Gerrard slowly backed away from the penalty spot, putting distance between himself and the ball.
With hands on his hips and eyes locked on the goal sharp and calmly as though he'd already read every intention in De Gea's game.
De Gea crouched low, knees bent, arms were spread and waving, trying to throw Gerrard off his rhythm.
He stared solid at Gerrard's every movement, hunting for a tell in his eyes, in his stance, anything that might reveal where the shot was going. Last time, he'd guessed wrong. This time, he wasn't going to miss his chance again.
Peep!
Clattenburg's whistle cut through the air. The kick was on.
Gerrard drew a slow breath. He took his run-up without a flicker of hesitation, and struck the ball in the same low drive to the bottom right corner, just as before.
It was his signature finish. The angle was wicked full of venom.
De Gea reacted in a flash, diving to his right almost the instant Gerrard's foot connected. He'd read it.
He stretched every inch of his body, fingertips brushing so close to the ball but Gerrard's strike was too precise this time, the trajectory was pressed low and flat, and the ball kissed the inside of the post before it tore into the net.
It slammed into the netting.
Whoosh!
The ball was in.
0-2.
Liverpool had doubled their lead.
"GOAL!!!"
The roar from the Liverpool fans tore through the jeers of Old Trafford in an instant. The travelling Reds waved their shirts, leaping and screaming, faces filled with raw emotions.
Gerrard turned with arms flung wide and sprinted toward the away end.
His teammates came rushing in, swarming around him, wrapping him in hugs.
Julien thumped him hard on the back, celebrating with everything he had.
Meanwhile, up in the gantry, Martin Tyler could barely contain himself. "Unbelievable! Gerrard! He steps up to take the penalty again, and once more picks out that bottom right corner with his right foot! De Gea read it correctly but there was nothing he could do to keep it out! Liverpool lead Manchester United two-nil!
Ladies and gentlemen, that is Steven Gerrard's ninth goal in North-West derby history! With this penalty, he draws level with George Wall's record! Thirty-two derbies, nine goals—Gerrard is writing his name into Liverpool folklore with every strike. He is the soul of this football club!"
After the praise, Martin Tyler slowed his pace and turned his attention to United. "As for Manchester United, their situation has only grown more dire. A penalty conceded just twenty-seven seconds into the second half, and now they trail two-nil at home—already they look completely shell-shocked.
Perhaps Moyes had words for them at the break, but whatever was said hasn't had the slightest effect—the players were shattered the moment that penalty went in. Right now, United's spirit, their belief, all of it has bottomed out."
Finally, Martin Tyler turned his praise back to Liverpool. "We have to be honest, looking at Liverpool's squad, their form this season, and especially their performance in today's derby, the Premier League title race might already be over.
Look at that lineup: Gerrard, De Rocca, De Bruyne, Sturridge, Kanté, and behind them a back line of Van Dijk and Agger, with Mignolet in goal. This Liverpool side has no weakness anywhere on the pitch. The cohesion, the fighting spirit, it's totally frightening.
"And that's before you even mention the bench of Henderson, Coutinho. Even on the injury list they've got Suárez, an absolute weapon, plus Skrtel and others.
I'll say it bluntly: this Liverpool team has the quality to dominate for years to come. They are young, hungry, and gifted.
So long as they don't self-destruct, don't make careless mistakes, and stay focused match after match, there is almost no doubt left about who wins the league title this season. No club in England can live with the pace they're setting."
Martin Tyler's words landed heavily through TV screens. "Today's performance from United is the clearest proof of it. Playing at home, with every advantage on their side, and still Liverpool have pinned them down completely, penalty after penalty was crashing through their defence. United simply cannot live with this Liverpool side.
Look across the rest of the league—City, Chelsea, or Arsenal none of them look capable right now of shaking Liverpool from the top…"
Those words from Martin Tyler reached differently depending on who was listening.
For the Liverpool fans, it was pure joy. They'd have been thrilled to hear the title race was already done and dusted.
Inside Old Trafford, the United fans felt nothing of the sort.
Plenty of supporters sat with their heads bowed, faces showing despair. Some were already on their feet, heading for the exits, unwilling to watch their team thrashed so badly any longer.
Moyes stood with his arms folded, fixed to the spot, staring blankly out at the pitch.
Every plan, every idea had dissolved into helplessness.
He knew it. Two goals down, with less than forty-five minutes left in the half, a United comeback was next to impossible.
It wasn't the scoreline that was the problem.
