Chapter 74: Mourinho's Second Year—The Year of Champions, Time to Pull Barça Off That Damned La Liga Throne!
Once again, Mourinho and Real Madrid became the center of attention across Spain.
After the two-legged Spanish Super Cup, Madrid had defeated Barcelona in a style that was unmistakably Mourinho.
And the world took notice.
The next day, the result of the two matches spread like wildfire throughout global football media.
As Marca's headline put it:
"Just two months ago, Barcelona looked like undisputed kings of Europe, having just won the Champions League and La Liga double. They were the unbeatable force.
Now? After two brutal 90-minute battles in the Supercopa, they were dragged into the mud and knocked out cold by a Real Madrid side just as exhausted—but far more resilient."
Leon had been the key.
The consensus among Spanish media, and among both Madridistas and Culers alike, was unanimous:
Leon's return transformed Madrid's defense into an unbreakable fortress.
Madrid fans praised his timely return in the summer transfer window.
Barcelona fans, on the other hand, gritted their teeth every time Leon's name popped up in the news.
If Madrid had gone into the Supercopa with the same lineup they used in the second half of last season, maybe—just maybe—they could've scraped a win. But two wins in two legs? Highly unlikely.
Especially not like this.
Many Barça fans were convinced:
If it hadn't been for Leon's "shameless" defensive style and how much he drained Messi physically, Barcelona would have lifted the trophy.
The way Leon marked Messi sparked discussions everywhere.
Not just in La Liga.
Premier League. Bundesliga. Serie A.
Fans across Europe were analyzing Leon's man-marking on Messi like a masterclass. They talked, they studied, they debated.
But after a few days, most gave up on the idea of replicating it.
It was just too demanding.
You needed:
Elite reaction speed and agility.Enough pace to at least almost keep up with Messi.Impeccable positioning—if you lost your mark for even a second, you had to foul or get torched.Clean, precise tackling ability.Stamina—god-tier stamina.
The more they listed out what it required, the more they realized:
Leon might not be top-tier in any single area, but he was solid across the board, with one or two standout strengths.
And that made him scary.
Let him keep developing at this rate for another couple of years, and... what would he become?
Milan fans, hearts still sore, chimed in during the online debates:
"Don't forget his aerial ability and vision.
Before he left, he was already mimicking Pirlo's long passing.
Now do you see why we couldn't let go of our Little Lion? We lost something huge. Massive."
Madrid fans felt a little awkward reading those comments.
But many responded sincerely:
"Thanks, Milan bros. You helped raise our Little Lion for half a season. Beating Barça? That's 30% your achievement too!"
"Could we maybe borrow him back for a few years?"
"Nope, sorry! We need him now.
But hey—we can give you... um, Khedira instead?"
"GET LOST!"
Leon had officially exploded in popularity.
His battle with Messi had become more famous than anything he did winning the domestic double with Milan.
But while the world was celebrating him, Leon himself was...
Unhappy.
After the post-match analysis session, while the rest of Madrid's squad basked in the glow of victory, Leon sat in the meeting room, shaking his head at his own performance.
Xabi Alonso watched him and nearly couldn't take it.
But before Alonso could say anything, Mourinho smacked Leon on the back of the head.
"Hey! Get serious! You were marking Messi. He's four years older than you. You're twenty. What more do you want?"
"But boss, he made me look like a training cone in the second leg. He got two goal contributions. I just think—"
Mourinho sighed.
Seriously? Plenty of defenders had been turned into traffic cones by Messi over the past two years.
As for his goal and assist? That was expected.
Messi not scoring or assisting against a 20-year-old midfielder would have been the real miracle.
He gave Leon one more slap on the back and turned away.
The room laughed.
But Leon wasn't joking.
That afternoon, as the squad headed off to enjoy their two-day break, Leon changed into his training gear and hit the pitch again.
He rated himself an 8/10 for the first leg.
Second leg? Zero. Unacceptable.
He didn't care what the media said. Or what his teammates thought.
Because during Messi's goal, he had stood still—completely frozen—as Messi glided by and scored.
He hadn't even managed a foul.
Had just... watched it happen.
It left a bitter taste he couldn't shake.
Seven years into his career, whether he loved the defensive midfield role or not, defending had become part of his identity—a skill etched into his bones and blood.
Defending was his pride.
And Messi had given him a lesson he would never forget.
A brutal wake-up call after he got a little too comfortable following the first leg.
"I slacked," Leon told himself.
So he trained.
Tackling drills.
Positioning work.
Left-footed and right-footed sliding interceptions.
Closing angles.
Block timing.
He worked for 90 minutes, high intensity.
Then off to the treatment room.
The next day, he was back at it—then swimming, stretching, and recovering for hours afterward.
By the end of two packed training days, Leon felt whole again.
Clear-headed.
Focused.
And just when he was ready to take on La Liga again—
The season opener got delayed.
The Spanish Footballers' Association and the Professional Football League had failed to agree on labor conditions.
Matchday One of the 2011–12 La Liga season was postponed.
All that careful planning?
Wrecked.
The players were ready. Their bodies were timed to peak—only to be told they had to wait.
Big clubs scrambled to arrange friendlies to maintain form.
Barça booked a match with Napoli on August 22nd.
Madrid scheduled Galatasaray for August 23rd.
But teams without big budgets or media pull?
They had no choice but to wait, hoping training alone would keep them sharp.
The season had already begun with fireworks.
But now?
It was on hold.
And Leon, who had just found his rhythm again, now had to wait.
On the afternoon of August 27, after a one-week delay, the La Liga season finally kicked off.
The opening matches featuring mostly mid-to-lower table sides were, frankly, underwhelming.
