Chapter 247: Clever Giroud! Complex Marcelo! One Step Closer to a Legendary Treble
While the Champions League semifinal was raging at London's Wembley Stadium, across the continent near the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid, Real Madrid president Florentino Pérez sat in the headquarters of the Offensive Supporters Club, watching the match broadcast with deep concern.
What he saw on screen was almost entirely a sea of red shirts—the Bayswater Chinese were in full control.
Despite technically being the away team, Real Madrid in their classic white were constantly on the back foot.
Florentino was seated in a private suite, surrounded by top executives of the supporters' club, board members of Real Madrid, and club icons like Valdano and Zidane.
This "Offensive Supporters Club" had been created to back Florentino during his election campaign, and its members were some of the wealthiest and most influential people in Spain.
Even though the box was soundproof, muffled groans and curses could still be heard from the restless Madridistas outside.
Clearly, no one was pleased with how passive and overpowered Real Madrid looked.
Everyone could see it—the current momentum heavily favored the Bayswater Chinese.
Especially in the second half.
Florentino had always had mixed feelings about the Bayswater Chinese.
On one hand, he deeply admired Yang Cheng's ability to manage the club and coach the team.
If Yang Cheng weren't the owner of the Bayswater Chinese, Florentino would've moved heaven and earth to bring him to Madrid.
But on the other hand, he couldn't ignore the growing threat that the Bayswater Chinese represented.
Just recently, Real Madrid's general manager José Sánchez had delivered a report:
"This season, we're going to be overtaken by the Bayswater Chinese in revenue. And the gap… could widen significantly."
"Their new stadium is about to open. It'll have 250 VIP boxes—just the box rental alone will bring in over £35 million annually."
"Add in premium matchday spending, and their matchday revenue will reach a staggering figure."
Florentino felt suffocated.
Back in 2000, when he first took over Real Madrid, he completely transformed the club.
He turned what was once a traditional, aging football powerhouse into a modern corporate machine—blending financial strategy, branding, and operations into one entity.
To most people, that sounds vague.
But even during the heavily criticized final years of the first Galáctico era, Real Madrid's management under Florentino was more sought after in Spain than even elite investment firms like Morgan Stanley.
Yes, people said he ruined the Galácticos.
But they never acknowledged that under him, Real Madrid's revenue repeatedly broke records—at one point even surpassing Manchester United to become the world's richest club.
Some claimed he cheated by selling off the old stadium land with help from the government.
But if it were really that easy, why didn't anyone else do it?
How many presidents and VPs has Barcelona cycled through since 2000?
Why couldn't they pull it off?
Was it because the Catalan government didn't support them?
No. It's because Florentino had a clear, executable plan,
and he persuaded both the Spanish and Madrid governments to back it.
You needed to have a plan.
Not just lip service.
It's not a matter of "anyone could do it."
Sanz, Calderón, and the parade of Barça presidents and VPs—
all of them were useless. You could force-feed them success and they'd still choke on it.
Back then, sporting director Piri had a salary of €150,000 a year.
His successor, Valdano, made €1.5 million.
A full 10 times more.
During Sanz's era, the commercial director made €100,000 a year.
José Sánchez later earned €600,000.
Now that he's been promoted to general manager, he earns €3 million.
Why?
Because they were worth it.
In Spain's business circles, there's a saying:
To make money, hire people who know how to handle money.
But what did Calderón do?
He filled Real Madrid with incompetent freeloaders.
The worst part?
One of Mijatović's assistants was paid €600,000 a year—
on par with Sánchez, the club's commercial director at the time.
It was absurd.
When Florentino returned in 2009, he doubled down on big-name signings—bringing in Ronaldo, Džeko, Xabi Alonso—
and at the same time, cleaned house.
That included clearing out deadwood from both the front office and the squad.
It wasn't something that could be done overnight.
Especially when it came to club legends like Raúl and Guti.
Pellegrini was a good coach—
but he didn't have the authority to do what Mourinho did.
Raúl and Guti's departures left a gaping hole in the squad:
Squad depth.
