Chapter 24 – Fire Fights Fire

29 September 2012

Old Trafford

The locker room door slammed shut behind them.

Boots scraped against the tile. Shirts peeled off sweaty backs. There was no music, no banter. Just tension.

Sir Alex stood in front of the whiteboard, arms folded. His eyes scanned the room like a headmaster preparing for judgment.

"You lot," he started, voice low but sharp, "are playing like the match ended when you walked out the tunnel."

He pointed at the board. Two goals circled in red."Bale's running you ragged. Rafael—stop diving in." He turned to Ferdinand."Hold your damn line. No more backing off like it's a testimonial."

Then, his tone changed."But listen—Kagawa's goal just cracked the door open. If you have any pride left, kick it off the hinges."

His eyes landed on Alex, who had already stripped off his jacket and was bouncing on the balls of his feet."You're going on. Right side. Be smart. Be bold. And take the game to them."

Rooney added from the side, panting, "One more goal and they'll wobble. Press high. It's not over."

Meanwhile, in the Spurs dressing room…

Villas-Boas clapped his hands sharply to snap the players' focus back.

"Alright, listen up. This isn't over."

The dressing room at Old Trafford was hot and tense — steam rising off shirts, the scent of sweat and liniment thick in the air. Players sat on benches gulping water, breathing heavy but alert. They had a lead, but they'd felt the momentum shifting.

"They're going to come flying," Villas-Boas said, pacing in front of the whiteboard, slick with rainwater from the pitch. "Expect it. Expect the crowd. Expect the chaos. Ride it."

He jabbed a finger at the image of Alex Marshall projected on the screen. The photo was from last week — the assist to Van Persie at Anfield, frozen mid-sprint with his arms outstretched.

"This boy's sixteen. But he plays like he's thirty. Don't treat him like a novelty — treat him like a f**king threat."

The room quieted.

"He'll come in from the right, try to isolate one of you, then cut in on his left. Lennon, track back and double him. No room to breathe."

Lennon nodded, sweat glistening on his brow. "Got it. No gaps."

"Vertonghen, don't step too early. He'll bait you."

The Belgian gave a curt thumbs up. "I've seen his footwork. We'll keep him wide."

Villas-Boas turned to Bale. The Welshman was sitting at the edge of the massage table, lacing his boots with mechanical calm.

"You've got their number tonight. Rafael's hanging by a thread."

Bale smirked. "He's lunging. One more step wrong and I'll go past him."

"Good. Keep him honest. But don't chase headlines — chase the win. That third goal will break them."

He took a step forward and raised his voice for the whole squad.

"They're wounded, but not dead. Don't sit back. We pin their full-backs, press Carrick, and keep the gaps tight between lines. If we lose this lead, it's on us."

Defoe leaned back, stretching his calves. "They're rattled, boss. But they'll come out swinging."

"They always do. So hit first," Villas-Boas said, slapping his hands together. "And for God's sake—keep your heads."

Bale stood up, rolled his shoulders, and glanced at the projected image of Alex again.

"He's good," he muttered to Lennon, who stood beside him.

"Yeah," Lennon replied. "But let's show him what Premier League football really feels like."

Second Half

Kick-off.

Alex was on, replacing Valencia. The crowd noticed immediately — the noise shifted from anxious to eager.

Commentator 1: "There he is — Marshall comes on at just sixteen. Sir Alex clearly trusts him in big moments."

Commentator 2: "He changed the game at Anfield. Now he's got forty-five minutes to do it again."

The tempo was ferocious.

Tottenham tried to sit deeper, but United surged forward. Scholes dictated, Rooney drove, and Alex gave Rafael an outlet on the right with nonstop sprints.

58th Minute 

A sloppy Spurs clearance was pounced on by Carrick, who calmly cushioned the ball with his thigh before sweeping it wide to Alex on the right.

"Here we go again," muttered Commentator 1. "Every time Marshall gets the ball, something happens."

Alex killed the ball with a velvet touch — not a bounce, not a wobble — just instant control. The crowd buzzed as he lifted his head and surged forward like a loaded spring.

Vertonghen squared up, shoulders tense, knees bent.

Alex gave a subtle body feint to the right — a little stutter — and then exploded inside on his left foot, skipping past Vertonghen like he was a cone.

Commentator 2: "Oh, that's smooth! He's just rolled past one of the league's best defenders!"

Near the byline now, Alex cut the ball low and hard across the box. It zipped through a sea of legs.

Kagawa, clever as ever, stepped over it — a phantom touch that fooled everyone.

Behind him, Nani arrived like a bullet.

CRACK!

The ball rocketed off his right foot, flying past Friedel before the keeper could blink.

2–2. Game on.

Old Trafford erupted.

Commentator 1: "What a response! Nani with the finish, but give the credit to the teenager — Alexander Marshall lit the fuse!"

Commentator 2: "He dragged the entire left side of Spurs with him, and had the awareness to cut it back — brilliant play from the lad!"

Alex pumped his fists and turned, sprinting toward the corner flag, chased by Kagawa and Cleverley.

Nani pointed at him as he ran to join the celebration. "That's yours, brother! You put it on a plate!"

"Finish was all you," Alex grinned, slapping his chest.

Rooney jogged over from midfield, ruffling Alex's hair. "That's how we turn a game, kid. Keep going."

Even Sir Alex allowed himself a little nod from the sideline, arms still crossed, but his eyes gleaming.

But Spurs didn't break.

They weathered the surge like a team that had been warned. Villas-Boas was on the touchline, shouting and gesturing wildly, urging his players to keep their heads.

Tottenham found breath again. And they bit back.

