The big night ends in a stick

Soccer players grow old very young, their goals do not. Because in life, sometimes, what remains is that: a second of inspiration that is recorded forever. In this case it was a majestic ankle twist. That of Lodi, surprise of Cholo in his eleven, who seemed to whisper to the ball what he had read in the tifo, in the stands, when stepping on the grass. “Flying”. To Joao. At her head. Fly fly. And the ball flew. João jumped on her to put her where miracles happen, very tight to the post, at the back of the net. Six minutes had passed of these round of 16 and Atleti had already punched the tie. United, for a long time, seemed that they would not get up. But he did. And when it hurts the most. Unexpected. To leave Atleti with more cold than heat. Because in football, as in life, the beginnings are what determine the stories but it is the final residue that one is left with.

The goal had come so soon that it undid the plans of the English. Or it was Atleti himself, because of his storming out: even the stones of a Metropolitan dressed as an old Calderón trembled. He played the match like that of Liverpool: from the bus, the red sky flared, the fans. Those of Rangnick, when they wanted to realize it, were in jail. Atlético filled the grass with traps, with a fierce, very high pressure, which only left English corpses in its wake. United were not a team, they were just tall players who had no idea how to get out playing the ball.. Kondogbia and Herrera wouldn’t let them, but it’s just that Kondogbia and Herrera filled everything. His were the balls, the duels, the distribution. One stole, another tempered. United roamed the field, Pogba and Fred blinded, Bruno Fernandes off, always forced to receive from behind, not knowing how to tear off those bars.

Sunken, disoriented, bordering on embarrassment. Sancho and Rashford were two islands and Cristiano was lost in other wars, all far away. With the whistles, with the referee, with the teammate who didn’t pass him a ball. And, while, the Atleti, to his. To the typhus. To fly. Because Lodi was flying, unstoppable from the left, without defensive concern, only with miles and miles of grass ahead. And Llorente flew, as an interior. And Correa and João flew, two nuisances for Maguire and Varane, Rangnick’s center backs, who never knew where they were going to appear, come play, steal, triangulate, attack; a dizziness. And at the break the injury could have been greater, as Lindelöf deflected a forced header from Vrsaljko to the woodwork.

The second part started as if the first hadn’t finished: Kondogbia like a gigantic red traffic light raised before the English in the middle lane. An hour had passed when United managed to get their heads out through the bars. Retrieve a ball, stop being just fouls at night and João hit the ground. Some ball passed through the soles of the media, by Bruno Fernandes, some play braided, Oblak appeared at least there, even if it was in the background. Rangnick made three changes, all at once. The two sides outside, non-existent. Also Pogba, that’s why it was recorded somewhere that he had played this game. His was a masterclass on everything a midfielder shouldn’t do. With and without ball.

But the nerves were already there, surrounding Cholo. The English with a pulse, weak, but alive. Atleti, with all their dominance, was only one goal ahead. Simeone moved the tree: he took out his best footballer, the most talented, João, and brought his team closer to Oblak. The fears, the steps back. He would soon pay for it. She was making the game long, she was choking. United wanted to warn Cristiano. But it was missing. And in England they also go high, to nowhere. He made it happen in the following play, the first in which United were really able to find a gap between the rojiblancos. Reinildo, until now a wall, lost the mark. Bruno Fernandes’ boot filtered the ball for Elanga. His cross shot went to Oblak’s net. So easy. With so little. After so long. You bare the shortcomings of Atleti in a second, in an instant. This glass Atleti behind. A blink and a defender goes and changes everything. A shot on goal and Oblak always defeated. Every game like this.

Griezmann stamped a ball on the crossbar after a frantic arrival from Llorente. It was the end, it was the day that no. United escaped alive, Atlético stayed halfway. It will be his turn to travel to England to win in the quarterfinals. At least he does it without the weight of the double value of the away goals. But still chewing that ending that tarnishes everything. The jump in the chest when seeing João fly to make a goal from Lodi’s ball that, for 80 minutes, seemed like forever.