Football singularity-Chapter 737 Bayern (1)
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[2021-04-20 | Allianz Arena, Munich | 18:45 CET]
[Bundesliga Match Week 30: FC Bayern Munich vs Bayer 04 Leverkusen]
The Allianz Arena glowed an ominous red against the Munich twilight, its illuminated panels pulsing like a beating heart. Inside, the stadium was filling rapidly—25,000 fans permitted under the latest COVID protocols, their voices already creating a cauldron of noise that reverberated off the modern architecture.
On the pitch, both teams completed their final warm-ups. Bayern’s players, in grey kits, looked focused, knowing this was their chance to retake the title. Leverkusen, in white kits, looked equally sharp, already feeling the tension.
But all eyes were on one particular group near the halfway line. Rakim, Schick, Bailey, Demirbay, and Frimpong had formed a tight circle, keeping a ball in the air with casual, almost lazy touches. The ball moved between them in a hypnotic rhythm—chest, thigh, instep, head—never touching the ground. It was a display of technical mastery that made it look effortless.
~~~
[Broadcast Booth | Allianz Arena]
Derek Rae adjusted his headset, watching the scene unfold on the monitors before him. Beside him, Stewart Robson was already reviewing his notes, occasionally glancing at the pitch below.
"Good evening, and welcome to the Allianz Arena," Derek began, his voice warm and measured. "I’m Derek Rae, alongside Stewart Robson, and we are here for what could be the Bundesliga title decider. Bayern Munich, the reigning champions, is sitting second on sixty-seven points. Bayer Leverkusen, the surprise package of the season, is top of the table with sixty-eight."
"One point," Robson added, his tone serious. "That’s all that separates these two sides. Win tonight, and Leverkusen go four points clear with just four matches remaining. That would be a monumental statement. Lose, and Bayern reclaim top spot with the momentum firmly in their favour."
"And what a season it’s been for Leverkusen," Derek continued. "Unbeaten in the Bundesliga until February, Champions League semi-finalists, DFB-Pokal semi-finalists. Peter Bosz has built something special in Leverkusen. But they come into this match with questions."
"Indeed," Robson said, leaning forward slightly. "Florian Wirtz, their seventeen-year-old creative heartbeat, is out with an ankle injury sustained in the Dortmund Champions League match. He’s been instrumental this season—ten goals, fifteen assists in all competitions. Replacing that kind of output is nearly impossible."
"And they struggled without him against Köln in their last match," Derek noted. "Needed two late goals to secure a two-one victory. Bailey in the eighty-third, Schick in the ninety-first. It wasn’t convincing, especially as Rakim went missing for 90 minutes."
"But," Robson countered, pointing at the monitor showing the warm-up, "look at that group there. Rakim Rex is keeping the ball in the air with his teammates. Completely relaxed. And did you see the photos circulating online yesterday?"
Derek chuckled. "Oh, the ones from Cologne? He and his girlfriend are on a date, eating crêpes along the Rhine, riding the cable car. Very romantic."
"Romantic, yes," Robson said with a slight grin. "But also remarkable. Here’s a seventeen-year-old about to play in the biggest match of his career—a match that could decide the Bundesliga title—and he’s spending his evening eating dessert and sightseeing. Most players would be at home, visualising the match, resting, preparing mentally."
"Maybe that is his preparation," Derek suggested. "Staying loose, not overthinking it. He’s been sensational this season—thirty-five goals, twelve assists in the league alone. That bicycle kick against Dortmund is already a strong contender for Champions League goal of the tournament."
"True," Robson admitted. "And Bosz clearly trusts him. But Bayern on a trophy run is a different beast. This isn’t Dortmund or Köln. This is Flick’s Bayern—ruthless, relentless, and desperate to reclaim their throne. They’ve won nine consecutive Bundesliga titles. They’re not going to roll over."
On the pitch, the ball was still circulating between the five Leverkusen players. Rakim controlled it on his chest, let it drop to his thigh, then flicked it over to Bailey, who cushioned it with his instep before volleying it to Schick. The Czech striker headed it to Demirbay, who back-heeled it to Frimpong, who sent it back to Rakim.
Derek nodded, then shifted focus. "Let’s talk tactics. Bayern under Hansi Flick have been relentless this season. High press, quick transitions, overwhelming attacking numbers. Lewandowski has thirty-six league goals already, just one behind Rex. Müller has eighteen assists. Gnabry, Sané, Coman—they have firepower from every angle."
