The two commentators were absolutely right.
When the whistle for the second half blew, neither side showed even a flicker of hesitation — both teams came out swinging. The pace immediately picked up, tackles flew in harder, and every player looked as if they'd just been told their contracts depended on the next forty-five minutes.
Leeds United and Manchester United were not sides that enjoyed sitting back and waiting for a lucky break. Both managers — Arthur for Leeds and Ferguson for United — were cut from the same cloth in that regard. They might use counterattacks when forced to, but when facing an opponent of equal or lesser strength, they didn't hide behind defensive football. No — they fought fire with fire, football with football, and flair with even more flair.
Old Trafford could feel it. The energy was electric, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Both sets of fans knew what was coming — an all-out battle where nobody blinked first.
Ferguson, for his part, had long since changed his attitude toward Arthur. Once upon a time, he'd looked at the young Leeds manager with that familiar air of old-school condescension — the kind that said, you've still got a few decades to learn, son. But after several bruising encounters over the past two seasons, that arrogance had quietly disappeared.
Ever since Leeds had stormed the Premier League under Arthur's management, Ferguson had stopped treating him like a clever upstart and started preparing for him like a genuine threat.
Every time they met now, Ferguson would spend sleepless nights reviewing tape, drawing tactical variations, and testing new lineups, all in the hope of cracking the Leeds code. But time after time, the results were the same — marginal gains at best.
Eventually, the old Scotsman had come to a conclusion: Why bother overthinking it?
If you couldn't outwit Leeds, then outfight them. Manchester United had world-class players too. They didn't need tricks — they just needed belief and intensity.
And it was showing.
In the first forty-five minutes, United had gone toe-to-toe with Leeds and held their ground. When the players trudged back into the dressing room at halftime, there was no gloom or self-doubt — only fierce determination. They knew they were close. They just needed that one clear chance.
Ferguson, seeing that spark in their eyes, didn't waste time talking about defending. His halftime speech was simple, direct, and entirely Ferguson.
"Pay attention at the back, aye — but the rest of you, go for their throats," he barked, his voice echoing through the room. "Don't let up for a second. Keep pushing. Keep attacking. You're Manchester United — don't forget what that means!"
Then he turned to the front three — Ronaldo, Rooney, and Berbatov — and pointed straight at them. "You're the difference. You've got more firepower than they do — now prove it."
The effect was instant. The players came out of the tunnel like bulls released from a cage. The red shirts swarmed forward, pressing with renewed energy. Rooney's face was red with determination, Ronaldo's eyes gleamed with that unmistakable hunger, and even the usually calm Berbatov looked like he'd been fed raw adrenaline instead of halftime oranges.
The first real spark came just four minutes in.
In the 49th minute, Rooney picked up the ball about twenty-five yards from goal. He didn't hesitate — he turned, shrugged off a defender, and fired a thunderous shot that skimmed just wide after a fingertip touch from Neuer. The crowd gasped — so close. The referee pointed to the corner flag.
Old Trafford erupted, roaring the team on.
Scholes jogged over to take the corner, wiping the sweat from his brow. He sent in a trademark curling delivery that hung wickedly in the air.
Carrick was the first to rise, leaping like a salmon. Kompany was right on his shoulder, but Carrick didn't head it — he cleverly feinted, letting the Belgian commit, and instead flicked the ball backward.
"Brilliant dummy by Carrick!" Lineker shouted excitedly.
But Berbatov, stationed just behind him, seemed caught by surprise. He moved a second too late, instinctively stuck out a boot to cushion it — and the soft touch rolled harmlessly into Neuer's waiting gloves.
The Leeds keeper clutched the ball tightly and gave Berbatov a quick, knowing grin.
A groan rippled through the stands. Another chance gone.
But Manchester United weren't done.
Just three minutes later, they were back again. This time, it all started with Leeds trying to build from the back.
Kaka, elegant as ever, picked up the ball near midfield, gliding past one challenge before cutting inside. But before he could take his next stride, Carrick and Vidic closed in like wolves.
Carrick lunged first, forcing Kaka to shift his balance. Vidic seized the moment, poking his foot through and nicking the ball cleanly away. The Brazilian stumbled — and the Old Trafford crowd roared.
The ball spilled straight to Berbatov, who had tracked back deep to help. Without missing a beat, the Bulgarian pivoted gracefully and sent a sharp forward pass toward Rooney.
In an instant, United transformed from defense to attack.
"Here they go again!" Jon shouted, voice rising. "A lightning counter from Manchester United — Leeds are caught open at the back!"
Rooney surged forward with the ball, Ronaldo sprinting parallel down the right, his legs a blur of speed. The Leeds defenders scrambled to get back into shape.
It was the kind of moment that summed up everything about this rivalry — fast, fearless, and full of danger.
Both managers stood on the touchline, eyes fixed, hearts pounding. Arthur shouting for his midfield to drop. Ferguson urging his men to keep going.
Real swords and real guns — no holding back, no safety net.
