Anfield Stadium was packed to the rafters.
The sun hung high in the sky, a pale, indifferent observer.
To prevent the usual, alcohol-fueled verbal clashes from escalating into full-blown riots, the North West Derby in recent years has often been scheduled for 12:30 PM. A lunchtime kick-off.
Fans aren't even allowed to carry the slightest hint of alcohol on their persons near the stadium.
At the entrances, the turnstiles clacked under a heavy police presence.
Fans of the two teams, separated by cordons and mounted officers, stood distinctly apart.
The air was thick with a tense, crackling silence that was louder than any shout.
In their eyes, this match was no longer just a simple league game—it represented a century-old feud, a cultural war.
Once upon a time, Liverpool and Manchester were undeniably sister cities, the twin hearts of the Industrial Revolution, both flourishing with vitality.
But the excavation of the Manchester Ship Canal in 1894—a project designed to bypass Liverpool's docks and, more pointedly, its hefty fees—drove them to opposing sides.
What began as an economic rivalry spiraled.
From growing estrangement to deepening divides, from mutual mockery to outright insults, the conflict eventually escalated into a pure, unadulterated hatred.
The establishment of the English Football Association marked the birth of modern football, and the animosity between the two cities finally had its arena.
The two clubs engaged in both overt and covert struggles, willing to risk anything to bring the other down.
Players from both sides were sworn enemies, frequently making extreme, career-defining statements in the media.
Gary Neville, Manchester United Legend: "I hate Liverpool. I hate Liverpool people. I hate everything about Liverpool."
Steven Gerrard, Liverpool Legend: "In Liverpool, we were taught to hate everything about Manchester United. It was tattooed into the head of every Liverpool fan."
This animosity naturally extended to the rivalry between the fans.
Liverpool fans called Manchester supporters "blue-collar, uncultured laborers."
Manchester fans labeled Liverpool fans as "rough barbarians."
Today, the Kop stand was a sea of red, adorned with all sorts of banners and posters, some witty, most venomous.
"WALKING THE DOG IS HARDER THAN PLAYING AGAINST MOURINHO'S UNITED!"
"ALL THEY KNOW HOW TO DO IS PARK THE BUS! 0-0."
Meanwhile, the away stand was a small, defiant pocket of red, packed with Manchester United fans.
They were wearing T-shirts that read "Mind the slip" and were already, an hour before kick-off, loudly chanting the song that cut deepest:
"Steve Gerrard, Gerrard... He slipped on his fucking arse! He passed it to Demba Ba! Steve Gerrard, Gerrard..."
Perhaps the bitterness over the canal would one day fade with time, but this new hatred, the football hatred, had already seeped into their very bones.
....
📺 Sky Sports Super Sunday: Pre-Match 🎙️
At this moment, the broadcast area was filled with commentators from around the world.
In the main Sky Sports studio, the atmosphere was just as charged.
Dave Jones (Host): "Welcome back to Super Sunday. The teams are in, the atmosphere is... well, it's Anfield on derby day. We're at a 12:30 kick-off, which might take some of the sting out of it... but I doubt it. Jamie, let's start with you. The Liverpool lineup: 4-3-3, but the big news is Sadio Mané. Out for six weeks. How devastating is that?"
Jamie Carragher : (Shaking his head) "It's a killer, Dave. It's a massive blow. He's everything to that front three. The pace, the directness, the goals. You see it today, Klopp's had to shift. Coutinho is pushed forward to the left wing, and Emre Can comes into that midfield three. Now, Can's a good player, but he's not an attacking eight. It changes the whole dynamic. That coordinated 'Gegenpress' just isn't the same. Honestly, I'm worried about where the goals come from if United just... sit."
Jones: "Gary, he says 'sit,' and we all know what that means. We look at the Manchester United lineup. Mourinho's abandoned the three-at-the-back, it's a 4-2-3-1. But you've got your own injury problems. No Pogba, no Fellaini, no Bailly."
Gary Neville : "Look, it is what it is. The Pogba injury is huge, he's the core of everything we do going forward. Fellaini, who's been in great form, is also out. So, Mourinho's hands are tied. He's had to go with a two-man midfield of Matić and Herrera. That's a defensive midfield. They are there to do one job: stop Liverpool. Ashley Young and Jeremy Ling are on the wings, but you can guarantee their first job is to track back."
Graeme Souness : "And that's the problem, isn't it? 'Hands are tied.' He's Mourinho. He'll say his hands are tied as an excuse to do what he was always going to do: park the bus. This is Anfield. This is the North West Derby. You're top of the table. You come here and you make a statement. You don't come here and cower in your own box for 90 minutes. It's a disgrace to the fixture."
Neville: "That's easy for you to say, Graeme..."