The players seemed sluggish, and the scores reflected the lack of sharpness—mostly 0-1, 1-1 stalemates.
It wasn't until the evening of August 28, when Real Madrid took the stage, that La Liga fans finally got what they came for: a goal fest.
Mourinho, confident in his now well-oiled 4-4-2 hybrid system, trusted his squad completely.
They had just dismantled Galatasaray 4-0 in a friendly. Now, against Zaragoza, there was no excuse not to start the league strong—with a win that would set the tone.
And that's exactly what they delivered.
Zaragoza, having gone more than ten days without a competitive match, completely fell apart on defense from the get-go.
In just the fourth minute, Kaká fired the game's first through-ball—a pass that even he and Benzema hadn't expected to slip through two defensive lines straight into the penalty area.
Luckily, Cristiano Ronaldo had been alert from the opening whistle.
He controlled the ball at the edge of the box and calmly slotted it past the keeper into the far corner.
If Benzema had reacted in time, it might have been his goal.
Instead, it looked like he froze—and was spared a front-page Marca takedown by Cristiano's sharp instincts.
One goal down, Zaragoza never recovered.
With the pressure lifted, Madrid loosened up and started playing free-flowing football.
In the 13th minute, Di María blew past two defenders on a solo run, then floated a gorgeous chip over the back line for Cristiano.
And today, Ronaldo wasn't missing.
A silky lobbed finish made it 2–0.
From his position in the back, Leon couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
Sure, Zaragoza were a lower-tier side, barely safe from relegation last season—but this was shockingly poor.
Ten minutes, two goals?
Even Mourinho, upon seeing Ronaldo's second, leaned back into his seat, satisfied.
The truth was, Madrid had benefited from the delayed league start.
They'd kept their sharpness with friendlies. Zaragoza hadn't.
So for Mourinho, as long as they got the win, there was no need to go overboard with emotion.
Zaragoza fans, though?
They didn't share the calm.
Boos and jeers echoed through La Romareda.
Some were directed at their own team's disastrous showing, but most were unmistakably for Real Madrid.
The result?
A complete collapse.
By the time the halftime whistle blew, Madrid had four goals.
Cristiano hadn't managed a hat-trick just yet, but he already had two goals and an assist.
Di María and Benzema had each opened their scoring accounts for the new season.
Kaká? He'd picked up an assist, too.
All four of Madrid's main attackers had found their rhythm.
Back in the locker room, the mood was euphoric.
The second half kicked off, and Madrid—perhaps generously—dialed down the tempo.
But Zaragoza didn't appreciate the gesture.
Leon, watching them push forward recklessly, was practically itching for more opportunities to shine.
He barely had time to collect a few touches when Madrid struck again.
Xabi Alonso sent a pinpoint long ball to Ronaldo charging down the wing.
The Portuguese star took one glance, then curled a perfect cross to the far post.
The ball sailed over Benzema's head—right into Kaká's lap, unmarked.
A clean touch.
A calm push into the far corner.
5–0.
In the 50th minute.
Ten minutes, one goal.
On repeat.
Somewhere, Ibrahimović probably shed a tear of envy at that kind of attacking support.
Leon simply shook his head.
He'd just come from Milan.
Now, here he was—watching Madrid tear opponents to shreds before he even broke a sweat.
Madrid ended the game with a 6–0 blowout.
Cristiano completed his hat-trick in the 73rd minute, set up by Benzema.
Madrid media exploded.
Marca and AS were already proclaiming the return of Madrid's title charge.
Meanwhile, in Barcelona, although still smarting from the Supercopa loss, the Catalan press wasn't ready to concede anything.
After all, Barça were still the reigning three-time La Liga champions.
On August 29, Barcelona stepped onto the pitch to launch their league campaign—fresh off a Super Cup win over Porto in the UEFA Super Cup.
And they answered Madrid's challenge loud and clear:
5–0 against Villarreal.
That result stunned even neutral fans.
Unlike Zaragoza, Villarreal had finished fourth in La Liga last season.
Even though they'd lost Santi Cazorla and Joan Capdevila, their core squad was still solid.
And yet, Barça shredded them.
The media tide quickly shifted back to praising Barcelona.
The hype lasted until early September, when international duty brought everything to a temporary halt.
And that's when Barça slipped.
Back from the FIFA break, they faced Real Sociedad.
Ten minutes in, they were already up 2–0.
Madrid's players, hearing the score, lost interest.
But the shock came later—when Sociedad stormed back with two goals in three minutes, tying it 2–2.
No one saw that coming.
Back in Madrid, the squad was already prepping for Round 3—unaware of Barça's slip.
Mourinho, pleased with the Zaragoza thrashing, stuck to the 4-4-2 against Getafe, a team similar in strength.
No need to get fancy.
Attack. Attack. Attack.
This time, even Leon got the green light to push forward and enjoy himself.
And push forward he did.
Surging upfield, distributing wide, even challenging in the air—Leon looked right at home.
Mourinho was thrilled.
He even joked about emailing Allegri after the match.
"Thanks for unlocking this side of him. Much appreciated."
Leon still didn't get his first La Liga goal or assist.
But he did set up the assist—feeding Di María, who then crossed to Benzema for a goal.
Close enough to brag about.
After going all-out on offense, Madrid conceded one goal in the second half.
Didn't matter.
Final score: 5–1.
And then the news came: Barça had dropped points.
The Madrid locker room exploded with joy.
The coaching staff had never made it official.
The club never said it out loud.
But everyone knew:
This season, Real Madrid had one goal—
Rip Barcelona off that damned La Liga throne.
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