Live text commentary of the game
by Jack Marshall…
Barcelona v Real Madrid
Kick-Off 21:00
20.45
The Madrid and Barcelona players exit from their changing rooms and walk along the small, almost claustrophobic passageway, which is lined with paintings of former players.
A few teammates from the Spanish national team stretch their hands across the divide and produce small smiles to hide their glaring, grinding aggression.
Now the twenty-two players, separated by the iron grid, walk down the tunnel.
Thirty-four steps down, into the very depths of the foundations, and then eight steps up. Eight steps up towards the light. Towards the noise. Towards the pitch. Towards El Clasico.
20.59
The old stadium shudders as the referee prepares to start the game. Everyone is in the ground: celebrities, sports stars, the king of Spain … and five hundred million people all watching around the world … all waiting for the start.
21.00
The referee blows his whistle. El Clasico is under way! The noise sounds like thunder reverberating from the depths of the earth, and then … football.
KICK-OFF
Almost immediately the pattern for the game is set: Barcelona’s quick, staccato passing pitched against Madrid’s aggressive pressing.
Barça look the more comfortable side until, in only the third minute, disaster strikes…
Effenhegel passes the ball back to Dominguez, the Barcelona keeper… Adhering to Godal’s principles of passing to retain possession, Dominguez attempts to chip the ball back to Effenhegel, but the Madrid forward line sense his plans and swarm around Effenhegel like hungry hyenas scenting a kill.
Quickly they dispossess the defender and bear down on the helpless keeper. One more predatory touch from Rosseri and the ball is in the net. First blood to Madrid.
The Nou Camp is silent.
Only on the touchline, where Nemisar runs the entire length of the pitch in a series of ostentatious fist-pumping celebrations, is the Madrid joy fully fledged.
Godal, sensing his players’ need for direction, steps out of his technical area to let his team see their leader. He looks unruffled. Unfazed. Unmoved.
“Pass!” he shouts, moving his hands in different directions across his body to indicate the speed and tempo at which he wants the ball to be manoeuvred.
For a second Godal and Nemisar face each other. They look like two brothers. The same but different.
And then, immediately, battle recommences.
6 minutes played…
Once again the ball is passed back to Dominguez. The stadium takes a collective breath. He takes a touch of the ball and this time half-volleys it diagonally out to the right to Major. It’s a stunning pass. A technique of which any outfield player in the world would have been proud.
Godal, in full view of Nemisar, claps his keeper’s bravery in taking on the pass.
12 minutes…
And now here is Jamie Johnson. It’s the first time he has got on the ball. He finds a yard of space and darts forward, keeping his body close to the ground and the ball magnetized to his boot. He is on the touchline, tight to the edge of the pitch. A defender comes to close him down. Johnson moves as if to lay the ball back to the full-back and then, right at the last minute, produces a turn to bewitch and mesmerize his opponent. The Barça fans roar their approval.
19 minutes…
The first bookings of the game come when Rodinaldo is callously hauled down on the edge of the penalty area. He stands up, puffs out his chest and pushes the Madrid man backwards. The Madrid defender exaggerates the extent of the contact and is told to stand up by the referee. Both players are given yellow cards. Rodinaldo’s face is taut with anger and tension. There are no carefree smiles from the Brazilian today. He is focused on the prize.
23 minutes…
Now Major beats a man and slides the ball in for Johnson before going for the return. Johnson instead tries to beat his man and loses possession. The fans howl their disapproval. Godal rises and puts his fingers to his mouth. He whistles to get his new signing’s attention. We can see him mouth those key words: “Pass and move.” Johnson raises his hand in apology to his coach and his teammate. He understands.
27 minutes…
Suddenly, like a flash, Rodinaldo has dashed in to steal the ball from a Madrid midfielder like a robber in the night. He is accelerating away with the speed of an Olympic sprinter and then … his ankles are tapped and he crashes to the ground.
The referee points to the penalty spot. Nemisar falls to the ground clutching his face before getting up to chide the Fourth Official. It is no use. The referee will not be changing his mind.
Rodinaldo picks up the ball and kisses it. He places it on the spot. He crosses himself as he takes three steps back.
He moves towards the ball, staring obviously at the right-hand corner of the net. He dummies to kick the ball, allowing the keeper to fall to the ground before calmly rolling the ball along the ground into the left-hand corner.
The stands shake in response. The cheers can be heard from miles away.
