Tuesday, April 6th. 7:30 PM The Away Dressing Room, Parc des Princes, Paris.
UEFA Champions League quarter-final first leg.
Paris Saint-Germain vs. West Bromwich Albion.
The atmosphere in Paris had a kind of arrogance that was different from that in Munich or Milan.
In Bavaria there was the belief in the complete superiority of their machine; in Italy they held firm in the infallibility of their tactical history. