The ocean breeze drifted softly through Santa Cruz, cool and steady, but inside the Estadio Heliodoro Rodríguez López, the atmosphere was anything but gentle.
Blue-and-white scarves filled every nook, flags hung heavily over the railings, and the buzz of anticipation hung in the air, never quite settling. Tenerife was just one home match away from reaching the Europa League Round of 16.
AEK Athens wasn't there to admire the island; they were there to drag Tenerife into a battle.
Laurence Gonzales stood near the dugout long before the kickoff, arms crossed and jaw clenched. The past few weeks had taken their toll. Rotation had disrupted their rhythm, injuries had piled up, and now Neymar—who had been relentlessly targeted in Greece—was back, but just barely.
The urge to keep him safe was strong, but the urge to trust him was even stronger.
In the end, Laurence found a middle ground. Neymar would start, but he wouldn't be allowed to become a martyr.
Victor was instructed to keep the substitutes warm from the very first whistle.
Tenerife set up in their usual 3-4-1-2 formation:
GK: Aragoneses
CBs: Koulibaly, Luna, De Vrij
WBs: Grimaldo, Cancelo
CMs: Kante, Casemiro
CAM: Quaresma
STs: Neymar, Griezmann
AEK wasted no time showing their strategy.
Their midfield was tight, their lines close together, and their game plan straightforward: keep a close eye on Neymar, keep a close eye on Quaresma, and make sure to mark them tightly.
Right from the start, every time Neymar touched the ball, he felt the pressure. It wasn't always a foul or a late challenge, but it was always intentional. A shoulder here, a trailing leg there—just enough to throw him off his game and remind him he was marked heavily.
Laurence was on the sidelines, pacing and counting in his head.
AEK wasn't interested in holding onto the ball; they were focused on controlling the space and making things uncomfortable. Their pressing was well-timed, springing into action whenever Tenerife attempted to play through the middle, pushing them to the flanks, and forcing the play into areas where the fullbacks would confront them aggressively.
Tenerife chose to respond with caution.
Kanté was everywhere, gliding through passing lanes, snatching up loose balls, and seamlessly connecting the play. Casemiro, showing more discipline than earlier in the season, resisted the temptation to step out and instead held his position, anchoring the midfield like a steadfast rock.
At the back, Koulibaly and Luna handled aerial challenges with ease, while De Vrij—still young and learning—was constantly guided by shouts and gestures from his teammates.
In the twenty-second minute, Neymar took a hard hit near the halfway line. This one was anything but subtle. He stayed down longer than usual, rolling onto his side with a grimace. The crowd erupted, a mix of anger and concern.
Laurence was already on the sideline, his voice sharp as he pointed toward the fourth official. Victor leaned in closer.
"That one caught him clean."
Laurence nodded once. "Ten more minutes."
As the half progressed, AEK pushed higher up the pitch. They needed a goal, and they were well aware of it. Their wingers began to take more risks, fullbacks surged forward, and midfielders arrived late in the box. Tenerife absorbed the pressure, retreating just enough to maintain their shape and frustrate their opponents.
Cancelo's overlapping runs offered brief moments of relief, like little bursts of fresh air, but even those were calculated. Every time Tenerife moved forward, Casemiro barked out instructions, urging his teammates to reset, slow things down, and kill the momentum before it could turn against them.
It wasn't pretty.
The crowd could feel the tension in the air, and unease settled over them. They craved a goal to ease their nerves, something to lift their spirits.
When Griezmann found a sliver of space near the edge of the box late in the first half and sent his shot wide, a wave of whistles echoed through the stands.
Laurence turned to face them, arms raised and palms open. He exuded calm.
As halftime rolled around, the scoreboard showed 0–0. Tenerife had the upper hand, but it felt like a fragile advantage.
Inside the dressing room, Laurence spoke in a steady, almost hushed tone.
"They want us to lose our cool," he said. "Let's not give them that satisfaction. We don't need flair tonight; we need to keep our composure."
Then he turned his gaze to Neymar. The Brazilian's ankle was heavily bandaged, and his face looked pale.
"You're out," Laurence stated.
Neymar nodded in agreement, no argument. He understood the part he had played and the toll it had taken.
As Joel slipped on his shirt, Neymar settled onto the bench, wrapping ice around his ankle.
The second half kicked off just like the first had ended, but the weight of the moment felt even heavier.
AEK completely ditched any sense of subtlety. They relied on long balls, early crosses, and elbows during set pieces. There were appeals after every challenge. It was a classic display of European attrition—football aimed not at outplaying the opponent but at wearing them down.
In response, Tenerife decided to pull back even further.
Quaresma dropped deep, often finding himself alongside Kanté, sacrificing his freedom to bolster the midfield. Griezmann pressed tirelessly, just enough to disrupt the build-up, drawing fouls when he could, and stealing precious seconds whenever possible.
Casemiro became the central figure. He didn't wander off or take risks. He stayed put, intercepted passes, and safely recycled possession. When Tenerife regained the ball, they didn't rush to counterattack. Instead, they moved it sideways, even backward if needed, draining both the clock and AEK's energy.
What unfolded was something that felt strange to Tenerife fans.
It was controlled. Conservative. Almost reminiscent of Mourinho's tactics.
The wing-backs stopped pushing forward. The back three effectively turned into a back five. Aragoneses took his time with every restart, earning glares and whistles but never crossing the line into a foul.
In the sixty-sixth minute, Joel finally broke free on a rare counter, charging forward and winning a free kick. Quaresma stood over the ball, curved his run, struck it cleanly—but it sailed just over the bar.
And that was that.
After that moment, Tenerife had nothing left to offer in attack.
And that was exactly the plan.
Laurence stood stiffly on the touchline, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the pitch. Each time an AEK cross was cleared, it felt like a small triumph. Every foul won in midfield earned a quiet nod of approval.
The crowd shifted from a restless energy to a tense focus, counting down the minutes instead of the chances.
When the referee finally signaled for full time, the release of tension was subtle yet powerful. A collective sigh of relief.
Laurence shared a brief hug with Victor, nodded at Mauro, and then stepped onto the pitch, giving a clap to each player as they passed by. The applause from the stands was appreciative. The fans understood; this match wasn't about flair, though some still complained.
Later, in the press room, Laurence looked worn out, dark circles under his eyes, his voice steady but quiet.
"We did what we needed to do," he stated. "The goal was to move forward. And we did."
When asked about the lack of attacking intent in the second half, he remained composed.
"Football isn't just one style," he explained. "We've played an expansive game this season, pressing high, taking risks, and entertaining. But tonight wasn't that kind of game. It was about control and understanding the situation."
A journalist pressed him, suggesting that this approach was unusual for the team.
Laurence offered a faint smile. "Being out of character would be failing to adapt."
When it came to Neymar, he chose his words carefully.
"He took a lot of hits. We had to take him out early. He'll be out for a little while. That's just part of the game."
Later that evening, the medical report confirmed it: a moderate ankle sprain. Ten to fourteen days. Manageable.
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Europa League Round of 16 Confirmed Teams (After Round of 32):
CD Tenerife
PSV
Atlético Madrid
Schalke
Udinese
Valencia
Standard Liège
Manchester United
Sporting CP
AZ Alkmaar
Olympiacos
Metalist Kharkiv
Club Brugge
Hannover 96
FCSB
Lokomotiv Moscow