Right now, Real Madrid only had one reasonably competitive starting XI.
In recent years, the players brought in hadn't lived up to expectations.
Florentino's original blueprint:
Sign superstars, blend in domestic talents and promising youth.
With Raúl and Guti gone, a huge chunk of the wage bill was freed up.
But stars like Agüero, David Silva, and Villa were all snatched up—by the Premier League or Barça.
The result?
Real Madrid lacked depth.
They tried to mimic the Bayswater Chinese model:
focus on homegrown development and sign young players with high potential.
Which is why their bench—and even starting XI—included names like Granero, Morata, Jesé, Nacho, Sahin, Varane, Callejón…
But none had truly proven themselves.
Worse still—Mourinho didn't trust young players.
And now, even Madrid's starting XI looked weaker than the Bayswater Chinese.
…
"The situation doesn't favor us," Zidane said quietly. "Especially if this drags on."
"You see it too?" Valdano replied.
"Yes. Yang Cheng is clearly conserving energy—waiting for Mourinho to blink first."
"Right, but if José doesn't rotate, how does he survive the upcoming Clásico?"
Valdano looked deeply troubled.
The Champions League semifinals are played over two legs. Though they're trailing 1–2, Real Madrid still have the return leg at the Bernabéu—a chance to turn things around.
But what about the upcoming Clásico?
Real Madrid currently hold a 4-point lead.
If they lose the Clásico, that drops to just one.
At that point, the pressure would be immense.
"Yang Cheng's team also has a crucial league match coming up," Valdano sighed, "but they'll be playing at home, and the Bayswater Chinese have a much deeper squad than we do."
"Mourinho—whatever he does now, it's a gamble."
Valdano, despite having been forced out of his technical director role by Mourinho, still chose to speak fairly about him.
At this stage, every decision carries massive risk.
If you rotate, you have to be able to protect the 1–2 scoreline.
Otherwise, if the margin grows, the return leg becomes even harder.
But if you don't rotate—how much energy will you have left for Barcelona?
Lose the Clásico away and concede a home loss in the Champions League? What then?
It was a truly impossible situation.
"And have you noticed?" Zidane added, always quick to pick up on nuance.
"The players are clearly under mounting pressure."
"Since the start of the second half, we've picked up 4 yellow cards already."
"Xabi Alonso, Coentrão, Callejón, and Arbeloa."
"That's dangerous."
Anyone who's played the game knows—
you start getting cards when you can't keep up.
"So what, we're not winning this match?" Florentino muttered bitterly.
Valdano and Zidane exchanged glances.
They didn't know how to answer.
Football is unpredictable.
In the next second, the Bayswater Chinese might make a costly mistake.
Or maybe Madrid might score out of nowhere—like Arsenal did against City.
Anything was possible.
69th minute, the camera cut to the sideline.
Real Madrid were making a substitution.
Lassana Diarra on, Mesut Özil off.
A clear sign—Mourinho was strengthening the midfield defense.
"He did exactly what I thought he would," Zidane said with a resigned smile.
That was the Mourinho he knew.
The Portuguese coach, at his core, was still conservative.
At moments like this, he always relied on defense.
It was what he did best.
Just after Mourinho's substitution, the Bayswater Chinese launched another attack.
First, Marcelo played a direct ball down the left.
Bale latched onto it, burning past two defenders with that terrifying pace.
Just as he neared the edge of the box, Bruno Alves flew in with a sliding tackle, taking out both ball and man, sending it all out of play.
It was a textbook tackle—well-timed and clean, though brutal-looking.
Bale and Bruno Alves both hit the ground hard.
Play resumed quickly.
Kroos switched the ball to the right.
Di María received it outside the box.
He faced Coentrão, faked a burst to the byline, then cut inside.
Left foot. Curling cross.
Lewandowski met the delivery with a header,
but Ramos' tugging disrupted him—he couldn't get full power.
And the angle was too direct. Casillas caught it clean.
Two chances in under two minutes.
Real Madrid were under siege.
74th minute, Ramos fouled Lewandowski again—this time, he was caught red-handed.
Yellow card.
