Red Rebels: The New Manchester United

"Judging by that first half, New Manchester United are struggling badly with Chelsea's pressing," Andy Gray said during the interval. "It's particularly obvious once they cross halfway. Their players are being hurried into decisions, while Chelsea have done an excellent job of shutting down their attacking structure."

Martin Tyler could only agree.

"The Red Rebels simply don't look themselves. Beckham and Essien have been under constant pressure from Joe Cole, Lampard, Deco, Verón and even Emerson stepping forward from midfield. They haven't been able to control possession in the way we're accustomed to seeing."

"And Chelsea are in outstanding form. Shevchenko and Deco have already made that very clear."

There was little optimism in Tyler's voice.

"The effort is still there. Nobody can accuse New Manchester United's players of not trying. The problem is that recovering confidence and rhythm isn't something you can switch on instantly. It may take time before we see the side that frightened almost everyone in England earlier this season."

Mourinho's teams had always been built around the collective.

If one or two players were below their best, the structure around them usually compensated.

Now the problem was different.

Almost the entire side had fallen out of rhythm at the same time.

The fixture list had not helped.

As soon as New Manchester United began trying to rebuild their confidence, they had gone to Birmingham, one of the most awkward opponents they faced all season.

Then came Chelsea.

After that waited West Bromwich Albion away, followed by Arsenal and Tottenham.

There was almost no room to recover.

A demanding schedule, tired bodies and poor form had combined to make the slump increasingly difficult to escape.

"With Beckham unable to continue, De Rossi would be the obvious replacement," Gray said. "He's aggressive defensively, and he can still arrive from deep when the opportunity is there. With Essien beside him, they might be able to compete more effectively against Chelsea's midfield."

Tyler nodded.

"And there's Drogba."

The camera briefly showed the Ivorian warming up.

"He's been serving an internal disciplinary suspension after his red card at Anfield and wasn't even in the squad against Birmingham. He's back on the bench today."

"Villa has had a difficult first half against Cannavaro and Stam. Drogba gives Mourinho a very different option."

Tyler paused before adding, "Chelsea's midfield really is exceptional this season."

It was difficult to argue otherwise.

"Emerson gives them strength and balance. Deco and Verón can both dictate play and create. Lampard's late runs remain one of their most dangerous weapons. Joe Cole can receive between the lines and carry the ball, while Shevchenko can score, link play or drift into wider areas."

"As an attacking unit, they may be the strongest team in the Premier League right now."

Even Ethan would have found little to dispute in that assessment.

New Manchester United's front line looked spectacular on paper.

Villa.

Ronaldo.

Messi.

Kaká.

All four were capable of becoming among the finest players in the world in their positions.

But that was the future.

In early 2005, they were still developing.

Kaká was further along than the others, but even he had not yet reached his peak. Ronaldo was still refining his decision-making. Messi was only seventeen. Villa was still establishing himself at the highest level.

Chelsea, by comparison, possessed players already operating near full maturity.

In September, New Manchester United had gone to Stamford Bridge and won 2-0 by exploiting the weaknesses of a newly assembled side that had not yet learned to function as a unit.

That Chelsea no longer existed.

Ancelotti's team had settled.

Their movements were sharper.

Their midfield combinations were instinctive.

Their defensive organisation was far more secure.

And now New Manchester United were the side searching for answers.

Everyone inside the stadium understood what was at stake.

The famous league unbeaten run was already gone.

Lose today, and another source of pride could disappear with it.

New Manchester United had never lost a competitive home match at their own ground.

In fact, their extraordinary home record stretched back through the club's rise from the lower divisions.

Chelsea were forty-five minutes away from ending it.

Inside the home dressing room, Mourinho stood before his players.

"We have nowhere left to hide."

His voice filled the room.

Every head lifted.

The players had entered at half-time visibly deflated.

Now they looked at their manager.

"A month ago, we were top of the league."

Mourinho paced slowly between the benches.

"We had the longest unbeaten run in English football. Everyone in Europe was talking about us."

He stopped.

"Now look at the table."

"If we lose this match, we could fall out of the top four. We could lose our Champions League place. We could watch everything we've built over the last two seasons begin to unravel."

Nobody spoke.

Mourinho's eyes moved across the room.

"Do you know what people are saying about us?"

A few players shook their heads.

"They're saying last season was luck."

His voice hardened.

"They'll say we caught the big clubs at the right moment. That we won one league title, put together a long unbeaten run and fooled everybody into thinking we belonged at the top."

He pointed towards the door.

"They're waiting for us to prove them right."

The room was completely silent now.

"They'll say we've been found out."

"They'll say this club climbed too far, too quickly."

"They'll say we should go back where we came from."

Mourinho's fist tightened.

"I won't accept that."

He looked directly at his players.

"And anyone who cares about this club shouldn't accept it either."

His voice rose.

"When somebody questions everything you've worked for, you have two choices."

"You can shrink."

"Or you can answer them."

Mourinho's eyes were burning now.

"You answer with football."

"You answer by beating the team in front of you."

"You answer by showing that what we built wasn't temporary."

Then he asked the question.

"Do we rebuild ourselves today, or do we let this fall apart?"

Terry rose first.

With Beckham injured and Curtis unavailable through internal suspension, he had taken the captain's armband.

"We rebuild."

Essien stood.

Then Kaká.

Messi.

Ronaldo.

Villa.

One after another, every player got to his feet.

"We rebuild!"

The shout shook the dressing room.

Mourinho nodded.

"Good."

His voice immediately became calmer.

"Because emotion alone won't beat Chelsea."

That got their attention.

"They are too good for that."