Jones: "Let me jump in. Gary, there's one wildcard: Jeremy Ling. He was sensational in Moscow—two goals, one assist. But this is a very different beast. Can he do it on a 'cold, sunny afternoon' at Anfield?"
Neville: "This is the real test. Moscow is one thing, that's a Champions League night, open game. This... this is a war. Anfield is another level. This is where you find out if you're a real Manchester United player. You can't hide. The fans are on top of you, the tackles are flying, there's no space. The boy's got talent, we've all seen it. But today isn't about talent. It's about bottle. Can he handle the hate? We're about to find out."
....
In such an atmosphere, the players from both teams returned to the dressing rooms for their final preparations.
What kind of preparations? Tactical, yes.
But more importantly: psychological.
Both head coaches are experts in this realm, masters at using various methods to boost spirits.
The air was thick with the smell of Deep Heat.
Klopp was pacing, his eyes electric.
"We have won 18 English top-flight league titles, 8 English League Cups, and 5 UEFA Champions League titles..." he roared, his voice bouncing off the lockers.
"What does this mean?"
"It means we are the best club in the world, bar none!" Klopp's tone was full of fighting spirit, his hands gesturing wildly.
After ensuring every single eye was on him, he continued, his voice dropping slightly before rising again.
"The best club has the best players. AND YOU ARE THE BEST PLAYERS!"
"So, Manchester United is currently at the top of the table? So what?!"
"Today is the 199th North West Derby. I want you to go out there and I want you to CRUSH them! I want you to pull them down... HARD!"
"I want to make those fans in the away end shut their fucking mouths! And I want our fans, our people, to cheer for you! Play your way! The heavy-metal way!"
"Press! Defend! Attack! Give your all in every fucking move!"
"Remember... THIS IS A WAR!"
As soon as Klopp finished, the dressing room erupted in deafening roars.
No player could remain calm in such a situation.
....
In the away dressing room, not far away
It was dead quiet.
Until José Mourinho stood up.
WHAM!
He pounded the tactics board with his fist, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
His deep voice cut through the silence.
"If we defend with all our might... and we still lose this match... do you know what the consequences will be?" He scanned the room.
"That means we have suffered a... disgraceful defeat."
"It means we were timid. It means we panicked. It means we lost our fighting spirit in the face of our enemy."
"I can set aside my pride. I can go to the cameras and tell the outside world that it was all my fault. That my tactics were terrible."
"Many of them are waiting to see me fail. And I can satisfy their twisted, pathetic, psychological needs."
"But..." Mourinho's eyes narrowed. "These words are for them. For the outsiders."
He scanned the room, his expression growing increasingly fierce, almost terrifying.
"Don't you dare think I will use such utterly foolish words to comfort you. You do not need childish consolation."
"Manchester United and Liverpool have played 198 matches. Manchester United have won 79 times. We have drawn 54 times."
"What does this mean?"
"It means we are stronger than them! It means we are brave warriors with tougher hearts!"
He pointed. "Damian! You said you would earn my trust through hard work. You did it in the Europa League final. Now... prove it to me again!" His finger moved.
"Phil Jones! Rio Ferdinand... your legend... said on television, to millions of people, that you are a leech, collecting a paycheck for nothing. Are you going to let him be right? Today?!"
His gaze snapped to his striker.
"Lukaku. If you score today, you make history. First United player to net 8 goals in the first 8 Premier League matches. But this is where you earn your transfer fee. Not against CSKA. Not against Crystal Palace. Here. Today. Or you are just a flat-track bully."
The room was so quiet, the players could hear the muffled roar of the stadium.
Mourinho slowly turned his head, his eyes finding Jeremy Ling.
He met the young man's unwavering gaze.
"Ling." The silence stretched. "You were very good in Russia..... Nobody cares. That was a training game."
"This..." José gestured to the wall, toward the sound. "This is Anfield. They will hate you. They will spit at you. They will try to break your legs. They think you are just a boy. They are waiting for you to hide."
Mourinho took a step closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.
"I did not bring a boy to Anfield. I brought a soldier."
"You will not hide. You will not be quiet. You will take the ball. You will run at them. And you will destroy their right-back."
"You will make fifty thousand people shut their mouths. You will make them remember your name."
He turned back to the group.
"Now, let's go. Go... and win this war."
The fire in the hearts of the Manchester United players had been ignited.
It was a cold, intimidating aura.
Several minutes later, a staff member knocked.
"Time."
Prompted by the staff, players from both teams entered the narrow tunnel.
Ling could feel the walls vibrating.
He could hear the deafening, haunting sound of 50,000 people singing "You'll Never Walk Alone."
He looked up and saw the infamous, blood-red "THIS IS ANFIELD" sign.
He took a deep breath.
Mourinho's words were ringing in his ears.
I brought a soldier.