First half: one yellow per side.
Second half: Madrid now had five.
Even casual viewers could see it—Madrid were hanging by a thread.
75th minute, Mourinho made his second substitution.
Granero on, Callejón off.
Zidane leaned toward Florentino:
"Our biggest weakness is the right wing. We need to sign a proper right winger."
Florentino nodded. Everyone could see that flaw.
"And depth—we need better backups. Real squad rotation isn't sustainable like this," Valdano added.
But then he paused and said, "Bayswater's squad model doesn't work for us."
Because their manager is Yang Cheng.
…
As Mourinho made his changes, Yang Cheng responded.
Giroud came on for Lewandowski.
Aaron Ramsey replaced Modrić.
Straight swaps—
designed to give key players rest before the weekend's crucial league clash.
Then his final sub:
Walcott for Bale.
Di María switched to the left wing.
Walcott took up a more advanced, central-right role.
The message was clear:
Even with rotation, Yang Cheng still wanted goals.
Ramsey and Walcott came on fired up, instantly injecting pace and aggression.
It was obvious to everyone—
Mourinho was holding the 1–2 scoreline.
Yang Cheng still wanted blood.
84th minute, Mourinho made his last move.
Higuaín on for Džeko.
Unlike Yang Cheng, who rotated his top attackers, Mourinho replaced one forward with another.
He still hoped Cristiano Ronaldo could strike on the counter.
Yang Cheng's triple sub saw the Bayswater Chinese continue to hammer Madrid's left.
Marcelo, Di María, Kroos, and Giroud kept pulling the play that way.
Madrid's right side was being crushed under the pressure.
In the 87th minute, the Bayswater Chinese created a highly threatening attacking sequence.
Giroud dropped deep toward the top of the penalty arc, raising a hand to call for the ball.
Aaron Ramsey delivered a sharp through pass.
The French striker met it with his left foot, flicking it upward.
The ball arced over Real Madrid's back line and dropped into the right side of the penalty area.
Walcott burst past Coentrão with a diagonal run into the box.
But the Little Tiger clearly didn't anticipate the brilliance of Giroud's flick—
instead of shooting first-time, he took a touch to control before attempting a strike.
The delay cost him.
Casillas rushed out and snuffed the chance.
The timing of the run was perfect, but the execution lacked decisiveness.
Still, the home crowd gave Walcott a warm ovation to show their support.
On the sidelines, Mourinho shook his head and shouted at his players.
The match was nearing its end—he wanted his team to settle.
But the Bayswater Chinese kept pushing, ramping up their intensity.
Real Madrid had been forced into a full retreat.
Only Higuaín and Ronaldo remained up top, hoping for a counterattack opportunity.
Time ticked away.
The Bayswater Chinese fans in the stands kept chanting,
urging their team to score one more.
One more goal, and the return leg at the Bernabéu would be much more manageable.
At 2–1, the lead felt fragile. That away goal gave Madrid a dangerous lifeline.
The players on the pitch knew it.
In the final minutes, they poured everything into attack.
Even Lewandowski, Bale, and others who had been subbed off were shouting from the sidelines, encouraging their teammates to press higher and keep attacking.
The fourth official raised the board:
4 minutes of added time.
Madrid had picked up 5 yellow cards in the second half,
and there were several stoppages—it made sense.
Then, in the 91st minute, Higuaín tried to win the ball back after losing possession—
he slid in from behind and took down Pepe.
He was shown a yellow.
More importantly, he disrupted a potential Bayswater Chinese counterattack.
On the sideline, Yang Cheng shook his head.
"This bastard's even turned yellow cards into an art form!" he muttered angrily.
Why say that?
Because while Madrid had accumulated plenty of yellow cards,
none of them would be suspended for the second leg.
They were rotating fouls, rotating cards!
When it came to exploiting loopholes, Mourinho was a master.
And this wasn't an insult.
All coaches look for edges.
Mourinho just happened to be exceptionally good at it.
One minute later, substitute Lassana Diarra committed another foul and earned a yellow.
