66: The Red Devil's Arrival and the Oath of the "Iron-Blooded North"

The match day wind, blowing from the North Sea, carried a cold and salty scent as it swept through the streets and alleys of Hartlepool.

Victoria Park Stadium, like the beating heart of the small town, had been redecorated.

Blue and white flags and scarves hung in every corner, and fans expressed their desire for a miracle and their anticipation for this prelude to a dream theatre in the simplest yet most passionate way.

The media buzz surrounding this FA Cup focal match reached its peak on match day.

On television and radio, experts were still analyzing Hartlepool United's miraculous journey, but it was generally believed that Manchester United was an insurmountable giant for them.

The odds offered by betting companies made Hartlepool United fans smile bitterly, but they still bought every ticket without hesitation.

In Manchester, Sir Alex Ferguson leaned back in his chair, chewing gum at the pre-match press conference, and spoke in his distinctive Scottish accent.

“Hartlepool United have performed exceptionally well this season, and any team that reaches the FA Cup quarter-finals deserves respect.”

He paused, then said to the reporters,

“They have defeated Premier League teams, which shows they have their own characteristics and strength.”

“We will take this match seriously and not give our opponents any chances.”

His words were watertight; although calm, the reporters all understood the subtext: respect was there, but victory would only belong to Manchester United.

In the starting lineup, Cristiano Ronaldo's name appeared on the substitutes' bench, which seemed to be a bit of leeway left by Ferguson, and also gave Hartlepool fans a hint of unrealistic fantasy.

In the tactical meeting room of the Phoenix Training Center, Lin Feng stood in front of the tactics board, where the formations of the two teams were laid out with red and blue magnets.

He said, “Manchester United are very strong, strong in their midfield control and wing speed.”

Lin Feng's finger pointed at the magnet representing Scholes, then moved to the positions of Giggs and Fletcher,

“Therefore, our defense must be like a chain, with three lines tightly connected and moving as a whole. Jordan, Gary,”

He looked at Henderson and Liddle, and their eyes lit up.

“Your task is to become the shadows of Scholes and Carrick, not giving them any space to calmly organize and deliver killer passes.”

“Like chewing gum, stick to them, don’t let them get comfortable.”

“Danny, Matty,” He then looked at Simpson and Robson, the two full-backs’ faces were a little pale, but still firm,

“Giggs and Fletcher will repeatedly attack you; their speed and technique are world-class.”

“Your task is to hold your ground, not giving an inch. Remember, cover! Chris and the captain will support you.”

“The most crucial point,” Lin Feng's tone rose slightly, his gaze sweeping over Vardy, Snodgrass, and Sigurðsson.

“Once you win the ball, do not get bogged down in any unnecessary midfield struggles! Do not hesitate, do not pause!”

“Move through the midfield as quickly as possible, pass the ball directly to Jamie, Robert, or Gylfi! Use our speed to attack their slow-turning backline!”

“They are world-class defenders, but they are not gods! They also have weaknesses!” Finally, Lin Feng looked around at the young and nervous faces, and his voice was infused with a powerful infectiousness.

“Today, we are not just fighting for a match victory; we are fighting for the glory of the city of Hartlepool!”

“We want Sir Alex Ferguson and his Red Devils to witness what true Northern Storm iron-blood is!”

“No matter the outcome, we will fight until the last moment and make them remember our names!” Old John was infected by Lin Feng's passion, and he felt that he carried a sacred mission.

He shouted at the players, “The boss said that today we are the lions guarding the North, and we must make the Red Devils tremble on our territory!”

“Show your courage! Give your all!” Being able to compete on the same field with legendary players like Rooney and Scholes, the young players of Hartlepool United were filled with awe, but also burned with a strong desire to “slay the gods.”

Vardy clenched his fists; he wanted to see how big the gap truly was between him and world-class strikers.

Schmeichel took a deep breath, knowing that today he would face the most intense barrage of his career.

Tickets for this match had long been sold out, even reaching a situation where “a ticket was hard to come by,” and scalped ticket prices were driven to astonishing levels.

Outside Victoria Park Stadium, fans gathered hours in advance, wearing blue and white jerseys, with team emblems painted on their faces, singing team songs, and the entire town was immersed in a fervent festive atmosphere.

