🚨 Michael Carrick on JJ Gabriel wiping Manchester United from his Instagram and being left out of the Brighton squad:
🗣️ Reporter: “He wiped the club off Instagram and he’s not in the squad tomorrow. Is this over?”
🗣️ Carrick:
“He’s 15. I don’t pick squads from Instagram.
He didn’t train. So he’s not in. That’s tomorrow night.
The door isn’t closed. We’re not cancelling a child.
If he wants this shirt, he puts it back on at Carrington.
Not with a caption. With boots.”
🚨 Michael Carrick on Sir Alex:
🗣️ “I’ve always looked up to Sir Alex, even when I was still a player. His style, his standards, the way he managed people - you always knew what he expected.
But there’s something about him that very few people understand. He always knows when you need a word of encouragement.
At the end of last season, he spoke to me and told me, ‘You’re on the right path. Keep going.’
That meant a lot to me.
But I also know what comes with this responsibility. Manchester United have to be at the top.
That is my responsibility here - to keep pushing, keep improving and make sure this club is always competing where it belongs.
At the top.”
🚨 Kane responds to Bellingham’s Ballon d’Or praise He deserves it more but Olise deserves it most:
🎙️Reporter: Kane, what do you make of Jude Bellingham calling you the best under your post and saying you deserve the Ballon d’Or?
🗣Harry Kane: (smiles) Respect to Jude, always. If anything, he deserves it more than I do. But I don’t want to leave Michael Olise out either he’s the one who deserves it most.
🚨 Michael Carrick on Sir Alex Ferguson’s statement about being there for the opening of Manchester United’s new stadium in person or in spirit:
🗣️ Michael Carrick:
“When I read what the boss said, that he hopes to be there when the new Manchester United stadium opens, either in person or in spirit, I had to sit with that for a moment.
Because Sir Alex was never the man who spoke about things as if they were the end.
He was always the opposite.
He was the man who told us there was another game, another season, another trophy to chase.
So seeing him talk about being there ‘in spirit’ hit me differently.
I actually thought, ‘Boss, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be there in person.’
I can already imagine it.
The doors open.
The supporters walk in.
The noise starts.
Everyone is looking around at this incredible new stadium.
And somewhere in the crowd is Sir Alex, sitting there with his arms crossed, probably watching the game and finding something wrong with our defending.
Because that would be him.
I remember playing for him and realising very quickly that he didn’t just manage football matches.
He managed belief.
You could be losing with five minutes left and everyone would start looking at the clock.
Then you’d hear his voice.
‘Why are you looking at the clock?’
You’d say, ‘Because we’re losing, boss.’
And he’d say, ‘So?’
That one word could change the entire mood.
He made you believe five minutes was enough.
Ten minutes was enough.
One attack was enough.
One cross was enough.
One mistake from the opponent was enough.
That became Manchester United.
And I think that’s why his statement about the new stadium is so emotional for me.
Because he’s talking about a future he helped create.
He won’t be the manager.
He won’t be standing on the touchline.
He won’t be shouting at the fourth official.
But he’ll always be part of that club.
When those supporters walk into that stadium, they’re walking into a Manchester United that Sir Alex helped build.
The trophies.
The mentality.
The standards.
The expectation that winning isn’t enough if you didn’t play properly.
I remember times we’d win a game and everyone would be celebrating, but Sir Alex would walk into the dressing room and say, ‘That second half was rubbish.’
We’d look at each other like, ‘We just won.’
He’d say, ‘I know.’
That was the standard.
And that’s what I hope the new stadium carries.
Not just the history.
The mentality.
Because you can build a new stadium, but you can’t manufacture what Sir Alex gave Manchester United.
That’s why I don’t want him there only in spirit.
I want him there in person.
I want him to walk through those doors.
I want him to hear the supporters.
I want him to look around and see the next generation wearing Manchester United shirts.
I want him to see children whose parents probably grew up watching his teams.
And I want him to realise that all those years weren’t just about trophies.
They created memories that will live much longer than any stadium.
If he sits there and the supporters start singing his name, I don’t know what he’ll do.
Knowing Sir Alex, he’ll probably wave, smile for ten seconds and then ask why we’re playing so slowly.
[Laughs]
But that’s exactly why we need him there.
Because Manchester United without Sir Alex will always be Manchester United.
But Manchester United with Sir Alex sitting in the stands for that opening?
That would be something special.
So, boss, I know you said ‘in person or in spirit.’
But I’m going to disagree with you on this one.
You’ve spent your whole career teaching us never to accept second best.
So don’t accept being there in spirit.
Be there in person.
We want to see you walk through those doors.
And when you do, we’ll make sure you hear exactly what you helped create.”
🚨 Patrice Evra on Sir Alex Ferguson hoping to witness Manchester United’s new stadium opening:
“I read what the boss said about the new stadium.
He hopes to be there when it opens, but if he isn’t, he’ll still be there in spirit.
I wanted to call him.
‘Boss, you’ve spent your life telling us there’s still time. Now you’re talking like the final whistle has gone?’
People talk about Fergie Time.
Some think it was some arrangement with referees.
No.
Sometimes we’d be losing with ten minutes left, and the boss would catch somebody looking at the clock.
‘Patrice, what are you looking at?’
‘The time, boss.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re losing.’
‘And?’
That was the conversation.
