Where It All Began – The Red Storm of 2002

The summer of 2002 in our small Kerala home brought cable television at last. Until then, my parents had kept it away to “help us focus on our studies.”

School had just finished. Engineering college hadn’t started. For the first time in years, my days had no timetable, no bells, no exams — just long hours waiting to be filled. That’s when football arrived, not strolling in but sweeping over everything.

One warm evening, flicking through our new channels, the picture cleared: a stadium under floodlights, thousands roaring in unison. My first true sight of The Theatre of Dreams.

Manchester United were in red, chasing Arsenal in a title race that felt like a weekly war. Ruud van Nistelrooy led the line, Paul Scholes painted passes, Ryan Giggs glided down the left, and Rio Ferdinand brought calm steel to the back.

Roy Keane was the heartbeat — fierce, uncompromising, bending matches to his will. Balancing him was David Beckham’s elegance: crosses like compass arcs, free-kicks curling in slow-motion perfection.

The magic wasn’t only United’s. Henry’s glides, Shearer’s thunder, Zola’s artistry, Pires’ control, Owen’s lightning runs — every weekend was pure joy.

Over it all stood Sir Alex Ferguson — coat collar up, gum chewing in steady rhythm, eyes scanning like a general who already knew the ending. His changes never felt lucky; they felt inevitable.

That summer bled into autumn, into the 2003–04 season. I was watching everything — Premier League, La Liga nights, Serie A Sundays, Champions League midweeks. It all began here: with United, with Keane and Beckham, with the sense football wasn’t just a game but a place to live.

By the time United lifted the Premier League trophy in May 2003, I knew this wasn’t a passing fascination. It was the spark that would shape the way I played, the way I thought about sport, and the way football would always find its way back into my life.
Even now, whenever I see red shirts under the lights, it feels like coming home.
Some beginnings never really end — they just keep replaying in the heart.