Marseille Locker Room
The cold night wind swept through the players' tunnel all the way to the locker room.
The players trudged in with heads down.
The atmosphere was oppressive.
Baup stood with his back to the door, coldly scanning each dejected player entering. Heavy breathing was the only sound—this silence was actually more terrifying than shouting.
Once everyone had arrived...
Baup suppressed his fury and said coldly, "Two goals! Zero-two! At home! In front of our own fans!"
His voice trembled slightly—he could barely contain his emotions.
"What is this? What the hell was that?! Forty-five minutes in the first half—were you sleeping? On vacation? What's going through your heads? Have you forgotten that if we lose this match, we're no longer in first place?! Don't you know our recent form?!"
"Julien! Julien! Julien! I've shouted that name five times in tactical briefings! That number 10 from Bastia! We let him stroll through our defense like he's in a park—twice?! Is he some world-class superstar? No! We're just too awful! Absolutely terrible!"
"Look at those two goals! Julien breaks through and they gift him chances, Julien does a bicycle kick and they become his backdrop! Our penalty area is like no-man's land! Center-backs sleepwalking! Flanks completely unguarded! Where's the tracking back? The covering? Your fighting spirit? Your pride? What does wearing this Marseille shirt mean? Have you all forgotten?!"
His tone grew increasingly heated. Baup took a deep breath to compose himself.
Then he continued, "And another thing!"
"Attack! What are you attacking? Passing it around slowly while their entire eleven players sit in the box watching! No movement, no incisive passing, no risk-taking! Attack them like men! Bastia! They're a promoted side! What are we afraid of? We're Marseille, we're competing for the championship!"
"Disgraceful! This is disgraceful! At 0-2 at halftime, before the locker room door closed, I heard the boos outside! Those are our own fans! Some of the greatest fans in Europe! They paid good money and stood in the freezing cold to watch us play, and you repay them with this shit performance?!"
Word by word, Baup's emotions fully erupted. This veteran coach was known for his fiery temperament and strict demands. In such a crucial match for first place, conceding goals like this made his anger inevitable.
The players hung their heads, their breath forming white mist in the cold air that dissipated into nothing—just like their confidence this season, gradually vanishing.
The Bastia players headed toward the tunnel. De Bruyne walked alongside Julien and said, "Run hard, try to score another one. Take the match ball home as a keepsake."
A hat-trick meant you could take the ball home as a memento.
De Bruyne's thought was simple: a hat-trick on one's eighteenth birthday night would be perfect.
From his perspective, he couldn't help but imagine the scene—years later, Julien could tell his children the story of this ball, of his eighteenth birthday night, of Bastia's night at the summit.
Julien clearly didn't have such complex thoughts. He simply smiled. "Don't worry, if I can score, why would I shoot wide?"
As the players took the field...
The Marseille fans in the cold wind roared with renewed passion, cheering for their team.
Two goals down, perhaps there was still a chance?
Neither side made personnel changes. Hadzibegić felt the current lineup was working well, and the starting players' confidence was growing—there was no need to adjust.
Baup had no cards to play.
Actually, during halftime, many Marseille fans had been questioning Baup.
Simply put, they questioned his in-game adjustment ability.
In many of Marseille's previous losses or draws, when falling behind, Baup couldn't make effective adjustments.
The old coach was, after all, aging.
Tweet!
The whistle blew and the second half began.
After Marseille kicked off, Bastia quickly retreated, employing the same tactics as the first half.
After all, they had a successful template.
As play continued, the Marseille fans' songs of encouragement kept rising—
"Forward! l'OM!
The storm is coming!
The first goal, coming soon
The second, the third!
We'll show the world our comeback"
The roar was deafening.
BANG!
Jordan Ayew suddenly took a long-range shot, but the ball sailed wide, completely off-target.
This attempt clearly displayed the Marseille players' growing frustration.
Two goals down against Bastia's defensive shell, they had no good solutions.
Valbuena was locked down by Kanté. The Ayew brothers had no answers against Bastia's numbers, only able to pull out and attempt long shots.
Baup watched with growing anxiety.
Marseille's season trajectory was a textbook case of starting strong and fading—riding the "new manager bounce" early on, they'd won consecutive matches and claimed first place.
But after ten rounds, Marseille entered a downturn. Partly due to injuries, partly because Baup's three tricks had been figured out.
After all, even a player like Julien, despite his early-season brilliance, had been targeted by other teams—let alone Marseille's simple tactics.
The more frantic Marseille's attack became, the better for Bastia.
Until the 60th minute, when Marseille prepared their first substitution, Bastia had launched four dangerous counterattacks that left all the Marseille fans' hearts in their throats.
Number 11, Rémy, waited at the sideline.
"Baup is making his first personnel change, bringing on number 11 Rémy. Whether this is a like-for-like substitution or taking off a defensive player to gamble on attack..."
"I think it's most likely a direct swap, taking off André Ayew. On one hand, Marseille lacks bench depth. On the other, they don't dare remove defensive players to gamble on attack—Bastia's counterattacks are too sharp, especially on Julien's side, which has become a highway."
Whoa!
Before the TF1 commentator finished speaking, the Vélodrome Stadium erupted in gasps.
The right flank again!
Julien suddenly shook off both Morel and Abdoullah's defense, cutting inside with the ball into the penalty area.
Goalkeeper Mandanda immediately rushed out to block.
Lucas Mendes covered Julien's left side, preventing a left-footed shot—everyone knew Julien's left foot was strong and absolutely couldn't be allowed.
However...
Julien's left foot suddenly feinted, shifting the ball to his right side without hesitation.
BANG!
Julien's right foot hammered a shot at the near post!
Swish!
Mandanda hadn't expected Julien to shoot with his weaker foot. His reaction was a fraction slow, and just that fraction prevented him from reaching the ball.
He could only watch as it found the net!
Goal!
0-3!
With this goal, Marseille was no longer a championship rival for Bastia!!
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