◎[35 hours, 36 minutes, 25 seconds!]◎
The past twenty-four hours had been soul-stirring for Ferguson.
First, there was the last-minute loss of the league title.
In the final round, because of a measly eight-goal difference, their cross-town rivals Manchester City had won the championship. It was nothing short of a disgrace!
But rather than anger, Ferguson spent more time reflecting: why did they fail this season?
The answer was obviously injuries.
This season, Manchester United could be described as a camp full of wounded soldiers.
Wayne Rooney and Nani on the front line, Nemanja Vidić and Rio Ferdinand in the defense, Anderson in the midfield…
Secondly, the competition in the Premier League had intensified.
After several seasons of investment, Manchester City had spent heavily this season to bring in players like Agüero, Nasri, and Zabaleta, building a luxurious squad capable of challenging the Manchester United dynasty and putting constant pressure on them throughout the season.
Ultimately, they did indeed win the first league title in their club’s history.
Reluctant as he was to admit it, Ferguson knew—
If things continued this way, Manchester City would, like Chelsea, constantly mount charges for various titles until they became a new powerhouse in the football world.
It was only a matter of time.
Manchester City’s development needed time, but whose space would its rise squeeze?
Manchester United’s, of course.
So if Manchester United wanted to remain firmly on the throne, they had to join the Premier League “Arms Race” and increase investment; it was unavoidable.
But Manchester United was heavily in debt. The Glazer family wanted nothing more than to skin the team and bleed it dry, so how could they possibly invest heavily?
However, Ferguson could not complain.
Because… the Glazers’ takeover of Manchester United was inextricably linked to him as well.
It was 2003, and at that time, Manchester United’s largest shareholders had changed from Edwards to being jointly owned by horse racing magnates John Magnier and McManus.
He and Magnier had a dispute over a racehorse, which eventually went to court.
Magnier had spoken harshly to him then, saying that Manchester United would not renew his contract in the future.
He was actually going to be squeezed out of the empire he had built with his own hands by these so-called majority shareholders?
How could Ferguson tolerate that? So when the Glazer family wanted to acquire the club, he chose to support them.
Since he had supported the Glazer family back then to save his managerial position and the Red Devils empire he had built, over the next nine seasons, even if he had to tighten his belt every year, even if he had to support the owner’s entire family, and even if he had to sell the Ballon d’Or winner he had personally nurtured, Ferguson could not voice a grievance.
Because… he had chosen this path himself.
He was not a man to say he had regrets; he would only face difficulties head-on and work hard to resolve the predicament.
And so the days passed, and he grew older day by day. His retirement was not far off.
But just at this moment, the heavens over Manchester United changed!
Just twenty-four hours after the season ended—no, barely a dozen hours—he received a call from David Gill.
Manchester United had changed hands.
A young wealthy man from China, a lovely and die-hard Manchester United fan, had bought Manchester United for a full 5 billion euros, a price more than double the club’s market value.
5 billion?
After hearing this number, Ferguson’s first reaction was—
Has this young man lost his mind?
That’s 5 billion!
You could have fucking bought it for only 3 billion. If you gave the remaining 2 billion to me to spend, I could build you a Red Devils dynasty!
But you fucking gave it all to the Glazer family?
However, Ferguson knew he had no right to complain, and even less right to be angry, because…
He was going to retire.
In just one season.
This made Sir Alex Ferguson sigh at how fate still loved to mock people. He had finally waited for a generous boss, yet he was no longer young.
The old Sir took some time to accept his fate, while simultaneously beginning to look forward to his final season.
After all, with the boss being so rich, surely he could spend some money to buy him a few players?
So, before the old Sir had even seen the new owner’s face, he was already contemplating a transfer list.
First was the front line.
Manchester United’s forward line had been somewhat problematic for several seasons.
After Cristiano Ronaldo left, Wayne Rooney had shouldered the burden alone, taking on too much responsibility and pressure.
Especially in the 09/10 season, playing while injured in the second leg of the quarter-final against Bayern had caused irreversible damage to his athletic career. Such things should not happen again.
Then there was that kid Nani; he was good at everything except for being a bit dim-witted. It looked like he was beyond saving.
So the front line had to buy people, and specifically someone who could score goals.
A tragic case of losing a title because of a lower goal difference than an opponent must absolutely never happen to Manchester United again.
Next was the midfield.
Manchester United’s midfield had reached a point where reform was mandatory.
In recent years, it wasn’t that he hadn’t considered midfield recruitments, but it was either a case like Antonie going from Golden Boy to Water Boy, or someone like Hargreaves who, due to injuries, became a shadow of his former self.
Only Carrick was somewhat usable, but the problem was, the guy was soft.
It got to the point where he even had to have Scholes come out of retirement mid-season. If it weren’t for him, Manchester United wouldn’t even have been qualified to compete for the title.
This was enough to see the extent to which Manchester United’s midfield had become weak and disastrous.
Therefore, midfield recruitment was the top priority!
The backline was also unsettling.
The center-back partnership of Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidić was once the best defensive duo in the entire Premier League and the one that gave him the most peace of mind.