Crucially, Madrid's fouls all happened far from the box—
so the Bayswater Chinese couldn't threaten much from the resulting free kicks.
Seven yellow cards now.
"If he can get Khedira to pick one up too, I'll admit he's a genius," Yang Cheng grumbled, growing frustrated.
Madrid kept fouling every time the Bayswater Chinese launched a counter.
But Khedira?
No card.
Because another yellow for the German would mean suspension for the return leg.
So instead, Alonso, Callejón, Higuaín—anyone but Khedira—took the fouls.
93rd minute.
The game was almost over.
Madrid played the ball forward to Granero.
But as soon as he touched it, Marcelo was on him.
The Brazilian's most significant improvement this season had been his defense.
He now averaged:
7.2 ball recoveries per match3.4 tackles3.7 interceptions2 clearances
And on the attacking end, he still contributed:
2.3 successful dribbles per match1.8 fouls suffered
In short, Marcelo had become an integral part of the system.
But with his improvement came increased risk—
last season, 33 errors.
This season so far? 36.
Two of them had directly led to goals.
That's Marcelo in a nutshell: brilliant but volatile.
His closest comparison? United's Patrice Evra.
Evra averaged 4.5 recoveries per match,
but only 29 errors and just 1 critical mistake.
After years of development, Marcelo was still attack-minded—but not helpless defensively.
His weaknesses came mostly from the team's system, not his personal ability.
When he focused, even in 1v1s, he could hold his own.
Like now—against Granero.
The Madrid midfielder wasn't a natural winger.
As soon as he got the ball, Marcelo stuck to him.
Short and agile, Marcelo pounced—
and cleanly stole the ball before Granero could react.
Recovering his balance, Marcelo pushed forward,
then sent the ball ahead to Toni Kroos.
The German sprinted to the left sideline, received it, and laid it off to Di María.
But the Argentine, back to goal, was blocked by Arbeloa and couldn't turn.
He passed back.
Lassana Diarra tracked Kroos,
so the ball was sent to Marcelo, who had made a forward run into the left channel.
Marcelo met it in stride—and immediately fired a through ball.
Giroud made a diagonal run to the top left of the box,
beating Bruno Alves to the ball and touching it to his left.
He stepped into the box—ball at his feet—and left Arbeloa flat-footed.
The Madrid right-back didn't dare tackle.
If he clipped Giroud, the Frenchman would go down instantly and win a penalty.
Giroud was clever.
As Arbeloa rushed in, he shielded the ball with his left foot,
forcing the defender to overrun it.
Arbeloa stumbled forward—beaten.
Giroud took a step left with the ball,
creating space between himself and Bruno Alves…
Arbeloa had overrun the play and was now turning back.
For the briefest of moments—perhaps just one second—Giroud had a window to shoot.
Most strikers, already inside the box, would have gone for a powerful finish without hesitation.
Especially with Giroud on his favored left foot.
The position, the angle—it was perfect for a strike.
But Giroud wasn't an ordinary striker.
November 11th, 2011.
He would never forget that day.
It was the first time he played for the French national team.
Before that match, he had a phone call with his coach, Yang Cheng.
And something Yang Cheng said that day left a mark on Giroud forever.
"Olivier, you've always been a very smart player. I knew that the first time I saw you."
"And I'm sure you know it too."
"As a smart person, you should understand your strengths and your limitations."
"Know when to act, what to do, and what not to do—I believe you know all that very well."
"Believe me, Olivier, as long as you stay true to yourself, your career is just beginning!"
Giroud had never been the most gifted athlete.
He knew that from the very start.
Back at Grenoble in Ligue 2, he was overlooked.
He had to climb, step by step—
From Grenoble to Istres in the third division, then back to Ligue 2 with Tours.
He never imagined he'd one day play for a club like the Bayswater Chinese, or represent France.
But here he was. Living it.
Once, a French journalist asked Giroud if he'd ever considered leaving the Bayswater Chinese.
After all, the club had one of the best strikers in the world—Lewandowski.
Giroud was always second choice.
And with Lewandowski scoring at will, Giroud's more modest stats drew criticism.