He made you feel stupid for thinking ten minutes wasn’t enough to win.
And somehow, you believed him.
I remember the 2008 Champions League final against Chelsea.
Everybody expected the boss to talk about Drogba, Lampard and tactics.
Instead, he talked about us.
My family, my brothers and sisters, what my mother had gone through.
Then Rooney growing up in Liverpool. Tevez in Argentina. Cristiano leaving Madeira.
I thought, ‘Boss, how do you know everybody’s family history?’
But then I looked around.
Wayne was listening. Cristiano was listening. Carlos was listening.
He was reminding us that before Manchester United, we were boys who dreamed of nights like this.
That’s why we played for him the way we did.
You could survive a bad performance.
But disappointing Sir Alex Ferguson?
That was different.
Sometimes we’d win, Old Trafford would be celebrating, and you’d still check whether he was happy.
‘Patrice, what was that in the second half?’
‘Boss, we won.’
‘I know we won. I’m asking what you were doing.’
You couldn’t escape.
But when he told you he was proud, you carried that feeling for a week.
And Old Trafford was something else.
The Theatre of Dreams.
For visiting teams, sometimes a nightmare.
70,000 people. The Stretford End singing. The boss chewing his gum.
I watched teams defend brilliantly for 85 minutes.
Then the fourth official raised the board.
4 minutes left.
Suddenly those minutes felt longer than the entire match.
The boss would look at us as though to say, ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
And we’d go again.
That was Fergie Time.
Not a guarantee we’d score.
The belief that as long as there was another ball to put into the box, United could still win.
He built that belief.
You can build a bigger stadium.
Better seats. A beautiful roof. Everything.
But you cannot order another Sir Alex Ferguson.
And that’s why his words hurt.
The man who taught us never to surrender is wondering whether he’ll have enough time to see United’s next chapter.
I wish I could sit beside him.
‘Boss, remember telling us to stop looking at the clock?’
‘What are you talking about, Patrice?’
‘Now you’re the one looking at it.’
He’d probably tell me to shut up.
But I’d tell him something else.
‘You have to be there, boss.’
I want him walking into that stadium.
The supporters standing when his face appears on the screen.
I want him hearing that noise again.
Looking around at children who never watched his teams, but whose fathers told them everything.
The comebacks. The trophies. The nights Old Trafford shook.
The man who looked at his watch and convinced 70000 people there was still time.
I know he’ll be there in spirit.
But I want him there in person.
Sitting in the stands, complaining about somebody’s defending when he’s supposed to enjoy the ceremony.
Because that’s the Sir Alex Ferguson I know.
Manchester United will have many stadiums, managers and generations of players.
But there will only ever be one Sir Alex Ferguson.
And boss, if you’re reading this, I have one request.
Stop looking at the clock.
You taught us that lesson.
There’s still time. ”
🚨🚨 The midfield solution is already in the building. Mainoo and Baleba.
They have not played a minute together. Spurs is the first game Carrick can try both.
🚨 Rodrigo on Ronaldo’s comment on Messi’s farewell post:
“I’m not surprised he didn’t reply. I wouldn’t have either.
When Leo was crying, Ronaldo had plenty to say. Copa America, Chile, the missed penalty, the tears. It hurts him, come back, your country needs you. Nice words. Leo did come back, and he won the things they said he never would.
Then the same man likes a post saying they cheated for him. FIFA, a final, a fix. He didn’t even write it. He just liked it and left it sitting there.
Now Leo says goodbye and the comment comes out again. All my respect. A hug. As if the like never happened.
That’s why there’s no reply. You don’t get to feel for him when he’s on the ground, agree with the people calling it a fix, and then turn up for the nice ending.
Ronaldo can keep the comment. Leo doesn’t owe him one back.”
🚨 Nicolás Otamendi on Lionel Messi’s final game for Argentina:
🗣️ Nicolás Otamendi: “I knew it was my last one as well. I didn’t tell many people. I didn’t need to. Leo already knew.
The first half was nothing. A full Monumental, and no goal. I kept looking at him. He was playing it like a normal night. Touch, pass, wait. I was the one who couldn’t breathe.
Second half, he takes the corner from the left. I run in. He puts it on me. I hit it first time. 1-0.
I turned and he was already walking back. Like he’d done it a thousand times. Because he has.
They took me off after that. My last goal, my last minutes, and the man who made it didn’t even make a speech. He just pointed, the way he always does.
From the bench I watched the rest.
He finds Nico Paz. Paz curls it in. 2-0. Leo doesn’t celebrate like it’s a farewell. He celebrates like there’s another one coming.
Then the penalty. Everybody in the stadium knew. He puts it in the top corner. 3-0. That’s 126.
I was on my feet. The whole bench was. He ran toward us and I grabbed him and I said, ‘That’s it. That’s how you leave.’
He said, ‘I hit the post at the end. I wanted one more.’
I told him, ‘Leo. You made all three. The corner was mine. The pass was Paz. The penalty was yours. Benin didn’t score. You played the 90. What else did you want from a last night?’
He looked at the pitch. Then he said, ‘I just didn’t want it to feel like a last night.’
That’s the performance. Not the penalty. The fact he spent his last game setting the other two up, and still looked annoyed the post kept the fourth one out.
I scored in my last game because he put the ball on my head.
He scored in his because the night asked him to.
I don’t think he was saying goodbye.
I think he was still playing.”