Red Rebels: The New Manchester United

"Juninho Paulista, 253 points!"

Juninho's highlights appeared on the giant screen, followed by his name and final total.

The audience responded with warm applause. Juninho applauded as well, almost as though encouraging himself, but the disappointment in his eyes was impossible to miss.

It passed quickly.

There had been a time when he was simply an overlooked midfielder in Brazil, struggling even to earn the opportunities he believed he deserved. Back then, he could never have imagined standing on a stage like this, competing for an award traditionally associated with players of Ronaldo Nazário's stature.

Third place in FIFA World Player of the Year was hardly a failure.

For Juninho, it was already an extraordinary achievement.

Beside Ethan, Florentino Pérez looked disappointed too.

He had known the odds, of course, but some small part of him had still hoped the ceremony might produce a surprise.

It had not.

During Florentino's presidency, Real Madrid players had already won FIFA World Player of the Year several times. Figo, Ronaldo Nazário and Zidane had all taken the award, although not every victory had been free of controversy. Zidane's win the previous year in particular had been criticised by those who felt his performances no longer justified the honour.

That was one reason Florentino had hoped Juninho might win this time.

Juninho was not a player easily packaged as a global celebrity.

He was quiet, understated and almost anonymous beside some of Real Madrid's Galácticos. Yet those who understood football appreciated exactly how important he was.

For him, reaching the final three was already recognition of the highest order.

Ethan gave Florentino a light pat on the arm.

The Real Madrid president smiled faintly, pretending the result had not bothered him too much. If anything, he seemed more interested in what came next.

Now it was Beckham against Ronaldinho.

As Real Madrid president, Florentino naturally preferred Beckham to win. Anything that denied Barcelona another reason to celebrate was welcome.

As a neutral observer, however, even he had to admit that Beckham did not appear the favourite.

Ian Wright smiled from the stage.

"Nervous?"

The opera house laughed.

So did Beckham and Ronaldinho, although neither man's smile looked particularly relaxed.

Both had just embraced Juninho after the third-place result.

Now each was wondering which of them would be the next man receiving consolation.

The giant screen flickered again.

Every head in the opera house turned towards it.

Television cameras focused on the display, while millions of viewers around the world waited for the same answer.

Supporters everywhere were hoping to see the name of their favourite player.

The pause lasted only a few seconds.

It felt much longer.

Then the screen flashed.

A montage began.

A photograph appeared beneath it.

Then a name.

Then the final total.

"Ronaldinho, 552 points!"

Ian Wright's voice rang through the opera house.

Ronaldinho froze.

For an instant, disappointment washed openly across his face.

He had been close enough to imagine winning.

Now he knew he had finished second.

It was painful, but there was no escaping the result.

Ronaldinho recovered quickly and turned towards Beckham.

He embraced him.

Juninho followed.

Third place had gone to Juninho.

Second had gone to Ronaldinho.

That left only one possible winner.

The top three had finished in exactly the same order as the Ballon d'Or.

For Beckham, the moment barely seemed real.

As soon as Ronaldinho's name appeared on the screen, his heart felt as though it had leapt into his throat.

Then his legs seemed to lose their strength.

Excitement.

Disbelief.

Relief.

Joy.

Too many emotions arrived at once.

For a few seconds, he could barely move.

Ronaldinho hugged him, and Beckham managed only to pat him on the back. Juninho came forward next to offer his congratulations, but Beckham still looked dazed.

Ethan, Mourinho, Kaká and the rest of the New Manchester United delegation were already applauding.

They were as surprised as he was.

Most people had expected Ronaldinho to win.

The Brazilian had no major trophy to point to, but his talent and spectacular style had captivated supporters throughout Europe. He produced moments that looked almost impossible, the kind of football that stayed in the memory.

Beckham was different.

He played deeper now.

His statistics were excellent, but his influence was often less obvious on highlight reels. Much of his best work involved controlling tempo, positioning himself intelligently, switching play and allowing others to shine.

And although he had already won the Ballon d'Or, the Premier League still lacked the global prestige La Liga enjoyed in FIFA's voting.

Even Beckham had expected to lose.

Ethan had already been thinking about what to say to him afterwards.

Instead, the trophy was his.

When Beckham finally stepped forward to accept it, his hands were trembling.

The emotion he had controlled at the Ballon d'Or ceremony returned with far greater force.

That result had been known in advance.

