CHAPTER 350: LEAGUE CUP FOURTH ROUND — LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!

Richard definitely knew there had been complications with Messi’s situation—even before he truly joined Barcelona. If he remembered correctly, the issue was medical. A condition that made most clubs walk away.

"Has Barcelona really contacted them yet?" he asked.

Marina shook her head. "No. So far, the only club that’s reached out to Messi’s family is River Plate. Just initial interest though, nothing official. But from what I’ve heard, Barcelona’s first-team director, Carles Rexach, is the one pushing behind the scenes. He really believes in Messi. He’s trying to convince the board to act before someone else does."

Richard nodded slowly. Rexach was a sharp judge of talent. But the Barcelona board was conservative—especially when it came to risking money on unproven kids from abroad.

Especially...

"That’s the real issue," Richard said. "The medical costs. No one wants to take on a long-term financial burden for a 13-year-old unless they’re absolutely sure he’s worth it."

Growth hormone deficiency, wasn’t it?

Marina added, "Well, if Barça doesn’t move soon, River Plate might."

Richard’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then he raised his head."Do you think you can convince them if we agree to cover his medical expenses?"

"You want to bring that kid here?" Marina asked, surprised.

Richard nodded.

Marina looked uncertain. "But you know his condition—"

"I know," Richard interrupted, then paused.There was no way to say it out loud... not yet. That this kid might just change football entirely.

"To be honest with you," he continued, "Messi is in the top ten of my scout list. That’s why—if you could—please bring him to City."

Marina was silent for a moment, thinking.

With Richard’s clear explanation, and the weight of his conviction, she finally nodded.

"That’s it, then," Richard nodded as he rose from his seat.

As December rolled in, the players from Manchester City had finally eased out of the intense rhythm of the Christmas rush.

Although several players were still dealing with occasional injuries, and the younger ones couldn’t handle too many matches, Richard believed that O’Neill’s current squad had enough depth to manage. With smart rotation, the team could avoid burnout.

Before the national team call-ups in mid-February, City had two crucial matches ahead—if everything went smoothly, of course: a UEFA Cup quarter-final and a Third Round Proper FA Cup match.

Thankfully, in the First and Second Round Proper of the FA Cup, City were handed relatively easy draws—facing lower-league sides Darlington and Colchester United. Both matches turned out to be routine affairs, with City comfortably dispatching Darlington 4–0 and then overcoming Colchester 3–1.

While the scorelines didn’t tell the full story of each game, it was clear that City never looked in danger. The gap in quality showed. Even when some fringe players and youth prospects were rotated in, the team’s overall structure and tempo remained intact.

Aside from the Premier League, FA Cup, and UEFA Champions League, Manchester City were also competing in the League Cup. As with previous seasons, the early rounds of the League Cup — from the First to the Fourth Round — typically wrapped up by midseason, with the quarter-finals usually held in January.

In the first round, 70 clubs from the First, Second, and Third Divisions competed to begin their League Cup campaigns.

The second round then saw the 35 winners from the opening round joined by 13 Premier League clubs not involved in European competitions.

It wasn’t until the third round that Manchester City — along with Manchester United, as two of the clubs participating in European competitions — entered the tournament. At this stage, the 25 winners from the second round were joined by the seven Premier League sides involved in European competition, marking the beginning of the real test for the elite teams.

It was quite a coincidence that for today’s League Cup match — and the upcoming Premier League fixture — City would be facing the same opponent: Tottenham Hotspur. And both matches promised to be tough.

White Hart Lane — arguably one of the most poetic names in the Premier League. And indeed, there’s something almost ethereal about Tottenham.

Over the past few years, Tottenham Hotspur haven’t been the strongest team in the Premier League, nor have they been serious title contenders — or even the most talked-about club. However, their style of play has consistently been among the most aesthetically pleasing in English football. That’s something Spurs fans have always taken pride in.

For them, it’s not just about winning; it’s about playing the game beautifully. Even when they lost, and watched bitter rivals like Arsenal lift trophies, many Tottenham supporters scoffed — not out of denial, but out of a kind of philosophical pride. "At least we play the right way," they’d say.

