Chapter 160: The Darkest Hour in Premier League History! Ferguson: It's All Your Fault, Bayswater Chinese FC Turned It Around
The 2009 winter transfer window was unusually quiet.
Aside from Real Madrid signing Klaas-Jan Huntelaar from Ajax for £25 million, there was little movement.
Six months earlier, that fee would've equaled nearly €40 million.
But on February 1, 2009?
It was only €27 million.
Yes—the pound had become less valuable than the euro.
As a result, Premier League clubs barely made any moves this winter.
The only notable deal? Tottenham re-signing Robbie Keane from Liverpool.
And even that didn't cost much.
Why?
Because Liverpool had barely paid anything from the original transfer.
So really, Tottenham got Keane back like a retailer with free returns and a refund guarantee.
Yang Cheng joked that maybe he should chat with Daniel Levy about offering a "refund-only" deal—what a bargain that would be.
With the pound crashing and Premier League clubs tightening their belts, only Manchester City, Chelsea, and Arsenal were still capable of big spending.
City, backed by the deep pockets of the Abu Dhabi group, should have seen this as the perfect buying opportunity.
But with the team underperforming, rumors began swirling that Eriksson was about to be sacked.
Possible replacements?
Ex-Inter boss Mancini, Milan's Ancelotti, Villarreal's Pellegrini—all hot names in European coaching circles.
While it was just speculation for the media, Yang Cheng had inside knowledge.
City weren't buying in January because they were saving up for a huge summer coup.
Why?
Because after a full year of negotiations, they had finally convinced Ancelotti.
Yang had learned that the deal was already finalized.
Ancelotti had even submitted his plans—tactical systems, transfer targets, squad structure, statistical benchmarks—and got full backing from City's management.
He was expected to take over in June.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, this was a completely different story.
In May 2008, before Kaká's transfer to City, Ancelotti had already met with Chelsea twice—once in Geneva, once in Paris—during official events.
Chelsea had insisted on complete secrecy.
But within hours, news of Ancelotti meeting Abramovich in Paris was splashed across newspapers across Europe.
Milan GM Galliani immediately called Ancelotti for an explanation.
That incident made Ancelotti realize—Chelsea was a leaky ship.
In the end, Chelsea chose Scolari, claiming his English was better than Ancelotti's.
Earlier this season, Yang Cheng had teased Ancelotti about the whole affair.
By contrast, Manchester City were the picture of professionalism.
While they chased Kaká, they also pursued Ancelotti.
When Kaká was won over by City's vision, he personally recommended Ancelotti.
And Ancelotti, tired of Milan and Serie A, began to seriously consider leaving Italy.
City's ambition, trust, and resources left a strong impression on him.
To fans, City still looked like nouveau riche upstarts—no Champions League, inconsistent results…
But to a coach, with the right budget, results come quickly.
How long did it take for Chelsea to rise?
One summer and Ranieri had them in the Champions League semis.
At the end of the day, football is about money.
And knowing how to spend it.
Word had it that during the Serie A winter break, City chairman Mubarak personally flew to Milan to seal the deal.
And Yang Cheng had heard one more thing:
Ancelotti's first transfer target for City was Pirlo.
That gave Yang a mix of pressure—and excitement.
Ancelotti to City? Who would've thought?
With that kind of backing and Ancelotti's tactical acumen, City might rise faster than Yang had predicted.
As for Chelsea?
Yang Cheng just thought: Abramovich's actions have earned him everything he's getting.
Oh, and one more juicy bit—Yang heard:
City were offering Ancelotti a 3-year contract worth £20 million in total.
Meanwhile, his salary at Milan? Only €4.2 million annually.
...
The Premier League's quiet winter window wasn't just about exchange rates or club budgets.
There was another bombshell shaking English football.
The British government was planning to raise income tax on high earners.
At that point, it was only a media leak—not official.
But everyone knew: government policy always started with a whisper to gauge public reaction before formalizing it.