This one had not.

Tears began to fill his eyes.

He stood on the stage holding the golden trophy, trying to gather his thoughts.

He opened his mouth once.

Then again.

Nothing came.

Ethan began applauding.

Others immediately joined him.

Within seconds, the entire opera house was filled with applause.

Beckham looked down at the trophy, then finally found his voice.

"I... honestly don't know why I'm the one holding this."

The audience quietened.

"I think both of them are extraordinary players. Ronaldinho is a genius. Juninho helped Real Madrid win the Champions League."

He glanced towards the two men beside him.

"And I'm just one part of a team."

Another wave of applause swept through the room.

Beckham continued, his voice still thick with emotion.

"I have to thank my manager, José Mourinho, for believing in me and helping me change my game."

He paused.

"Fernando Redondo helped me enormously when I moved into a deeper midfield role."

Then he looked towards his teammates.

"Every player at New Manchester United. The coaching staff. The medical staff. The people at the Lab. Everyone who works at the club."

He lifted the trophy slightly.

"This belongs to all of you."

His voice caught again.

Beckham took a moment before continuing.

"And finally, Ethan."

The camera immediately found Ethan in the audience.

Beckham smiled.

"Without your support, your trust and everything you've done for me, I don't think I'd be standing here."

He raised the trophy in Ethan's direction.

Ethan was grinning broadly.

For once, he made no attempt to hide how proud he was.

Beckham looked back towards the audience.

"I play for a very special club."

He paused.

"A club that feels different from anywhere else I've been."

His grip tightened around the trophy.

"When I retire, I want to be able to look back and say that although this award has my name on it, it belongs to New Manchester United."

Then he lifted the trophy above his head.

The response was immediate.

Everyone in the opera house stood.

The applause was louder and longer than at any previous moment that evening.

They had witnessed a piece of history.

David Beckham had become the first Premier League player ever to win FIFA World Player of the Year.

He had also completed an extraordinary personal double by winning both FIFA's award and the Ballon d'Or in the same year.

From that night onwards, his name would occupy a permanent place in the record books.

It was Beckham's night.

It was New Manchester United's night.

And in east Manchester, it belonged to the supporters as well.

At the entertainment district surrounding the stadium, the giant screens showed Beckham raising the trophy above his head.

Thousands of Red Rebels supporters erupted.

Some were crying.

Many of them had supported the club from the beginning.

They had watched it come into existence.

They had watched it climb division by division.

They had watched it enter the Premier League, win the title unbeaten, lift European trophies and establish itself among the continent's elite.

Now one of their players was standing on FIFA's stage as the best footballer in the world.

Six years earlier, the idea would have sounded ridiculous.

Now they were living it.

The celebrations began immediately.

Fireworks illuminated the night sky above the stadium, their colours reflecting off the ruby glow of the surrounding buildings.

The club had arranged free beer for supporters gathered in the district, and nobody seemed interested in going home.

For that evening, differences of age, wealth, background and status disappeared.

They were simply Red Rebels supporters.

Back inside the Zurich Opera House, the ceremony continued once the excitement surrounding Beckham had finally begun to settle.

FIFA president Sepp Blatter took the stage.

He used the occasion to announce a new regulation concerning the international calendar.

Beginning the following season, domestic leagues would be required to finish by May 14 in World Cup years.

"The World Cup belongs to supporters everywhere," Blatter said. "The players are the central figures in that celebration. If we want them to perform at their best, then we must give them sufficient time to recover and prepare."

FIFA had already discussed the proposal with UEFA and the national associations.

There would be limited exceptions.

Major cup finals, including the Champions League final, UEFA Cup final and competitions such as the FA Cup final, could take place later.

League fixtures, however, would have to be completed by the deadline.

Ethan could understand the reasoning, even if he was not enthusiastic about what it meant for England.

The Premier League already had one of Europe's most congested calendars.

Compressing it further would create even greater pressure, particularly during Christmas and the New Year.

The final round of the current season was already scheduled beyond the future deadline, meaning structural changes would be unavoidable.

Still, Ethan preferred a clear regulation to uncertainty.

At least every league would have to work within the same framework.

And on this particular evening, he found it difficult to be too annoyed with FIFA.

They had just handed David Beckham the FIFA World Player of the Year trophy.

Every time Ethan looked at the gleaming award in his friend's hands, he found himself smiling again.

(To be continued.)

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