The winter air in Bilbao was biting, biting like the unyielding CD Tenerife team bus that wound through the tight, narrow of the streets overflowing with red and white scarves. Coastal fog curled along the windows but Laurence González hardly noticed. He sat near the front with arms crossed, staring at the colossal structure of San Mamés in front of him - a cathedral for Basque football. This was quite unlike any other game. This was the quarterfinals of the Copa del Rey - uncharted territory for his squad.
There was still a lean project. Another squad without a bottomless budget, with a thin squad and a bunch of young stars learning on the job and a tactical philosophy they were only just beginning to instil. But, they had belief. A belief that was calm and throbbing that they might belong here. Laurence felt it even if he did not show it.
As the players walked into the dressing room the room was quiet, not a murmur. No pre-match fire and brimstone talks. Laurence kept it simple.
"This game is won in the tunnel. And the crowd. But the game is won in the open spaces they forget to occupy."
Bilbao erupted into action when the whistle sounded. From the first minute they pressed and harried like a spring coiled to explode. Javi Martínez pulled the strings through the middle of the pitch with brutal efficiency. Iturraspe's legs were everywhere. They chased every embrace the Tenerife players would take. Each attempted pass was closed down as quickly as possible. Their fullbacks charged up the width of the pitch, with the crowd urging them into every challenge.
Neymar was fouled twice before the ten-minute mark. The normally confident and dancing teenage sensation looked rattled. Griezmann was so isolated, he was dropping deeper and deeper on the pitch to find a touch or two. Even Casemiro, normally as composed as you can get, was struggling to get time or space on the ball.
Laurence stayed on the edge of his technical area, in the pockets of his coat, watching intently. The pressure was palpable — and predictable.
"They're coming hard for 30," he said quietly to Victor. "Just let it settle. Then we can take the sting out of it."
But calculated suffering has its limits.
Bilbao drew first blood in the 23rd minute. A switch of play from Iraola had opened up space on the left. Muniain was slippery and clever, gliding past right-back Sicilia for a low cross, but it deflected wickedly off Luna's extended leg and fortuitously fell to the feet of Fernando Llorente, who barely needed to touch it.
He finished low and clinically, and the net rippled. San Mamés erupted.
Athletic Club 1 – 0 Tenerife.
Laurence didn't bat an eyelid. He turned and clapped slowly with both hands together. "We can live with that," he said. "Stay calm."
And credit to them, his team didn't buckle.
Instead of being pushed back and becoming a little fragile, Tenerife responded with spirit. Casemiro had started reading the tempo better, staying tight to Martínez, spoiling passing lanes. Kitoko, as ever, used his experience and drive to get into advanced territory to look to contest second balls. The midfield battle was starting to level out.
Griezmann, who had dropped deeper, was beginning to make short exchanges with Omar and Juanlu, giving Tenerife some bits and pieces to help them ease into the match. It wasn't pretty, but it was progress.
In the 38th minute, they finally got their first real warning sign. Griezmann picked the ball up between the lines and played a perfect ball through for Natalio. The striker hit it early -- low, firm, angled -- and forced Gorka Iraizoz to make a full stretch save. The crowd hushed just a little. Tenerife were not here to play tourist.
Halftime came, 1 - 0 on the scoreboard. Laurence made no substitutions.
He knew he was not going to tempt fate too early. The objective was not to win at San Mamés in this two-legged tie -- it was to survive.
The second half started with some discipline. Bilbao were still trying to press but had taken their foot off the gas somewhat naturally and Tenerife began to pass with a little authority, playing tight triangles to get pressure off. Casemiro was showing signs of maturity, making sharper decisions. Neymar, who was now occasionally drifting inside, was finding space between the fullback and the centre-half.
In the 70th minute, Tenerife almost found the equalizer. Neymar flicked his marker with a clever step-over and whipped in a cross from the left. Natalio, timing his run to perfection, leaped above San Jose, but missed the ball by inches.
All Laurence could muster on the sideline was a brisk clap.
"We'll get one," he said to Victor. "Maybe not this evening. But we'll get one."
Bilbao had other ideas as well, and gave it one more go. In the last ten minutes, they pressed again. In stoppage time, Llorente's looping header looked destined for the top corner, but finally, Sergio Aragoneses — the quiet veteran keeper from Tenerife — sprung to life and effortlessly diverted the effort, a man ten years younger than his roster age. That was a hell of a save.
Says the final whistle, and there were no cheers. Or any visible frustration — just mutual exhale.
Athletic Club 1 – 0 CD Tenerife.
Laurence walked up toward Joaquín Caparrós, extending his hand. The Bilbao manager returned the shake with a respectful nod — both men had already been taken to these dark corners managed similar match losses before. But each there remained a second half yet to be played.
As the Tenerife players filed toward the tunnel, some capitulating with heads bowed, Laurence continued to have poise. A close defeat at San Mamés? That wasn't a failure. That now laid groundwork. If there was any or the right lighting, it was success.