And "high earners" meant anyone earning more than £150,000 per year.
The current tax rate? 40%.
The proposed hike? 50%.
In other words, half their salary gone to taxes.
For comparison:
– Germany and Italy: 43%
– France: 40%
– Spain: 25% (thanks to the "Beckham Law" for foreign players in their first 3 years)
"The economy is in the pits," Xia Qing explained, "so the UK government is slashing interest rates to stimulate growth, but now they also want to stabilize the pound."
"And now they've turned their scissors on high earners."
"The fact that the media isn't reporting it much—and the public reaction is muted—means it's practically confirmed."
From the public's perspective, that made sense.
But for professional footballers, especially those in the Premier League and Championship?
They were furious.
Because most of them fell directly into the crosshairs.
"We're under more and more pressure," said Adam Crozier. "The pound has dropped to 1:0.9 against the euro, and now this tax hike—it's a double whammy. The club is getting squeezed hard."
Even Crozier was among the "sliced" class—but he still approached it from the club's point of view.
Omar Berrada had it worst—his entire family lived in the eurozone.
But for high-level execs like them, it wasn't easy to walk away from a club like Bayswater Chinese FC—a club with real potential and a bright future.
"I don't think it'll be immediate," Yang Cheng offered. "There'll be a transition period. The earliest implementation would be 2010."
He didn't want to be too certain.
In his past life, the tax hike started in April 2010.
Even when the pound rebounded mid-2009 to around 1.25 per euro, the 2010 tax hike still led to a mass exodus of Premier League stars.
It ushered in the darkest hour for the Premier League.
Cristiano Ronaldo, Fabregas, Xabi Alonso, Alex Song, Mascherano… all left.
And then came Real Madrid and Barcelona, feasting on English talent with no real resistance.
To keep their players from leaving, Premier League clubs had no choice but to once again wield the double-edged sword of wage increases, absorbing the costs of both the exchange rate drop and the incoming tax hike.
This drove salaries in the Premier League even higher.
But that same move eventually led to a noticeable decline in top-level competitiveness across the league after 2010.
Spain's 25% tax rate was simply too powerful.
For example, if a player wanted to earn a £5 million net salary per year, an English club would need to pay £10 million gross.
A Spanish club?
They'd only need to pay £6.66 million.
That's for just one player.
Now imagine a whole squad, or twenty clubs, or even more when coaches and staff are included.
But there was nothing they could do.
In the face of national governments and a global financial crisis, football clubs were insignificant.
"We need to be prepared for the storm ahead. If a player can be renewed, we renew. But no matter what, we must strictly uphold our wage structure and keep ammunition in reserve."
Yang Cheng looked seriously at Xia Qing, Adam Crozier, and the others.
"This is a long war, not a quick battle. We need to be fully prepared."
"No matter how crazy other clubs get, by 2012, our salary cap will go no higher than £100,000 per week."
Bayswater Chinese FC had always been pushed along by the market when it came to wages.
But Yang Cheng would never fire all his bullets at once.
Success on the pitch was important, but financial health and long-term sustainability were the top priority.
The new stadium had to be built.
The youth academy had to keep receiving investment.
And player wages had to be strictly controlled.
"In recent years, especially the last two, the Premier League's skyrocketing broadcasting revenue and commercial success have encouraged clubs to spend wildly. Salaries soared."
"But now, with the pound crashing and taxes rising, it's going to drag a lot of clubs into the mud."
"We absolutely cannot follow them into that hole."
Yang Cheng said it loud and clear.
If players couldn't accept it? Then sell them.
Sacrificing short-term results was worth it to protect financial stability.
"On the other hand, we need to speed up commercial development. Expand our channels. Boost revenue. Raise our club's overall income."
He looked at Adam Crozier and Omar Berrada.
"The commercial team needs to push harder. This year, let's take a swing at something big in the United States."
