Football singularity-Chapter 738 Bayern (2)
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[2021-04-20 | Allianz Arena, Munich | 19:19 CET]
[Bundesliga MW 30: FC Bayern Munich vs Bayer 04 Leverkusen]
Shaking his head at the thought, he clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Starting eleven: Hradecky in goal. Frimpong, Tapsoba, Tah, and Wendell across the back. Baumgartlinger and Demirbay in midfield. Diaby right, Rakim left, Schick up top. Amiri is just behind Schick in the ten role."
Tah stood, the captain's armband already fastened to his left bicep. "Let's finish what we started," he said, his voice steady. "Are we together?"
The room erupted in agreement—fists pounding on lockers, voices rising in a unified roar. "TOGETHER!"
Bosz nodded once, satisfied, then gestured toward the door. "Let's go."
~~~
[Tunnel | Allianz Arena | 19:20 CET]
The corridor leading from the dressing rooms to the pitch was spacious, the walls decorated with Iconic trophy celebrations and club legends. Both sides showed the history of dominance, painting an intimidating presence for all opponents who visit here. All teams in the league knew their history, and every time before they walked onto the pitch, they came face to face with that grandeur.
With fans back in the stadium, although only 25,000, it still helped intimidate opponents. Leverkusen lined up on the left side, Bayern on the right. Rakim stood near the back, hands resting loosely at his sides, his breathing slow and controlled. Ahead of him, Amiri stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable. Behind him, Schick bounced lightly on his toes, his nervous energy barely contained.
Across from them, Bayern's players stood exuding quiet confidence as they readied themselves. No one talked as if they had reached an agreement to let the silence build. A UEFA official appeared, clipboard in hand, finally breaking the silence. "Gentlemen, two minutes."
The Bundesliga anthem began to play, its familiar orchestral swell echoing through the tunnel. It wasn't as grand as the Champions League version, but it still carried weight—tradition, history, the culmination of a season's work.
Rakim exhaled slowly, rolling his neck, his mind reaming in a fog, completely clear, not feeling an ounce of pressure. The tunnel official gestured. "Let's go." The line began to move with Tah and Neuer at the lead. The roar of the crowd grew louder with each step, building into a wall of sound as they emerged onto the pitch.
The Allianz Arena was a cauldron. The illuminated red panels pulsed in rhythm with the chants from the Bayern faithful, creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere. Banners hung from the upper tiers—"Mia San Mia," "Champions Always," "Reclaim What's Ours."
Rakim took it all in—the noise, the lights, the sheer scale of the moment—and let it wash over him without clinging to it. This was the pitch of his dream against his favourite team, and he felt excitement to prove himself here. Just another ninety minutes to etch his name in Bundesliga history.
The teams lined up in the centre circle for the pre-match ceremony. Handshakes were exchanged—brief, professional, devoid of warmth. No words were exchanged, even among those who were in friendly relationships with each other. Noteworthy was that Bayern's line-up was just as expected by the Leverkusen contingent.
Neuer remained in goals, the back four was made of Davis on the left, Boateng and Alaba in the middle and Pavard on the right. The holding two were Kimmich and Goretzka, with Müller in the 10 role. On the flanks, Coman was on the left and with Sané on the right, and the lone forward was, of course, Lewandowski.
The captains, Tah and Neuer, met at the centre for the coin toss. The referee flipped it—Neuer called heads. It landed tails. Tah chose to defend the Südkurve end in the first half, giving Leverkusen the benefit of attacking toward their small pocket of travelling fans in the second.
The teams dispersed to their respective halves. Rakim jogged to the left wing, his red Apex boots gripping the pristine grass. Across from him, Bayern's players also got into positions, each eyeing their matchups. The referee checked his watch, then waited for the clock to strike thirty before raising his whistle.
(FWEEET!)
