Dominating Football with Perfect Ball Control

Chapter 373: 373. Pushing Manchester City to the Brink

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”Kevin, hey! Wait up!”

”What?”

Lance caught De Bruyne on the way to the tunnel. De Bruyne wasn’t particularly thrilled about stopping, but this was still his good friend, and whatever had happened on the field stayed on the field. He turned around.

”This is Antoine Griezmann. Antoine, Kevin De Bruyne.”

Griezmann had heard plenty about Lance and De Bruyne, the ”Belgian twin stars,” and had always admired De Bruyne’s style of play. Out of a shared appreciation between technical players, he had been hoping for an introduction. So here they were: a Frenchman, a Belgian, and a Chinese man born in Belgium, meeting in a tunnel at the Etihad.

”Hey.” De Bruyne shook hands, a little awkward.

He would later become famous for being described as an introvert.

”Lance talks about you a lot.” Griezmann, naturally outgoing, fell into conversation without a second thought.

”Oh? What did he say?”

”That you’re one of the best midfielders in the world.”

Lance had said it more than once, but hearing it from someone else still made De Bruyne slightly embarrassed.

”You’re excellent yourself. I’ve watched a lot of your games.”

”Really? I’m honored.”

Griezmann gave a small, theatrical French bow to express his appreciation.

De Bruyne didn’t quite know what to do with that.

He had been polite. In reality, the only Griezmann footage he had watched was during pre-match tactical preparation. Griezmann was well-known within La Liga but had yet to make his mark on the world stage. That would come later, in the 2018 World Cup.

Still, both were technical midfielders who liked to pass and carry, and they found enough common ground to fill the walk back to the locker room.

Then Kompany appeared.

”What are you guys talking about?”

The Belgian veteran looked mildly suspicious, as though Lance might be using his Atlético teammates to double-team an honest man.

”Talking about how good Kevin is.”

”Yeah, I’m a big admirer. You’re not bad yourself, big man.”

Kompany had marked Griezmann relentlessly in the first half and made his life very difficult.

”You’re good too. Please don’t make things any harder for me in the second half.”

”No promises. I want to win.”

The two exchanged a smile. Opponents on the field, professionals away from it. No personal animosity, at least on the surface.

As soon as they had gone, Griezmann’s expression shifted.

”Lance, we need to be careful in the second half.”

”Why?”

”De Bruyne’s eyes when he walked off.”

”What about them?”

”That kind of look.” Griezmann’s tone was serious. ”I’ve only ever seen it in your eyes. That stubbornness. That refusal to accept it.”

Opponents with that look were always the hardest to deal with.

Lance raised an eyebrow. Griezmann had met De Bruyne for the first time a few minutes ago, and he already understood him that well.

Just as Griezmann had predicted, Manchester City did not crumble after going behind. They played with discipline. Under a stable defensive shape, they built pressure on Atlético Madrid steadily and intelligently. Two players were central to everything.

Kompany, as captain, constantly reading the game and driving his teammates forward with voice and presence.

And De Bruyne, who, with David Silva being tightly marked, drifted toward the center and repeatedly produced moments of genuine danger.

De Bruyne’s dribbling was no afterthought either. He could drive at defenders and still deliver quality passes at the end of it. If he had been on Lance’s side, Lance would have been cheering for him without hesitation.

That pass was genuinely beautiful.

”De Bruyne!!! Outside-of-the-foot curling ball!!”

A mesmerizing low pass, bending along the grass as though guided by some invisible hand, bypassing Giménez and releasing the space on the left.

Sterling made a late run into the penalty area at full speed.

This time he didn’t get greedy. A clean, dangerous cross into the center.

”Agüero!!!”

Every Atlético fan in the ground went still.

A pair of gloves flew across.

”Oblak!!! An incredible save!!”

Jian Jun exhaled slowly, heart hammering.

Agüero’s effort had come from the edge of the six-yard box, chipped cleverly to the top corner, precisely the kind of finish that is the hardest for a goalkeeper to deal with. Oblak, as if pulled by a wire, launched himself across and tipped it away, nearly crashing into the post in the process.

Giménez sprinted over and grabbed Oblak’s head, planting a kiss on him with full enthusiasm.

”Get off me! Focus on your marking!”

Oblak shoved him away, genuinely irritated.

Manchester City’s corner came in. De Bruyne’s delivery was vicious, whipping toward the far post like a cross-shot hybrid. Kompany’s header rattled the crossbar.

Another collective gasp from the away end.

Manchester City were showing exactly why they were a Premier League powerhouse. Peak Yaya Touré, David Silva, Kompany, Agüero, Sterling. Wave after wave breaking over Atlético’s goal, setting off alarm bells every few minutes inside the penalty area.

Atlético parked the bus and held their shape, repelling attack after attack while keeping their eyes open for anything going forward.

In moments like this, Lance felt the absence of a certain quality more sharply than ever. Kompany, Fernandinho, and the others were taking turns to shadow him wherever he went. If he had the off-ball movement of Inzaghi or Chicharito, the instinct for ghost runs and perfectly timed arrivals into the box, he could have manufactured several one-on-one chances by now.

