The atmosphere inside Mestalla was absolutely electric. Blue and red flags danced in the evening breeze, their vibrant colors clashing above a pitch that felt more like a grand stage than just a field. It was the night of the Copa del Rey final — Barcelona, the reigning champions of Spain, facing off against CD Tenerife, the season's unexpected underdog, a team that everyone had dubbed a fairy tale.
Carlos Martínez's voice soared above the cheers of the crowd, his commentary echoing into living rooms all over the nation. "The referee blows his whistle, and we're off — CD Tenerife, the storybook team of the season, going head-to-head with the champions of Spain, FC Barcelona!"
From the very first touch, Barcelona showcased their class. The ball zipped across the grass as if it were on strings, each pass intentional, precise, and controlled. Xavi dropped deep, gathering the ball and commanding the pace with effortless grace.
Iniesta glided between the lines, always popping up where he seemed least expected, like a ghost in the number eight jersey. And then there was Messi — lurking, waiting, ready to strike in that dangerous space between midfield and defense.
But while Barcelona was like silk, Tenerife was pure steel.
Laurence González had drilled his players all week long. Don't focus on the crest, don't fixate on the players. Focus on the space. Claim the space. Take away their time. His team followed his orders to the letter.
The first five minutes unfolded like a whirlwind. Dani Alves charged down the right for Barcelona, only to be met by Joel — Tenerife's young right-back turned winger, who had been plucked from Barcelona's own La Masia.
Joel stood his ground. He matched Alves stride for stride, forcing him into an early cross that Luna, Tenerife's older left-back, read perfectly. Luna leaped high and gently cushioned a header back into the waiting hands of Sergio Aragoneses.
"Check out the shape from Tenerife," Maldini noted during the commentary. "They're setting up in a sort of 4-1-4-1 for defense, but they're quick to adapt when transitioning. González is showing some real courage."
On the sidelines, Laurence was shouting out orders, his tie already loosened, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt. His voice pierced through the noise around him. "Close those gaps! Don't let Messi have any time!"
But sometimes, genius doesn't require time.
In the twelfth minute, Messi drifted inward, blending into the background until he suddenly wasn't. With a delicate touch, he glided past Ricardo León, leaving the seasoned player spinning in confusion. A second touch found David Villa, who slipped between the center-backs, flicking the ball toward the goal with the outside of his boot.
The Mestalla crowd surged to their feet.
But Sergio Aragoneses, the captain of Tenerife, their impenetrable wall, was ready. He spread himself wide, chest out, and the ball slammed into him before bouncing away to safety.
The stadium erupted, a mix of relief and admiration.
"Barcelona just fired their first real warning shot," Carlos Martínez announced, "and Tenerife better be alert."
Yet Tenerife didn't back down. They responded fiercely. Just four minutes later, Kikoto launched himself into a tackle on Iniesta, winning the ball cleanly and springing forward in one fluid motion. He found Griezmann, who spun away from Busquets with a smooth turn before sending Natalio racing down the right channel. Natalio sprinted, legs pumping, eyes focused ahead.
One touch. Then another. A low pass zipped across the box.
Neymar, charging in from the far side, was poised to strike.
But Piqué slid in, stretching every muscle in his body to deflect the shot wide. The ball spun out for a corner.
Laurence clapped so hard his palms stung.
"That's it! That's the break we want!" he shouted.
The rhythm of the game settled into its familiar pattern. Barcelona controlled the ball, weaving their intricate triangles, stretching Tenerife this way and that.
Yet, Tenerife's back line, a mix of youth and determination, held firm. Bellvis and Luna tucked in tight, Casemiro roamed like a vigilant sentinel in front of them, and Kikoto covered every inch of grass, pressuring Iniesta one moment and doubling up on Messi the next.
Pep Guardiola stood with his arms crossed on the far touchline, his expression unreadable. He chewed his lip, a faint scowl hinting at his thoughts. Tenerife weren't cracking. Not yet.
In contrast, Laurence was a whirlwind of energy. He paced back and forth, shouted instructions, and gestured to Victor on the bench, who relayed them to the players. Every clearance, every interception felt like a moment borrowed from fate, but that was exactly what Tenerife needed.
In the twenty-ninth minute, their luck almost ran out.
A lightning-quick one-two between Messi and Iniesta tore through the defense. Messi glided into the box, Joel hesitated, and in that split second, Messi was clear, the ball seemingly glued to his feet.
The Argentine raised his head, ready to chip over Aragoneses.
But Aragoneses was quicker.
The keeper dashed out, arms spread wide like wings, and smothered the ball just before Messi could get a shot off. The ball bounced away, but Luna was quick to clear it before Villa could make a move.
"Unbelievable!" Martínez shouted. "Aragoneses denies Messi! Tenerife are still in this!"
The Tenerife fans—though fewer in number—were loud and proud, chanting their captain's name. Aragoneses simply raised a fist and urged his defenders to tighten their formation.
As the game approached the half-hour mark, Barcelona kept the rhythm going, their passes mesmerizing, but Tenerife stood firm. For every gap that opened, another player in white and blue was there to block the way.
And then, Neymar entered the scene.
It all began near the halfway line.
Griezmann, with his back to the goal, protected the ball and nudged it left to the Brazilian. Neymar took it on, with two defenders closing in—Keita and Piqué. He shifted his weight, a quick shimmy to the left, and slipped the ball through Keita's legs.
The Mestalla buzzed with excitement.
Busquets stepped in, his long legs reaching out to intercept. Neymar feinted right, then playfully pushed the ball between Busquets' legs as well. Now he was off and running.
The crowd erupted in disbelief.
Neymar sprinted into open space, with Alves in pursuit and Messi even tracking back. Víctor Valdés prepared himself, inching forward from his line. Neymar lifted his right foot as if to shoot, but at the last moment, he dragged the ball across his body and struck it with the outside of his left foot.
The ball curled beautifully, venomous and precise, heading straight for the far post.
Gasps filled the stadium.