~~~
[19:30 CET | Kick-Off]
"And we are underway at the Allianz Arena!" Derek Rae's voice rang out over the broadcast. "Bayern Munich in their iconic red, Bayer Leverkusen in their away white. One point separates these two sides. Ninety minutes to decide who takes control of the Bundesliga title race."
[1']
Bayern kicked off with Lewandowski tapping it back to Müller, who immediately played it square to Kimmich. The German midfielder took one touch, scanning the field before playing it back to Süle in defence. Leverkusen didn't wait for the home side to settle. Following Bosz's instructions to the letter, they pressed high immediately—Schick charging at Süle like a man possessed, forcing the German Defender to play it quickly to Davies on the left.
The Canadian left-back controlled it, but Diaby was already closing him down, cutting off the passing lane to Coman. Davies played it back to Alaba, who knocked it across to Pavard on the opposite flank. Rakim had already begun his sprint from the left wing, closing the distance with frightening speed.
Pavard saw him coming and played a quick pass to Kimmich at the edge of the centre circle—but Baumgartlinger read it, shoulder-checking the Bayern midfielder to intercept. The Austrian won the ball cleanly and immediately drove forward. He played it wide to Rakim on the left, and the stadium's noise swelled as the teenager controlled it with his first touch.
"Early pressure from Leverkusen!" Derek Rae exclaimed. "They're not sitting back—they're taking the game to Bayern!"
"Exactly what Bosz will have told them," Robson added. "Don't give Bayern time to settle. Press high, force mistakes, transition quickly."
[3']
Rakim took on Pavard immediately, dropping his shoulder as if to cut inside, then exploding down the line with a burst of acceleration. The French right-back recovered quickly, tracking back, but Rakim had already reached the side of the box. Goretzka shuffled across to provide cover for the French full back, who slid to a stop in front of him, standing him up.
Rakim stood him up, his left foot twitching next to the ball, trying to elicit a reaction from the Defender. He feinted back to the edge of the box, eliciting a strong reaction, then nudged the ball past Pavard towards the byline. The French Defender lunged, his studs catching Rakim's shin guard, tripping him to the ground.
*(FWEEET!)*
The referee's whistle blew immediately as Rakim went down, rolling once before sitting up, checking his shin. Pavard raised his hands in apology, but the yellow card was already out.
"First booking of the match," Derek noted. "Benjamin Pavard will have to be careful now. Rakim Rex has him on skates already."
"And that's the problem Bayern will face," Robson said. "Rex is one of the fastest and trickiest players in Europe. If you commit early, he'll burn you. If you stand off, he'll cut inside and shoot. Pavard's in for a long night."
The free kick was taken by Amiri, who floated the ball into the box looking for Tah. The Defender managed to reach it, but it was little more than a glancing header that flew wide of the far post.
[7]
Bayern finally began to settle into their rhythm, retaining crucial possession, but were unable to slow the game down. Neuer launched the ball long, finding Lewandowski on the halfway line. The Polish striker held it up brilliantly under pressure from Tapsoba, then laid it off to Müller.
The German playmaker turned sharply, spotting Sané making a diagonal run from the right. He threaded a weighted pass into the channel between Wendell and Tah, splitting the defence. Sané burst through, his pace taking him clear, and suddenly he was one-on-one with the keeper.
Hradecky rushed out, spreading himself wide early, closing a lot of the distance before the winger could orient himself to the goal. Sané struck it with his left foot from twelve yards, trying to curve it past the keeper to the far bottom corner. Hradecky dove immediately and got a strong hand on it, pushing it wide.
"LUKAS HRADECKY!" Derek roared. "What a save! Sané thought he had the opener!"
"That's First-class goalkeeping," Robson said. "Hradecky makes himself big, doesn't dive too early, and gets a crucial touch. Leverkusen owe him one there." The corner was delivered by Kimmich, curling toward the back post. Lewandowski rose highest, getting a head to it...
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TO BE CONTINUED... header sailed just over the bar.