Crozier and Berrada nodded immediately.
The US tour had been in planning for two years.
Everything was nearly in place.
"In the coming months, we'll both be flying to the US regularly—to inspect and negotiate. We'll bring back a standout report card," Crozier promised with a grin.
You could see his confidence.
Yang Cheng turned to Chris Hunter.
Bayswater's eighth satellite academy had just launched—and no other Premier League club had responded yet.
Maybe they'd noticed, but none had followed.
Still, Yang Cheng stood firm: never cut youth development.
"Chris, keep a close eye on stadium construction. No screw-ups. You've seen the situation—we all need to be at our absolute best."
Chris Hunter, an old friend of Yang Cheng's, slapped his chest in response.
"No worries on my end."
By "screw-ups," Yang mostly meant financial irregularities.
There were third-party supervisors for quality assurance—he wasn't worried there.
But finances were Xia Qing's turf, and every supplier was vetted and compared thoroughly.
Still, the on-site responsibility lay with Chris, and Yang needed him to carry it.
"Right now, this is a make-or-break moment for clubs like Newcastle, Everton, Spurs…"
Yang wasn't talking about results.
In the face of financial collapse, league position meant nothing.
Unless you got relegated from the Premier League—that was a different story.
"But on the flip side, in times of crisis, it's the perfect chance to overtake. That's how we build our foundation—now, more than ever, we fight harder."
Bayswater wasn't in crisis.
But Yang Cheng intended to use this opportunity to leapfrog everyone, and cement the club's place in English and European football.
And that foundation wouldn't just be about trophies.
Not just global recognition.
It had to be complete club strength—inside and out.
...
There was a one-week break between Premier League Rounds 24 and 25.
Yang Cheng had originally proposed using that window to play the long-delayed make-up match against Manchester United.
The Premier League and the broadcasters had no objection.
But Ferguson rejected it again.
This time, Yang Cheng accepted the reasoning.
Since Christmas, both teams had been grinding nonstop—no rest, only matches.
With injuries and dips in form piling up, the players were exhausted.
Ferguson figured: if we finally get a week off in early February, why not use it?
Keeping the madness going would just hurt Champions League performance later.
But they couldn't keep postponing forever—the Champions League was starting again soon.
So Yang Cheng called Ferguson personally.
"I've picked the date. February 18." Ferguson said on the call.
"You sure?"
"Sure. February 18."
Ferguson chuckled over the line.
"Think about it. The weekend before is the FA Cup Fifth Round. The weekend after, you play West Brom at home. We've got Blackburn. Honestly, you guys have it easier."
What Ferguson failed to mention?
That midweek—between the FA Cup and the league match—was an international break. Squads would be disrupted.
If he hadn't brought that up, Yang Cheng would've let it slide.
But hearing the old fox playing dumb ticked him off.
"West Brom might be bottom, but they're only two points behind Blackburn. Pretty much the same level."
"And come on, Sir Alex—you think I'm stupid? FA Cup Fifth Round? You play Derby. We play Aston Villa."
Caught red-handed, Ferguson let out an awkward laugh.
Eventually, he softened his tone.
Too many matches. Too many problems.
"Fine, fine. We're the generous ones, right? You guys are leading us by miles anyway. Let's just say we're giving you a break. February 18. Locked in."
"Absolutely locked," Ferguson confirmed.
Truth was, he got a great deal out of it.
"Deal," Yang Cheng replied.
They both faxed the confirmation to the Premier League.
The match was officially set for February 18.
And as fate would have it?
Bayswater would play United again—at home—on March 21.
Just one month apart.
Yang Cheng, of course, had his own calculations in mind.
In the Champions League Round of 16 draw, Bayswater Chinese FC were paired with Real Madrid, while Manchester United got the relatively easy draw of Panathinaikos.
If the rescheduled league match were pushed any further, it would inevitably fall between the two legs of the Champions League knockout rounds.
