The 29-year-old João Pinto told Moreirense with his goal—
Your uncle will always be your uncle.
The old sword is far from rusty!
But winning one battle doesn't decide the whole war.
Although Moreirense were losing the possession battle, they still had their strengths.
If you can crush your opponent in key areas, you can still create chances to win the next phase of the game.
And Moreirense's biggest weapon was obvious—
The Madeira supercar on the left: Cristiano Ronaldo!
19th minute.
Cristiano Ronaldo, who had already tested the defense twice earlier, didn't hesitate this time after receiving the ball.
He pulled off a rabona-style flick—a "cow's tail"—and nutmegged Samuel Okunowo, the defender from Barcelona.
Then Ronaldo used his body to shield the ball, overtook Okunowo, and cut inside.
At this stage, Ronaldo hadn't built much strength yet—his core wasn't fully developed.
But coincidentally, Barcelona's young players weren't known for physical strength either.
In terms of speed, skill, and explosiveness—
Cristiano Ronaldo completely crushed Okunowo.
"Cristiano Ronaldo shoots!"
"Nuno Santos with a brilliant save!"
"Moreirense win a corner!"
Ronaldo grinned—and deliberately glanced at Maniche.
That look was pure provocation.
In Ronaldo's eyes, Maniche's dribbling and speed were clumsy as hell.
Maniche's face darkened.
Keep staring, keep staring… I'll wipe you out, you little shit. Believe it or not.
Boom!
Kai took the corner.
But although Benfica's forwards weren't tall, their defenders were strong in the air.
They cleared the first ball easily.
João Pinto controlled the second ball and immediately passed to Sabri.
Sabri burst forward at full speed—the black supercar tearing down the pitch.
A dangerous counterattack!
Kirop, who stayed back, kept retreating but was quickly closed down.
He feinted, then suddenly stepped forward to challenge.
Kirop was one of the fastest center-backs around, and that sudden move caught Sabri off guard.
Sabri made a mistake—the ball was poked away by Kirop.
Both players went down.
But before the danger was fully cleared, João Pinto followed up and knocked the loose ball to the right.
Maniche collected it, adjusted slightly toward the center—
And unleashed a long-range shot!
Altino, who was supposed to mark him, was too slow to close him down.
Whoosh!
A thunderbolt strike!
Moreirense conceded again in quick succession.
2–0!
Benfica were now firmly in control.
"Hey! This is the 'nothing' right winger you were talking about?" Maniche immediately ran to Altino and taunted him.
Altino just happened to be the closest target.
"You wanna say that again?" Altino charged forward and bumped into Maniche.
The two went chest-to-chest, faces red, ready to explode.
The referee rushed in to separate them.
"He provoked me after scoring! That's disrespectful!" Altino complained first.
"Oh yeah? Then score one yourself!" Maniche shot back arrogantly.
That's just his nature—hot-headed and aggressive.
The referee warned both players, essentially calling it even.
On Moreirense's bench, substitute center-back Orlando looked confused.
"The captain wasn't this hot-headed before, right? Why does he look like he's got a personal grudge against Maniche?"
"This feels like it should be between Kai and Maniche, not him."
Substitute goalkeeper Sérgio Gomes, who trained often with Kai, explained:
"It's intentional. I heard Maniche has a bad temper. The boss told the captain to use some dirty tricks—get under his skin."
Substitute defensive midfielder Cordeiro frowned.
"No way. That kind of shit only works a little. At most, you get a shove and maybe a yellow card. You can't keep provoking him forever, right?"
"No one's that stupid—they'll calm down after a yellow."
Gomes smirked.
"That's why you're just a backup. You're too calm. Maniche? That guy's a ticking bomb."
Back on the pitch—
After conceding two goals, Kai and Emerson switched positions.
Emerson dropped deeper to help Alex deal with Sabri.
Kai moved more freely, focusing on organization and support.
Tracking players defensively? Not really his job.
25th minute.
With Emerson's help, Alex successfully dispossessed Sabri.
He surged forward and launched a beautiful counterattack.
A perfect pass into the final third—
Then a cross!
Anderson wasn't in position.
But Ronaldo was.
Unfortunately, he rushed it—the header went wide.
Still, it was a quality counterattack.
Sabri, who hadn't secured a starting role at Benfica this season, wasn't short on opportunities.
But his style was too one-dimensional.
Fast—but lacking the technical finesse of a top winger.
Once targeted, he became much easier to handle.
Seeing this, Benfica shifted their attack to the right—
Feeding Maniche to target the aging Altino.
But things didn't go the way their coach expected.
And that coach?
Not some nobody.
It was the famous German manager—Jupp Heynckes!
Even with his tactical adjustments, things started going off-script.
Maniche did create a few dangerous moments—
A sharp cross, a decent attempt near the edge of the box.
But his decision-making became increasingly erratic.
Why?
Because Altino kept messing with him nonstop.
Little fouls. Elbows. Shirt pulls.
Even blowing into his ear.
Physical and psychological warfare.
By the 33rd minute—
Maniche, already irritated, got pulled again while running.
He snapped.
With a frustrated swing of his arm, he struck Altino in the face.
Altino dropped instantly, clutching his face like it had been shattered.
The referee stopped play and consulted the linesman.
Altino's behavior? Annoying, but not illegal enough.
Maniche's reaction?
Clear foul. Excessive force.
"Yellow card! Maniche is booked!"
Maniche exploded, arguing furiously.
"The referee is backing off! He's warning Maniche to calm down or risk another card!"
João Pinto rushed over and dragged Maniche away—
Otherwise, he might've gone completely berserk.
"Oh! Maniche even shoved Pinto in the process! Poor Pinto—wrong place, wrong time."
Altino got a warning from the referee too.
But as he nodded, his eyes were still locked on Maniche.
Soon…
The fuse had already been lit.
And the explosion was only a matter of time.
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