It was the belief.
The morale.
Soon—
Peep!
The whistle sounded. Play resumed.
United restarted from the back, but Liverpool weren't about to sit on their lead—they pressed high immediately.
United, deep in trouble now, grew noticeably more anxious, mistakes were piling up one after another.
Liverpool kept up the pressure, wave after wave of attacks were leaving United's defence teetering on the edge of collapse.
The sighs around Old Trafford grew louder and louder, the despair was plainer on every face in the stands.
At 56th minute, United won a corner. It was their best chance yet to claw back into the game.
The corner came in, and the box erupted into chaos.
Vidić lost his footing in an aerial duel and crashed hard to the ground, his face twisted in pain.
At the same moment, Agger took a heavy blow beneath his right eye in the tangle with Vidić—the area swelled instantly, a red lump was rising fast.
The team physios sprinted onto the pitch, checking both players quickly.
Play was halted.
Vidić was fine, he was back on his feet in no time with no apparent lasting damage. But beneath Agger's right eye, a bruise was already starting to rise.
After a brief treatment, both men returned to the action.
United's attack, though, still had nothing to show for it.
At 65th minute, Mata picked up the ball in the final third, shrugged off a Liverpool challenge, and struck a shot on goal without hesitation but Van Dijk threw himself in front of it and blocked it away.
Fellaini followed up quickly, lashing a rebound from the edge of the box, but he put too much into it—the ball skimmed the outside of the post and flew wide, another chance gone for United.
Fellaini shook his head in frustration.
On the touchline, Moyes had lost his earlier restlessness. He simply stood there, expressionless with blank eyes as if he'd already accepted the team's fate.
Or perhaps he'd already accepted his own.
In 73rd minute, Sturridge burst forward down the flank. As Vidić moved to intercept, something, his instinct, or the weight of everything piling up got the better of him. Tough being badly out of position, he committed himself anyway.
He went in with a sliding tackle from the side, scything Sturridge down. Sturridge hit the turf hard.
Peep!
Referee Clattenburg's whistle rang out at once for a foul against Vidić, and a yellow card followed.
Vidić didn't argue. He simply walked back to his position in silence.
The rest of the United players had nothing left to say either.
They were beyond it now. Numb.
By this point, United's discipline had completely unravelled, gaps were opening up all over the defence.
Barely a minute later, Liverpool struck again.
De Bruyne picked up possession in midfield and drove forward, all the way to the edge of United's box, before letting fly without a second thought but he put too much on it, and the ball sailed high over the crossbar and into the stands.
Liverpool's chance to extend the lead had gone.
Then Gerrard collected a pass from a teammate and fired off two shots in quick sequence—the first was blocked by a United defender, the second drifted just wide.
Neither found the net, but Liverpool's momentum showed no sign of slowing.
Wave after wave of pressure.
United had no choice but to retreat and absorb it, pinned back in their own stadium.
Watching the shift in the game, Martin Tyler laughed. "Now this is the Klopp we know—Liverpool were holding back a little in the first half, but not anymore…"
On the pitch, at 77th minute, controversy erupted again!
It was another blow for United.
Julien, showing off that pace and flexibility of his, broke free down the right flank, leaving the United defence trailing him, and drove into the box.
Vidić, desperate to stop him, went in with a reckless sliding challenge. Julien pulled the ball and lost his balance and crashed down inside the area.
Peep!
Clattenburg didn't hesitate—it was another penalty.
Then he reached for a second yellow shown to Vidić, who'd already been booked once. Two yellows, one red. Vidić was sent off.
The United players were stunned into silence.
Down to ten men, and now another penalty against them—they swarmed the referee in protest.
Three penalties in one match?
It felt impossible to accept. Surely, they argued, Clattenburg was favouring Liverpool.
But Clattenburg's expression didn't waver. He held his ground.
The penalty stood.
Vidić had nothing left to argue. He shook his head and walked off the pitch.
As he walked, his face carried nothing but guilt, as if he were apologising for his own recklessness.
A few fans jeered him as he left.
It wasn't only directed at him—it was aimed at the whole team.
They couldn't accept it: this club, champions just last season, was now fighting just to secure a Champions League spot.
With the penalty confirmed, Julien slowly picked himself up off the ground.
He walked over to Gerrard again with a smile on his face. "Steven, you should take this one too—let's make it a hat-trick!"
But Gerrard shook his head gently and clapped him on the shoulder. "No. This one's yours. You've earned it."
