What the fans did was not good but this was the reason I subbed him off. He has to go. I even cried and left the pitch. But I have to tell him the reason I did what I did”-Ruben Amorim breaks silence on brutal Joshua Zirkzee substitution which left Man Utd star with ‘tears in his eyes

**Title: The Hardest Decision**

It was a chilly evening in Lisbon, the kind of night when the stadium lights cast a warm glow over the pitch, and the air was thick with anticipation. Ruben Amorim, the head coach of Sporting CP, stood on the touchline, eyes fixed on the match as his team battled against a tenacious opponent. The score was tight, and the tension in the air was palpable. But amidst the energy of the crowd, there was one moment that would eclipse everything else—the moment when Joshua Zirkzee, the on-loan Manchester United forward, was substituted off, leaving him in tears.

Amorim had always prided himself on his ability to make tough decisions. As a young coach with a growing reputation, he had built a reputation for being calculated, measured, and deeply invested in his players’ development. But this substitution was different. It wasn’t a tactical decision driven by the flow of the game or an injury concern. No, this was deeply personal.

“**What the fans did was not good**,” Amorim began, breaking his silence during a post-match interview. His voice was heavy with emotion, his usually composed demeanor showing cracks. He had wanted to shield Zirkzee from the onslaught, but now, with the cameras on him, he had no choice but to speak.

The fans, the same ones who had once sung the praises of every goal and every victory, had turned against Zirkzee that evening. The crowd’s jeers, sharp and biting, cut through the air as the young forward’s performance faltered. It wasn’t that Zirkzee was playing poorly—he was trying, fighting for every inch, but the pressure of the moment was too much for him. Every misstep, every mispass seemed to be met with scorn from the stands. The tension was suffocating.

Zirkzee, who had arrived on loan from Manchester United with high hopes, was struggling to find his feet in the Sporting system. The pressure of wearing the famous green and white jersey, coupled with the high expectations placed on him by fans and teammates alike, was beginning to take its toll. His confidence, once unshakable, was starting to crack.

“I could see it,” Amorim continued. “I could see it in his eyes. The kid was broken. And as much as I wanted him to fight through it, to prove everyone wrong, I knew that at that moment, he was drowning.”

The decision to pull Zirkzee from the field was not easy. Amorim’s mind raced, torn between his duty to the team and his empathy for the young player. But he knew, deep down, that the substitution was necessary—not just for the good of the team, but for Zirkzee’s well-being. The fans’ hostility had crossed a line.

“**He has to go**,” Amorim said softly. “I made the decision, not just because of the match, but because I knew that if I left him on, he wouldn’t recover. He was hurting, and I had to protect him. I’m the coach, and sometimes you have to be the bad guy. But I knew I was doing it for the right reasons.”

As Zirkzee trudged off the pitch, tears welled up in his eyes. The emotional weight of the situation, the jeers, the pressure—it all became too much. He had given everything, but on that night, it wasn’t enough. Amorim felt a pang of guilt watching the young forward’s face, his head hung low, every step away from the pitch a reminder of his failure in front of the fans.

The substitution, however, was not the end. Amorim would later find Zirkzee in the locker room, his eyes still red from the tears. The room was quiet, save for the sound of the occasional player muttering to themselves or tossing their jerseys into lockers. Amorim approached Zirkzee, sitting down beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Amorim said gently, placing a hand on Zirkzee’s shoulder. “But I had to do it. Not because you didn’t try—because you did. But because I could see you were hurting, and I can’t let that happen on the field. Not under those conditions.”

Zirkzee didn’t respond immediately. His emotions were raw, and the weight of Amorim’s words hadn’t fully settled in yet. But eventually, he looked up, meeting his coach’s eyes.

“I understand,” Zirkzee whispered, his voice thick. “I just didn’t know if I could get back from it.”

“You will,” Amorim said, his voice filled with conviction. “But only if we protect you from situations like that. You’re here because we believe in you. I believe in you. But you’re still young, and sometimes, we have to be patient. You have time.”

The following days were filled with reflection. Amorim spent hours speaking to his staff, watching tape of the match, analyzing his decision. Was it the right one? Could he have handled the situation differently? But as the days passed, he grew more confident that he had done the right thing. He had protected his player—no matter how hard it was—and that, to Amorim, was the most important thing.

Weeks later, when Zirkzee was given another opportunity to play, the boos from the crowd were less intense, and the player’s performance showed signs of recovery. The confidence had slowly returned. He wasn’t the same player he had been at the start of the season, but he was beginning to find his rhythm again. And Amorim was there, supporting him every step of the way.

That night, when the fans saw Zirkzee back on the pitch, they no longer jeered. Instead, they saw a young man who had fought through adversity. And deep down, many of them knew that the substitution, painful as it had been, had been the catalyst for his eventual growth.

“I had to tell him the reason I did what I did,” Amorim concluded in his interview, his eyes distant as he recalled the moment. “It wasn’t just a tactical change—it was about protecting him. And that, above all else, is what matters.”