He pointed towards the tactics board.

"If we want to win this match, we must work harder than they do and think more clearly than they do."

"We are two goals behind. Fine."

"We've come back from worse situations before."

Some of the older players nodded.

"When this club was still climbing through the lower divisions, we went into matches against teams far stronger than us and found ways to beat them."

"You remember that?"

"Yes!"

"Then remember why."

Mourinho tapped the board.

"Not because we lost our heads."

"Not because we charged forward like idiots."

"Because we trusted the structure. We worked for each other. We followed the plan."

He looked towards the wall separating their dressing room from Chelsea's.

"They're probably very comfortable in there right now."

His tone became almost conversational.

"They're two goals ahead. They're thinking about becoming the first team to win here. They're thinking the hard work is finished."

A few players stared towards the wall as though they could see through it.

Mourinho smiled thinly.

"Let's disappoint them."

The energy in the room sharpened again.

"Chelsea will expect us to begin the second half cautiously."

He shook his head.

"We won't."

"We attack."

Several players leaned forward.

"We attack immediately."

"Not recklessly. Aggressively."

"We force them backwards. We make them defend. We make their midfield turn towards their own goal instead of ours."

Mourinho moved to the tactics board.

"Didier."

Drogba looked up.

"You're on."

The striker stood.

"Ready?"

Drogba took a breath.

"Yes, boss."

"You lead the line."

Mourinho stared at him.

"And if you can't make Cannavaro and Stam miserable for forty-five minutes, I'll add three matches to your internal suspension."

A few players almost smiled.

Drogba did not.

"You won't need to."

Mourinho slapped him once on the shoulder and turned towards Villa.

Villa had expected his number to be up.

His first half had been poor.

Instead, Mourinho pointed at a different position.

"David, you're staying on."

Villa looked surprised.

"You're not playing as a conventional striker anymore."

Mourinho moved a magnet on the board.

"I want you underneath Didier."

"You connect the attack. Move towards either flank when we need an overload. Help Ricardo between the lines. Drop into midfield when necessary."

"Make yourself difficult to mark."

"Can you do it?"

Villa nodded immediately.

"Yes."

Mourinho rearranged the magnets again.

The shape was aggressive.

Almost a 4-1-3-2.

Essien would remain alone in front of the defence.

Kaká would operate centrally ahead of him, with Ronaldo and Messi attacking from wider starting positions.

Villa would move freely around Drogba.

"Michael."

Essien looked towards him.

"You are the midfield."

A few players exchanged glances.

Mourinho continued.

"You don't need to attack."

"No late runs. No gambling."

"Your job is to protect Terry and Vidić, cover the spaces behind our attacking players and win the ball back."

He pointed at the central zone.

"Anything Chelsea try to play through here belongs to you."

Essien nodded.

"Understood."

It was an enormous responsibility.

Playing as the lone holding midfielder required more than tackling.

Essien would have to cover laterally, read where Chelsea intended to play, protect both centre-backs and distribute cleanly once possession was recovered.

Fortunately, those were becoming some of his greatest strengths.

His speed allowed him to cover huge areas.

His stamina was exceptional.

And unlike a purely destructive midfielder, he was comfortable enough on the ball to turn recoveries into the beginning of attacks.

Winning possession could make a good defensive midfielder.

Winning it and using it intelligently was what separated the very best.

Makélélé had built his career on that principle.

Roy Keane had done it for Manchester United.

Vieira did it for Arsenal.

Essien was developing towards the same level.

Mourinho turned towards the full-backs.

"Patrice. Maicon."

Both looked up.

"The entire flanks are yours."

He dragged the magnets forward.

"When we have the ball, I want you high."

"When we lose it, I want you back immediately."

"You're responsible for connecting defence and attack."

He looked at Maicon.

"If Messi comes inside, you give us the width."

Then Evra.

"If Ronaldo moves centrally, you go beyond him."

"Both of you also have to help Michael when Chelsea try to overload midfield."

The full-backs nodded.

Their pace made the plan possible.

Evra and Maicon could both recover quickly enough to take risks that slower defenders could not.

But the risks were considerable.

Mourinho was deliberately sacrificing some of the balance that normally defined New Manchester United.

The full-backs would attack simultaneously more often.

Essien would be left alone centrally.

More players would commit ahead of the ball.

It was not the cautious structure Mourinho usually preferred.

But two goals down at home, he was no longer interested in caution.

The key would be the press.

If New Manchester United lost possession high up the pitch, the nearest players had to react immediately.

Delay Chelsea.

Block the first forward pass.

Force them sideways.

Buy Evra and Maicon enough time to recover.

The approach still contained the principles Mourinho had spent years building into the team.

Only now those principles were being pushed to their most aggressive limit.

The tactics were clear.

Whether they worked depended entirely on execution.

And on how Ancelotti responded.

Mourinho finished his instructions.

Then he looked around the dressing room one last time.

"You know what to do."

No shouting now.

No theatrics.

"Go and change the match."

The players filed towards the tunnel.

Mourinho followed.

By the time he reached the dugout, the anger that had consumed him at the end of the first half had disappeared from his face.

He sat down calmly.

Almost casually.

It was deliberate.

His players would look towards the bench during the second half.

He wanted them to see certainty.

Not panic.

Not fear.

As far as Mourinho was concerned, the match had not been lost.

It was only beginning.

And he did not want a respectable comeback.

He did not want pride restored by a draw.

He wanted victory.

A victory powerful enough to announce that New Manchester United were not finished.

A victory that would drag them out of their slump.

A victory that would turn a team on the verge of collapse back into the Red Rebels.

(To be continued.)