Two red cards are basically a death sentence for Ipswich Town. How will they play with only nine players?

    "That’s right! Our offense hasn’t ended! Scoundrels from Ipswich, be prepared for a world of pain!"

    Richard looked at the excited fans who suddenly roared, and his mouth twitched.

    It was Carl Morran.

    The rest was easy for Trezeguet. Stepping up to the spot with nerves of steel, he calmly slotted the ball into the bottom corner, sending the keeper the wrong way.

    Trezeguet sprinted along the touchline, arms outstretched like an airplane, his face lit up with uncontainable joy. Behind him, his teammates gave chase, shouting and laughing, their boots pounding the turf in celebration.

    All around them, Wembley exploded—flashes from a thousand cameras lit the night like stars, freezing the moment in time for every fan lucky enough to witness it.

    Manchester City 2 – 2 Ipswich Town.

    The crowd roared. The equalizer had come at last—and with Ipswich now down to nine men, the tide had truly turned.

    Robertson quickly called over a few players, waving his hand with urgency. "All out attack," he ordered. With Ipswich reduced to just nine men, it was like playing against a dead fish

    The match resumed, and although City had just equalized, the atmosphere had completely shifted. Their confidence surged. Ipswich, meanwhile, had been crippled not only by the two red cards but also by a tactical gamble made by manager George Burley.

    The moment Craig Forrest and Claus Thomsen were sent off, Burley reacted swiftly—he sacrificed both his strikers, subbing in two defensive players to shore up the back and midfield.

    It was clear what he wanted. He wasn’t playing to win anymore. He was playing to survive—holding out until the final whistle and dragging Manchester City into extra time.

    PHWEEEEE!

    The referee blew the whistle and rushed over within seconds. He faced bitter complaints from the Ipswich players but still awarded City a free-kick roughly thirty yards from the goal.

    "Interesting," the commentator noted. "This time, it’s Henry taking it instead of Roberto Carlos. Are City underestimating Ipswich now? Not using their best free-kick taker?"

    But that wasn’t the case at all.

    Meanwhile, Henry finished positioning the ball on the free-kick spot. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stepped back and surveyed the scene before him.

    PHWEEEE!

    A few tense seconds passed as the referee ensured the wall was set. Players jostled for position, nerves taut. Then, with a sharp blast of his whistle, he signaled for Thierry Henry to take the free-kick.

    Whoosh.

    The ball soared into the air—at first drifting wide, almost as if it would miss entirely—then curled viciously, like a snake weaving through the air on a deadly hunt. It arced around the edge of the wall and dipped sharply toward the far post.

    THUD—NET!

    The stadium erupted into thunderous applause. A wave of blue surged through Wembley.

    Henry simply turned his back to the goal, arms lifted high in quiet triumph, facing the roaring crowd.

    Manchester City 3 – 2 Ipswich Town.

    "Henry once again showed everyone why Manchester City had splashed out five million to sign him from Monaco! In his debut match, he created three brilliant assists but didn’t find the net himself. However, unexpectedly, in these two crucial matches, he became a key positive force for the team—bringing creativity, vision, and energy that lifted the entire squad. City ahs found their second Ronaldo!"

    Outside Wembley Stadium, the crowd was packed beyond capacity. With no tickets left, the gathering of City fans outside put immense pressure on security. Inside the stadium, countless fans were embracing and crying—some even knelt with their hands raised in gratitude. Sёarch* The Novёl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    City are back!

    One fan immediately pulled out a banner he had been too nervous to show earlier, especially after Ipswich took the lead.

    In the 80th minute, Cafu delivered a perfect, curling cross into the box—everyone knew exactly who it was meant for: Trezeguet.

    The ball bounced just inside the penalty area, and as everyone leapt to challenge, the clearance fell right to Shevchenko. Without hesitation, he considered smashing it with power but realized accuracy was key. Instead, he expertly side-footed the ball. The connection was perfect, and it soared into the net.

    The stadium erupted. Shevchenko sprinted toward the Ipswich fans, cupping his hands to his ears as if to say, ’I can’t hear you now!’ He soaked in the moment, loving every second of it. Meanwhile, City fans erupted in joyous celebration, jumping and cheering wildly all around the ground.

    Manchester City 4 – 2 Ipswich Town.

    CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

    As City took the lead with their second goal, the sound that filled Wembley wasn’t the usual roar or applause. Instead, a strange, rhythmic clapping echoed through the stands.

    Curious glances spread among the crowd as everyone tried to figure out the source of this unusual noise. Then it became clear.

    "What is that? A banana?"

    Plastic bananas, waved and clapped together, bobbed up and down in the stands—bright yellow flashes cutting through the sea of blue.

    Manchester City’s Banana Invasion appeared once again!

    Laughter and cheers erupted as fans embraced the quirky tradition, their bright yellow props bouncing in unison, adding a playful soundtrack to City’s dominant moment.

    The inflatable banana tradition amongst Manchester City fans started at their old Maine Road stadium in the 1980s and along with their infamous Poznan celebration.

    While everyone thought it was a joyous thing, the tradition actually has its roots in a dark period of English football, a decade marred by hooliganism alongside numerous incidents of racial abuse aimed at Black players.

    One of the most high-profile cases of racial abuse was suffered by John Barnes after he joined Liverpool from Watford in 1987, and more recently, William Gallas faced ugly scenes from Millwall supporters.

