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[2021-04-28 | Parc des Princes, Paris | 22:50 CET]
[FT: Paris Saint-Germain 1-1 Bayer 04 Leverkusen]
"And that is FULL TI!" Drury announced, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and excitent. "Paris Saint-Germain one, Bayer Leverkusen one! What an absolutely enthralling Champions League semi-final we've witnessed!"
"Extraordinary," Tyldesley added, catching his breath from the last minute's intensity. "PSG led through Mbappé's first-half brilliance, looked comfortable for large stretches, but Rakim Rex struck with eight minutes remaining to level the tie. Both teams will feel they could have won this—Navas and Hradecky both producing world-class performances between the sticks."
Drury continued. "Advantage Leverkusen, I'd say. They have an away goal, and now they take this tie back to the BayArena for the second leg. PSG will rue their missed chances—they dominated for long periods but couldn't put the match to bed."
"And credit to Peter Bosz," Tyldesley said. "His tactical adjustnts in the second half paid dividends. Bringing on Bailey, switching to a back three—it gave them more attacking impetus. They grew into the match, and that equaliser was thoroughly deserved."
The small pocket of Leverkusen fans in the upper tier was still singing, their voices echoing around the Parc des Princes. anwhile, PSG supporters were already filing out, the disappointnt of losing their victory palpable. Pochettino stood at the edge, arms crossed, as he exchanged brief words with his assistant, then turned and headed down the tunnel without shaking Bosz's hand.
~~~
[Post-Match Interview | Pitch-Side | 23:00 CET]
(Rakim POV)
Rakim stood in front of the cara, still breathing heavily, his white Leverkusen shirt dark with sweat, clinging to his fra. The RMC Sport reporter held a microphone between them. "Rakim, congratulations on the goal. How does it feel to score here at the Parc des Princes in a Champions League semi-final?"
Rakim wiped his face with his shirt, then looked directly at the cara, his green eyes sharp and focused. "It feels good. Really good. We ca here knowing it would be difficult. PSG are a great team, but we also ca to win tonight."
"You looked frustrated at tis in the first half. PSG were controlling possession, and Navas was making incredible saves. Did you ever doubt you'd find a way through?"
"Not really," Rakim said, shaking his head. "We knew we were creating chances. Sotis the keeper has a great night—Navas was having one of those nights—but we kept believing. Coach told us at halfti to treat it just like any other ga this season, keep pressing, and the goal would co."
"That equaliser in the eighty-second minute—talk us through it."
Rakim's expression brightened slightly. "Bailey did the hard work, losing his marker, cutting inside and slipping the pass through. I just had to stay onside, composed in front of the goal and finish."
"One-one. You take an away goal back to Leverkusen. Are you confident about the second leg?"
"Nothing is promised," Rakim said without hesitation. "But we have been incredible at the BayArena this season. The tie is wide open."
"Last question—you're seventeen years old, playing in a Champions League semi-final, having one of the best years of any footballer's career. Does it ever sink in?"
Rakim allowed himself a small smile. "Not yet. Right now, I'm just focused on the next match. We're two gas away from a Champions League final. That's all I'm thinking about."
"Thank you, Rakim. Best of luck in the second leg." Rakim nodded, then jogged off toward the tunnel where his teammates were waiting.
~~~
[2021-04-01 | Weserstadion, Bren, Germany| 19:30 CET]
We had two days to rest before travelling to Bren to play in the DFB Pokal semi-final. Most of the main squad had been rested, as Bosz chose to field mostly second-team and third-string players. I, Bailey and Tah sat on the bench watching as our team kicked off, signalling the start of the fixture.