That would affect Bayswater far more than Manchester United.
But letting Ferguson and United get off so easily?
That wasn't Yang Cheng's style.
So he picked up the phone and called Adam Crozier.
First, to inform him that the makeup date had been finalized.
Second, to instruct him to notify the club's media department—and make sure they "promoted" the hell out of it.
The narrative?
"Manchester United are terrified of Bayswater."
That's why they kept dodging the makeup game—until they finally picked a date highly favorable to themselves.
In other words?
They surrendered before the battle even began.
"Let's see if this doesn't drive you up the wall, old man," Yang Cheng chuckled.
...
One week later – Premier League Round 25
Upton Park, London – West Ham vs. Manchester United
In the 78th minute, Cristiano Ronaldo received a brilliant through ball from Paul Scholes and burst into the penalty area.
Center-back Lucas Neill came flying in to challenge.
But Ronaldo had already stepped into the box, and Neill couldn't stop his momentum—he bulldozed the Portuguese forward.
Referee Phil Dowd immediately pointed to the spot—and flashed Neill a second yellow.
The first had come earlier in the match, also for fouling Ronaldo.
Now it turned into a red card, and West Ham's right-back was sent off.
Upton Park's 35,000-strong crowd erupted in furious boos.
But on the touchline, Ferguson clenched his fist and shouted, "Yes!"
"Zola's done a decent job since taking over West Ham," Ferguson said, walking back to the bench. "Typical Italian coach—well organized."
Everyone familiar with him knew what that meant.
Translation?
"Even a tactician like Zola couldn't beat us. United still wins."
"Next season, the Premier League will have another Italian. The competition will be fierce."
He was referring to Carlo Ancelotti.
Tactically speaking, Zola had indeed improved West Ham.
The team had transitioned well to a more attacking style, showing tidy buildup and quick progression.
Defensively, they were compact and rarely left gaps.
Zola had even said in interviews that he drew inspiration from Yang Cheng's Bayswater side.
Still, the gulf in quality between West Ham and Bayswater was glaring—and West Ham gave United plenty of trouble.
Ferguson's main headache?
Giggs was in poor form.
"We need to think of something."
In the past, if Carlos Queiroz had still been around, Ferguson would've said that and Queiroz would have presented three tactical plans within minutes.
But now?
Assistant coach Mike Phelan stood silently, notebook in hand, waiting to take instructions.
It made Ferguson uncomfortably nostalgic.
He missed Queiroz, more than he cared to admit.
Ronaldo stepped up and converted the penalty—United took the lead.
Ferguson didn't even bother celebrating.
Around him, others were ecstatic.
After nearly 80 minutes of frustration, a penalty finally broke the deadlock.
He knew what was coming in the media.
Once again, United would be accused of referee bias.
And that thought brought him back to Yang Cheng.
That damn brat had fed the press a story that United were ducking the makeup game because Ferguson was afraid of him.
It caused a media storm—and Ferguson had been cleaning up the mess ever since.
"Bayswater's away game at Wigan is at 3 p.m., right?" Ferguson asked.
"Yes," Phelan replied.
"Let me know the moment something happens."
Ferguson smirked.
He wanted to throw a wrench in Yang Cheng's momentum.
Let that brat know who the real king of the Premier League was.
United held on to win 1–0, thanks to Ronaldo's penalty.
As Ferguson finished his post-match press conference—where he was once again grilled about the scheduling issue—he nearly stormed out.
The media just loved twisting the knife.
By the time he changed and boarded the team bus, Phelan delivered the news:
Wigan had scored!
"Seriously?! They scored?" Ferguson was overjoyed.
At that moment, he felt like the football gods had finally answered his prayers.
"Yeah," Phelan laughed. "Mido earned a corner, poor clearance, ball dropped to him—blasted it from outside the box. Neuer didn't stand a chance."
"Beautiful! I always liked that kid Mido," Ferguson beamed. "If he hadn't almost killed Ibrahimović that one time, I might've signed him."