The game is, once again, all level.
The Brazilian’s smile returns. He searches for Jamie Johnson and conducts an elaborate handshake routine, followed by a short samba dance. The pair have found their attacking harmony. They play to the same rhythm.
32 minutes…
The tackles snipe in like bullets. Barça players go down hurt. Madrid players haul them up and wag their fingers, telling them not to play-act.
The managers stand beside each other on the touchline, the simmering tension between them barely invisible.
36 minutes…
Now Barcelona break again. A quick one-two between Major and Rodinaldo. A yard of space is earned. Instantly, the ball is spread to the wing, where Johnson takes the pace of the move up another octave. He flies past one challenge before playing the ball back inside to Major. The little maestro produces a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn before flicking the ball into space on the left wing.
Now Johnson is free. Now he can use that turn of pace. He is the furthest man forward. He strains every muscle, every tendon in his body to produce a run of such intense speed that the Madrid defence appears to dissolve in front of him.
The crowd rise in response to Johnson’s balance, bravery and talent.
He reaches the edge of the area. The goalkeeper comes out to close him down.
For a second, the world stops.
Then Johnson knocks the ball past him, on the angle.
Now he chases after the ball, but it has gone too far wide. There is only one way for him to get the ball on target now…
In an almost impossible move, whilst still running, Johnson wraps his left foot around the front of his right and swings his heel backwards towards the ball.
It is an exquisite back-heel, which sends the ball hard and low along the ground towards the goal.
The goalkeeper turns and scrambles along the ground, trying to reach the ball.
The entire ground is frozen in time. No one dares move.
Except for Jamie Johnson.
Because he already knows.
Seeing the ball hit the back of net, Jamie became a flaming ball of ecstasy. The joy sizzled through him like a lightning strike and suddenly Jamie found himself doing a celebration that he had never even tried before.
He did a double backflip!
The crowd gave a tumultuous roar of approval. However, almost as soon as he landed back on the ground, Jamie could feel his knee jar. He’d hurt it.
Badly.
42 minutes…
The Barça players are starting to enjoy themselves. They pass and then run to find space … then they collect the ball again and move it on before the tackle can arrive.
It is a magic trick. They show Madrid the ball and then make it disappear without the opposition knowing where it has gone.
But not everything is looking so good. Jamie Johnson seems to be struggling. He is limping.
Godal immediately orders his substitutes to warm-up. He looks like he is going to make the change.
When Jamie saw the activity on the sideline and Max Muller getting changed to come on, he simply shook his head.
There was no way he was going to allow the ticking time bomb of his knee injury to explode today. No way he was going to come off now. No way.
He sprinted back to defend the corner, deadly determined to show Godal that he could carry on. That he could still give absolutely everything for this team.
44 minutes…
A corner to Madrid just before half-time. They send their formidable defenders up from the back, sensing this is their chance to hurt Barça. To wound them.
Barça pull every player back. Now is the time to stand together.
The ball is arced in. Dominguez jumps and punches the ball away but it doesn’t go far. It lands on the penalty spot and bounces into the air.
The Madrid attacker lines it up. He watches it drop. He is going to volley it.
But Johnson reads the mind of the striker. He bravely dives to head the ball clear, knocking it to safety. It is a goal-saving intervention.
But the Madrid attacker cannot pull out of the shot. He follows through, crashing his boot into Johnson’s skull with fearful power.
The referee immediately blows his whistle to halt the game.
Players from both teams stand over the stricken Johnson. The Madrid striker covers his eyes. He knows how hard he kicked his fellow player in the head.
The television cameras pan up to the stands. They show a worried-looking woman. She is Johnson’s mother. She has come over to watch the game.
The paramedics, wearing their fluorescent yellow tops, rush on to the pitch with a stretcher…
But amazingly, and to everyone’s relief, Johnson stands up, pushes them away and somehow even stays on the pitch to play the last few moments of the first half.
Jamie had been so desperate to stay on that he had refused to show how hurt he had been by the kick to his head.
It was only when he reached the Barcelona changing room and went to sit down that his body and brain collectively felt the full impact of his injury.
At first, he thought he was going to be sick.
As the nausea spread through him, he stood up in the middle of Godal’s team-talk to go to the toilet. But as soon as he did his entire body felt wobbly and unstable. His legs buckled beneath him.
He was unconscious before his body collapsed on to the hard tiled floor.