MANCHESTER UNITED CIVIL WAR

Wayne Rooney paced back and forth in the closet room. His jersey number stared at him through a thin pale of glass, and he could almost see his reflection, the misty image of a desperate man.

He rested his knuckles on his waist and let out a sigh. He knew what he had to do, but how would anyone understand? For too long he had been playing a game he did not like. Yes, it was still the same game he fell in love with, in the club that afforded his affection, but something had changed. 



Old Trafford stood watchful over a new team, and that team did not rever old trafford. Indeed that team spat in its face as in the grass. The team had lost its heart, all it was now was a bunch of limbs, effective, but souless.

It all started when the new coach switched things up a bit. He benched Van Der Sar and used a younger, more promising keeper. He put the midfield in offence and the offence in midfield. He cranked up the training sessions, which was normal, but he also discouraged camaraderie. He believed that it was counterproductive for the team to train together, for when they went out into the real games, it would not be playing together that would secure victory, but playing against the opposition.

"Playing anti" is what he called it. Therefore in training he did more than split the team into two opposing groups. He made them two opposing peoples. They were no longer playing to make eachother better, they were playing simply to win.

And they did.

The psychological game worked. The strikers became more aggresive, in training all the way to the leagues final. It became second nature to them,  there were no friends and no friendlys, just an enemy to be defeated. The only thing that was not prey on the field was whatever wore red, not the numbers or names or familiar faces, it was the jersey, simple and short. They were no longer a team, they were an onslaught, and they were victorious.

Rooney enjoyed the glory for a time, but then he realised Manchester United was now  divided.




After the  games there was no more goofing around in the locker room. No bubbling conversations and  unaffected guffaws. There was just the pants and the grunts, and the growls. He realised they were now always on the offence, even after the game was over. They weren't a pack of wolves. They were just wolves, feral and hungry for goals.




Rooney didn't remember the last time he had a casual conversation with his team mates.

But enough was enough. And he did talk to them, not a casual conversation, but a conversation all the same. And those who cared to listen agreed with him. Winning was a noble venture, but it wasn't the only venture. It was the icing on the cake, saccharine and unhealthy in excess, like too much sugar in a little tea. Something had to be done, a revolution had to be staged. Or else Manchester United  would no longer be made up of men, but machines.

Van Der Sar came up with the idea first, over a cup of Coffee. They were at the restaurant across the street from the stadium. It used to be a regular spot for the team, but with the coaches new approach they had visited there less and less, become all work and no breakfast.

Now it was their hide out- the place were they used to share chilhood memories was now the conclave for a rebellion. Rooney didn't like it, but they had no choice. Van Der Sar suggested that if the coaches sole aim for breaking the team apart was to make them better, then all they had to do was challenge the means to his end. All they had to do was show the coach that a team made up of friends, was just as good as a team made up of players.

The coach was amused when he heard it. He green lit the exhibition almost immediately and called all the players to Old Trafford. On one side he had his insentient elite wearing lemon-green and the dissenters wearing yellow. They would face off for two halfs of 15 minutes each, and at the end of it they would see if heart triumphed over intellect.

A coin was flipped.

The lemons would start first half.

Ander charged forward, dribbling past everything in site. Literally everything, what he saw between him and his goal was not his concerned teammates trying to save a club, what he saw were things, to be defeated. Within seconds he was in the 10 meter box, he struck. He scored.

The game started again. Rooney pressed into the Lemons midfield, he could barely hold his own for 5 seconds. He passed back to his central midfield. The pass was intercepted. Two passes later, the ball was at the feet of Ander again. Ander didn't go all the way this time, he sprinted into the left wing and crossed to Martial whose head connected to it right at the curve.



It was a goal.

First half was over, and Rooney was seeing his plan fail. He punched a whole in his locker during the break. He was upset. Perhaps the coach was right, perhaps the science of the game prevailed against the art.

Just then a great and mighty wind rushed in, and with it, bodies formed. First feet, then calves, then laps, a torso, a head and a neck. It all happened before Rooneys very eyes.



Van Der Sar was taken aback. What's going on here? He wondered out loud.

When the body finished forming, an apparition stood facing the rebellious players.The apparition was no stranger however, the apparition was Rio Ferdinand.................

To Be Continued.