This trend continued until a savvy Jewish businessman, Daniel Levy, took charge of Tottenham — demanding, quite simply: trophies and money. And this season?

Tottenham are determined to prove their worth.

They’ve already made a statement in the transfer market — signing star players from Newcastle United, including the charismatic winger David Ginola and prolific striker Les Ferdinand. With these additions, Spurs are no longer content with playing pretty football. They want results — and silverware.

The reality?

Tottenham Hotspur made a poor start to the season and looked nothing like a team aiming to challenge for a European spot.

17th place!

Dangerously close to the relegation zone. This put immense pressure on Gerry Francis, Tottenham’s current manager. And today’s League Cup match against an in-form Manchester City? Well, you already know the result.

Starting XI:

Goalkeeper: Paul Robinson

Defenders: Zambrotta, Lucio, Gallas, Steve Finnan

Midfielders: Makélélé, Lampard, Nakata, Okocha

Forwards: Henry, Shevchenko

Something changed with the arrival of José Mourinho, replacing John Robertson.

In the past, O’Neill was usually in charge of motivation and team talks, while tactical responsibilities were handled by Robertson and Walford — the latter now serving as City’s U-17 coach. However, after José came in, everything shifted. Before every match, he would personally instill tactical ideas into the players, discussing individual roles and technical improvements with each one. Even though his English wasn’t yet fluent, his communication with the players was more than effective.

These players already possessed extraordinary talent, and Mourinho believed his guidance could help them avoid unnecessary detours in their development. One clear example was 24-year-old Claude Makélélé. For some reason, he truly admired the way he played — there was something about Makélélé’s style that deeply resonated with him.

For that reason, he was also very patient and relied on the effectiveness of the training process to validate the transformations he was making in the players. Perhaps it was simply his sincere dedication to spending time with them every day that resonated most.

In a short period, he had built a strong relationship with the squad — one that served as a solid foundation.

"Claude, your job today is simple," Mourinho said, his voice calm but firm. "Focus on their two strikers — Les Ferdinand and Chris Armstrong. Cut off every passing lane that leads to them. Break their link to midfield, and you’ll break their rhythm."

There’s a reason Tottenham struggled this season — and to be fair, it wasn’t entirely Gerry Francis’s fault. The squad was plagued by recurring injuries, particularly to key players like Darren Anderton and Steffen Iversen, which disrupted consistency and severely undermined their attacking rhythm.

As a result, the team became overly reliant on long balls — match after match, it was long ball after long ball, with everything dependent on Les Ferdinand and Chris Armstrong making something happen up front. But one thing Francis seemed to overlook was that both players had evolved. They were no longer the same explosive threats they once were, especially with the growing number of young, dynamic talents emerging across the Premier League.

To make matters worse, the arrivals of players like Allan Nielsen, Ramon Vega, and Iversen didn’t raise the team’s standard. Meanwhile, losing Teddy Sheringham to Manchester United stripped Spurs of one of their most intelligent and creative attacking outlets. In short, Tottenham lacked both depth and direction — and it showed.

Mourinho could foresee all of this. That’s why he believed that if they could cut off every pass from midfield to Ferdinand and Armstrong, Tottenham would be completely shut down today.

And this is why Richard chose Mourinho. His tactical clarity, his ability to anticipate the opponent’s strengths and shut them down — it was exactly what the team needed.

While others looked for flashy names or big personalities, Richard saw something else in José: control, structure, and a relentless attention to detail — especially in his mastery of control and counter-attacking tactics.

Just before the end of the second half, David Ginola and Ruel Fox combined with a slick one-two on the left flank. The crowd stirred as Ginola, with his usual flair, slipped a perfectly timed through ball into the path of Les Ferdinand, who was already making his run behind the line.

But before Ferdinand could even take a touch, Makélélé read the play like a book. He slid in sharply, cleanly intercepting the pass and turning possession over with effortless composure.

For a moment, there was silence — then suddenly, a tidal wave of cheers erupted from the stands. The crowd rose to their feet, chanting his name in unison.