Ferguson felt like a blocked artery had cleared.
"Hey! Doesn't that 3G stream thing work now? Pull it up! I wanna watch it live!"
...
JJB Stadium – Wigan vs. Bayswater Chinese FC
Yang Cheng stood calmly on the sideline.
Wigan were playing really well.
Steve Bruce had promised to disrupt Bayswater, and he was delivering.
Wigan weren't just sitting back.
They pressed high near midfield, using their physicality to break Bayswater's rhythm.
Their relentless running and aggressive duels threw Bayswater off balance.
Yang Cheng knew it wasn't just Wigan.
His own team had relaxed.
After months of nonstop intensity, they'd finally had a week off—and mentally, the players had let up just a bit.
That gave Wigan their opening.
And even though Wigan were playing rough, their fouls weren't egregious.
Only one yellow card had been issued.
Typical home-field officiating.
Yang Cheng made no changes at halftime.
Instead, he criticized the players—not for effort, but for lowering their standards.
"You're underperforming because you're not pushing yourselves hard enough. That's why we're behind."
For the second half?
Push higher. Take back control.
"I don't believe for a second they can keep up this physical intensity for 90 minutes."
"After 55 minutes, we will take back control."
The second half picked up right where the first left off.
Neither side could create any real chances.
Bayswater Chinese FC's rhythm kept getting disrupted.
Wigan's wide players, Hugo Rodallega and Antonio Valencia, were lightning quick.
In a way, this Wigan side mirrored Bayswater—playing a similar 4-3-3, with Mido as the target man.
The biggest difference?
Midfield quality.
Bayswater's trio wasn't something you could replicate with effort alone.
That—and the players' individual class, and the layered advantage that collective quality brings.
In the 59th minute, Antonio Valencia broke through on the right and stormed into Bayswater's penalty area.
But Thiago Silva timed it perfectly, sliding between Valencia and the ball to steal it cleanly before clearing it away.
The ball rolled to Honduran left-back Maynor Figueroa—a key part of Wigan's cost-effective recruitment strategy.
Chairman Dave Whelan had assembled a squad full of internationals from Colombia, Honduras, Ecuador—strong players, but at a discount.
Rodallega was a Colombia international, for example.
As Figueroa advanced down the left and reached the 30-meter zone, Walcott suddenly pressed, combining with Modrić to force the turnover.
Modrić poked the ball forward.
With Džeko out injured, Lewandowski started this match.
The Polish striker dropped deep, back to goal, and without taking a touch, spun and swept the ball sideways.
It rolled perfectly to Rakitić.
The Croatian burst forward from the left channel, reaching the edge of Wigan's final third—then released a through ball.
Di María came flying in, burning past former Chelsea right-back Mario Melchiot, and into the box.
He met Rakitić's pass and whipped in a low ball across goal.
Everyone on the pitch froze for a split second.
Even goalkeeper Chris Kirkland was caught off guard.
Lewandowski wasn't there. Rakitić hadn't arrived either. Who was it for?
Then—a blur of red streaked across the screen.
There was only one man at Wembley who could move like that.
"GOAL!!!!"
"WALCOTT!!!!"
"Theo Walcott equalizes for Bayswater Chinese FC!"
"1–1!"
"The Little Tiger scores again!"
"And he owes it to Di María's brilliant assist!"
"But don't forget—Walcott just sprinted nearly 70 meters in seconds!"
"Incredible speed!"
Yang Cheng jumped on the touchline, fists pumping.
His assistants roared with joy.
But Yang quickly signaled to push even harder.
He could see it now—Wigan were running on fumes.
They'd pressed for an hour with relentless intensity.
Now, they were collapsing.
They'd tried to suppress Bayswater with physicality and work rate.
But without technical superiority, it was always a ticking time bomb.
That they'd lasted 60 minutes was only because Bayswater hadn't been sharp today.
