"Die Meister !"
"Die Besten!"
"Les grandes équipes !"
"The Champions!"
As the majestic, uplifting Champions League anthem swelled through the cold Moscow air, the referee led both teams forward in a line.
The faint, fuzzy light before Ling's eyes gradually brightened, sharpening into an endless, roaring sea of red and blue.
The wall of sound was immense, a physical pressure. The cold was so sharp it felt like a thousand tiny needles on his skin.
He stood in the line, his breath pluming in front of him.
Instead of nervously squeezing the hand of the young mascot beside him, an inappropriate, almost manic smile twitched at his lips.
Because the most majestic anthem in club football, to his ears, suddenly sounded like the execution march for a very specific team.
His internal monologue was running wild: Beat Barça... beat Barça... beat Bayern Munich... my Arsenal has collapsed!
To be honest, he was usually a very serious person.
He rarely laughed—unless he truly, physically could not help it.
As the ridiculous, fan-made chant echoed in his head, the immense tension in his chest dissipated.
The butterflies weren't gone, but they were flying in formation.
His shoulders relaxed.
....
"Good evening, viewers, and a very chilly welcome to the VEB Arena in Moscow!"
"Welcome to our live coverage of the 2017-18 Champions League Group A, Round 2."
"It's CSKA Moscow versus Manchester United!"
The voice of Darren Fletcher, BT Sport's lead commentator, was crisp and full of energy.
"A tough away trip for José Mourinho's men, but a vital one. Alongside me tonight is Steve McManaman."
"Thanks, Darren," Steve replied. "This is a proper European night, isn't it? You can feel the cold just looking at it. This is a fortress for CSKA, and United will have to be at their very best."
"Let's get you the starting lineups for both teams!" Darren continued.
"CSKA Moscow has lined up in a 3-1-4-2 formation. In goal is the veteran Akinfeev; the back three are the Berezutski twins and Ignashevich—a vast amount of experience there, and we'll see if United can test their legs.
"Among them, Alan Dzagoev, who absolutely burst onto the scene at the 2012 Euros, starts. He was dubbed the 'New Tsar' by the fans, but as we know, several major injuries have really hampered his career, and his physical condition isn't what it once was. The one to watch, for me, is the 21-year-old Aleksandr Golovin. He has been exceptional in their league."
"Now, for the visitors, Manchester United," Fletcher said, his voice lifting. "With Fellaini and Pogba both absent, José Mourinho has switched things up, moving to a 3-4-2-1 formation.
"De Gea is in goal. It's a back three of Bailly, Smalling, and Lindelöf. The wing-backs are Daley Blind and Ashley Young. The two in the middle are Matić and Ander Herrera. And the front three... Lukaku leads the line, supported by Mkhitaryan and... the young star, Jeremy Ling!
"What a moment for the lad, Steve. He gets the start on the biggest stage!"
"It's a massive show of faith from José, Darren," McManaman added. "We've seen him in the Premier League, we've seen his pace, but this is another level. He's starting as the left-sided attacker, and you just know Mourinho has given him a very specific job: run at that aging back-line. This is a huge opportunity, and you can bet fans back in England are incredibly excited to see how he does."
...
@RedDevilRich: "Come on United! 3-4-2-1... very interesting from José. Aggressive."
@StretfordEndSarge: "Ling starts! The kid gets his CL debut. Buzzing for him. Go on, son, tear 'em apart!"
@United-We-Stand: "Fun fact: CSKA are the original 'Red Army.' They were literally part of the military sports club. This is the real North West Derby, lads. 😂"
@Luke_MUFC: "Their back three has a combined age of 102. If Ling and Lukaku don't have a field day with their pace, I'll be fuming. Just GO at them."
@Mourinho-FC: "This is a must-win. CSKA isn't what they used to be, they're in transition. No excuses. Hope young Ling seizes the moment. GO FOR IT!"
....
While fans were passionately discussing the lineups, the referee's whistle pierced the night air, and the match began.
CSKA Moscow, fueled by their roaring home crowd, immediately pushed forward, seizing the central space to set up their trademark high press.
But they hadn't anticipated Manchester United's fierce, immediate, and targeted response.
This wasn't the "conservative" United the media complained about.
This was a Mourinho ambush.
Daley Blind and Ashley Young, ostensibly wing-backs, pressed so high they were practically wingers, instantly suppressing CSKA's own wing-backs and pinning them in their own half.
Ander Herrera and Nemanja Matić formed a central barrier, a two-man wall that cut off all passing lanes, maintaining the team's solid, aggressive shape.
Up front, Jeremy Ling, Henrikh Mkhitaryan, and Romelu Lukaku swarmed the opponent's territory.
They were a torrent of red shirts, tirelessly pressing and tackling with relentless energy, giving the CSKA backline no time to breathe.
Under such intense, suffocating pressure, CSKA Moscow's primary weakness—lacking a stable, press-resistant ball distributor from the back—was brutally magnified.
Three minutes in.
The lone defensive midfielder, Pontus Wernbloom, received a pass and instantly had Herrera on his back.
Panicked, he hurriedly opted for a forward pass toward his striker, not even looking up.
But Ander Herrera was already moving.
He'd read the panic.