In recent years, the club also began grooming a homegrown striker: Harry Kane.
A youth product, English to the core, and even mentioned in the team's anthem by Yang Cheng himself.
Everyone knew Kane would be the future.
If he developed properly, Giroud would be relegated to third-choice striker.
Wouldn't it be better to leave now?
But Giroud smiled when he was asked.
"I've never thought about it," he replied.
He didn't explain why. He didn't say whether he would someday.
To Giroud, these three years with the Bayswater Chinese had been transformative.
He hadn't scored many goals,
but he had created countless chances for others.
Just as Yang Cheng had said—
he had to know his place and role.
If he wasn't blessed with freakish talent,
then he'd focus on doing what he was best at:
Link-up play.
Or more precisely—playmaking.
And aerial prowess.
So in the 93rd minute of stoppage time,
when Giroud turned left to collect the ball,
he had already glanced over to his right.
As he gained separation from Arbeloa and Bruno Alves,
everyone expected him to shoot.
But Giroud made a decision that shocked the entire stadium—
all 90,000 fans held their breath.
He passed. With his left foot, he lofted the ball across the box.
It floated gently to the right side of the six-yard area.
Just as Giroud had hoped—Aaron Ramsey was arriving at full speed.
Coentrão had been drawn toward the penalty spot,
leaving the right side of the box wide open.
When Ramsey reached the ball, there was no one near him.
Coentrão rushed back as fast as he could.
Ramsey watched the ball descend,
back to goal, eyes locked on the trajectory as he retreated.
Coentrão jumped—his final chance.
But he mistimed it.
He could almost feel the ball grazing the top of his head.
Ramsey took two steps back—
planted his left foot, and with his right—unleashed a first-time volley.
There was no defender around to close him down.
He had all the time in the world to read the ball, to position himself.
The shot was perfect.
And it didn't go to the near post.
Ramsey read Casillas—he saw the keeper shifting left,
and struck to the far top corner.
The shot screamed into the top-left corner of the net.
Casillas flew—but he never had a chance.
The ball kissed the top corner—where the bar meets the post—and went in.
"GOAL!!!!!!"
"A magnificent strike!"
"Aaron Ramsey—what a goal!"
"A jaw-dropping volley!"
"My God—Giroud's pass was beautiful, but Ramsey's finish… sublime!"
"In the dying seconds of the match, Aaron Ramsey scores a world-class volley to break Real Madrid's defense!"
"3–1!"
On the sideline, Yang Cheng, who had been praying for one last goal,
lost it.
He exploded out of the technical area, screaming in ecstasy.
This goal was everything.
With it, the second leg at the Bernabéu would be a completely different battle.
Without it, they had no real advantage.
The shock of the moment overwhelmed him.
He nearly ran onto the pitch—
the fourth official had to physically restrain him.
"And there's the Bayswater Chinese head coach—completely out of control!"
"Ramsey's goal has lit up Wembley!"
"It's a massive goal at a crucial time!"
"3–1!"
"With that goal, the Bayswater Chinese have seized the most favorable position on the road to the Champions League final!"
"Let's take another look at this brilliant goal."
"Marcelo's tackle in defense, his combination play with teammates, and that crisp through ball to Giroud."
"Giroud's touch was elegant, and the left-footed pass was absolutely exquisite."
"And then Aaron Ramsey's volley—executed without stopping the ball—was top class."
"This young Welsh midfielder is incredibly gifted, and still very young. His potential is limitless."
The broadcast cut to the touchline.
Real Madrid head coach José Mourinho looked devastated.
He had been saving his energy for the upcoming Clásico and had prepared thoroughly.
He'd nearly succeeded in leaving with a 1–2 scoreline—something he could work with.
But in the final moments, Aaron Ramsey's thunderous volley shattered that dream.
To make matters worse, both Giroud and Ramsey were substitutes—
the goal had come from two bench players.
Mourinho already knew what the post-match headlines would say:
That he was too conservative,
that he lacked courage,
that his substitutions ruined the match.
Victory writes history. Defeat writes the headlines.
