It finally happened.
Matheus Cunha’s first goal for United wasn’t just another goal. It was the moment, the one I’d been waiting for since they announced his signing. When he placed it into the bottom corner in the 24th minute, I exhaled. Weeks of frustration, near-misses, and continuous doubt were all gone in one perfect strike.
You could see what it meant to him too. The look up to the crowd, the small grin breaking through relief, the celebration itself felt more like a group hug relieving stress than a hyped up change in the scoreboard. It’s funny how much you end up caring about players you’ve never met, but that’s football. When Cunha struggled to find the net in his first few games, I think every United fan felt that weight, because we’ve all seen how that story can go.
But this time, it didn’t. This time, Old Trafford roared for him. And it was loud.
That goal meant more than just 1–0 on the scoreboard. We forgot a win would but us back into the top 4. We also forgot that it would mark our 3rd win in a row. At that moment, we were just ecstatic for Cunha’s achievement and lived in the moment. It felt like things were finally clicking. The passing was sharper, the energy was different, and for once, watching United didn’t feel like hoping for luck. It felt like belief again. Like you could spend your 90 minutes wondering when the next goal would come, and not if it will.
When the final whistle blew, I caught myself smiling longer than usual. Not because we won, we’ve already done that before. But because this felt like something building. A goal, a streak, a moment that might be the start of a story we’ll actually want to remember. Slowly but surely, comments and doubts start to disappear.
Cunha’s first goal reminded me why I still love this club, even when it drives me insane. Because every once in a while, there’s a night like this, when all the noise fades, and you remember what it feels like to believe again.
