c26: Substitution
Manchester United were indeed significantly stronger than Everton. Coupled with the intimidating atmosphere of Old Trafford, it was no surprise that they dominated possession. Although Moyes had devised a defensive counter-attacking strategy, even he must have realized that trying to go toe-to-toe with Manchester United in open play would only lead to Everton getting punished.
Even in the absence of Roy Keane, United's attacking power was still fearsome. They focused their attacks down both flanks, where Cristiano Ronaldo and Louis Saha posed constant threats. With Paul Scholes orchestrating play from midfield, Everton found themselves continually on the back foot, unable to establish any control in the center of the pitch.
Nevertheless, Everton had earned a reputation as a defense-first team. They were no pushovers. Despite Manchester United's aggressive pressing and flowing attacks, Everton remained compact and disciplined, absorbing pressure. For all their possession and shots, the Red Devils struggled to carve out clear-cut chances.
In the opening 20 minutes, United's most dangerous moment came when Scholes unleashed one of his trademark long-range efforts just outside the penalty arc. The crowd held its breath but the shot curled narrowly wide of the post, grazing the outside netting.
Ferguson stood with his arms folded, eyebrows raised. He had expected Everton to bunker down, but their resilience was something else. Moyes, his Scottish compatriot, had done well last season, steering Everton clear of relegation. Ferguson had kept an eye on him ever since.
Today's match only reinforced that impression. Everton weren't fielding their best eleven, and United had their usual home advantage, but Everton's ability to withstand the assault was noteworthy. Most mid-table or bottom-half teams collapsed under such pressure at Old Trafford—especially sides that had flirted with relegation the season before. Yet here was Everton, holding their ground.
Of course, Ferguson knew better than to panic. Everton offered little going forward; without a viable counterattack, it was only a matter of time before their dam broke. Pure defending could only hold out for so long.
On the bench, Vardy clenched his fists, itching to get on the pitch. He watched his teammates throwing themselves in front of shots, chasing shadows. Every clearance felt like a mini victory, and each minute that ticked by without conceding was a triumph. Being a spectator was unbearable.
"Young lad, settle down. Against United at Old Trafford, defending all game isn't out of the ordinary," said backup goalkeeper Richard Wright, his voice calm and experienced.
Vardy gave a slow nod. He understood. This was the price of pragmatism. Defensive teams were constantly suffocated, their chances to break out few and far between. But sometimes, just sometimes, if you endured long enough, the tide could shift. Opportunities might come.
Hadn't Everton finished fourth in 2004–05 thanks to grit and counterattacks?
Didn't Leicester City, under Ranieri years later, stun the world and win the Premier League using the same defensive, counter-attacking model?
The first half ended goalless. Though United had peppered Everton's box with attacks, their finishing lacked sharpness. Scholes' long-range effort and Ronaldo's weaving runs had threatened, but Everton's disciplined lines held firm. The United faithful in the Stretford End didn't seem worried. With dominance this clear, they believed the breakthrough would come eventually. To them, Everton were delaying the inevitable.
Vardy chose not to go back into the locker room. While the starters received fresh instructions from Moyes, he and a few other substitutes began jogging around the touchline, stretching and preparing in case they were called upon.
But his focus drifted. Though he was listed among the substitutes, he doubted he'd see any action today. Moyes wasn't the kind to take reckless chances. Vardy was still adapting to the pace and tactical shape of the Premier League. His defensive awareness was limited, and Moyes would be reluctant to send on a forward with so little match experience unless it was absolutely necessary.
If Moyes was content to grind out a draw, Vardy's chances of playing were minimal. The priority would be reinforcing midfield or defense, not injecting a raw striker. At best, Vardy would hand out water bottles or towels during stoppages.
The realization stung, and frustration crept in.
The second half resumed, and Everton maintained their deep block, withdrawing nearly every outfield player into the midfield and defensive thirds. United responded with intelligent tactical tweaks. Alan Smith, previously limited to the box, now dropped deeper, linking midfield and attack. This drew Everton's defenders out of shape, allowing Ronaldo and Saha to exploit the gaps behind them.
The pressure intensified. Ronaldo came alive, cutting in from the left, skipping past markers. Saha bullied defenders in the air and on the ground. Scholes found his passing rhythm. A few close calls, including a low drive saved well by Nigel Martyn and a shot from Giggs blocked by Yobo, left Everton clinging on.
Eventually, a golden chance fell to Ronaldo inside the six-yard box after a flick-on from a corner. The stadium roared in anticipation but he blazed it over the bar, the ball soaring into the upper tier. Gasps and groans echoed around Old Trafford as Ferguson turned away in exasperation.
The scoreboard still read 0-0.
And on the sidelines, Vardy could only watch and wait, every muscle tense, hoping that somehow, just somehow, his name would be called next.
Having wasted a golden chance to score, Ronaldo held his head in regret, baring his teeth in frustration. If Manchester United failed to secure the win, Ronaldo who squandered a clear-cut opportunity in the six-yard box would undoubtedly become the media's scapegoat post-match.
Even Ferguson was visibly enraged on the touchline. The Scotsman's face turned scarlet, and he slammed his hand on the dugout.
"He'll be drilling shooting practice for a week straight!"
As the clock ticked toward the final 25 minutes, Ferguson's expression darkened. Everton's deep-lying block felt impenetrable. If United couldn't break them down, their momentum in the title race could take a severe blow.
Moyes, on the other side, remained calm, an ambiguous smile tugging at his lips. Never underestimate an ambitious manager who once idolized Ferguson himself.
On the surface, Everton looked entirely passive, content with absorbing pressure and grinding out a point. But was Moyes really without ambition? Did the man who guided Everton to Premier League safety and now eyed European contention have no greater plan?
In the 65th minute, Moyes strode back to the bench and signaled for the substitutes to warm up. The coaching staff snapped into motion. The message was clear adjustments were coming.
Unlike his buzzing teammates, who wore expressions of nervous anticipation, Vardy kept his thoughts grounded. Given how compact Everton's shape was two banks of four, and fullbacks rarely venturing forward he figured Moyes would just freshen up the defensive line. Maybe Yobo would come on to reinforce the aerial battle, or Watson to tighten midfield control.
"It looks like Moyes is preparing a defensive substitution. Possibly a fresh pair of legs in the midfield or backline to hold the draw," one of the commentators observed.
But then came a surprise. After the substitutes had jogged to the touchline and gone through their stretches, the assistant coach waved them back except for Vardy.
"Vardy, come here!" the assistant shouted, pulling him aside.
"When you're on, sit just ahead of the halfway line and press Kleberson hard don't let him dictate tempo. But if we turn the ball over, go full tilt. Use your speed. This could be our moment."
Vardy blinked in disbelief. Had he heard that right? He barely processed the instruction, but nodded instinctively. His brain lagged behind, but his body knew he was about to be subbed in.
There was no time to overanalyze Moyes's decision. At the next dead ball, the fourth official raised the substitution board.
#16 OFF – McFadden
#29 ON – Vardy
The young striker McFadden trudged off, disappointment etched across his face. He'd been isolated all game chasing shadows with no support and now he was being sacrificed. He barely glanced at Vardy, offering a limp handclap before exiting.
Vardy, by contrast, took his first step onto the pitch with fire in his veins.
This is it, the moment I've been training for. Time to prove I belong here.
The crowd murmured in surprise. Vardy was largely unknown, a raw, energetic forward recently signed from non-league football. Now he was Moyes's wild card.
Vardy spread his arms wide as he stepped onto the lush turf, as if he could embrace the entire stadium.
Come on then, Old Trafford. Watch closely. You're about to witness something unforgettable.
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