The second half had truly begun.
*****
Leeds United's back line had been caught in a moment of transition — shifting from attack to defense — and it showed. The defensive players weren't yet back in position, and the sudden switch left gaps big enough for danger to slip through.
Meanwhile, Manchester United wasted no time in exploiting it. Ronaldo, Rooney, and Scholes all surged forward in a synchronized wave of red shirts, their movement so fast and fluid that it made Cannavaro and Kompany hesitate. The two Leeds defenders couldn't afford to charge recklessly — not when facing that kind of pace and unpredictability. They chose to backpedal instead, shadowing the attackers and waiting desperately for reinforcements to sprint back into place.
At the center of it all, Berbatov glided forward with the ball at his feet. Elegant, unhurried — the kind of player who made even counterattacks look like a waltz. Ferguson had often grumbled about his relaxed approach, calling him lazy more than once, but even Ferguson knew: Berbatov wasn't stupid. He wasn't about to stroll forward and get swallowed up before his teammates arrived.
So as soon as he crossed the halfway line and saw Ronaldo tearing down the right flank, Berbatov made the simplest, smartest choice possible — he released the ball.
The pass rolled cleanly into Ronaldo's stride.
And instantly, all eyes turned to him.
In a heartbeat, the entire Leeds defense shifted focus. Ronaldo was the name Arthur had repeated again and again in the halftime team talk — watch him, close him down, never give him space. So the moment the ball touched his boots, Cannavaro was already charging forward to meet him, while Alonso and Dani Alves, having tracked back at full sprint, began closing in from behind.
It was a full-on ambush: one ahead, two chasing, nowhere to hide.
Yet Ronaldo didn't panic.
Instead of offloading the ball early, he kept going — pushing it toward the byline with that deceptively calm confidence. Cannavaro and Alonso relaxed slightly, thinking he'd trapped himself. It was a classic setup for containment — Cannavaro guarding the outside, Alonso blocking the inside, neither diving in, just waiting for their chance.
The plan was clear: delay him, stall him, and let Alves, storming in from behind, finish the job.
At least, that was the plan.
Before Alves could even reach him, Ronaldo shifted his weight sharply and sold the faintest of feints — a subtle flick with his left foot, pretending to cut inside.
Cannavaro bit. Alonso bit. Both lunged at once, legs swinging to intercept the ball or at least force it out for a throw. They were so sure they had him boxed in. Three men converging on one — it should've been checkmate.
But Ronaldo was never one for scripts.
He twisted his hips, and with a delicate touch of his right boot, he slipped the ball through the narrowest of gaps between Cannavaro and Alonso — a nutmeg pass so smooth it could've been silk.
Then, like lightning, he darted past Alonso, sidestepping the Italian's desperate body block and bursting free down the line.
Cannavaro, Alonso, and Alves — three world-class defenders — collided with one another in a tangle of limbs and confusion, toppling like dominoes.
The commentators almost lost their voices.
"Cristiano Ronaldo! He's through! He's just dismantled the Leeds defense on his own!"
Old Trafford roared to life, a wall of sound shaking the air.
Every Leeds player's gaze was locked on Ronaldo, their concentration entirely drawn to the Portuguese star. In that heartbeat of collective panic, they forgot about everyone else in red.
Kompany reacted first, charging forward to close the gap. He knew Ronaldo too well — that signature step-over, that sudden burst inside, followed by a devastating shot. Kompany braced himself, reading the play, waiting to pounce the moment Ronaldo wound up to strike.
But Ronaldo didn't shoot.
Just as he reached the edge of the box, he surprised everyone — instead of going for glory, he lifted his head and swung a curling cross with his left foot.
The ball arced beautifully over the Leeds defense, hanging for just a moment before dropping perfectly to the far side of the penalty area.
And there, completely unmarked, was Rooney.
The English striker trapped the ball with composure, but instead of hammering it first time — as everyone, including Neuer, expected — he paused. He let Neuer commit, charging off his line to narrow the angle, diving low to smother the shot.
Then, with ice-cold precision, Rooney nudged the ball past the sprawling keeper and squared it across the face of goal.
The stadium held its breath.
And waiting right there, in front of the empty net, was Berbatov.
Neuer twisted his head just in time to see it — the Bulgarian calmly setting himself, body poised, expression unflinching.
A simple swing of the boot. A clean, elegant strike.
Bang!
The net rippled.
Old Trafford exploded. The stands erupted into a thunderous sea of applause and roaring chants. Red scarves waved in the air like flames, and the noise was deafening.
"GOAL!!!" screamed Lineker, nearly spilling his notes. "Berbatov finishes it off! A brilliant team move — Ronaldo's magic, Rooney's composure, and Berbatov's calm finish! Manchester United lead one-nil!"
The scoreboard flashed:
Manchester United 1 – 0 Leeds United
Leeds had paid the price for all those missed chances in the first half.
Barely minutes into the second, Manchester United had struck first — and Old Trafford was shaking from the celebration.