Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid Chapter 113: On the Battle for Possession—Mourinho Says, “Yo

"We've taken the lead! Xabi! That shot was f***ing beautiful!"

"Well done, Xabi! Good job, boys!"

"Great pass, Little Lion!"

"Don't get too excited. Stay calm. They'll push up now—be ready to hit them on the counter again!"

Amid the hugs, shouts, and adrenaline, Xabi Alonso was the first to recover his composure.

He reached over and gave Leon's neck a squeeze, then pulled Ramos aside, reminding the others to keep their emotions in check.

The rest of the Real Madrid players quickly followed suit.

This was Bayern's ho ground. Heynckes wouldn't sit back and accept going behind, and neither would his players.

And let's be honest—a one-goal lead ant nothing in a match of this level.

Unless you were Juventus in the early 2000s, that is.

Even Mourinho—who often drew criticism for his defensive tactics—wasn't going to park the bus this early.

Did people really think Bayern didn't have the tools to break down a parked defense?

Set pieces, long shots, tight-area passing—Bayern's offensive arsenal was just as deep as Madrid's.

Mourinho trusted the team he had built.

He wasn't afraid of playing defense, but he wasn't going to bunker either.

That's why he made the decision before the match even started to go aggressive.

Because Bayern—like Real Madrid—were a team that would punish you the mont you gave them space.

If you gave them oxygen, they'd use it to light the whole pitch on fire.

Scoring first at the Allianz? That wasn't a signal to relax.

It was a signal to focus even harder.

Madrid's players jogged back into position, encouraging each other along the way.

On the sideline, Mourinho—after roaring in celebration—was already calling for Karanka to bring the tactics board.

He wasn't necessarily planning to strike first, but he wanted to beat Heynckes to the punch.

If the Bayern coach thought the sa way he did, then maybe, just maybe, Mourinho could make a preemptive adjustnt.

This was chess.

Tactical mind gas didn't start at kickoff. They started the mont both teams qualified for the semis.

Mourinho wasn't arrogant enough to say his prep work was better than Heynckes'.

But once the match started and the situation evolved, he believed there was no one in the world better at in-ga adjustnts than himself.

If he had enough cards to play, and his key players could stay composed, he could outcoach anyone.

Ferguson? He'd done it before.

Heynckes? He would do it again.

"Michael, when the boss was at Chelsea, what would he usually do in a situation like this?"

Leon asked Essien casually as they returned to position.

Essien, still smiling from the goal, paused for a mont.

Then replied simply:

"Fight. He'd tell us to fight. From the strikers to the defenders—everyone fights."

Leon raised an eyebrow—he hadn't expected that answer.

But he didn't have ti to ask more questions.

Bayern had already restarted the ga.

Heynckes stood near the touchline, eyes sharp, issuing his tactical commands.

He didn't need to shout anymore.

A glance was enough.

His players knew what he wanted.

From the mont play resud, Bayern's wings went into overdrive.

It wasn't just Robben and Ribéry cutting inside—Alaba and Lahm were now bombing forward with overlap after overlap.

The number of crosses into Madrid's box skyrocketed.

With every ball, Mario Góz beca more and more dangerous.

In just five minutes after Madrid's goal, Góz had already forced two goal-scoring chances out of Pepe.

One of them was a near miss that left the crowd gasping.

This wasn't the later-years Góz, fading into obscurity.

This was the real deal—Germany's top center forward, a beast in his pri.

Big, strong, clinical in the air. At 1.9 ters tall, he could bully almost any defender.

To be fair, Pepe did well.

He didn't let Góz dominate him.

But the German striker was growing into the ga, and Pepe had to call Ramos over to double-team.

Leon now understood the raw force of Góz's presence up close.

He wasn't quite Drogba-level—but he wasn't far off either.

"Thank god Heynckes didn't start Müller tonight," Leon thought to himself.

If Müller had been playing in Kroos's position, Bayern's ability to swarm the box and win second balls would've been insane.

Of course, that Müller—the one pacing on the sideline now, nervously peeking toward the pitch—wasn't yet the seasoned champion of later years.

He was still that young guy everyone mocked for being awkward.

"Clumsy feet, average touch, decent at everything, great at nothing."

And yet…

Every ti soone's team faced Bayern, and Müller was in the starting XI, nobody dared talk trash.

Leon liked Müller.

Which is exactly why he knew Müller's strengths so well.

He didn't want to face Müller. If given a choice, he'd rather mark Kroos—he was much easier to contain. Müller's movent was just too sneaky.

