The decisive match at Highbury was still being played.
Before kick-off, Steve Bruce had insisted that Birmingham were not going there specifically to spoil Arsenal's title celebrations. His team had its own reasons for wanting to win. Birmingham were sitting in the middle of the table on forty-seven points, but only three points separated them from ninth place. The battle for position in the Premier League's crowded mid-table was fierce, and victory over Arsenal could lift Bruce's side several places before the season ended.
To outsiders, the difference between finishing ninth and somewhere around thirteenth might not have seemed particularly important. Financially, however, it mattered a great deal. Premier League merit payments increased with every place in the table, and once sponsorship clauses and other performance-related income were included, climbing several positions could be worth millions of pounds to a club of Birmingham's size.
Since taking charge, Bruce had kept Birmingham competitive despite limited finances. The board had already promised that a stronger league finish would mean a larger transfer budget in the summer. For one of England's wealthiest clubs, a few extra million pounds might barely register. For Bruce, it could determine whether he signed two important players or none at all.
That was why the match at Highbury had been fiercely contested from the opening whistle. Arsenal wanted to secure the Premier League title and set a new club benchmark for victories. Birmingham wanted a higher league finish, greater prize money, larger player bonuses, and more room for Bruce to strengthen his squad.
Neither side treated the match like a formality.
Bruce had a habit of making life difficult for Arsenal, and Birmingham did it again. They defended physically, challenged aggressively, and refused to give Arsenal time to settle. Two Birmingham players were booked, but the cards did little to reduce the intensity of their approach.
Wenger's Arsenal were far better equipped to deal with physical football than they had once been, but no side enjoyed playing against opponents willing to contest every ball and turn every second phase into a battle. Birmingham made the entire ninety minutes uncomfortable.
Both sides had chances, but neither could score.
0-0.
For Arsenal, that result would be enough.
A draw secured the championship, even if it denied them the opportunity to set a new wins record.
Reports before the match had suggested that the Premier League trophy was already at Highbury, ready to be presented if Arsenal finished the job. The home supporters had prepared for a celebration as well. At the same time, they were following events at Old Trafford, and when news came through that New Manchester United were scoring repeatedly against Tottenham, banners appeared in the Arsenal end carrying the same mocking message in different forms.
Score as many as you like.
The title is still ours.
...
The match at Old Trafford had already ended, but nobody was leaving.
The players remained on the pitch and the supporters stayed in their seats. Old Trafford had given New Manchester United countless memories during their years there, but next season they would finally move into a stadium of their own, one already being praised for its architecture and design.
Ethan received another update from Highbury.
Still 0-0.
Arsenal had taken control of possession and were passing the ball around their own half, running down the clock. There were only five minutes of stoppage time left.
"Don't drop your heads," Ethan said as he walked onto the pitch, speaking to the players one by one.
They had heard the score too.
The effect was obvious.
Several looked completely drained. Some had removed their shirts and were lying motionless on the grass. Mourinho stood near the technical area without speaking, staring into the distance as though he needed time to absorb what was happening.
Beckham had returned from the tunnel and joined Ethan in speaking to his teammates. As captain, even while suspended, he knew this was one of those moments when he had to be there.
"Boss..."
Curtis clung to Ethan and struggled to control his breathing.
Ethan put an arm around him. He had watched Curtis grow from an academy boy into one of the most important players in the first team. He was still only nineteen. Of course he had made mistakes during the season. Every young defender did. But after everything he had contributed, who could seriously hold those moments against him?
Cristiano Ronaldo was lying nearby, staring blankly towards the roof.
The Portuguese winger had been criticised by pundits throughout the year for overplaying, holding onto the ball too long, and trying one trick too many. Some of those criticisms were fair. But Cristiano had also improved enormously. He was eighteen when the season began, adjusting to the most physical league in the world while being asked to play an important role for a title contender.
He needed time.
Essien, Drogba, Terry, and several others sat together in silence. Even Messi was crying.
They had spent an entire season fighting for this. They had survived injuries, suspensions, exhausting trips across Europe, and a fixture list that had seemed determined to grind them down. To come this close in their first Premier League campaign and still finish second would hurt for a long time.
Ethan looked around at them.