    While Gallas seemed completely indifferent due to his "I don’t care" attitude, Barnes endured racist chants from rival supporters, and banana skins were even thrown at him.

    In an attempt to bring some fun back into the game—lost due to these appalling actions on the terraces—Manchester City fan Frank Newton decided to bring an inflatable banana to the club’s home game against Plymouth Argyle in August 1987.

    The inspiration came when Frank visited his friend and toy collector Allen Busby, who had a five-foot inflatable banana among his exhibits at home.

    Busby loaned Newton the banana on the condition that he could provide proof it had actually been taken to the game. Given it was a hot summer afternoon, Newton decided to remove his shirt and put it on the banana, even drawing a face and adding a bobble hat for effect.

    Ever since then, the inflatable banana has cemented its place in Manchester City folklore.

    And today, the banana appears once again—not as a message or protest, but as a symbol of support!

    At the 90th minute, from a perfectly delivered corner kick, Lilian Thuram rose above the crowd to powerfully head the ball into the net—sending the City fans into an absolute frenzy.

    5-2!

    Manchester City had silenced the doubters and media critics who had predicted they would be crushed by Ipswich Town, especially after their recent 5-0 thrashing of Stoke City.

    The roar from the stands was deafening as they basically put the game well beyond Ipswich’s reach.

    Just as another kickoff was about to take place, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

    When the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the match, over forty thousand City fans in the stands erupted as if they had heard the most beautiful melody.

    Manchester City supporters watching the game on television began to celebrate frantically as well. Some cried tears of joy, others threw down bottles in elation, some lost themselves in wild cheers, and others kissed their jerseys as they clutched the team crest.

    They had waited far too long—suppressing their emotions for what felt like an eternity. How long had it been? Since Alan Ball’s tenure, they had plunged into the darkness of the third tier of English football.

    Now, at long last, they were back.

    Many fans could not control their emotions; they longed to thank the heroes on the field and express their gratitude through hugs and kisses. As a result, they climbed over the stands and surged onto the pitch like a volcanic eruption—unstoppable and overwhelming.

    Ipswich’s players quickly retreated to their bench, huddling together to avoid being caught up in the chaos.

    The stadium security was caught off guard, as scenes like this had once plagued English football. The last thing ticket managers wanted was for large groups of fans to create disorder. The horrific memories of the Hillsborough disaster were still fresh, and today was a final—with an impending awards ceremony.

    Security personnel and police rushed onto the field to maintain order, but they were largely powerless to stop the crowd. All they could do was restrain a few overly emotional male fans whose reactions became too exaggerated.

    Bloody moron, what started as a splendid match ended in chaos, marred by thugs once again!

    "SIR!!!" Carl Morran shouted from the stands, calling out to Richard.

    They had already prepared for a scenario like this before the match.

    Somehow, Morran had managed to smuggle a portable microphone into Wembley Stadium. After installing the batteries and turning it on, he passed it to Richard, thinking the captain would deliver an inspiring speech to the fans…

    But the first thing that came out of Richard’s mouth—was a curse.

    "Stop it! You motherf*ckers, stop it! Hey, you—take your filthy hands off that lady! And you—do you plan to kill that guy? Everyone, stop it, now!"

    On the pitch and in the stands, everyone froze, searching for the source of the voice. All eyes eventually turned toward the VIP box.

    Richard Maddox!

    City fans who didn’t even know his face until now—recognized him instantly.

    His handsome face bore a cold yet resolute expression, and his commanding voice brought an instant hush over the stadium.

    As chaos began to swell within Wembley, Richard was momentarily stunned, but he quickly regained his composure. He knew he couldn’t let the fans’ celebration spiral into conflict with the police and security. That would be a catastrophe.

    He had to step up—not just as a voice of reason, but as the owner of the club.

    He had to take a stand.

    "Whatever you want to do—sing and dance on this pitch, or take a commemorative photo—it’s all okay. But please, pay attention to those around you, especially the elderly and young children. Don’t let anyone get hurt. Today, this moment, we should be celebrating together—creating memories we’ll cherish forever."

    "Have you already forgotten what happened at The Den?! Do you want all the sacrifices of our City players to be in vain after we were docked 10 points because of your behavior? Then why did you bring that banana and go crazy with it again—if all you’re going to do is make City risk getting punished again because of your recklessness?!"

    Only then did everyone realize Richard’s point.

    "Be respectful to the police officers and security teams. Don’t run recklessly—pay attention to safety. Sir, officers, I respect your work, but please have some understanding for us. Any damage caused—City will take full responsibility and cover all the costs."

    The police and security personnel exchanged confused glances. But after seeing their captain give a nod, they finally allowed the City fans onto the pitch.

    Richard’s reminder pierced the hearts of every City supporter. This—this was a true club owner.

    He cared deeply for the club. He cared for the fans. And he was willing to step up when the situation grew dangerous or unstable.

    Moved by his sincerity, the City fans began to stand in an orderly fashion on the pitch, clapping and chanting the names of Richard and every player.

    Two promotions in two seasons. After the celebration, City players were too exhausted to do anything—certainly with no energy left to jump up and down in joy. In fact, a couple of pictures taken at the time show Cafu, Roberto Carlos, and Thuram sitting down—happy but completely whacked.