From the left, right, or center of the final third, from any corner of the penalty box—Müller could appear anywhere.

He wasn't just a runner—he linked the attack outside the box and finished like a predator inside it.

He was the kind of player who used his brain, who knew exactly how to play to his strengths and avoid his weaknesses.

Not a "scrappy player"—more like a "crafty fox."

In contrast, Kroos was a model of discipline.

He was slower, didn't like cramming into the box, and always stayed within Leon's line of sight.

Leon felt safer knowing exactly where he was.

But Leon wasn't the only one who saw this.

Mourinho and Heynckes had seen it long ago.

To expect Heynckes to ignore this would be naïve.

He might give Kroos the benefit of the doubt and wait until halfti to make a change.

Or he might pull Kroos deeper and push Schweinsteiger up, subbing Müller in as the new No. 10.

One way or another, Müller was definitely coming on.

If Heynckes wanted more attacking firepower, Müller was the obvious move.

It was only a matter of ti.

Mourinho, observing the ga, was increasingly convinced his own read was correct.

So, for now, he felt reassured.

He wouldn't make any drastic tactical changes just yet.

Better to wait until halfti and recalibrate fully.

But a few in-ga instructions? Absolutely necessary.

"Michael! Drop back a bit. Leon, push forward! Pressure higher up! Start squeezing them in our half—force turnovers and support the attack!"

Mourinho shouted at full volu.

When he saw Essien nod, he felt a little better.

If Madrid wanted to counter Bayern's aggressive offense, they had to fight back in midfield.

It didn't matter that Leon's deeper role was letting Robben find more space—it was a calculated risk.

Because if Madrid wanted to regain control of the ga, they needed to dictate tempo.

And the best way to do that was to win the ball back in their own half and launch direct counters.

Leon had already noticed Mourinho barking instructions at Essien.

When Essien dropped back and relayed the ssage, Leon nodded and stepped up.

Coentrão could handle Robben one-on-one.

Sure, it wasn't as effective as Leon double-teaming, but Alonso was always there to cover.

Sa with Ribéry.

Xabi Alonso, despite now having to cover both flanks, handled the pressure with trademark poise.

Leon and Essien could now fully commit to shredding Bayern's rhythm.

Essien on the right.

Leon on the left.

Together, they disrupted Bayern's entire midfield within a minute.

No matter how Bayern tried to rotate or switch play, the man on the ball always had one of the two hounding him.

Kroos and Schweinsteiger? Absolutely suffocated.

Every ti they touched the ball, Leon and Essien sward.

Progression beca impossible—Bayern were forced to pass it wide.

Now, your average ball-winning midfielder needs recovery ti.

A flurry of pressing usually demands a pause to catch your breath.

But not these two.

Each covered only half the pitch.

And both had elite-level stamina.

Three minutes in, Bayern's attack structure was visibly fractured.

Ribéry, still composed, encouraged his teammates to hold firm.

"Just wait for their energy to dip," he said.

"Once they slow down, we take control again."

Five minutes passed.

Leon and Essien were still pressing with the sa intensity.

Ribéry began to realize sothing was wrong.

Then, in the sixth minute, Essien—teaming up with Arbeloa—stole the ball clean off Alaba.

Just like Leon earlier, Essien didn't wait—he launched a counterattack on the spot.

Leon imdiately cut inward to draw defenders, forcing players like Lahm and Schweinsteiger to stay central and not retreat too deep.

But just when it looked like Leon would push further… he stopped.

With his back to the goal, he played a clever, no-look pass backward.

Lahm shouted in alarm, sprinting back, waving his arms to alert his teammates.

Too late.

Xabi Alonso received the pass without needing to switch feet.

With his left, he imdiately unleashed another blistering long ball down the right flank.

Target: Ángel Di María.

Alaba hadn't even recovered his position yet.

Di María took off—no traps, no hesitation.

Just raw speed and the ball glued to his foot.

Alaba tried to catch up, but the Argentine winger was flying, accelerating past him with no sign of slowing down.

And just when Bayern's defenders thought he'd go wide and cross it in—

He cut inside.

Everyone panicked.

Boateng.

Badstuber.

Both suddenly realized: this wasn't a hopeful cross—this was a problem.

A real one.

One had to mark Benzema, the other had to track Ronaldo—so they had no choice but to send Gustavo forward to try and stop Di María.

And just as Gustavo turned to close him down, Di María made the pass.