Earlier in the season? Wigan would've crumbled in the first half.
Yang Cheng made his final call:
Push up. Attack. Finish it.
...
Bayswater launched their assault.
Just six minutes after equalizing, Di María surged down the left again, cutting through defenders.
Midfielder Melchiot flew in with a desperate slide tackle—ball out for a throw.
Baines rushed up, wiped the ball on his shirt, and threw it to Rakitić.
Rakitić got there first, but Michael Brown yanked him down from behind.
A blatant foul—right in front of the referee.
Whistle. Yellow card—only the second of the match.
Baines placed the ball quickly.
On the whistle, he tapped it to Di María.
The Argentine returned it to Rakitić, then exploded toward the endline.
Wigan's four defenders were marking three Bayswater attackers.
Rakitić threaded a pass down the channel.
Di María got free, latched onto it near the byline, and curled a low ball to the six-yard box.
It was the same type of cross Kompany had once turned into his own net.
But this time, Lewandowski beat both Wigan center-backs to it and slid in with a finish.
"GOAL!!!!"
"2–1!"
"Bayswater Chinese FC complete the comeback!"
"Lewandowski with the go-ahead goal!"
"His 9th Premier League goal this season—already surpassing his tally from last year!"
"Back-to-back games with goals—fantastic form!"
Yang Cheng made his first substitution in the 65th minute.
Bale on for Walcott.
Di María switched to the right.
A clear signal—more attack.
Walcott had run himself into the ground for an hour.
Now Bale would bring fresh legs and power.
With the change, Bayswater became even more dangerous.
In the 77th minute, Maicon overlapped on the right and linked up with Di María.
He reached the edge of the box and squared to Lewandowski.
The Pole held off Titus Bramble, used his body well, and tried to turn.
But Bramble stood at 1.92 meters and 92 kg.
Lewandowski, at 1.85m and 80kg, couldn't overpower him.
As he tried to spin, Bramble nudged him—Lewandowski stumbled but protected the ball.
Di María, cutting across the top of the box, shouted.
Despite the awkward footing, Lewandowski stayed upright and poked it across.
Di María took it on his left, shifted across the arc to the right—and struck a low drive.
It skidded off the turf, bounced once, and slipped under Kirkland's outstretched arm, nestling into the bottom left corner.
"GOAL AGAIN!!!!"
"3–1!"
"Di María with another!"
"The Argentine is absolutely on fire right now!"
"Bayswater's second half has been ruthless!"
"Wigan simply can't keep up!"
Steve Bruce had made subs—but it didn't matter anymore.
But by that point, the match tempo had completely shifted—Bayswater Chinese FC were in full control.
Wigan's substitutions had little effect.
They were falling apart—at home.
In the 83rd minute, Wigan earned a free kick about 30 meters out.
But when the ball was lofted into Bayswater's box, Pepe rose first and cleared it with a powerful header.
Modrić brought the ball down and immediately sent a direct pass through the middle.
Lewandowski charged forward, storming into Wigan's half and tearing into the final third.
Despite defenders pulling and dragging him, he managed to squeeze out a through ball.
It wasn't perfect—slightly underhit.
But Di María lunged for it.
As Figueroa tried to clear, Di María stuck out a foot and blocked it.
The ball ricocheted off his leg and rolled into the left channel at the edge of the box.
Gareth Bale arrived like a bolt of lightning, took one touch into the box, then rifled a left-footed shot into the Wigan goal.
4–1!
The Welshman spun away and sprinted down the sideline, roaring in celebration.
The JJB Stadium fell completely silent.
Wigan's spirit was broken.
But Bayswater didn't stop.
As Yang Cheng had said:
"If you want to teach them a lesson—make it the most brutal, the most unforgettable."
With Bayswater pressing high across the pitch, Wigan had no answer.
By the end, they were completely gassed—legs gone, reactions slow.
And the final blow came in stoppage time, 92nd minute.
