Football Manager: Running a Rip-off club

"Bale's shot! Van der Sar reacts—he punches it away into the danger zone… Rivaldo! Volley!!!" Lineker's voice climbed into a near scream, utterly breathless. "Wow!! What a goal!!! Leeds United have done it again! Arthur seems to be sending Ferguson a clear message—'Even if I sold you Berbatov, I've still got plenty of magic left in my team!'"

The fans watching at home were just as electrified as those in the stands. The replays rolled again and again—Rivaldo's left-footed volley caught the ball at its sweetest point, sending it flying into the corner of the net, just grazing the post on its way in.

Van der Sar, who had shifted back to the center of goal after saving Bale's shot, had no chance. The Dutch veteran, frozen in mid-air, became little more than a silhouette against the perfection of the goal.

And ever since the earlier tussle between Lahm and Rooney in the Leeds United penalty area, the Elland Road crowd had been in full voice. Their roars hadn't let up, and now, with this goal, they exploded.

When the ball crossed the line, it was as if the stadium itself erupted. Flags flew, scarves spun overhead, strangers hugged, and fists were pumped into the sky. Rivaldo, already racing toward the sideline with arms wide open, was mobbed by teammates just before he could reach the corner flag.

Even the coaching staff joined in. Players on the bench sprinted over. Arthur leapt up and tried to get to Rivaldo too—but he got blocked halfway by the wave of celebrating players. He laughed and threw his hands in the air, knowing he couldn't even get close.

"Rivaldo has scored a stunning goal!" Eddie Gray's voice echoed over the roar of the stadium, filled with awe. "The Brazilian veteran, who's barely featured this season, has shown he's still got fire in those legs! Van der Sar did everything he could—he dealt with Bale's first effort brilliantly. But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that volley!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gray continued, nearly shouting now to be heard over the crowd, "brace yourselves! The score has shifted again—Leeds United now lead Manchester United 2–1!"

On the touchline, Arthur turned back to his bench and gave a huge grin, shaking his head in disbelief as if even he hadn't expected the substitution to pay off that quickly.

Lineker, back in the studio, was equally ecstatic. "It's just beautiful. I could swear I'm watching the Rivaldo of four years ago when he was still dazzling at the Camp Nou… And let's not forget, he's only been on the pitch for—what—two minutes? Kevin, this substitution couldn't have been timed better."

As Lineker spoke, the TV broadcast played the replay of the goal for a fourth time, now with a focus on the build-up—starting from Toure's precise through ball, Bale's drive, the punch from Van der Sar, and then the lightning-quick finish.

"Just look at that counterattack," Lineker analyzed. "Park Ji-sung and Carrick were both so drawn to Toure at the top of the box. They were glued to him—understandably—but that left Rivaldo completely unmarked at the far post. By the time anyone realized where he was, the ball was already in the net."

Blackwell, sitting beside Lineker in the studio, nodded grimly but gave credit where it was due.

"It's hard to understand what Manchester United's defenders were thinking," he said. "You can't give a former Ballon d'Or winner—yes, even at thirty-five—that kind of space. It was clinical, ruthless, and you have to say, Arthur's plan worked to perfection."

And back on the pitch, as the Leeds United players returned to their positions, the cheers still rumbled from every stand. The fans knew what this meant. Their team had come from behind again. They had struck with speed and precision—just like they'd done so many times this season.

The scoreboard now read: Leeds United 2, Manchester United 1.

The battle was far from over—but in that moment, Elland Road belonged to Leeds. And Rivaldo, the veteran once doubted, once benched, had reminded the world that class never fades.

****

The final whistle hadn't sounded yet, but the way Leeds United celebrated made it feel like they had already secured a famous victory.

Their players were jumping, hugging, high-fiving, screaming in joy. From Torres and Bale to Lahm and Kompany, every player looked like they had just won a cup final. Rivaldo, the man of the moment, was surrounded by teammates slapping his back, tousling his hair, and grinning ear to ear. The atmosphere on the pitch was electric. The home fans roared along with them, fully immersed in the eruption of celebration.

On the other side of the pitch, however, Manchester United were a picture of gloom. Their players stood scattered and silent, frustrated looks on their faces. They had spent nearly twenty minutes camped in Leeds United's half, throwing everything forward, dominating possession. Yet again, it was all undone by a single devastating counterattack.

It was déjà vu. Just like in the first half, they had been caught out on a corner kick. And once again, Leeds punished them.

Sir Alex Ferguson's face was bright red with fury. Arms flailing, he charged toward the edge of his technical area, shouting in rage.

"Cristiano!" he barked across the pitch. "Are you going to come back and defend at any point today? How many bloody times do I need to say it? You have to help Neville when we lose the ball! If you don't want to run, I'll gladly take you off!"

His voice cracked with anger as he turned to another target.

"Park! What were you thinking?! I told you to help Carrick keep an eye on Toure, not forget the entire right flank exists! How do you let that space open up like that? What do you think this is, training?"

He shook his head and grumbled something under his breath, too furious to speak clearly.

The goal from Rivaldo had clearly shaken United—not just on the scoreboard but mentally. Their defensive shape was a mess, and their confidence had dipped. Meanwhile, Leeds United were buzzing with energy.

The crowd, loud already, had become deafening. The chants for Arthur and the players echoed around Elland Road. Rivaldo's name was now on every fan's lips.

Up 2–1 with less than 30 minutes to play, Leeds now looked like the stronger side—not just tactically, but mentally too.

At kickoff, Manchester United tried to respond quickly. They needed at least two goals if they wanted all three points. The urgency was there—but their execution began to unravel.

With time working against them, United began pushing forward in numbers. But their attacks became rushed. Their passes lost sharpness. Their decision-making faltered.