After cutting inside, he had all the space he needed to deliver a perfectly tid lofted through ball.

With both Ronaldo and Benzema making simultaneous runs, Di María naturally aid for Ronaldo.

Amid the deafening roars and panicked cries of Bayern fans, Ronaldo shot forward like a sword unsheathed—slicing through the backline, racing past Boateng, and charging into the box toward the falling ball.

Neuer had no choice.

Badstuber was too slow, and Boateng had already been burned.

He had to co off his line.

Ronaldo saw him coming.

He was confident he could reach the ball first, but with Neuer in front and Boateng chasing from behind, it wasn't guaranteed he could finish cleanly.

A small voice in his head scread at him to go for it anyway. If he scored here, it would be a huge personal and team statent.

But just as he jumped, he saw Benzema—arms raised, already sprinting into the penalty area with a better angle and zero pressure.

And in that split second, Ronaldo—ever the professional—put ego aside.

He flicked a perfect header across goal.

With both Bayern's keeper and defender drawn to him, he redirected the ball toward the far post, where Benzema was now wide open, having shaken off Badstuber with ease.

Leon, watching from behind, felt a surge of warmth in his chest.

Ronaldo really did look out for him—always.

Benzema took no chances.

He nodded the ball into the empty net.

Just to be safe, he glanced at the linesman.

No flag.

Overco with emotion, he charged straight at Ronaldo, arms wide open.

And behind him, the rest of the Madrid players were already on their way—sprinting to the corner flag, fists pumping, screaming with joy.

"Ronaldo's run is dangerous—Neuer's coming out!!! Ronaldo! The header! Benzema! It's in! It's in—!!! No offside! That was brilliant movent by Benzema! He tid his sprint perfectly—no flag!

2-0! This is a scoreline no one—none of us—could've predicted before kickoff! Real Madrid are leading 2–0 at the Allianz Arena just thirty minutes into the match! Mourinho's in-ga adjustnts are nothing short of masterful!"

Duan Xuan was nearly hoarse with excitent.

He didn't even know how to properly praise Mourinho anymore.

Going against everyone's expectations, the Portuguese manager had taken a risk—pressing instead of parking—and Fortune had smiled upon him.

Zhang Lu, who had earlier questioned Mourinho's risk-taking, now had nothing but laughter in response.

Yes, it was a risk.

Yes, it could've backfired.

But it hadn't.

And that was all that mattered.

Now Mourinho knelt on the sideline, fists clenched, roaring in celebration—a man completely unashad to show his fire.

He was, at that mont, the center of the football world—more than even the players.

anwhile, Heynckes stood with a grim expression.

He imdiately signaled for Müller and Olic to start warming up.

This is football.

Tactics matter.

But sotis… a little bravery and a little luck go a long way.

Could you say Heynckes got it wrong?

Not really.

If you ignored the scoreboard, Bayern had actually dominated large portions of the match.

If Góz had been more clinical with those early headers, the ga might have looked very different.

But football isn't about "if."

Plenty of teams have suffered this sa fate: dominate the ball, control the tempo, then get blindsided by a brutal counterattack.

And there's no team better at it than Real Madrid.

The "possession curse"—dominate but don't score, then get punished.

Bayern were suffering its full effect tonight.

Madrid had taken their celebration and transford it into pure montum.

There was no nervousness now—only certainty.

If they could do this to Bayern at the Allianz, then there was no reason to think they couldn't finish the job at the Bernabéu.

From this mont on, they would dictate the narrative of the semifinal.

Back on the field, Madrid's intensity surged again.

They weren't going to let Bayern pull one back before halfti.

Even if it ant burning more stamina, even if it ant taking on the full brunt of Bayern's late first-half push, they were going to hold the line.

Leon and Essien?

They flipped into overdrive—closing down space, pressing, tackling, intercepting.

Their relentless energy smothered Bayern's creative lines.

To the German forwards, they were like twin clamps—iron jaws that refused to let go.

The rhythm of the ga beca disjointed and ssy—frustrating for viewers, infuriating for Bayern fans.

But for Mourinho, standing proudly with his arms crossed on the touchline, it was perfect.

His two disciples—Leon and Essien—were putting on a masterclass.

And as he looked around at the coaching staff, the pitch, the crowd, Mourinho couldn't help but laugh inside.

"Battle for possession? Breaking rhythm? You think you're tough? Bayern? Barcelona? Juventus? Manchester United?

In this year's Champions League, every single one of you—

every one sitting at this table—

you're all trash compared to ."

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