Bale, whose shirt clung to him like a second skin in the damp night air, surged forward with Defoe. A slick one-two caught United's midfield flat, and they broke in numbers.

The crowd gasped as Bale threaded it out wide to Lennon. His low cross was scrambled away by Evans — barely.

But the clearance didn't go far. It rolled, slowly and cruelly, to the top of the box.

68th Minute.

Gareth Bale stepped up.

He shaped like he was going to whip it toward the back post — Carrick flinched, Evans took a step — and then crack.

He laced it low, hard, between Evans' legs.

The ball caught a tiny deflection off the defender's shin — just enough to shift its path.

De Gea dove left.

The ball went right.

GOAL — 3–2 TOTTENHAM.

Commentator 1: "That might be the dagger. Bale's second of the night — and what a performance he's putting on here at Old Trafford."

Commentator 2: "Unstoppable tonight. He's got that look — head down, tunnel vision, and nothing but net."

The away end roared. Bale didn't even celebrate wildly — just jogged toward the sideline, fists clenched, eyes blazing with adrenaline.

On the United bench, silence.

83rd Minute

Scholes picked it up deep and carried forward. Rooney made a decoy run, dragging defenders.

Alex lingered in the half-space, then darted behind Bale, unmarked.

Scholes saw it.

One pass. Threaded like a needle.

Alex took it on the run, touched it into stride — one defender coming across. He chopped inside on his left foot and unleashed a curling shot toward the far post.

Time slowed.

Commentator 1: "Marshall shoots—"

Commentator 2: "—OH MY WORD, WHAT A HIT!"

It kissed the inside of the post and rippled the net.

3–3.

Old Trafford exploded.

Alex sprinted toward the corner flag, arms wide, roaring into the night. Rafael jumped on his back. Even Ferdinand came storming forward to ruffle his hair.

Sir Alex clapped once, sharply. Then smiled. It was a knowing smile. The boy had done it again.

Post-Match – Full-Time Whistle

The players shook hands, exhaustion in every step.

Bale approached Alex near midfield, wiping sweat from his brow.

"That was some goal," he said, offering his hand.

Alex smiled. "Yours weren't too bad either."

They shared a quick laugh. Bale pulled off his shirt and handed it over."You keep making noise like that, we'll be seeing each other a lot."

Alex swapped shirts with him, nodding with quiet respect.

"Looking forward to it."

Two stars — one rising, one blazing — walked off the pitch side by side.

The beginning of a respectful rivalry.

Post-Match Media Coverage – Manchester United 3-3 Tottenham Hotspur

Sky Sports Anchor:"An absolute thriller at Old Trafford tonight. Manchester United and Tottenham share the spoils in a six-goal spectacle. Let's head to the tunnel for reactions."

Sir Alex Ferguson – Post-Match Interview

Sir Alex, still flushed from the tension, speaks in his usual firm, gravelled tone, flanked by flashing microphones.

Reporter "Sir Alex, you looked frustrated for large parts of the game but pulled it back in the end. What's your verdict?"

Sir Alex "We gave them too much in the first half — too much space, too much respect. You can't do that against players like Bale or Defoe. But I have to credit the lads. The fightback, the grit — especially from the young boy Marshall — that was special."

Reporter "Speaking of Marshall, how would you describe his impact?"

Sir Alex small smirk "He's still learning, aye — but he's got something. He sees things before they happen. That's not taught. That's instinct. And when the game was on the line, he didn't hide."

Alexander Marshall

Alex stands under the stadium lights, hair damp, cheeks flushed. A mix of adrenaline and humility hangs in his voice.

Reporter "Alex, another high-pressure moment, and you delivered again. Talk us through that final goal."

Alex chuckling "It all happened fast. I saw space, Kagawa drew two defenders, and when the ball fell to me, I just… hit it. Didn't think. It's instinct at that point."

Reporter "You've now assisted against Liverpool and scored against Tottenham. Are you feeling like you belong at this level?"

Alex pauses, then smiles "I'm just trying to help the team. That's it. Every match is a lesson. I've got world-class players around me. I'm just learning."

Gareth Bale 

Bale stands, hands on hips, still catching his breath. Two goals, but no win.

Reporter "Gareth, you were unplayable tonight. But in the end, just a point. How do you feel?"

Bale Bit mixed, really. I thought we had it. We were sharp — but you switch off for a second against United, and they punish you. That kid Marshall… credit to him. Composed finish."

Reporter "You exchanged shirts with him at the end there ?"

Bale grins "Yeah. I've seen his clips. Kid's got a good head. If he keeps going like this… he's one to watch."

André Villas-Boas 

Villas-Boas is tense but composed, gesturing with subtle frustration.

Reporter "André, your team led twice but couldn't hold on. What went wrong?"

Villas-Boas "We lacked control in key moments. You go 3–2 up at Old Trafford, you have to kill the match. We didn't. And they punished us with a youngster — again."

Reporter "Marshall seems to be earning more and more respect. Thoughts on him?"

Villas-Boas "I warned the lads. He's not just a kid. He moves like a senior, thinks like a senior. Players like that — they change games. He did."

Studio Recap with Pundits

Gary Neville "He's 16 and already impacting matches at the top level. You don't fake that. Marshall's the real deal — and what a response after going 3–2 down."

Jamie Redknapp: "Absolutely. But let's not forget Bale either — he was world-class tonight. If this is a new rivalry, I'm here for it."

[Well that's it for United V Spurs, in the real life United lost 3-2 but because of the appereance of the MC i made it a draw, i feel like if it's a win is a bit of a stretch, Gareth Bale this season is insane, it's the season before he left for Madrid]