Chapter 205: The Siege

The free kick came to nothing. Mateo floated it to the far post, and Metzelder got up above the scramble, but Puyol was there to nudge him off balance at the vital instant, and the header sailed over the bar into the crowd. A good ball wasted. The first half wound down from there, both sides content to reach the break, and the referee blew for half-time with Barcelona 2, Schalke 1.

Inside the dressing room, Magath kept his team talk simple and direct.

“One goal,” Magath told them, standing by the tactics board. “That is all we need. We already have an away goal in the bag. If we get the equalizer, the whole tie shifts in our favor. We bring a level scoreline and an away goal back to Gelsenkirchen, and then they have to come beat us on our pitch.”

He picked up a piece of chalk, tapping the board to remind them of their shape: the deep defensive line, the tight spacing, and the quick transition outlets.

“Keep running. Keep forcing their midfield to work backward. Busquets didn’t get a booking out there, but he’s lunging. Force him to sprint, bait him into challenges, and give the referee a decision to make.” Magath turned his gaze toward Mateo, eyeing the fresh white tape covering the cuts on his calf. “How does the leg feel?”

“It feels fine, boss,” Mateo replied. “I can run.”

It was throbbing and they both knew it, but Magath let the answer stand. Pulling him off at halftime was out of the question, and Mateo had no intention of asking for a substitution anyway.

Mateo tested his weight on the calf as they walked out into the tunnel for the second half. The tight bandage did its job and his legs felt stable enough, but a sharp ache flared every time he pushed off his right boot. He kept it to himself. Talking about the soreness would only give the coaching staff a reason to consider bringing him off, and he wanted to stay out on the pitch until the final whistle.

The opening fifteen minutes of the second half turned into a relentless storm led by Messi.

The Argentine forward seemed completely determined to put the tie to bed before the hour mark. In the 48th minute, he glided past Schmitz along the touchline, cutting inside before clipping a weighted pass over Metzelder for Villa. Only Neuer sprinting off his line and sliding to smother the ball stopped the move.

Five minutes later, Messi drove the opposite way, slicing between Jones and Schmitz along the byline. He drove a vicious low ball across the six-yard box, forcing another instinctive stop from Neuer, who threw out a hand to parry it out of danger.

Schalke abandoned any hope of defending Messi one-on-one. They simply threw bodies into his path and scrambled to recover loose balls. Jamie Vardy worked tirelessly between Puyol and Piqué without seeing much service, while Mateo continued to track Xavi’s every step, burning through his stamina while the real pressure came from Barcelona’s front three.

Defending a one-goal deficit against Barcelona was physically exhausting. A single lost runner or mistimed tackle could kill off the entire semi-final. Every Schalke player looked spent, their lungs burning as they shifted from side to side, yet Barcelona’s midfield kept rotating the ball with calm, measured patience, waiting for the gaps to appear.

In the 65th minute, the home side almost put the tie out of reach.

Pedro, Villa, and Messi combined in a rapid overload on the right edge of the box. Schmitz and Jones both closed down Messi’s space, but the forward slipped between them with a sudden change of direction. He opened his body and curled a vicious shot that beat Neuer’s full-stretch dive.

The ball cracked hard off the crossbar.

A heavy metal clang echoed through the Camp Nou, silencing the crowd for a split second. The ball dropped back down onto the grass, spinning away toward the edge of the eighteen-yard box.

Messi reacted instantly, sprinting forward to pounce on the loose ball.

Mateo reacted just as fast.

He had sprinted back to support the defense, and the rebound bounced right into the pocket of turf between them. Messi had to recover his balance after the strike, giving Mateo the fraction of a stride he needed. Mateo reached the loose ball first, dragged it away with a quick touch, and spun toward the center circle.

Ahead of him lay thirty yards of open grass.

Barcelona had committed numbers forward hunting for a third goal, leaving their backline completely exposed.

Mateo took off.

Behind him, Messi dug in and sprinted in full pursuit, but Mateo simply opened his stride and pulled away down the pitch.

Barcelona could plan for his passing and crowd his space, but nobody could take away his pure speed. It was the foundation of his game long before any system existed, and when the pitch opened up, his legs carried him forward. He burst across the halfway line with open grass ahead of him.