Mourinho accepted it. Begrudgingly.
…
After Ramsey's goal, Madrid kicked off again and tried to launch one last attack.
But they couldn't even reach the Bayswater Chinese penalty area.
The ball was cleared—and the referee blew the final whistle.
Final score: Bayswater Chinese 3, Real Madrid 1.
Players from the Bayswater Chinese bench flooded the pitch to celebrate.
Everyone was ecstatic.
This scoreline gave them full control of the tie.
They had crashed out of the semifinals two seasons in a row,
and this time, the team was starving for the final.
For a club widely considered one of the strongest in the world,
three consecutive semifinal eliminations would be unacceptable.
That hunger fueled their performance tonight.
Mourinho, of course, wasn't having it.
"You should be thanking Guardiola and his Barça. Otherwise, today wouldn't have ended 3–1—it wouldn't have even been 2–1!" he snapped.
Yang Cheng, grinning from ear to ear, replied,
"In that case, you should thank City, thank Liverpool, thank Arsenal. If it weren't for them, we could've scored five tonight. You believe that?"
"I believe your nonsense!" Mourinho cursed loudly.
He refused to believe his team would ever concede five.
"Just you wait. I'll deal with Barça at the Camp Nou, then turn it around at the Bernabéu!"
He stormed off before Yang Cheng could invite him for a drink.
Yang Cheng shook his head.
"Brian, remind me—who came up with the post-match drink tradition?"
"He loses and won't drink. I lose and don't want to invite. Isn't that awkward?"
Brian Kidd chuckled.
He could tell Yang Cheng was in a fantastic mood and was just being cheeky.
…
After the match, news of the Wembley showdown spread like wildfire,
igniting debate across media outlets and among fans around the globe.
As always, the outcome dictated the analysis.
The media and fans retroactively dissected Mourinho's decisions.
He was hammered for being too conservative.
Down 1–2 on the road, instead of pushing for an equalizer and grabbing a second away goal,
he played it safe and tried to protect the scoreline.
And got punished.
Some pundits defended Mourinho, saying 1–2 was still an acceptable result for Madrid,
especially with the Clásico coming up.
But many agreed:
"Mourinho's biggest mistake was allowing Yang Cheng's substitutions to create a third goal."
If Madrid had left Wembley with a 1–2 scoreline,
the dynamics for the second leg at the Bernabéu would be very different.
Of course, Yang Cheng and his Bayswater Chinese earned their win.
They deserved the respect.
The media pointed out that, just like Madrid,
Yang Cheng also faced a title-deciding league match against Manchester City.
And in recent weeks, the Bayswater Chinese had battled through a relentless schedule—
two matches per week, top-tier opponents, and three competitions all at once.
"Under that pressure, Yang Cheng still chose to attack at the end."
"And it was his subs—Giroud and Ramsey—who combined for that critical third goal."
"That's the ultimate reward for a coach who refuses to back down."
Even Marca, Spain's leading sports paper, admitted:
"The Bayswater Chinese deserved this victory. It was indisputable."
Other outlets blasted Madrid's excessive yellow cards.
Mourinho, meanwhile, was clearly displeased.
At the post-match press conference, he lashed out:
"If we'd won with the same tactics and substitutions,
all of you would be praising my brilliance."
"But we lost—so now I'm a coward, my players are useless, and everything was wrong."
"I'm not going to lie and say we were better than the Bayswater Chinese.
We weren't. Not in strength, not in squad depth."
"We have to face that.
We need reinforcements.
But until then, I'll do everything I can with what I've got—
to find the best tactics to beat them."
Then, as if to cap it off, Mourinho shouted:
"Whether it's us or the Bayswater Chinese—whoever reaches the final…
will win the whole damn thing!"
"So this isn't a Champions League semifinal—it's a Champions League final!"
"A final played over two legs!"
Mourinho's implication was clear: Real Madrid still had a "second half" to play.
It was far too soon to declare them dead.
At the same time, there was a subtle dig at Guardiola's Barcelona.
Barça's away match against Manchester City was scheduled for the following day.