"And Leverkusen’s defence will be tested," Robson added. "Tah and Tapsoba have been excellent, but they will need to step up tonight. Hradecky in goal will need to be at his absolute best—just like he was against Dortmund."
"On the other side," Derek continued, "Leverkusen’s attack has been just as potent. Rakim and Schick have sixty-two league goals between them. Bailey and Diaby provide width and pace. And even without Wirtz, they have quality in Demirbay and Amiri."
"The key battle," Robson said, "will be in midfield. Kimmich and Goretzka versus Baumgartlinger and Demirbay. If Bayern dominate there, they’ll control the match. But if Leverkusen can disrupt Bayern’s rhythm, force them into mistakes, they have the pace on the counter to punish them."
On the pitch, the warm-up was winding down. Rakim, on the sidelines, was receiving a Quad massage from the trainer as he lay on the ground. Assistant Manager Fredrick Bauer could be seen deep in conversation with him as he crouched next to him. The broadcast couldn’t capture what was said, but from the serious expression on both faces, those watching could only guess.
~~~
[Leverkusen Dressing Room | Allianz Arena | 19:00 CET]
The away dressing room was smaller than the one at the BayArena, but it was functional. The players sat on benches, some already in full kit, others still adjusting shin guards or retying boots. The mood was focused but not tense—Bosz had been careful all week not to over-inflate the importance of the match.
Peter Bosz stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, waiting for the last few stragglers to finish their preparations. His assistant, Fredrick Bauer, stood beside him with a clipboard. When the room finally settled, Bosz began.
"Alright," he said simply. "Let’s talk about what we’re walking into."
"Out there, they want blood. They want to see us crumble. They want to reclaim first place and never let it go again. That’s their plan." He gestured toward the ceiling, where the muffled roar of 25,000 Bayern fans was already audible. "In their eyes, we are the villains, side characters who forgot their role and stole the spotlight from the main cast."
He paused, scanning the room. "To that I say Fuck them. Fuck their expectations, fuck their beliefs, and fuck any data and speculations we have heard all week."
The players looked stunned at the Dutch manager, who, while obsessed with the game, never cursed. In fact, when he was angry, he was the type to hold it in and figure out what was wrong before bluntly laying out the facts. Seeing him so animated surprised everyone, especially Rakim, who had only seen his supportive and critical sides when he wanted to help you improve in a particular area.
He turned to the tactical board behind him, already marked with Bayern’s 4-2-3-1 formation. He slapped it twice, gathering all their attention if it wasn’t already focused on him. "Forget Bayern, we are the best team in 2020/21. No team in the world comes close to what we are doing, no matter how much the fans would love it to be different."
He drew a few arrows on the board, not caring that it had become slightly disorienting. "So what do we do? We play Leverkusen football and force them to adjust. On average, we are younger, fitter and far more dangerous, so use it."
"When they push forward, we press them high iso late them in areas and force quick passes and pick up the mistakes." He explained, eyes wide, almost amnically, as he stared at the players. "On the ball, I want quick, short, sharp passes, no long balls on the ground. Make Rakim and Diaby on the flanks work as we raise the tempo, and if you can’t cut in, bombard the box with crosses. Don’t give them a moment of rest, make them earn to be on the headlines with this Leverkusen squad."
He pointed at Tah and Tapsoba. "Defensively, we stay compact as we systematically push the line up. Neither Lewandowski nor Müller are speedy player, so just mind the wingers break through, but for that my full backs should be paying attention to." He spent a few moments explaining what he wanted the defensive line to do and what to be aware of. "Cut off the supply, early and make wint the ball back high, that’s the plan on defence, and everyone needs to work hard to make it happen. Don’t give Müller the chance to operate between the lines and make the lives of Gnabry or Sané difficult."
Don’t be mistaken, if we lose all the hard work in the season, it would have been for nothing." He stepped back, his expression serious but calm. "All the incredible things we have achieved will be forgotten; we choke and lose the title race." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶
He scanned all the players, smiling at their focus, which barely held back their will to do battle. Especially Rakim, whose green eyes had the same eerie chill his own had when trying to hype up his men. No, his was completely different, as he seemed to be at peace in his body language, but his eyes could very well devour the light.
He had only seen him get in a similar state a handful of times, and each time the football world trembled.
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TO BE CONTINUED...
