c28: Victory over Manchester United
"Oh my God, what did I just witness? This is unbelievable!"
"Come and witness divine intervention on the pitch!"
"I must be dreaming no way someone could move that fast on a football field!"
"Manchester United are on the brink of defeat!"
...
The moment Vardy found the back of the net, fans in front of televisions everywhere erupted. His goal wasn't just a score it was a statement. It struck at the hearts of viewers, digging deep into their souls with every slow-motion replay.
"Everton's goalkeeper Nigel Martyn launched the ball out of his penalty area with a thunderous clearance! Manchester United's defensive line was caught too high up the pitch! Suddenly, the 19-year-old substitute Jamie Vardy, just brought on by Moyes, charged toward United's half! Goodness me! His acceleration was blistering he blazed past Mikaël Silvestre as if he wasn't there!... Incredible! John O'Shea tried to match him but stumbled and fell! Vardy latched onto the ball, and he's storming into the box!"
"GOOOOOOOOOOL——————!"
"Phenomenal goal! Jamie Vardy with an outrageous solo run from inside his own half to put Everton ahead at Old Trafford!"
"His pace is out of this world clocking close to 36 km/h!"
Commentators lost all sense of composure, leaping from their seats and screaming over each other in utter disbelief.
Old Trafford, for a brief moment, fell into a stunned silence before a wave of groans, boos, and stunned gasps rose from the stands. Vardy's strike felt like a hammer-blow, leaving fans winded and numb.
The United players were shell-shocked. O'Shea lay on the turf, disoriented and humiliated. Silvestre crouched down, clutching his calf in clear pain suffering a cramp from trying to keep pace with the unstoppable Vardy.
Cristiano Ronaldo, who had made a name for himself with his own electric pace, stared at Vardy in astonishment. He had never seen a run like that. The raw acceleration Vardy just displayed felt quicker than anything he himself had unleashed.
Everton's players came thundering forward from their own half, screaming like warriors. Thomas Gravesen reached Vardy first, lifting him into the air before the rest of the squad piled on in a chaotic, euphoric celebration.
It was a night dripping in madness one of those games that lives forever in memory.
David Moyes, on the touchline, looked like a child on Christmas morning, wide-eyed and trembling with joy.
"My risk paid off! My gamble paid off!" he mumbled, almost delirious, repeating it to himself as if trying to confirm it was real.
Sir Alex Ferguson, standing yards away, shook his head slowly. His expression betrayed a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and an almost grudging admiration. He had once lobbied for Vardy to be sent to Everton on loan, and now here was that very player slamming home a goal that could seal Manchester United's downfall.
Vardy was swamped by his teammates, but he wore a brilliant grin. This was his first appearance in professional football and it would be etched in Premier League folklore.
"Damn, mate! That goal... it was so beautiful I nearly cried!"
"Let me clean your boots you just scored against Manchester United at Old Trafford!"
"Be honest, man what kind of engine is in your legs? That was freakish!"
...
The banter came thick and fast, but Vardy didn't need to answer. He just kept shouting in joy, fists pumping, eyes wild.
Everton's celebrations may have gone on too long for the home fans' liking. Boos began to echo once more throughout Old Trafford, while several Manchester United players crowded the referee to protest the delay. The clock was ticking mercilessly, and they knew every second lost diminished their chance to equalize.
The referee was finally forced to intervene, motioning for Everton to wrap up their wild celebration. Reluctantly, the jubilant players made their way back into formation, dragging their elation with them as they returned to their half for the restart.
But they didn't need Moyes barking orders from the technical area they knew exactly what came next: dig in, absorb the pressure, and defend like their lives depended on it. It was time to shut the gates and weather the storm.
Vardy, still brimming with adrenaline from his stunning debut goal, turned into a one-man pressing machine in midfield. Like a terrier unleashed, he harassed United's build-up at every turn. Though he couldn't win the ball cleanly every time, his energy was enough to disrupt the flow. His target became clear: Kleberson. The Brazilian midfielder, usually calm in possession, looked panicked and hesitant under Vardy's relentless pressure.
He barely dared to carry the ball forward.
Manchester United, stung by the goal and driven by the roar of Old Trafford, threw caution to the wind. The Red Devils flooded forward, urgency replacing structure. Tactics gave way to instinct shoot on sight, gamble on rebounds, and win the second balls.
Everton's back line was under siege. Nigel Martyn, the veteran goalkeeper, became the voice of authority barking instructions, repositioning defenders, and reacting to every United shot like his gloves were on fire. His command of the box was immense, yet even he looked stretched thin under the relentless assault.
And yet, Everton stood tall. What they lacked in finesse, they compensated for in resolve. Players threw themselves in front of shots Gravesen, Stubbs, Naysmith blocking with knees, ribs, and even faces if needed. Every successful clearance felt like a mini-victory. Time was slipping away, but the pressure was unrelenting.
Then came the moment that sent Moyes into fury. The fourth official held up the board for stoppage time FIVE minutes.
Five?! Moyes stormed toward the technical area in disbelief.
He gestured wildly at the fourth official. Aside from their single goal celebration, there had been no significant stoppages no injuries, no lengthy VAR reviews. Five minutes felt like a cruel joke.
"Is this 'Fergie Time' in full effect now?!" Moyes shouted, referencing the infamous tradition of generous injury time given when United trailed at Old Trafford.
On the pitch, Vardy felt the same bitterness. He'd always heard about the myth of Ferguson Time, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely. He wanted to crack open the referee's head just to see what biases were bouncing around inside.
Manchester United surged with renewed desperation. Every ball was launched forward, every attack fueled by the roar of the home crowd. Everton's players gritted their teeth and dug deeper.
With no relief in sight, Moyes turned to the oldest trick in the book: tactical substitutions to drain the clock. He called over Lee Carsley. The message was clear take your time.
Carsley, the experienced midfielder, played his role to perfection. He meandered off the pitch like an aging actor exiting stage left, stopping every few steps to high-five his teammates. He wore a look of exaggerated exhaustion, as if he'd just finished a marathon. The boos from the Stretford End only encouraged him further.
Eventually, United players lost patience. Roy Keane approached and gave Carsley a not-so-gentle push toward the touchline. The referee joined the act too, gesturing firmly for him to speed up. But Carsley, ever the professional, simply raised his hands and pointed to his legs, mouthing "cramp" with a half-smile.
As soon as the game resumed, Moyes went back to the well burning his final substitution. This time, captain David Weir made his way off. And just like Carsley, he made sure to savor every second.
Cristiano Ronaldo, frustrated beyond words by Everton's anti-football tactics, lost his temper. As Weir ambled off near the sideline, Ronaldo stormed over and shoved him hard in the chest.
Weir went down theatrically, clutching his shoulder, drawing the attention of every Everton player nearby. In an instant, they surrounded Ronaldo, seeking retribution. They weren't about to let their captain be disrespected.
United players, despite their grievances with Ronaldo's individualism, weren't about to let him face the mob alone. They rushed in, forming a barrier between their young star and the angry Toffees.
The referee stepped in quickly to restore order. He pulled Ronaldo aside and showed him a yellow card both for the shove and the verbal abuse that followed. Then he helped Weir back to his feet, patting him on the back and signaling calm.
With tempers boiling and time well past the added five minutes, the referee glanced at his watch one final time then blew the full-time whistle.
Everton had done it. Against all odds, they had defeated Manchester United at Old Trafford.
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