Football singularity

Chapter 787 Top Of The World

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[2021-05-29 | Estádio do Dragão, Porto | 23:30 WEST]

[FT (AET): Manchester City 1-2 Bayer 04 Leverkusen]

The broadcast cut back to the stadium, where the podium was being assembled at the centre circle. UEFA officials in dark suits moved with efficiency, arranging the structure while photographers jostled for position. The Champions League trophy sat on a nearby table, its silver surface catching the floodlights and gleaming with lustre.

"The presentation ceremony is about to begin," Drury announced as the camera panned across the stadium. "And we must, as tradition dictates, begin with the runners-up."

Manchester City players had gathered near their bench, most still in their kits, some with towels draped over their heads. Guardiola stood among them, speaking quietly to De Bruyne and Fernandinho. Whatever words he offered were lost to the cameras, but the slumped shoulders and vacant expressions told their own story.

The UEFA protocol officer gestured toward the City squad. One by one, they began the slow walk toward the podium. "This is never easy," Tyldesley said quietly. "For a team that’s chased this trophy for so long, to come this close and fall short... There are no words."

Ederson was first, his goalkeeper gloves still on, jaw clenched as he climbed the steps. The UEFA president extended a hand, and the Brazilian mechanically shook it, accepting the silver medal before moving down the line. He didn’t bother putting it on, unable to feel any pride in this achievement at the moment.

Walker followed, then Stones, each interaction brief, professional, hollow as they went through the motions. Dias received his medal with a nod; his expression remained carefully neutral. They went through the motions with Guardiola, making up the end and receiving his own medal; his expression gave nothing away. Following the ceremony, City players gathered on the far side of the pitch, silver medals hanging from their necks, watching as the stage was reset for the winners.

~~~

"And now," Drury’s voice rose slightly, "the moment Bayer Leverkusen have waited 117 years for."

The Leverkusen squad had assembled near the halfway line, bouncing with barely contained energy. Some had changed into commemorative t-shirts hastily distributed by staff. Others remained in their match kits, eagerly waiting to get that piece of metal around their neck.

The UEFA protocol officer gestured, and the procession began with Peter Bosz taking the lead. The coach waited his entire career for this moment, and now it had arrived, reaching a milestone any coach dreams of. Lennart Grill, the backup goalkeeper, followed, grinning widely as he climbed the steps. Wendell followed him, then the substitutes who’d come on, each receiving their gold medals with varying degrees of emotional control. Bailey kissed his medal the moment it was placed around his neck.

The starters soon began to make their way up each green, barely remembering to shake the hands of the officials. Hradecky bounded up the podium with energy that belied his 120-minute performance. The Finnish goalkeeper pumped his fist as he received his medal, then raised both arms to the Leverkusen faithful, who roared back their appreciation.

"What a performance from Lukas Hradecky tonight," Drury said. "Man of the match for many, I’d say."

Then it was Rakim’s turn, and the seventeen-year-old climbed the steps, still in his match kit, and the crowd exploded to levels rivalling his match-winning cannon. He took a short bow towards them before moving to shake hands with each official, not even registering the words of the officials who had never played a professional game. Case in point, the UEFA president Čeferin, who placed the gold medal around his neck.

Rakim looked down at it, touching the metal with his fingertips as he walked past the silver trophy, joining Wirtz at the back of the stage. Slinging an arm around him, they watched as Tah, the captain at the end, finally climbed the steps. He eagerly shook hands with the official, receiving his medal, and followed President Čeferinto to the trophy.

Receiving the trophy, he tightly grasped it, afraid to drop it, as the feeling of contentment washed over him. Without wasting a moment, he walked down the red lane leading up to the steps where the rest of the team waited. "OHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" the players began humming loudly as he sped up slightly before powerfully raising it into the air.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

The sound that erupted from the Leverkusen section defied description. Seven thousand people found their voices simultaneously, screams of joy and relief and disbelief and pure, unfiltered euphoria. Red and black smoke flares ignited, filling their section with colour that painted the Porto night sky. The trophy gleamed above Tah’s head, catching every light in the stadium, and for a moment the entire scene crystallised into a moment of history.

"JONATHAN TAH!" Drury roared over the noise. "The rock at the back all season, and now he holds the ultimate prize! BAYER LEVERKUSEN ARE CHAMPIONS OF EUROPE!"

"Look at this," Tyldesley said, his voice thick with emotion. "117 years of history, culminating in this single moment. The treble is complete!"

Tah lowered the trophy, his usually stoic expression completely shattered by the widest grin anyone had ever seen from him. He turned to Hradecky first, extending the trophy to his goalkeeper, who grabbed it with both hands and immediately lifted it skyward with a roar.

The Finnish keeper spun in a circle, presenting the trophy to each section of the stadium, his voice hoarse from shouting. He passed it to Tapsoba, who raised it high, his eyes glistening as he held it for a long moment before handing it to Frimpong.

The young Dutchman actually jumped as he lifted it, screaming something incomprehensible before passing it to Demirbay. The German midfielder held it against his chest briefly, eyes closed, absorbing the weight of it, before raising it triumphantly. It moved through hands—Amiri kissing the surface before lifting it, Diaby dancing with it, Bailey holding it like a newborn child.

Each player got their moment, their piece of immortality, and so did Rakim, his eyes focused on the gleaming trophy in his hand. The stadium noise seemed to crescendo even higher, which shouldn’t have been physically possible. He just stood there for a heartbeat, feeling its weight, looking at the silver gleaming under the lights. Then he raised it above his head.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

In that moment, cameras flashed like a lightning storm, slowly turning and presenting the trophy to each section of the stadium. Then he looked up, directly at the VIP boxes, and raised it higher.

"The youngest scorer in a Champions League final," Drury said, his voice carrying reverence. "Two goals, including the winner from thirty yards in extra time. The treble secured. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just witnessed the arrival of a generational talent."

~~~

May had her phone up, filming everything, tears of joy streaming freely down her face. She didn’t care, though, as they had been celebrating for the past thirty minutes. This was her person down there, holding the biggest trophy in club football, and she was happy for him.

Emma watched her brother lifting the silver trophy and suddenly remembered the boy on the boat. He had quite literally smashed into his life, becoming a brother she had always wanted. He had bragged that he would become the best in the world, trained for it, and now he was on his way to achieving that.

Her mother, next to her, had gone into full-blown sobs in her father’s arms, not caring what anyone thought in the slightest. It took all of her father’s efforts to keep her from going down there and pulling her brother into a hug. Confetti cannons exploded, sending red and black paper cascading over the celebrating players, breaking the wholesome atmosphere.

The stadium PA system crackled to life, and "We Are the Champions" began blasting through the speakers. The Leverkusen players and fans sang along, voices cracking, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. Some didn’t even know the right words and simply hummed and shouted words out through sheer emotion. Others bellowed them at the top of their lungs.

We are the champions, my friends

And we’ll keep on fighting ’til the end

We are the champions

We are the champions

No time for losers

’Cause we are the champions of the world

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TO BE CONTINUED...

{END OF ARC 8 EVOLUTION}