Meanwhile, the Bayswater Chinese's 3–1 home win over Madrid was being hailed by fans and media around the world as a decisive triumph, positioning them as clear favorites to reach the final.
"The Bayswater Chinese are one step closer to the great Treble!"
Yang Cheng, however, remained cautious. Despite the 3–1 win, he stressed how tough the return leg at the Bernabéu would be.
"Any team can lose at the Bernabéu—and lose badly."
Yang Cheng believed his side had to continue approaching every match with patience and focus.
"Only if we treat every match like a final can we achieve ultimate victory."
As for Mourinho's loud proclamation that whichever team advances would win the final, Yang Cheng didn't respond.
That was a matter between Mourinho and Guardiola.
However, Yang Cheng had already booked his ticket for the Etihad Stadium.
He planned to attend the other semifinal in person.
Whether it was City or Barça, the Bayswater Chinese would be facing the winner next.
…
April 18, evening. Etihad Stadium, Manchester.
No one expected this much-hyped clash to unfold the way it did.
A sudden downpour turned Manchester into a waterlogged battlefield.
Yang Cheng even joked:
"Did Jam Hsiao come to Manchester for a concert?"
But the biggest surprise came from Ancelotti—
his tactics were shockingly conservative.
This was Manchester City—not some underdog.
Yet, facing Barcelona, Ancelotti chose one of the most defensive strategies of the season.
He conceded possession—
or more accurately, couldn't compete for it and had to give it up.
Barça nearly scored off their very first attack.
Villa went one-on-one and hit the crossbar.
That close call startled City,
and the threat was real.
So Ancelotti's team dropped deep.
The 4-3-2-1 "Christmas Tree" formation made their defense very compact.
But that also meant Barça completely dominated the game.
Guardiola's side controlled nearly all of the ball,
created wave after wave of chances,
and even let fly from distance when no gaps could be found.
Inspired, perhaps, by Arteta's long-range goal against City just a few days earlier.
But Joe Hart stood tall.
No clumsy errors tonight.
He was sensational, producing save after save—a performance worthy of England's No.1.
The heavy rain didn't affect Barça's possession much,
but it did hamper their sharpness in the final third.
Halftime: 0–0.
In the second half, the rain intensified.
Still, neither team held back.
Villa had another one-on-one chance—and hit the post again.
Twice off the woodwork.
If the match continued like this,
a 0–0 result would've been acceptable to both sides.
Barça were away, with the weather and pitch against them.
City played valiantly but had no real answer for Barcelona's dominance.
Ancelotti had no choice but to keep defending.
But then—91st minute.
Yaya Touré won the ball from Messi in midfield
and passed it to Kaká.
The Brazilian surged forward, entered the right side of the box,
and played a low cross into the middle.
Ibrahimović slid in at full stretch, beating the defenders,
and knocked the ball—along with mud and rain—into the back of the net.
The Swedish striker had finally stepped up.
He'd been ridiculed for years as a big-game flop—
never delivering in Champions League knockouts.
But this time, against Barça, against Guardiola—
he showed up.
After scoring, Zlatan ran straight past the visitors' bench, celebrating with fire in his eyes.
Just two minutes later, Messi sent a perfect through ball to Pedro,
who curled a shot from the left side of the box.
Again—off the right post.
Three times—three shots hit the same post.
If that's not mystical, what is?
Final score: Manchester City 1, Barcelona 0.
Ibrahimović's late goal sealed the victory.
But the numbers told a different story:
Barcelona possession: 80.1%City: 19.9%
A staggering stat.
Barça had:
24 shots6 on target3 off the post
City had:
4 shots1 on target—and it went in
Even after the final whistle, the rain poured down.
Yang Cheng didn't know whether to be pleased or frustrated.
Even now, Guardiola's team remained Europe's most dominant in possession and overall quality.
That City had to survive like this spoke volumes.
Letting go of possession doesn't mean you don't want it.
City had no choice—and Ancelotti surely hadn't expected this kind of battering.
"So," Brian Kidd joked, "would you rather face this City or this Barça?"
He was setting a trap.
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