From the right, Maicon whipped in a sharp horizontal pass.
Yaya Touré arrived late, controlled the ball and sliced through three defenders, entered the right side of the box—and unleashed a rocket.
Boom.
5–1!
Everyone was stunned.
In the first half, they'd led and celebrated wildly.
Now? They were shattered.
They had given everything.
Even Steve Bruce, still making defensive subs in the 85th minute—was left shell-shocked.
But it didn't matter.
They conceded again in injury time.
From 1–0 up to 1–5 down, it all unraveled in just half an hour.
"This was hands down Bayswater Chinese FC's most inspiring match of the season!"
"At the JJB Stadium, they showed their courage, their strength, and their relentless desire!"
"Yang Cheng's side didn't just display their firepower—but their unbreakable spirit."
"Steve Bruce's tactics worked—for 60 minutes. But Bayswater only needed 30 to break Wigan into pieces."
"Wigan didn't play poorly."
"They were just up against a superior team."
...
Meanwhile, Manchester United's players were speechless.
The ride from London back to Manchester was 340 kilometers—about 4 hours.
The moment they boarded the bus, they saw Ferguson watching the match via Sky Sports… on his phone.
A tiny Nokia screen—terrible for watching football.
But Ferguson was totally absorbed, even muttering comments alongside the broadcast.
Everyone knew—he was in a great mood.
Until they crossed into Birmingham.
That's when everything went downhill.
Bayswater had equalized.
Then taken the lead.
Then… kept going.
A match they'd trailed for over an hour had turned into a massacre.
And when Touré scored the fifth goal, slicing through Wigan's defense and blasting it in, Ferguson exploded.
"What the hell is Wigan doing?!"
In his fury, he slammed his Nokia against the seat rail.
The famously indestructible phone… cracked.
Dead.
The brand-new Nokia he'd just bought was now trash.
On the bus, everyone not wearing headphones went silent.
All eyes turned toward the front of the bus.
Ferguson, breathing heavily, slumped back into his seat.
He looked down at his broken phone and muttered:
"Damn it, Yang Cheng… You owe me a phone."
"Bayswater really are something else," said Mike Phelan, trying to calm him.
"Wigan just aren't in the same league."
Ferguson was still chasing the title.
In his mind, as long as Bayswater slipped—and United won both head-to-head matches—they still had a chance.
That was a nine-point swing.
But this? Wigan hadn't just lost—they'd been obliterated.
This only made Bayswater stronger.
"Upsets happen," Ferguson grumbled.
"They went too hard in the first half. Burned themselves out."
Phelan wanted to say: If they didn't go hard early, Bayswater would've killed them before halftime.
In the end, it wasn't about Wigan being poor.
It was about Bayswater being too strong.
Phelan understood why Ferguson was fuming.
After this match came international duty, then the FA Cup, then—United vs. Bayswater at Old Trafford.
Everyone could see it—United's form wasn't great.
But Bayswater just destroyed Wigan 5–1 away.
Now they'd arrive at Old Trafford on a high.
Bad news for United.
"Damn it… I should never have watched that stream…"
Then Ferguson turned to Phelan, fuming again.
"This is all your fault! Why'd you set up that 3G plan? Now my phone's broken, and I'm furious!"
Phelan looked like he'd swallowed a porcupine.
He hadn't done anything wrong.
Ferguson had asked him to set it up.
Ferguson had smashed the phone himself.
Now it was his fault?
But seeing Ferguson still seething, Phelan swallowed his frustration and stayed quiet.
Everyone knew Ferguson's temper flared fast and burned hot—but it also faded quickly.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, he acted like nothing had happened.
"When we get back, call a coaches' meeting. We're breaking this game down."
"On February 18, at Old Trafford—I want Yang Cheng and his team to leave with nothing."
By the end, Ferguson was gritting his teeth.
Winning the league?
Sometimes, you just had to do it yourself.
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