Rooney tried threading a ball between two defenders—intercepted.

Carrick attempted a diagonal switch under pressure—straight out for a throw.

Ronaldo picked up the ball on the wing and tried a step-over too many—dispossessed and then slow to chase back.

From the sidelines, Arthur watched it all unfold with a focused look. He wasn't celebrating anymore. He was analyzing.

He saw United's growing impatience, the gaps left behind their surging fullbacks, the tired legs of Scholes replaced, the frustration in Carrick's body language.

And he knew it was time.

He walked calmly over to the fourth official and made a double substitution.

Yaya Toure—one of the heroes of the match—was called off, as was Mascherano, who had been running nonstop since the opening whistle.

In their places, Arthur sent on Luka Modric and Xabi Alonso.

Both were calm, composed passers. Tactical thinkers. Exactly the type of players Leeds needed to slow the tempo, retain possession, and kill the game off in midfield.

With those changes, Leeds reverted back to their familiar and balanced 4-2-3-1 formation. They now had the legs to press when needed, and the brains to keep the ball when Manchester United got desperate.

Arthur turned back toward the pitch and clapped his hands twice. "Keep it simple! Stay compact! Use the ball!"

The players understood.

In the 77th minute, Leeds won the ball again deep in their own half. A few quick passes out of pressure, and Ribery carried the ball past the halfway line. Neville flew in from the side to try and stop him, and managed to get a toe in—knocking the ball out of play.

Throw-in to Leeds United in the final third.

It didn't seem like much, but Arthur immediately saw the opportunity. Neville was yelling back at his teammates to fall into shape, but Manchester United's defensive line was still disorganized. Several players were slow to recover, still hanging back from their last failed attack.

Arthur's eyes lit up.

They weren't ready.

****

As the throw-in was taken quickly by Ribery, Leeds United looked to strike the final blow.

Torres, sharp as ever, spotted the gap forming between Manchester United's two centre-backs and darted behind them just as Ribery launched the throw. Since there's no offside rule for a throw-in, Torres timed his run perfectly.

The ball dropped beautifully from the sky, and Torres cushioned it with his right foot—clean, soft, and controlled. In one smooth motion, he was off, charging toward the penalty area with Vidic scrambling to recover.

Vidic sprinted across with urgency, trying to close the space. But just as he stepped in to tackle, Torres pulled off a sudden feint and chopped the ball to his left. It was a classic change of direction—sharp and unexpected. Vidic was left flat-footed, watching helplessly as the Spaniard darted past.

Now inside the box with only Van der Sar to beat, Torres didn't hesitate. He swung his left foot through the ball with power and elegance, launching a curling strike toward the far top corner.

The ball rose, spinning as it cut through the Elland Road air, tracing a stunning arc toward the upper left corner of the goal.

Van der Sar saw it coming. He'd been alert the entire match, his concentration unwavering. He spotted Torres' movement and tensed immediately when the striker began to shoot. The Dutch veteran pushed off with lightning speed, diving with arms outstretched, eyes fixed on the ball like a hawk.

But the shot was traveling fast. The angle was brutal.

Van der Sar flew across goal, fingers extended, and for a moment, the stadium held its breath.

And then—nothing.

No net ripple. No roar.

The ball had curled just too much.

It clipped the outside of the far post and spun harmlessly behind the goal, brushing the net support on its way out. A collective gasp swept through the home crowd, followed by an audible groan of frustration.

"Ohhh, Fernando!" shouted Lineker from the commentary box. "That was nearly the goal of the season! He sent Vidic for a hotdog and nearly found the top corner! Inches away! So unlucky!"

Behind the Manchester United goal, Leeds fans had already started to rise in celebration—but now sat down with hands on their heads. Some clapped in appreciation; others simply sighed.

Torres dropped to his knees in the box, hands over his face. He knew how close he'd come to ending the game right there.

Arthur, standing on the edge of the technical area, clenched his fists but stayed composed. His eyes were locked on the clock. That miss was painful—but Leeds were still ahead.

As play resumed, Manchester United made one final push. But the flow of the game had shifted. After nearly conceding again, United's attacking momentum dipped, and a layer of hesitation crept into their play.

They pushed men forward, desperate for an equaliser—but they no longer looked confident. The fear of another counterattack loomed large.

Rooney dropped deep to collect the ball. Carrick tried to push it wide. Ronaldo, always looking to create something out of nothing, took the ball on the right and cut inside just outside the box.

With Leeds defenders backing off slightly, he took one touch, then another—before firing a powerful strike toward goal.

But it was rushed. The ball sailed high over the bar.

And that was it.

The referee checked his watch, then brought the whistle to his lips. A long blast echoed across the stadium.

Full-time.

Leeds United 2. Manchester United 1.

The roar from Elland Road was deafening. The stands erupted in joy. Fans leapt out of their seats, waving scarves and fists in the air, chanting as one.

Leeds had done it.

They had gone toe-to-toe with the league giants, fallen behind, and turned it around with grit, pace, and flair.

On the pitch, the Leeds players embraced each other. Torres, despite the missed chance, was hugged by Ribery. Rivaldo was mobbed again. Kompany pointed to the crowd and thumped his chest. Modric and Alonso exchanged a high-five, calm and composed.

Arthur stood at the edge of the pitch, smiling quietly. He didn't jump or shout, but his eyes were full of pride. His tactical gambles had paid off. His players had delivered.

On the opposite side, the mood couldn't have been more different.

Manchester United's players looked dejected. Carrick bent over, hands on knees. Vidic stared blankly at the turf. Ferguson walked slowly down the touchline, jaw clenched. He didn't say a word.

He had just been outwitted by Arthur.

For the first time this season, Arthur had gone head-to-head with the legendary Sir Alex—and come out victorious.