When the scoreline flipped to 3-2, Villa Park descended into an absolute madness.
Tens of thousands of Aston Villa supporters completely lost their minds. In the stands, legions of die-hard, heavily tattooed fans ripped off their jerseys, violently swirling them over their heads like helicopters.
It was late January, and the biting Birmingham wind had dragged the temperature down to a brutal 2 degrees Celsius (35°F), but the freezing cold meant absolutely nothing to the roaring home crowd.
Caught up in the pure unadulterated hype, Xia Dongguo actually grabbed the hem of his jacket, ready to strip down and join the shirtless hooligans.
Fortunately, Marianne realized what was happening and sharply slapped his hands down at the critical moment, saving him from a severe case of frostbite—and public embarrassment.
Down on the pitch, Tammy Abraham didn't even bother celebrating with the crowd.
He sprinted directly at Theodore Bjorn, tackling him into a massive hug.
The striker knew well that the only reason he was sitting on a brace tonight was because of this 17-year-old rookie.
"Bjorn, you absolute legend!" Abraham yelled over the deafening crowd, giving him an aggressive thumbs-up.
"I swear to God, your passing is better than Jack's!"
Aston Villa's current captain and veteran center-back, James Chester, jogged over and slung a heavy sweaty arm around Theodore's shoulders.
"Fucking brilliant shift, kid!" Chester shouted, squeezing him tight. "You just saved our asses! Keep playing like that, and you'll be locking down a starting spot by the weekend!"
Over on the Ipswich Town bench, head coach Paul Lambert was pacing like a caged animal, furiously shaking his head.
His face was twisted in pure disappointment and utter shock.
He had meticulously planned to shut down Grealish, but the sudden emergence of this unknown kid had completely ripped his tactical system to shreds.
But Lambert wasn't going to roll over.
"Push up! Everyone forward!" Lambert screamed at his squad.
The match had hit the 86th minute.
Factoring in stoppage time, there were roughly seven minutes left.
Seven minutes of pure hell. Seven minutes to salvage a point.
Every single Ipswich player threw themselves forward, launching a desperate, all-out siege on the Aston Villa goal.
Recognizing the danger, Villa immediately collapsed into a suffocating low block, packing all eleven men into their own half to defend the lead.
The final minutes turned into a brutal, breathless trench war.
88th Minute.
Ipswich's Trevoh Chalobah received a pass in the midfield and suddenly hit the gas.
He drove hard through the center, deliberately using his elite dribbling to draw the attention of the Villa defense. It worked. John McGinn, Tammy Abraham, and Conor Hourihane all collapsed onto him simultaneously, trying to suffocate the Chelsea loanee.
But Chalobah was smart.
Just as the triple-team closed in, he expertly slipped the ball out wide to the right flank.
Flynn Downes was waiting.
The young winger had already bagged an assist earlier in the match by finding Will Keane in the box, and his instincts flared again.
Downes took one touch, glanced up to find his 188cm striker lurking in the penalty area, and instantly pulled his right leg back to whip the cross in.
If that ball reached Keane's head, it was going to be a guaranteed shot on target.
Crunch.
Theodore appeared out of nowhere.
Sliding in with lethal precision, his right boot hooked the ball cleanly away from Downes's feet just milliseconds before the winger could strike it.
Without missing a beat, Theodore popped up and smashed a powerful clearance up the pitch.
But its not actually a blind clearance, its a calculated long pass.
The ball sailed over the halfway line and dropped right into the path of Abraham.
Unfortunately, completely tired and isolated against two Ipswich defenders, the striker was quickly dispossessed.
But it didn't matter.
The danger was cleared, and the clock was bleeding out.
Up in the stands, the Villa fans were staring down at the pitch in disbelief.
"Who the hell is this kid?!" one fan yelled, spilling half his pint.
"He's putting it on a plate for the strikers and snapping into tackles like a mad dog! I don't remember signing him!"
"He's been on for twenty minutes! Two assists and he's cleaning up the midfield!" another fan replied.
"Looks like a bloody teenager!"
"Academy product! Norwegian-Chinese, only 17!" a guy in the row behind them chimed in.
"If we've got Grealish and this kid, our midfield is sorted for the next decade!"
93rd Minute.
Deep into stoppage time, Ipswich Town launched one final desperate attack.
Chalobah picked up the loose ball and rapidly distributed it to Freddie Sears on the right wing.
The veteran forward was only 170cm tall, but he possessed explosive pace and a low center of gravity.
He had been a thorn in Villa's side all night.
As Sears received the ball on the touchline, he looked up. There was only one man standing between him and the penalty box.
Theodore Bjorn.
"Run at him!" Paul Lambert shrieked hysterically from the touchline, spit flying from his mouth.
"Sears! Use your pace! Burn the kid!"
Sears didn't hesitate.
He dropped his shoulder, tapped the ball heavily to his right and attempt to completely blow past the teenager with raw explosive speed.
But Theodore wasn't going to get into a footrace.
He didn't lunge for the ball. Instead, he stepped directly into Sears's running path.
Channeling Bastian Schweinsteiger's 82-rated physicality, Theodore planted his feet and violently threw his shoulder into the veteran winger.
Smack!
It was like Sears had sprinted headfirst into a concrete wall.
The Ipswich forward bounced off Theodore and tumbling across the freezing grass in a heap.
Sears threw his hands up, screaming for a foul, but the referee didn't even blink.
This was the English Championship.
It was the most physical league in the world, and a proper shoulder-to-shoulder barge was perfectly legal.
Theodore calmly collected the loose ball and booted it as high and far into the stands as humanly possible.
The exact second the ball left his foot, the referee raised his whistle and blew it three times.
Peep! Peep! Peeeeeeep!
It was over.
3-2.
Aston Villa had survived the gruelling match, pulling off a massive comeback to secure all three points at home!