"What's happened to all of you?"
The players slowly looked up.
"Highbury isn't finished yet. Our title race with Arsenal isn't finished yet. Are you really going to give up before the final whistle?"
His voice rose across the pitch.
Even if the league escaped them, there was still a UEFA Cup final against Barcelona ahead. Ethan would not allow this disappointment to consume the team before that match.
Mourinho finally moved.
"The boss is right. Giving up early isn't who we are. If we're going to lose, we lose on our feet. Nobody stays down. Get up."
Beckham began pulling teammates to their feet one after another.
Then a song started in the stands.
At first, only a few supporters joined in.
"Give me freedom, give me fire, give me reason, take me higher..."
More voices followed.
"Give me hope, give me strength, give me a goal, fly higher..."
This was only New Manchester United's first season in the Premier League. The squad was still young, still developing, yet together they had already beaten some of Europe's strongest teams and pushed one of the best sides in England to the final minutes of the title race.
The singing spread around Old Trafford.
"As I grow older, I will become stronger. They'll call me freedom, just like a waving flag..."
The players began joining in quietly.
Then louder.
Soon the entire stadium was singing together, supporters in the stands and players, coaches, and staff on the pitch.
The song changed the mood more effectively than any speech could have done. The disappointment was still there, but now it was mixed with pride, defiance, and the sense that this season belonged to something larger than a league table.
The television broadcast had officially ended, but many reporters remained inside Old Trafford and witnessed the scene.
The match was over.
The story was not.
New Manchester United had always been an unusual club. They had a combative manager, fiercely committed players, and supporters who treated every challenge as something personal. From the boardroom to the dugout, from the dressing room to the stands, the same stubbornness seemed to run through everyone connected with the club.
They could be beaten.
They could be hurt.
But they were difficult to intimidate.
That attitude had turned Old Trafford into a formidable temporary home. Even when opponents overcame the players on the pitch, they still had to deal with tens of thousands of supporters refusing to let the team collapse emotionally.
The reporters along the touchline found themselves affected by it too. What had begun as an uplifting club anthem now carried a note of sadness, and somehow that made the moment feel more authentic rather than less.
Ethan, Mourinho, Beckham, the coaching staff, the players, and the club employees stood together on the pitch, many of them hand in hand.
They still had not given up.
Highbury had not reached full-time.
The supporters had not given up either. Not one section of the ground was emptying. Everyone stayed in place, singing and waiting, however painful the wait might be.
That was the difference.
New Manchester United could lose.
They could fail.
But they would not break willingly.
Looking at the united players and supporters, more than one reporter had the same thought: if Arsenal did hold on and win the championship, what would this experience do to New Manchester United next season?
The squad would be older.
The young players would be stronger.
Mourinho would have a full season of Premier League experience to study, and the weaknesses exposed during the run-in would be addressed.
This club had risen from the lower reaches of English football in only a few years and arrived in the Premier League without any instinct to be cautious or grateful simply to belong. Even if their first season ended without the championship, their football, unity, and aggression had already forced the entire league to take them seriously.
Their European commitments had undoubtedly made the title race harder. Earlier in the season, when the schedule had been lighter, New Manchester United had built a clear advantage and looked capable of running away with it.
But nobody inside the club regretted competing on both fronts.
That choice represented something fundamental about them. They would rather test themselves and risk failure than step aside from a challenge they believed they could win.
For New Manchester United, football had become more than competition.
It had become identity.
The song grew louder, and the disappointment on the players' faces slowly began to fade. Heads lifted. Shoulders straightened. They could feel, almost physically, that the supporters were still with them.
Ethan was about to lead the players towards the stands to thank the crowd when a sudden disturbance spread through one section of Old Trafford.
Near the tunnel, a member of staff came running out with a mobile phone raised above his head, shouting something towards the pitch.
Nobody could hear him over the singing.
At first Ethan thought something had gone wrong. Then the reaction began spreading through the stands.
One section.
Then another.
The supporters were not panicking. Quite the opposite.
The club anthem gradually died away.
In its place came another song.
One filled not with consolation, but with disbelief, rising excitement, and the unmistakable sound of hope returning when everyone had thought it was gone.
(To be continued.)