[Leverkusen Xi]
GK: Lennart Grill
LB: Daley Sinkgraven
CB: Tin Jedvaj
CB: Aleksander Dragovic
RB: Santiago Arias
CDM: Lars Bender
CDM: Sven Bender
LM: Damarai Gray
CAM: Exequiel Palacios
RM: Karim Bellarabi
ST: Paulinho
VS
[Werder Bren]
GK: Jiri Pavlenka
LB: Ludwig Augustinsson
CB: Ör Toprak
CB: Marco Friedl
RB: Theodor Gebre Selassie
CDM: Maximilian Eggestein
CDM: Kevin Möhwald
LM: Milot Rashica
CAM: Leonardo Bittencourt
RM: Joshua Sargent
ST: Niclas Füllkrug
The Weserstadion wasn't anywhere near full capacity; maybe 8,000 fans were permitted under the current restrictions, but the atmosphere was electric nonetheless. Bren supporters packed into the Ostkurve, their green-and-white flags waving, their voices rising in unified chants. It seed that all the fans wanted to make up for all the live football they missed all year.
I pulled my training jacket tighter around , settling into the bench, ignoring Bailey, who was munching on a granola bar. Tah was on my right, arms crossed, watching the warm-ups intently. His fingers would twitch every now and then as his feet rhythmically tapped the ground, clearly eager to step on the field.
"Think they can handle it?" Bailey asked, nodding toward the pitch.
"They should," I said with a shrug. "Bren are struggling this season. Seventeenth in the Bundesliga. We've got enough quality even with this rotation."
"Don't underestimate cup matches," Tah warned from the side. "It's a different energy; teams play above themselves."
"That's what we are here for," I replied, pointing down the bench. "If things get dicey, the coach will just put us in."
*(FWEEET!)*
The referee's whistle blew, halting our conversation, and Bren kicked off.
[15']
The opening 15 minutes were scrappy as Bren pressed high, trying to apply early pressure. Despite struggling this season, they were all bona fide players who had played regularly in the Bundesliga, and they aid to take advantage of Leverkusen's rotated squad. Their midfield duo of Eggestein and Möhwald sward Palacios every ti he touched the ball, not giving him space to operate.
It worked as the Chilean playmaker struggled to settle into the match after being forced to adapt to the physical play. He had a few good glimpses in the 7th, where he managed to send Bellarabi on a run down the right flank. The German winger sped down the flank and faced Ludwig Augustinsson head-on a quick shoulder feint and he manged to slip by on the flank.
The cross floated delicately into the box as players in red and green surged into the air trying to et it. Demarai Gray and Paulinho jumped into the air, trying to reach it first, but Ör Toprak muscled himself into a favourable position and cleared the ball with a commanding header. Kevin Möhwald collected the loose ball, clearing the ball with a big boot, effectively ending the attack.
In the 10th minute, Bren won a corner after Sinkgraven deflected a cross from Sargent behind. Bittencourt delivered it with pace, curling toward the near post where Füllkrug attacked it, rising above Dragovic, but his header flew just wide of the far post.
"Füllkrug, Oh so close," Derek Rae exclaid, mirroring the disappointed groans of the Bren fans. "Dragovic got lucky there."
"Indeed, he was beaten too easily there." Stewart Robson added. "A player of his calibre should give the striker much more trouble than that."
Leverkusen tried to settle into possession, with the Bender brothers anchoring the midfield and playing simple passes to keep the ball moving. In the 12th minute, Lars Bender played a long diagonal to Bellarabi on the right. The German winger controlled it, then drove forward at Augustinsson.
Bellarabi cut inside onto his left foot this ti, shaping to shoot from twenty yards out. Toprak stepped up to block, throwing himself in the way, and the shot deflected wide for a corner. Grey delivered it, swinging it toward the penalty spot with an inswinging look for Jedvaj, who rose above his man, but Pavlenka ca off his line, punching it clear with both fists.
[18']
Bren broke quickly when Eggestein intercepted a loose pass from Palacios. The German midfielder drove forward at pace, playing it wide to Rashica on the left. The Kosovo international took one touch, then accelerated down the flank, forcing Arias to backpedal.
Rashica cut inside onto his right foot at the edge of the box, drawing Jedvaj toward him. He slipped a pass to Füllkrug in the centre, who controlled it with his back to goal, holding off Dragovic. Using his strength, the striker turned sharply, moving his marker, earning himself so space. Without hesitation, he fired a shot from twelve yards away, blasting toward the right side of the goal.
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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