However, time waits for no man. Who was getting old besides him?
His beloved disciples were as well.
In addition to increasing age, the erosion of injuries was also affecting them.
Although he had brought in Jones last season to partner with Elvin, the results were…
The full-backs were the same. Patrice Evra had gradually lost his speed with age; that position also had to be modernized…
And at the goalkeeper position, although he had bought De Gea last season.
How should he put it? The kid clearly had talent, otherwise he wouldn’t have become the club’s Young Player of the Year and been selected for the PFA Premier League Team of the Year.
But the kid also made him pay a lot of “tuition fees,” such as his handling of high balls and his mistakes against West Brom, Blackburn, and Manchester City.
So at the goalkeeper position, it would be best to bring in someone new to add competition…
Ferguson thought through every position from the front to the goalkeeper, and then waited for the hastily conducted press conference.
Yes, this press conference was convened so suddenly that he hadn’t even been notified in advance. The main theme was “efficiency” (read: “haste”).
The old Sir put on his reading glasses, waiting to catch a glimpse of the new Chairman’s face.
When he saw that distinctively Eastern face walk from backstage to the podium, the old Sir’s eyes nearly popped out of his head—
Even if Asians looked younger than them, wasn’t this kid excessively young?
Was he even twenty?
After staring at that face for a full few seconds, he took out his phone and sent a text to David Gill’s… assistant.
After all, David Gill was also sitting on the podium.
Gill’s assistant quickly replied: [Sir, you guessed correctly. The Chairman is only 21 years old, younger than many of your players.]
Only then did Ferguson nod in satisfaction.
After all, Dong Fangzhuo and Park Ji-sung were both very young when they joined Manchester United.
He wasn’t like those people who couldn’t tell the age of an Asian person.
But 21 years old…
Sir Alex Ferguson stared at the black-haired, black-eyed young man on the screen. Even if he didn’t understand Asian aesthetics, he could tell the boy was very good-looking.
So good-looking that he felt comparing him to Dong or Park would be disrespectful to those two disciples.
But being good-looking didn’t mean you could be a spendthrift.
The reason the Sir had the “spendthrift” deduction was also something he had learned from David Gill.
Gill had said at the time: “We have absolutely no idea about his background. What’s even more terrifying is that the 5 billion euros was a cash acquisition. My friends in the Chinese investment circles have also asked around, and they are completely unaware of his origins.
But there is one point everyone agrees on—
He must be a young man who has just inherited his family’s estate; otherwise, he would not possess such a massive amount of wealth.
By the same token, if the elders in his family were alive, they would never allow him to make such a foolish investment decision…”
And at this moment, the handsome spendthrift on the screen avoided the cameras and his gaze, looking toward David Gill as the two of them began to communicate.
The old Sir raised an eyebrow knowingly; this was clearly nervousness.
This was normal. After all, this press conference was receiving more attention and attracting more media than any large-scale commercial merger. For a young man making his debut, nervousness was excusable.
Once the two of them finished their exchange, what happened next made the old Sir’s heart, which was fitted with a pacemaker, instantly accelerate—
The spendthrift—no, the young man.
The young man said: “This summer, our transfer budget has no limit.”
The young man said: “This summer, we will make time to renovate the Carrington and Cleveland bases.”
The young man said: “We will increase investment in youth academy players.”
The young man said: “We plan to continue expanding Old Trafford, focusing on resolving the issues with the South Stand…”
The young man’s words pierced through his heart like sharp arrows, causing endless imaginings to ripple through his mind.
Things like expanding the stadium were too far off; that hateful railway track could not be easily dealt with.
But the Manchester United fans’ summer had already arrived quietly along with yesterday’s defeat.
Thinking of this, Ferguson gave a smile toward the young face on the screen.
No limit, right?
Perhaps I should redo my transfer list.
The old Sir felt incredibly refreshed at this thought. He even wanted to send bragging texts to his counterparts in North London and Madrid—
Who could have thought, who could have thought that I, Alex Ferguson, would also be able to turn on Infinite Spending Mode?
A few seconds later, the old Sir, wearing his reading glasses, began to frantically tap away at his Blackberry phone keyboard.
Of course, he also received nearly simultaneous ridicules from his North London and Madrid counterparts.
But looking at their sarcasm and cold mockery, the old Sir actually felt better the more he read.
However, some of their choice of words were still too impolite.
Just as the old Sir was planning to “educate” them a bit, he noticed his phone ringing.
Caller: David Gill.
This was the call he had been waiting for.
He wanted to confirm with him if the transfer budget really had no limit!
From the phone came a voice that was both strange and familiar, shy yet longing: “Sir Alex, this is Tang. Do I have the honor of taking a photo with you at Old Trafford?”
After realizing who the owner of this voice was, the old Sir smiled with great affection.
He slowed down his speech, trying to make the lovely young man understand his thick Scottish accent—
“Yes, of course you can. I will never refuse a lovely child like you who loves Manchester United with all his heart.”
It was these words that made fireworks explode in Tang Moumou’s heart.
[35 hours, 36 minutes, 25 seconds!]