Sophie Green was fortunate to get an inside reporter's pass; her laptop was already on, and the cursor was blinking in the title bar — “Clash of the Titans: When the Northern Storm Meets the Red Devils.”

She took a deep breath, her fingertips tapping on the keyboard, preparing to record this potentially historic match.

In the Sky Sports broadcast van, Martin Tyler was making final arrangements with two Manchester United legends — Roy Keane and Gary Neville.

On the screen in front of them, the emblems of Hartlepool United and Manchester United were displayed side by side, a striking contrast.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to a packed Victoria Park Stadium!” Before the match began, Martin Tyler's voice, carrying a special excitement, spread across the nation through the broadcast signal.

“The 2006-2007 FA Cup Quarter-Final, Hartlepool United at home against the mighty Manchester United!”

“This is absolutely an epic David versus Goliath showdown!” Roy Keane's expression was serious as he looked at Hartlepool United's lineup board and commented, “The home team, Hartlepool United, are playing a very pragmatic 4-5-1 formation today, intending to engage Manchester United in a midfield battle.”

“The goalkeeper is the brilliant No. 13, Kasper Schmeichel; the defense consists of No. 15 Danny Simpson, captain No. 5 Michael Nelson, No. 23 Chris Smalling, and No. 3 Matty Robson;”

“The five midfielders from right to left are No. 14 Robert Snodgrass, No. 16 Jordan Henderson, No. 8 Mark Tinkler, No. 6 Gary Liddle, and No. 18 Gylfi Sigurðsson;”

“The lone striker is the incredibly fast No. 9 Jamie Vardy.” He paused.

“This formation is very clear: to pack the midfield and cut off Manchester United's passing lanes.” Gary Neville, meanwhile, analyzed his former club's lineup.

“The away team, Manchester United, Sir Alex Ferguson has rotated some positions today, but still fielded a highly competitive lineup.”

“The goalkeeper is No. 2 Kuszczak;”

“The defense consists of No. 2 Wes Brown, captain No. 5 Rio Ferdinand, No. 15 Nemanja Vidic, and No. 3 Patrice Evra;”

“The midfield features the experienced No. 18 Paul Scholes and No. 1 Carrick partnering as defensive midfielders, with No. 11 Ryan Giggs in the attacking midfield position;”

“The wings are No. 24 Darren Fletcher and No. 20 Ole Gunnar Solskjær respectively; the lone striker is No. 8 Wayne Rooney.”

“This lineup is still world-class; Ferguson clearly does not want to give the opponent any chances.” In the player tunnel, both teams had assembled.

Manchester United players were tall and composed, their red jerseys particularly dazzling under the lights.

Although Hartlepool United players were relatively smaller, their eyes held a beast-like focus and unyielding determination.

Vardy stood at the front of the line, his legs slightly bent, as if ready to spring forward at any moment.

He could feel the pressure emanating from the Manchester United players, the aura unique to top clubs.

But he did not back down; instead, he felt a strong excitement. On the sidelines, Ferguson was leisurely chatting with the fourth official, appearing at ease, occasionally breaking into a relaxed smile.

Meanwhile, in the VIP box, Lin Feng sat quietly, his hands in his pockets, his posture erect.

His gaze was fixed on the pitch, deep and calm.

In his mind, on the system's holographic interface, the real-time status data and tactical habits of every Manchester United starting player were being rapidly analyzed and transmitted to Old John in a way only he could “understand”—in his eyes, the edges of certain magnets on the tactics board seemed to glow with a faint, imperceptible red light, representing “weaknesses.” This information was quickly passed to Old John, serving as a basis for on-the-spot adjustments.

The referee checked everything and brought the whistle to his lips. The atmosphere at Victoria Park Stadium was solemn and fervent, with over twenty thousand spectators holding their breath, awaiting the start of this contest.

Hartlepool United players gathered in a circle, their hands stacked together.

“For Hartlepool!” Captain Michael Nelson's voice rang out in the center of the circle, with a slightly hoarse but incredibly firm power.

“For the championship!” Everyone responded in unison, their voices not loud, but full of determination.

A long whistle pierced the sky. This highly anticipated FA Cup Quarter-Final officially began!