🎵 "Ohhh Claude Makélélé!" 🎵

Even Makélélé himself looked momentarily surprised, glancing up as if to confirm that, yes, they were singing for him.

Gary Francis could only watch anxiously, yelling instructions from the sidelines.

His team seemed to be attacking relentlessly, but every time they tried to deliver the ball to the forwards — whether from the back or the flanks — their two strikers found themselves physically blocked by one man: Makélélé.

He was everywhere!

Every time the ball dropped near the final third, a quick, darting figure would appear out of nowhere to snatch it away. It became predictable. Whether it was Ferdinand or Armstrong dropping deep to receive the ball, just as they turned to face goal, they’d be met by the same stoic figure in a City shirt: Makélélé.

How frustrating!

Whenever a Shrewsbury forward attempted to break through, Makélélé would expertly intercept the ball with pinpoint precision — drawing loud cheers from the stands, all within just over ten minutes of play. This player’s defensive prowess was nothing short of a visual feast.

In the final minutes of the match, Tottenham mounted one last desperate attack.

For the first time all game, Ginola managed to slip past Zanetti with a sharp feint and burst of acceleration.

The crowd rose to their feet as he charged down the left wing, angling toward the byline. This was it — his first real opening. He glanced up, spotted Ferdinand making a darting run between the centre-backs, and whipped in a dangerous cross.

Ferdinand read it perfectly. He took two steps inside, timed his leap — and just as the ball dipped toward his forehead—it glanced off the top of his head and spun harmlessly wide of the far post.

A collective "Aaaahhh!" echoed from the Tottenham supporters — equal parts hope and heartbreak.

However — it wasn’t over.

The ball had struck the post, not gone out. It bounced awkwardly back into the box, where David Howells, lurking at the edge of the area, was already winding up for a thunderous volley.

He took one step forward, pulled his leg back—

Boom.

Before he could even plant his foot, Lucio arrived — like a freight train with no brakes.

The Brazilian had tracked the loose ball from deep. With those long, galloping strides, he covered ten yards in what felt like a heartbeat. He didn’t hesitate. There was no slowing down, no second-guessing.

Lucio launched himself into the challenge — body-first, feet off the ground, studs exposed. A full-blooded, bone-shaking, all-or-nothing tackle that clipped the ball, smashed into Howells’ standing leg, and sent both players crashing to the turf.

PHWEEEEEE~

The stadium erupted — gasps, whistles, outrage.

Howells rolled over in agony.

The referee sprinted into view.

Straight red card.

Lucio didn’t argue. He simply stood up, chest heaving, shirt half untucked, and looked toward the bench with a grim nod — like a soldier who knew exactly what he’d done, accepting it as the price of war.

Hard, risky, borderline reckless — but undeniably effective. Thanks to that last-minute challenge, the scoreline remained unchanged. Lucio had practically traded a red card to prevent his team from conceding a late equalizer.

And it worked.

Ginola stepped up to take the resulting free kick.He curled it in with trademark flair — but it deflected off the wall and went out for a corner.

From the corner, tension crackled in the air.

The ball was swung in dangerously, but Gallas rose highest and cleared it to the left flank.Zambrotta was first to react, hammering the loose ball far upfield to relieve the pressure once more.

And then—

PHWEEEEE~!

The referee blew the final whistle.

While everyone else was still focused on the chaos of the match, few noticed what happened just after Lucio was shown the red card.

As the Brazilian defender began the slow walk toward the City bench — head high, but clearly bracing for criticism — the first person to react wasn’t a coach yelling in frustration, nor a teammate throwing his hands in the air.

It was José Mourinho.

Calm as ever, arms folded by the technical area, he gave Lucio a small nod and a discreet thumbs-up.

"Good job," he whispered, just loud enough for Lucio to hear as he passed.

Lucio blinked, confused.Good job?

For a second, he thought he’d misheard. He looked at Mourinho again.

Mourinho smiled — that sly, knowing smile.

"You stopped the goal, didn’t you?"

Lucio couldn’t help it — a laugh slipped out as he plopped down on the bench. The red card still stung, but now? It felt like a medal.

Behind them, O’Neill just shook his head. ’This man is insane,’ he thought.