He keenly spotted the gap, moving a full second before the pass was even played, and intercepted the ball mid-pass.
Without a second's hesitation, he swiveled and delivered a piercing, first-time through ball.
Smack!
The ball skimmed across the turf, a sizzling red line aimed directly at the half-space.
At the exact same moment, Jeremy Ling's body was in motion.
His positioning had anticipated Herrera's interception.
He changed direction, cutting diagonally from his left-sided position into the gaping channel.
His pace kicked in.
He was at full sprint in two steps, leaving the nearest midfielder for dead.
He controlled the ball perfectly, surging forward, charging straight at the last line of defense.
The three CSKA center-backs, led by the 38-year-old Ignashevich, had a combined age of over 100.
Their experience was vast, but their legs were not.
Two defenders scrambled to mark Lukaku, leaving Viktor Vasin to step up and press Jeremy Ling.
Ling glanced up, his mind processing at double speed.
He executed two lightning-fast step-overs.
His dribbling attribute made the difference.
The ball felt like it was tied to his foot by a string.
He could feel the defender's weight shifting, the subtle imbalance. He wasn't just controlling the ball; he was controlling the defender.
Vasin's balance wavered.
His hips turned the wrong way for just a fraction of a second.
In that infinitesimal moment of hesitation, he saw Jeremy Ling dart forward like an arrow released from a bow.
Vasin wanted to turn, to chase, to make the tackle.
His mind screamed at his body to react. But his body couldn't—his mind was willing, but his limbs were stuck in the mud.
After completing the breakthrough, Ling was in.
He quickly adjusted his stance, looked up, saw the keeper, and poked the ball sharply with his right foot. It was not a blast, but a calculated, clinical slot.
Thump.
The ball flew true, low and hard, nestling into the bottom right corner of the net.
0-1!
The massive stadium fell into stunned, deafening silence.
Tens of thousands of CSKA Moscow fans looked on, bewildered.
A collective, audible gasp was sucked out of the arena. It took them a full three seconds to realize their goal had been breached.
They suddenly felt the red and blue smoke flares hidden in their trousers were utterly unnecessary.
In the tiny, isolated away section, the scattered Manchester United fans erupted.
Not daring to make too much noise in the hostile environment, they celebrated wildly for a few seconds before nervously, and with massive grins, sitting back down.
After scoring, Ling hadn't expected his first Champions League goal to come so quickly, so easily.
An indescribable surge of pure, system-enhanced elation washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
He could only release it by sprinting, roaring, toward the corner flag.
His Manchester United teammates followed close behind, waving their arms and shouting excitedly, piling on top of him.
...
📺 BT Sport: Live Broadcast 🎙️
"OH, MY WORD! THE BALL IS IN!"
"CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? THREE MINUTES! THREE MINUTES!"
"It's Jeremy Ling! On his Champions League debut! Herrera intercepts in midfield, a brilliant through ball, and Ling... he's just sliced them wide open! He sat the defender down, and the finish is pure class! Manchester United have the lead!"
Darren Fletcher's voice was electric.
"They've traveled all this way, contended with the cold, the fatigue... many thought this would be a cagey, tough match. But they've played their trump card, and it's paid off right from the start! Steve, what a moment for the young man!"
"That is absolutely brilliant, Darren," McManaman said, his voice full of admiration.
"Look at this again. The press from Herrera is textbook, but the run from Ling is what makes it. He doesn't even hesitate. He knows his pace is superior, and look at this... the step-over... oh, he sends the defender for a hot dog! That's just beautiful, fluid, one-on-one play. And the finish... so calm. He's made history for himself tonight. What a start!"
...
At that moment, on the sidelines, José Mourinho's expression was slightly dazed.
He'd planned for this, but he hadn't anticipated the match unfolding this... perfectly.
"Boss," his assistant, Rui Faria, leaned in, a grin on his face. "Have you noticed? Ling's overall performance is so much better when he's on the left, but closer to the central area."
"Of course," Mourinho said, his eyes still on the pitch, his daze hardening back into analysis. "He's accustomed to breaking through from the left. When he moves inside, it opens the entire flank for Blind. It's a perfect combination."
He shook his head, thinking to himself that his pre-match nerves about giving the boy 30 minutes were almost comical.
Ling had met his tactical requirements in just three.
This, however, made things much easier.
On the pitch, the match resumed.
CSKA Moscow seemed unaffected by falling behind, their players roaring at each other, displaying a fierce determination and resilience.
But in competitive sports, sheer mental strength isn't enough. It still comes down to the players' abilities.
Under United's highly targeted, suffocating defense, CSKA struggled to form any effective attacking combinations.
Their aged backline, terrified of the pace of Ling and Lukaku, could only hoof long balls, bypassing their own midfield.
They tested David De Gea with a few desperate long-range shots.
But De Gea was at his absolute peak, his overall skill level undoubtedly ranking among the top three in the world, let alone the Premier League.
Butterfingers? Accidentally knocking the ball into his own net? Such low-level mistakes were simply unthinkable for the man they called "Spanish Dave."
He caught every shot, every cross, with a boredom that was almost insulting.
CSKA Moscow's offensive efforts posed little to no threat.
As the first ten minutes passed, the tempo of the match, and the stadium's roar, gradually settled.
United were in complete control.