Red Rebels: The New Manchester United

Ishmael arrived at Newton Heath as usual.

He had been following the same routine for years, and by now it had become second nature.

Around Newton Heath, the Miller family were well known among supporters and local residents, largely because one of their own had become one of New Manchester United's brightest young prospects.

Ishmael was a local lad, developed by the club, and increasingly regarded as one of the most promising young English strikers in the country. There were already growing calls for him to be considered for the senior England squad.

He believed in his own ability.

Ishmael was convinced that, given enough opportunities, he could establish himself in New Manchester United's first team. That was why every appearance mattered so much to him. Whenever Mourinho gave him minutes, he played as though he had something to prove.

So far, he had done exactly that.

His performances had already made him a key striker for England's youth teams, while the debate over whether he deserved a senior call-up was becoming increasingly serious.

And he was not even eighteen yet.

When Ishmael signed his latest contract, he had been delighted.

The terms showed how highly the club valued him.

He still had Drogba and Villa ahead of him, which made a regular starting place difficult, but Ishmael was young enough to be patient.

He could see a future here.

Curtis, despite being someone he had never particularly liked, had already become one of the foundations of the first-team defence.

Messi, who had been promoted to the senior squad around the same time as Ishmael, had already announced himself to the whole of Europe.

Ishmael could wait.

He could train.

He could improve.

As a Manchester-born academy product, he had also become an example for younger players at Newton Heath.

Even on days when no first-team session was scheduled, he often came in for additional work.

He was rarely alone.

Beckham frequently stayed behind for extra training.

So did Ronaldo.

The Portuguese winger had made especially obvious physical progress in recent months. He followed the additional programme designed by the Lab and coaching staff almost obsessively, and the results were beginning to show in his strength, stamina and performances.

Nobody inside Newton Heath could deny that the team had fallen into a difficult period.

The media certainly would not let them forget it.

One day, a newspaper claimed that one of Europe's biggest clubs was preparing a move for a New Manchester United star.

The next, another paper reported a training-ground fight.

Then came stories of dressing-room arguments, divisions between starters and substitutes, and players supposedly turning against Mourinho.

Ishmael knew enough to understand where some of those stories came from.

Arguments did happen.

New Manchester United had always encouraged players to speak openly about football. Tactical discussions could become heated, especially after poor results.

That did not mean anyone hated anyone else.

Players disagreed because they cared.

Once they stepped onto the pitch, Mourinho's instructions came first.

Under normal circumstances, the same behaviour would probably have been described as evidence of a competitive dressing room.

When results were poor, it suddenly became a crisis.

Ishmael had seen Ronaldo and Kaká arguing furiously over one of the goals conceded at Newcastle.

Their voices had carried halfway across the dressing room.

The next morning, they were walking out of Newton Heath together, discussing where they should go for dinner.

That was how things worked.

Whatever happened inside the dressing room stayed there.

It was an unwritten rule.

Still, Ishmael knew the team genuinely did have problems.

Serious ones.

The clearest change was in the players themselves.

Training had become more irritable.

Matches had become more frantic.

Patience disappeared much more quickly than before.

Even Beckham, normally the calmest player in the side, had started making strange mistakes.

Curtis's red card against Fulham was an obvious example.

He had already been booked, yet still allowed himself to become involved in an unnecessary confrontation with the referee.

It had been foolish.

More importantly, it had been completely unlike him.

Mourinho had criticised Curtis sharply afterwards.

Normally, that would have remained an internal matter.

Instead, the press transformed it into a supposed breakdown in their relationship.

Then came the transfer story.

Manchester City had reportedly offered £30 million for Curtis.

It was an extraordinary amount for a 19-year-old centre-back.

But perhaps that was exactly what it would take to make New Manchester United even consider selling one of their best young players.

Would Curtis actually go?

Ishmael did not know.

His own agent had recently told him that Manchester City had also made enquiries about him.

And Michael Johnson.

According to the rumours, City wanted all three.

Curtis for the defence.

Michael Johnson for midfield.

Ishmael for the attack.

Three of England's most highly rated young players, all developed at Newton Heath.

From Manchester City's perspective, the idea made sense.

That did not mean Ishmael liked it.

The thought stayed with him throughout his extra training session.

When he finally finished, he headed back towards the dressing room.

Ronaldo was leaving at the same time.

Ishmael greeted him on the way past.

The Portuguese winger had a reputation outside the club for being aloof and difficult.

Inside Newton Heath, people knew better.

Ronaldo had a strong personality and an enormous ego on the pitch. Sometimes his desire to decide matches by himself worked against him.

But away from football, he was straightforward enough.

And nobody worked harder.

Real Madrid and Chelsea were both being linked with him now.

Some newspapers had gone as far as publishing supposed transfer fees and contract offers.

Ishmael had been tempted to ask Ronaldo whether any of it was true.

He decided against it.

The dressing room was almost empty when he entered.

Curtis was just coming out of the showers.

The two looked at each other briefly.

Then both looked away.

They had never got along.

Ishmael went to his locker and pulled out clean clothes.

A few yards away, Curtis was getting dressed.

Rumour had it that he had recently started seeing a model, and his taste in clothes had suddenly become noticeably more expensive.

Ishmael glanced at him.

Was he really thinking about Manchester City?

The thought must have lingered on his face for too long.

"What are you staring at?" Curtis asked.

His tone was unfriendly.

He had never had much patience for Ishmael, and his mood had been particularly bad recently after an argument with his girlfriend.

Ishmael glared back.

"Nothing."

