The second half picked up right where the first left off — like a pair of boxers exchanging punches without ever guarding. Liverpool pressed with Gerrard orchestrating, Coutinho dancing, Sterling slicing, Sturridge lunging, and Suarez lurking. United fired back just as fiercely — Rooney's roars, Martial's bursts, Mahrez's feints, Nani's flicks, Giggs' guile, and Fletcher's lungs were on full display.
Both defenses clung to dear life. Every attack seemed destined for the net. Every clearance a gasp. The two goalkeepers — David De Gea and Simon Mignolet — transformed into men possessed. De Gea soared like a phantom, tipping Gerrard's rocket onto the crossbar. Mignolet flung himself sideways to parry Martial's bullet header. It was relentless, chaotic, beautiful. A fever dream in red and white.
Then, something shifted. Tiger King, standing statuesque on the touchline, narrowed his eyes. He saw it. The change.
Rodgers had made a clever switch. With Lucas off, Sterling was now Liverpool's dagger, flung down the left flank with blinding pace. Alonso, normally a marauding left-back, was shackled now — reduced to a desperate full-time defender. Sterling kept coming. Again. And again. There was no time for counterattacks anymore.
And then, there was Suarez. He had retreated. Dropped deep. No longer a forward, but now a phantom ten. The shape had morphed — Liverpool were playing a 4-3-1-2, and Suarez, that cunning devil, had pulled the strings of geometry itself.
Tiger King's jaw clenched. This was trouble.
And Van Dijk? He was caught in the net. 'Do I follow him? Or hold the line? If I leave… Toby's alone…'
That moment's hesitation was enough. Suarez received the ball in midfield — acres of space between the lines. He lifted his head, eyes scanning like a predator locking on prey. Then he drove. Straight. At. Toby.
Van Dijk, far too distant now, sprinted across in panic, but it was too late. Toby stood his ground, cautious, tight. He couldn't risk a foul — not inside the box.
Suarez feinted left — a whisper of a look at Sterling — and Toby bit. Wrong move.
In a flash, Suarez dragged the ball back with his left, slipped it onto his right, ghosted past Toby with impossible balance, and found himself staring at De Gea's advancing frame.
Martin Tyler roared over the commentary: "Suarez escapes! He's past Alderweireld! He's one-on-one with De Gea!"
Neville shouted, panicked: "Too much space! WAY too much space!"
"De Gea's out!" Carragher added. "But Suarez — ohhh, he's cool as ice — HE SHOOTS!"
The ball rolled like silk across the lawn, kissed the far post, and nestled in the corner.
GOAL. 2–3, LIVERPOOL Leading at Old Trafford
"Magnificent from Suarez! That is sheer class!" Tyler thundered.
"He was invisible in the first half, now he's rewriting the script!"
Rodgers exploded on the sideline, fists clenched and legs pumping in a madman's sprint toward the fourth official, celebrating in front of the Stretford End — a bold act of war. The fourth official approached to calm him, but Rodgers didn't care. He wasn't chasing three points anymore — he was chasing the Tiger himself.
He turned to the United bench and smirked. But Tiger King wasn't rattled. He was already moving. King and Scholes were on their feet, pulling players in. The message was immediate, urgent, clear.
"Virgil, same job — shadow Suarez."
"But boss," Van Dijk interjected, "he's dropping to midfield. Do I still follow?"
Tiger King didn't blink. "Yes. Wherever he goes. Even if he's on the touchline, in the dugout, or taking a leak in the tunnel — you follow."
Van Dijk's eyes sharpened. "Understood."
King spun to Fletcher. "If Van Dijk moves up, you drop back. Slot in beside Toby. You're a center-back now."
Fletcher nodded crisply. "Got it."
Next came the warning about Sterling. "Listen — he's lightning. But he can't shoot. Cut off his acceleration. Cut off his lanes. Don't let him build momentum. If he tries to cut inside — stick to him. No gaps!"
"Yes, boss!" came the unified cry.
As Liverpool returned to their positions, still soaking in their celebration, Suarez jogged toward the center circle — smiling to himself.
But the smile faded. From the corner of his eye, he saw it: Van Dijk, jogging toward him again.
"…you've got to be kidding," Suarez muttered. He veered left, drifting into space to receive from Gerrard.
Van Dijk was there.
He dropped even deeper, nearly to the halfway line.
Van Dijk still followed.
At a stoppage, Suarez spun to him, exasperated.
"Mate — I'm practically in midfield. You still following me?"
Van Dijk didn't blink. "Until you're subbed or the whistle blows. Even if you go to the toilet, I'll be waiting outside the stall."
Suarez gaped, then laughed in disbelief. "You're nuts."
But deep down… he was annoyed. No — rattled.
So he adjusted. Fine. If I'm shackled — then someone else will strike.
He called Gerrard over, pointed quickly to Sterling.
The message was clear: play him early.
Next attack, Gerrard launched a diagonal ball — pure precision — arcing over the halfway line and curling down like a missile toward Sterling's feet. The youngster exploded down the left touchline.
Rafael chased desperately. Sterling reached the byline, tried to cross. No angle. He spun inside, drove toward the box, then unleashed a shot —
Sky high.
The ball nearly struck a plane above Manchester. Sterling cursed. The crowd jeered.
Still, United's defense looked vulnerable.
Seconds later, Henderson slipped a pass to Sturridge on the opposite wing. He cut inside — a promising angle. But whack — Fletcher flew in with a perfect slide to block it. The veteran had read the play two steps ahead. Flawless.
From that moment, the shift was palpable.
Fletcher dropped deeper. Van Dijk roamed beside Suarez, haunting him. The center held.
And slowly, Liverpool's chaos dulled. Gerrard's legs began to betray him. Sturridge grew isolated. Sterling's confidence waned. The rhythm faded like a dying fire.
On the United touchline, Tiger King's eyes narrowed.
Now. It was his turn.