Julien blinked, then nodded.
He didn't argue either.
He picked up the ball, walked it to the penalty spot, placed it carefully, then stepped back a few paces, steadying his breathing.
De Gea crouched, knees bent, eyes on Julien, trying to read where the shot would go. But after everything he'd been through tonight, even his composure had started to crack.
Peep!
Julien took a slow run-up and struck a low shot with his right foot. The ball skimmed across the grass toward the left side of the goal, startling De Gea completely, and rolled into the net.
0-3.
Liverpool had scored again.
The moment the ball crossed the line, the Liverpool fans' roar shook Old Trafford to its foundations, while the United fans sank into total despair, their faces were drained of everything.
On the pitch, the United players stood with their heads down, shoulders slumped. They stood frozen, unmoving, as if they'd been completely broken, all fight gone from them.
Julien celebrated wildly with his teammates.
Three penalties.
All three were converted.
Klopp showed a smile too, but he was already waving his players forward, urging them to keep pushing.
No mercy for United.
Play resumed.
It was 78th minute, and Liverpool attacked again.
Sturridge picked up the ball on the left edge of the box and struck it first time, the shot carried some power but it drifted just over the crossbar, clipping the bar as it sailed wide.
Moments later, Sturridge tangled with Carrick inside the box, the two were colliding, and Sturridge went down again. The Liverpool fans erupted, screaming for a penalty.
But this time Clattenburg shook his head and waved play on. No penalty was given.
Whether it was a foul or not, he wasn't about to give United's fans anything more to be furious about tonight.
At 83rd minute, Julien showed his power again, collecting the ball out wide on the right and muscling straight through Phil Jones's challenge, driving forward to within ten metres of goal before unleashing a fierce strike toward the target.
De Gea produced a brilliant save, as he threw himself to the side and palmed the ball away with his fingertips, clearing the danger just in time.
It was one of the few genuine moments of quality in United's defence all night. But by now, there was no coming back for United.
Barely a minute later, De Bruyne received the ball in midfield and sent a clinical through-ball into the box.
Evra, scrambling to recover, was caught out of position at the back of the defensive line, and United's attempt to spring the offside trap fell completely apart.
Sturridge pounced on the opening, surging forward, taking the ball in the run, and slotted it low into the net.
The ball found the back of the net.
De Gea threw himself at it, but there was nothing he could do to keep it out.
0-4!
Old Trafford fell into complete silence. United had well and truly been torn apart.
The players stood with their heads down showing faces full of despair.
An entire season of being battered by Liverpool in lopsided scorelines—this was shaping up to be the most humiliating derby record in the club's history.
Moyes's face had gone pale as a sheet, his hands buried in his pockets. His fingers trembled, hidden from view. He knew, this match, United had been beaten in every sense of the word.
And his job, he suspected, was gone with it.
At 88th minute, Liverpool brought on Coutinho, giving Julien a well-earned rest.
Coutinho made an immediate impact after coming on.
He picked up the ball just outside the box and let fly without hesitation, giving it a real go.
The ball curled through the air in a beautiful arc, clipping the left post before drifting just wide, inches away from another goal.
Moments later, De Bruyne received a pass from a teammate and fired another shot, the ball travelled with decent pace but De Gea gathered it safely.
Even after the save, there was no relief on De Gea's face, only exhaustion.
Deep into stoppage time, United won a free-kick. Rooney stood over the ball; his expression was grim as this was one of the few chances United would get all night to find the net.
He took a deep breath, ran up, and struck it but the ball sailed high over the crossbar.
Any hope United had of pulling one back was gone.
Rooney shook his head looking defeated. He could feel it now; he wasn't the player he used to be.
In the closing stages, both sides made their final substitutions. Gerrard and Mata were withdrawn one after the other.
As Gerrard walked off, the Liverpool fans gave him a rapturous ovation. He raised both arms high, saluting the travelling fans.
A smile spread across his face. Tonight, he'd not only scored a brace of penalties, but helped drive his side to a commanding win.
Mata, by contrast, trudged off with his head down, saying nothing, his face was heavy with disappointment.
At last—
PEEEP!!!
Referee Clattenburg blew the final whistle. The North-West derby was over. Manchester United had been thrashed 0-4 at home by Liverpool in a humiliating, crushing defeat.
The Liverpool players embraced each other in celebration, having delivered a dominant victory over their fiercest rivals once again.
And with it, they moved one step closer to the Premier League title this season.
Perhaps, the title race really was already over…
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