He grabbed his towel and headed into the shower.

A moment later, Curtis called after him.

"Oi, big man."

Ishmael turned on the water.

"What?"

"Manchester City really contacted you?"

Ishmael hesitated for half a second.

"What's it got to do with you?"

Curtis snorted.

"Nothing."

He finished pulling on his jacket.

"But I'll tell you one thing. This club put years into developing you. If you run off to City now, then next time we meet you'll be an opponent."

His voice hardened.

"And I won't treat you like a mate on the pitch."

Curtis picked up his bag and walked out.

Ishmael stood beneath the running water, listening to the footsteps fade.

Then he realised something.

Curtis had just said almost exactly what Ishmael had wanted to say to him.

And judging from the way he had said it, Curtis clearly had no intention of going to Manchester City either.

Ishmael smiled.

"Idiot."

Then, more quietly, he added, "You won't get the chance."

After showering, Ishmael changed quickly and headed for the car park.

Every first-team player had access to an Audi supplied through the club's sponsorship agreement.

Ishmael's had needed some modification.

Like Drogba, he was a big man, and the standard seating position was not particularly comfortable.

He had barely reached the car when someone called out.

"Ishmael! Got a minute?"

He recognised the reporter immediately.

Tom, from the Manchester Evening News.

"Sorry, Tom. Not today."

Ishmael already had a good idea what was coming.

Tom hurried after him.

"Come on. One question. That's all."

Ishmael sighed.

The Manchester Evening News had maintained close links with New Manchester United for years and was often regarded by supporters as one of the papers most sympathetic to the club.

Tom was a familiar face around Newton Heath.

If Ishmael refused him completely, the reporter would probably spend the rest of the afternoon looking for someone else.

"Fine. One question."

Tom immediately produced a recorder and notebook.

"I've heard Manchester City are very interested in you. The figure being mentioned is £15 million, and they're supposedly willing to guarantee you regular first-team football. What do you make of that?"

Ishmael almost laughed.

Reporters seemed capable of learning anything.

Unless, of course, somebody wanted the information leaked.

And that possibility was not difficult to understand.

Make the offer public.

Create pressure.

Get supporters talking.

Perhaps unsettle the player.

Ishmael looked directly at the recorder.

"All right, Tom. I'm only saying this once."

The reporter moved the microphone closer.

"I want the club and the supporters to know they can trust me."

His tone became serious.

"I'm happy here. I've never asked to leave, and I've never thought about causing problems for the club."

He paused.

"And I don't think the lads who came through Newton Heath think that way either."

Ishmael glanced back towards the training ground.

"We grew up here. This place made us footballers."

His eyes had begun to redden slightly.

"Being a Red Rebel isn't just the shirt we wear on matchday. It's part of who we are."

He nodded once.

"So no, I'm not looking for a way out."

With that, Ishmael opened the Audi door.

Tom stood there for a moment, surprised by how strongly he had answered.

Then he stepped aside and watched the car disappear from the training ground.

"That's the story," he murmured.

He checked his recorder.

There was another interview on it.

Curtis.

Tom had asked him virtually the same question earlier.

His answer had been different in wording, but not in conviction.

"I want to keep growing with this club. I came through Newton Heath, and one day I'd like to finish my career here too. Playing my last match in front of our supporters would mean more to me than any transfer."

Tom scrolled further.

Ronaldo.

Messi.

Michael Johnson.

Mikel.

Several others.

Different personalities.

Different answers.

The same message.

None of them sounded like players desperate to escape.

Listening to them one after another, Tom felt he could hear something deeper than simple loyalty.

The identity Ethan had spent years trying to build into the club was there.

Not in a slogan.

Not in a marketing campaign.

In the players themselves.

Tom was a Red Rebels supporter.

By the time he reached home, he already knew what he wanted to write.

He stayed awake most of the night.

Coffee after coffee disappeared as he worked.

The next morning, the Manchester Evening News ran his feature under a large headline:

THE RED REBELS MONEY CANNOT BUY

The article caused an immediate stir.

«Nobody knows exactly how large Manchester City's transfer budget is.

Nobody knows how many famous players Abu Dhabi's money can bring to the blue half of Manchester.

Perhaps they can assemble one of the most expensive squads in Europe within a few years.

But money alone can buy footballers. It cannot manufacture belonging.

A collection of highly paid stars may play for an employer. They may win for bonuses, contracts and ambition.

What money cannot guarantee is that they will carry a club's pride as though it were their own.

Newton Heath's Red Rebels already do.

They grew together. They learned together. They share the same idea of what the club is supposed to represent.

That is something no transfer fee can purchase.

Manchester City may have oil money and almost limitless spending power.

New Manchester United have something rather harder to buy.»

The piece spread rapidly.

Supporters loved it.

Manchester City's people were unlikely to feel the same way.

That was also the day Ethan finally returned to Manchester from the United States.

He arrived exhausted from the journey and had barely set foot inside his office before Andy Walsh placed a stack of transfer offers on his desk.

Manchester City were not the only club involved.

There were bids from England.

Bids from abroad.

Formal approaches for several of New Manchester United's most valuable players.

Ethan flipped through them.

Then he stopped.

One offer had been placed deliberately at the top of the pile.

The figure printed on it was impossible to ignore.

£100 million.

Under normal circumstances, Walsh would already have rejected every approach.

Those had always been Ethan's instructions.

But an offer of this size was so extraordinary that Walsh had decided not to act without him.

Ethan stared at the number.

Then at the name beneath it.

(To be continued.)

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