Chapter 19 – Welcome to Anfield

Date: 23/09/2012

Fixture: Premier League Matchday 5 – Liverpool vs Manchester United

Venue: Anfield

The team rolled into Anfield under a rain-slicked sky, greeted by a wall of jeers and flying middle fingers.

Rain tapped against the coach windows, but it was nothing compared to the verbal storm waiting outside.

Red scarves—Liverpool red, not Manchester—waved like warning flags in a sea of fury. Fans banged on the bus panels and held up homemade signs scrawled with insults:

"FERGIE TIME IS OVER!""SCUMchester United!""TRAITOR VAN PERSIE!"

One bald man in a soaked hoodie ran alongside the bus for a full thirty feet just to shout,

"You're not leavin' here alive, Rooney!"

Another pointed directly at the windows with a beer can in hand, screaming:

"Bunch o' rent boys! You lot are finished!"

Bottles clattered on the asphalt as plastic cups of beer were thrown toward the vehicle, splashing harmlessly against the reinforced glass.

Alex peered through the tinted window, his eyes wide. His stomach turned—not with fear, but adrenaline. This wasn't just a football match. It was a battlefield dressed in banners and beer breath.

"Bloody hell…" he muttered.

"Welcome to Liverpool," said Rio Ferdinand from across the aisle, leaning back with a smirk. "Hug your ankles, lads."

"Feels like a war zone already," Alex whispered, eyes still locked on the seething crowd.

"That's 'cause it is," Rooney replied without looking, tugging out one earbud. "Doesn't matter if it's the fifth game or a cup final—this one always counts."

The bus hissed to a stop outside the players' entrance. The boos somehow grew louder.

And then came the chant—thousands of voices in slurred unison:

"Murderers! Scum! You'll never be United!"

Alex swallowed hard.

This... is Anfield.

The Dressing Room – 45 Minutes Before Kick-Off

Sir Alex stood at the front, sharp as ever, his voice slicing through the thick tension.

"This isn't just about points. This is about pride. About history. And nobody forgets who steps up in these games."

He turned briefly toward Alex, sitting quietly among the subs, heart hammering.

"Marshall—you might not start. But stay ready."

Alex nodded. His pulse didn't settle.

Starting XI – Manchester United

Formation: 4-2-3-1

GK: De Gea

DEF: Rafael, Ferdinand, Evans, Evra

MID: Carrick, Scholes

ATT MID: Valencia, Kagawa, Rooney

ST: Van Persie

Bench: Lindegaard, Smalling, Buttner, Anderson, Nani, Welbeck, Marshall

Kick-Off – The Anfield Roar

The Kop thundered.

It wasn't just noise—it was venom. Hatred, sharpened by history, fired like a cannon across the pitch every time a red shirt from Manchester touched the ball.

Thousands of Liverpool supporters stood shoulder to shoulder, chanting like a choir of rage. Scarves held high, middle fingers raised higher, the sound rolled over the pitch like a living organism—loud, relentless, and deeply personal.

"You Manc bastards!""Fergie's finished!""Van Persie, you Judas!"

Every time United's number 20 touched the ball, the volume spiked. Van Persie, now the Premier League's early-season golden boy, soaked in the abuse like fuel. He didn't flinch. He never did. He just adjusted his boots, gave a little smirk, and passed the ball on.

Alex sat stiffly on the bench, zipped up in his training jacket, the club crest rising and falling with each deep breath.

His eyes scanned the field, but his ears kept pulling him back to the noise. It felt like the stadium was built to trap sound, to bottle every scream and throw it back at the players tenfold.

So this is Anfield…

The words echoed through his mind like a sermon. He'd heard the phrase a hundred times on TV, in pressers, from his dad growing up. But sitting here—wrapped in the static hum of hate—he finally understood.

They're not just here to watch.They're here to break you.

"First time here?" came a voice beside him.

Alex turned. Anders Lindegaard, the backup keeper, was grinning, unfazed, chewing gum like they were sitting in a park.

"Yeah," Alex said.

Anders tilted his head toward the Kop.

"Don't take it personal. They scream like that at their own team, too."

Alex gave a nervous half-smile.

"Just means you matter," Welbeck chimed in from the far end of the bench, his knees bouncing. "If they hate you this much, you're doing something right."

Ryan Giggs leaned forward, calm and unreadable, like he'd seen this show a thousand times.

"This is where boys turn to men," he said, eyes still on the pitch.

"Or crumble," Lindegaard added casually.

Everyone chuckled.

Alex laughed too, though quietly. He wasn't sure if it was funny or terrifying. Maybe both.

'They hate us', he thought again. 'Every boot, every pass—it's all fuel to them. And this... this is the price of playing for United.'

He clenched his fists, squeezing warmth into his fingertips. He didn't know if he'd come on. But part of him wanted the chaos. Wanted to walk into that noise and silence it. Needed to. Desperately.

He wasn't afraid.

No.

He was ready.

Rooney darted through midfield. Scholes lofted a perfect pass toward the right channel. Kagawa burst forward. Still, the Kop roared. Still, they mocked every movement.

Alex looked up at the towering stand, a wall of pure hatred—and yet, he could almost hear a different rhythm, buried deep beneath it all.

"Marshall, Marshall, Marshall…"

Not yet.

But soon.

12' – Liverpool Push Back

Sterling darted through United's right side. His cross was dangerous, deflected just wide by Evans. The corner that followed saw Agger flash a header just over the bar.

The crowd grew louder.

18' – A Sudden Counter

It started with a clearance from Carrick.

Rooney dropped deep, collected, and spun with a perfect first touch. He pinged it wide to Kagawa, who drew two defenders before sliding it down the line for Rafael.

The Brazilian full-back burst forward into space, then cut inside—something he rarely tried.

"Shoot!" someone yelled from the bench.

He did.

GOAL – Rafael (1–0 United)

Rafael curled a stunning left-footed effort into the top far corner.

Top bins.

The net rippled.

Deafening silence from the Kop.

United players mobbed him in front of the traveling fans. Even Sir Alex stood and clapped.

"That'll shut 'em up for a bit," Rio said as he jogged back.

Alex grinned. First blood to United.

26' – Liverpool Equalize (1–1)

But the joy didn't last.

Liverpool responded quickly. Allen fed Suarez, who twisted between Ferdinand and Evans. A soft touch took him into the box. A slip from Evans. Suarez cut it back—Gerrard. One touch. Shot.

Bottom corner.

Equal again.

The noise returned with vengeance.

35' – Foul Tension

Rooney clashed with Skrtel. Valencia shoved. Evra barked at the referee. The match turned nasty.

From the bench, Alex could feel the tempo dragging toward chaos. Players weren't just running—they were crashing, lunging, throwing elbows behind the referee's back.

"They're trying to drag us down," Scholes muttered to Carrick, dusting himself off. "Don't fall for it."

43' – Flash of Brilliance

Rooney dropped deep again. This time, he played a give-and-go with Scholes, then slid Van Persie through with a clever disguised ball.

Van Persie dragged the ball across Agger and pulled the trigger.

It took a fingertip save from Reina to keep it out.

"Oooof," the bench reacted in chorus.

Half-Time Whistle – 1–1

The whistle blew, cutting through the roar.

Players walked off, breathing heavy, eyes darting toward each other with sharp, unspoken challenges.

Alex followed behind the senior players toward the tunnel, a bundle of nerves and burning hunger.

"You'll be on soon," Sir Alex told him in a low voice, not turning around. "Keep your head."

He nodded.

Let them sing now, Alex thought. Second half, they'll scream my name.