But his movement patterns were still too predictable. Readable. You could compensate for that against teams of 80-point quality, but against a side north of 90, it showed.

No matter. There was still the muscle memory, still the dribbling. An opportunity would come.

Before it did, the defensive wall cracked.

Another corner. De Bruyne, this time, drove it low and fast to the near post. Godín managed to clear it, but under pressure his clearance didn’t travel far enough, and the second ball dropped outside the box.

An unexpected figure arrived at it.

”Kompany!!! He’s shooting himself!!”

Defenders’ long-range efforts were usually wild.

Not this one.

”Don’t let him...”

Lance saw it coming and tried to shout a warning. Too late.

Bang.

A thunderous, clean strike into the top corner.

”It’s in!!! Kompany!!! A crucial goal!!”

”A worldie into the top corner!!”

”Manchester City equalise in the 73rd minute! 2-2!!”

Jian Jun’s excited voice filled the commentary box. Even he had to laugh, shaking his head.

What could you say? That was almost unstoppable. Manchester City had dug deep when it mattered most.

”Damn it, this big guy is ridiculous!”

Griezmann threw his hands up.

”Vamos! Vamos!!”

Godín clapped his hands sharply, pulling his teammates back together. A 2-2 draw away from home was still a decent position to defend. They needed to hold this.

Simeone was waving from the touchline, signalling the team to compact their shape, tighten the defensive line, and give away nothing.

Griezmann, Lance, and Torres all dropped deeper to help limit Manchester City’s passing lanes. Atlético set themselves into full defensive mode.

And still, they left a door open for Lance to hurt them on the counter.

In the final ten minutes, Manchester City came at them with everything. The intensity was comparable to Barcelona or Real Madrid at their most desperate.

”Agüero!!! A low shot, just wide!!”

”David Silva from outside the box!!”

”Sterling, one-on-one!!!”

”He’s missed it!! Sterling wastes an incredible chance!!”

De Bruyne had produced a chip pass of the highest quality, threading through the entire Atlético defensive line. Sterling got in behind cleanly. He drove to the edge of the box, and then, under pressure from Oblak coming out to narrow the angle, rushed the finish and skewed it wide.

The Manchester City fans were already on their feet. Tens of thousands of them simultaneously buried their heads in their hands.

Sterling looked hollow.

The minutes crept by. Atlético Madrid were locked in a cycle of defending, running, intercepting, and throwing bodies in front of shots. The final ten minutes felt longer than a full half. Every nerve was stretched to breaking point. Nobody was thinking about winning anymore. Just hold on. Just survive.

During this period, Filipe Luís, Gabi, and Saúl were all substituted. ángel Correa, Siqueira, and Augusto came on with fresh legs.

Manchester City had also burned through all three of their changes. De Bruyne, exhausted, was the last to come off. As he walked to the touchline, Lance caught the look in his eyes clearly. Unwilling. Burning.

Lance allowed himself a quiet exhale.

Every dangerous moment in the second half had come through De Bruyne. With him off the field, Atlético could breathe slightly easier.

Sterling had also been replaced, Pellegrini visibly unhappy with the missed one-on-one. Jesús Navas came on for added width. Up front, Agüero gave way to the tall striker Bony, and Manchester City switched to long balls and crosses. Traditional English methods. Aerial bombardment into the penalty area.

Ball after ball looping in, each one tightening the chests of every Atlético fan watching.

”Bony!! Header!!”

”He’s headed it wide!”

One minute left in injury time.

Every player’s jersey was soaked through. The fans watching from home were no different.

Oblak set the ball down for a goal kick, taking a moment to catch his breath, killing a few extra seconds.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance making a run.

Lance hadn’t given up.

There was no signal. No gesture. No words.

But Lance trusted Oblak to see him.

Oblak changed his mind in an instant and drove the ball long.

Manchester City, almost entirely committed to attack, hadn’t spotted the danger.

Not until the ball was already dropping toward Lance.

”Oh!! This ball!!!”

The referee was a heartbeat away from the final whistle, but he had to let this play out.

”Fuck!!”

Kompany panicked and came sprinting across.

But Lance had already read the ball’s flight, already at the landing spot. With the very last scraps of energy he had left, he flicked it with his right foot.

”Beautiful!!! He nutmegged him!!”

The [Ordinary Red Bull] had done its job, squeezing out one final burst of stamina right at the point of total exhaustion.

At that critical moment, Lance felt his lungs burning. Not enough oxygen. His ears were ringing. The crowd’s roar was reaching him as though from underwater, muffled and distant. His vision was beginning to blur at the edges. His body was running entirely on instinct now, finishing the chip-over dribble, shaking off Kompany, and forcing a heavy touch forward.

”Lance, one-on-one!!!”

Jian Jun felt his own heart rate spike.

Instructor Zhang had given up trying to speak. He was just making sounds.

At that moment, the whole world was watching one man.

Lance glanced at Joe Hart’s position out of the corner of his eye.

Sorry. You were always going to be the backdrop for this one.

Tiger!

Bang.

One last shot, hit with everything that remained.

The football turned into a meteor, covering thirty metres and vanishing from Joe Hart’s sight in an instant.