Beep!
Kuipers' whistle blew once again. Benfica's forwards' heat map for this match was basically centered in the center circle.
Because they'd kicked off so many tis.
Even though Benfica's players were under enormous psychological pressure, they still chanically attempted to attack.
However, their body language was written all over with fatigue—both physical and ntal exhaustion. Their consecutive attacks were all blocked.
The offensive stalled.
Cardozo passed the ball back.
Benfica center-back Gary received the backpass in midfield. Facing Lukaku's pressing, he hastily launched a long ball forward, trying to temporarily relieve the pressure.
However, that kind of fatigue makes the body unable to keep up with the mind.
The pass was mishit!
The ball flew toward Benfica's left flank. A teammate rushed over to try to secure it, but just as the ball was about to land, a blue figure darted out even faster.
Julien!
He keenly anticipated the landing spot, intercepting the ball a step ahead. Without even waiting for the ball to land, he used the outside of his right foot to cushion it forward!
The ball was precisely delivered into the space ahead, and Julien himself imdiately accelerated, charging forward with the ball.
His starting speed left the already demoralized Benfica front-line players unable to react—they couldn't catch him even if they chased.
Julien drove the ball to the right side of midfield. Facing Benfica's retreating defense, he had already observed everything clearly during his sprint.
So, after drawing most of the defensive attention, he didn't hesitate, delivering a ground diagonal pass with his right foot!
The ball, as if guided by precision targeting, barely cleared the toes of the last center-back Luisão, tearing through the entire defensive line and rolling toward the massive gap in the left side of the penalty area!
When Julien had started his advance, Lukaku had understood perfectly and begun his sprint.
The Belgian bull's charge finally ca into play. Lukaku perfectly tid his run to beat the offside trap, and at full sprint, the Benfica defenders simply couldn't catch him. He shook off all defending players and easily received this brilliant pass on the left side of the box!
One-on-one!
Facing the goalkeeper!
Confronting the desperate goalkeeper Moraes who had rushed out, Lukaku calmly pushed the ball to the right front, then cut it back. After shifting the goalkeeper's weight, he easily slotted it into the empty goal with his left foot.
The ball rolled smoothly into the net without any resistance.
5-0!
This goal was like a cold final whistle, adding another heavy shade of black to Benfica's nightmarish evening.
The glaring numbers on the scoreboard proclaid an epic victory and recorded a complete rout.
Lukaku excitedly rushed toward the stands.
He'd scored in the Europa League!
He roared, spreading his arms wide toward the stands, then forcefully beating the club crest on his chest.
After failing to get playing ti at Chelsea, his career had reached a new height at Bastia!
He celebrated excitedly with his teammates, waving to the frenzied Bastia fans in the stands.
On the other side,
The deep red Benfica stand had fallen into a terrifying collective deathly silence.
No one was crying, no one was shouting—only death-like quiet remained, only silent tears were streaming down.
So fans began leaving early, heads bowed, as if fleeing from this humiliating defeat, like they'd just attended an unbearable funeral.
At this mont,
The Benfica players on the pitch had also beco ten pale statues.
Goalkeeper Moraes didn't get up from the ground. He simply rolled over and lay face-up on the turf, covering his eyes with his arm, escaping from the harsh glare of the stadium lights.
Center-back Luisão stood with his hands on his hips, head deeply bowed, his heaving chest seeming to take its last gasps.
Captain Enzo Pérez stood in place, his gaze completely blank, staring blankly at the blue section celebrating wildly, as if unable to grasp what was happening before him.
No one communicated, no one tried to retrieve the ball from the net. The entire team's soul had been completely drained, leaving only hollow shells chanically executing the match procedures.
On the coaching bench, manager Jorge Jesus' once-clenched fists had weakly loosened, his arms were hanging loosely at his sides.
This once-passionate coach now seed to have been instantly drained of all vitality, transford into a shell completely crushed by massive failure.
An assistant coach stepped forward to try to speak, but Jorge only waved his hand weakly without even looking up.
The substitute players wrapped their heads completely in towels or jerseys, unwilling to see the massacre on the field any longer.
Club executives in the VIP section sat with ashen faces. So rose early to leave, forcefully loosening their ties. Those who remained sat in embarrassing, suffocating silence.
At this mont, the entire world of the Benfica camp had lost sound and color.
This wasn't sadness, this wasn't anger—it was an absolute void, so thoroughly crushed that even pain couldn't be felt.
The 5-0 scoreline was like a massive tombstone, crashing down to bury them completely.
After replaying the goal, the comntator sighed. "Bastia's 5-0 scoreline has officially broken the record for the largest margin of victory in a Europa League final since the competition's rebranding!
The previous record dates back to the 2005/06 season—coincidentally, that 4-0 massacre also took place in the Netherlands, at PSV Eindhoven's Philips Stadion, where Sevilla demolished Middlesbrough from England four-nil.
However, tonight Bastia has raised the bar on this 'hall of sha' from 4-0 to an astonishing 5-0, and Benfica—this Portuguese giant with glorious history has unfortunately beco the backdrop for this new record!
For Benfica, this isn't just losing a final. They've been nailed to the pillar of historical sha in a way that marks their darkest, most painful night in European competition history.
The shadow of the 'Guttmann Curse' has never felt so real and heavy. It's no longer an ethereal legend, but has manifested as the blood-red 5-0 on the scoreboard, as the opponent's wild celebrations, as the deathly tears of their own fans.
Many years from now, when people recall Europa League final history, Sevilla's 4-0 in 2006 and Bastia's 5-0 in 2013 will beco the two asuring sticks for final massacres.
And Benfica's na will unfortunately be permanently tied to the latter."
After the imnse pain, Jorge Jesus still stood up and began making substitutions.
He substituted two attacking players for two defensive players.
At the sa ti, he gestured to the players: defensive counterattack.
But at this mont, the Benfica players understood very clearly—Jorge had been frightened by Bastia's counterattacks.
They would be punished whenever they attacked.
Again, and again.
Jorge Jesus had finally beco afraid.
It was called defensive counterattack, but in reality, it was pure defense—holding this scoreline.
How ironic.
They were actually trying to hold onto a 5-0 scoreline, a devastating defeat.
The mont Jorge Jesus made this decision, he sat back down on the bench, expressionless, quietly waiting for the match to end.
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