The day Atlético Madrid set foot on the island, the Heliodoro Rodríguez López felt different.
A thick fog rolled in from the coast as the sun began to set, wrapping around the upper tiers of the stadium and creating a muted, almost intimate atmosphere. The stands gradually filled up, with scarves held tightly and voices raised in encouragement. This wasn't just any night; it was a moment to reflect on how far Tenerife had truly come.
Sitting in third place in La Liga had shifted the vibe around the club. Conversations outside the gates were no longer filled with surprise, but rather a cautious sense of pride. Fans chatted about matchups, points, and the possibilities that lay ahead if things kept going this way. Laurence Gonzales felt this energy as he strolled along the touchline before kickoff.
Atlético Madrid showed up just as everyone expected. They were compact, no-nonsense, and ready to turn the match into a grueling ninety minutes. Diego Simeone stood firm in his technical area, arms crossed, surveying Tenerife's formation with a familiar, steely gaze. He understood what this kind of atmosphere demanded. Laurence did too.
Tenerife lined up in a flat 3-4-3 formation. Koulibaly held down the center of the defense, commanding and vocal, flanked by Luna and De Vrij on either side. Cancelo and Grimaldo maintained their discipline, only pushing forward when the moment called for it. In the midfield, Kikoto and Casemiro focused more on disrupting the rhythm than creating it. Up front, Griezmann and Neymar floated laterally behind Bony, always on the move and ready to receive the ball.
The first half hour unfolded in a series of stops and starts.
Atlético pressed selectively, picking their moments rather than launching constant attacks. Gabi and Tiago were effective at disrupting passing lanes, while Diego Costa used his body to back into defenders whenever he could, with fouls interrupting any chance of a smooth flow.
Neymar found himself swarmed the moment he got the ball, pushed wide and nudged off balance. Bony fought hard but received little support. The match settled into a grind, just as Simeone had hoped.
Laurence remained focused, paying more attention to spacing than possession. He noticed Cancelo starting to time his forward runs better, while Grimaldo held his position instead of forcing overlaps. It wasn't the most beautiful play, but it was certainly controlled.
The breakthrough arrived just before halftime, not from a flash of brilliance but from sheer patience. Koulibaly stepped out from the back with intent, drawing pressure before sending a solid pass out wide to Cancelo.
The wingback took a moment to steady himself and delivered a high cross that curled toward the far post. Atlético's defensive line hesitated for just a moment. That was all it took.
Griezmann slipped past Filipe Luís, leaped up, and expertly directed his header down and across the goal. The net rippled, and the stadium erupted in cheers, the sound rolling down from the fog-covered stands like a wave crashing onto the shore.
Griezmann dashed toward the sideline, instinctively pointing at Laurence. The coach acknowledged him with a quick nod, his expression remaining unchanged. There was still plenty of work to do.
The second half posed a different challenge for Tenerife. Atlético pushed forward, ramping up the tempo and forcing Tenerife to defend deeper and for longer stretches. Diego Costa became more aggressive, Gabi was snapping into tackles, and crosses started coming into the box more frequently.
Koulibaly handled most of them with authority, clearing the danger, while De Vrij smartly positioned himself to pick up any loose balls. Luna opted for a more conservative approach, prioritizing positioning over aggression.
There were moments when Tenerife felt the pressure. A shot deflected just wide. A scramble was cleared by Casemiro right inside the six-yard box. But they held firm. Their shape remained intact, the distances between players stayed compact, and Aragoneses commanded his area with confidence.
When the final whistle blew, the reaction was different from their previous victories. It was a proof that Tenerife still stood strong, in a potential title race. Two years ago, no one imagined this.
A clean 1–0 win against Atlético Madrid meant something significant.
Laurence shook hands with Simeone, exchanging a few respectful words, neither offering more than mutual respect. As the players walked off the pitch, the crowd lingered, applauding long after they had disappeared down the tunnel.
There wasn't much time to savor the moment. The schedule was too tight for any reflection. Just a few days later, Tenerife made their way to Nuevo Estadio de Los Cármenes, the home ground of Granada CF. Granada was in a relegation fight and desperately needed the points, just like Tenerife.
Laurence made a few adjustments but kept the core of the team intact. Kikoto and Casemiro held their ground in midfield, Koulibaly anchored the defense, and Bony remained central. Valencia came out strong, pressing hard and using the flanks to try and isolate Cancelo and Grimaldo. For a while, Tenerife struggled to find their rhythm, with passes going astray and timing feeling off.
The first goal came from a rare moment of brilliance. Neymar dropped back to collect the ball, drawing in two defenders before threading a perfectly timed pass to Bony. The striker didn't think twice, firing low and early past the keeper. It wasn't flashy, but it got the job done.
After that, Tenerife started to find their groove, taking their time and deciding when to push forward. Griezmann almost doubled the lead with a curling shot that grazed the post, and Cancelo forced a save from long range. The second goal came midway through the second half, a result of relentless pressure and a loose clearance that was punished without hesitation.
Granada managed to pull one back late in the game through Jonas, which briefly raised the stakes, but Tenerife held on. Another victory.
The atmosphere changed the following morning.
Training was light, recovery-focused, but attentive. Laurence watched closely, eyes scanning for signs of fatigue he'd learned not to ignore. Stefan de Vrij pulled up mid-sprint, clutching the back of his thigh.
De Vrij sank to the grass, frustration written across his face. The medical staff were quick, but Laurence already knew.
The scans confirmed it later in the day. A Grade 2 hamstring strain. Two months, at least.
Laurence stood near the edge of the training ground long after the players had gone inside. Losing De Vrij wasn't just about quality. It was about stability. They would be now out of depth in defense, with the academy graduate Nino Garcia as the only back up after Bellvis.
Mauro joined him, hands in his pockets, expression tired. "We're stretched thin now."
Laurence nodded. "We can't replace him directly."
"We don't have the funds," Mauro said. "Robertson took what was left."
Laurence exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the pitch. "Then we adapt. Maybe a loan. Someone inexperienced, even if just for depth."
Mauro nodded. "I'll look. But it won't be easy."