seeing the teenager jog on, Yang Cheng had a sudden thought:
Should I try to sign him?
Not that it was impossible.
Piqué's type—a ball-playing defender—wasn't in vogue in the Premier League yet.
Not even Ferguson was fully sold.
So he wouldn't stay at United long.
But the idea of grooming him only to lose him to Barça made Yang Cheng sick.
And in his heart?
He had his eye on an even better defender waiting in the wings.
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