With a UEFA Champions League semifinal second leg still ahead, Manchester United had one Premier League match to play.
The bus bearing the Red Devils crest headed south along the M3 toward a seaside town on England's southern coast.
The scenery beyond the windows gradually changed.
Manchester's gray tones fell away behind them, replaced by rolling hills, sprawling pine forests, and the increasingly strong scent of salt in the air.
"Bournemouth."
Carrick sat in the front row, flipping through a thin away-match briefing booklet. Without looking up, he said, "Everyone, the land you're about to set foot on is the city in Great Britain with the most retired old folks."
"Before 1810, this place didn't even have a name. The entire coastline was wasteland and marshes. Even pirates couldn't be bothered to come here."
Lingard asked curiously, "Then how did it become a city?"
"A military doctor named Lewis built a holiday cottage, then rich people started flocking here to breathe in the sea air... Ridiculous, isn't it?"
A burst of laughter rang through the bus.
"There's something even more ridiculous."
Giggs pointed at the logo on a distant building. "Bournemouth was founded in 1899. For its first fifty years, it muddled around in the lower divisions. At its worst, it nearly went bankrupt and dissolved. Its home ground, Dean Court Stadium, only holds eleven thousand people..."
"Two years ago, they were still struggling in the EFL Championship. Their manager, Eddie Howe, a local young coach in his thirties, took charge from the Second Division and dragged this team into the Premier League through sheer force of will."
"This is their second season in the Premier League."
"Small stadium, small budget, small squad, but they're no pushovers."
"They pack their penalty area like a can of sardines... Plenty of teams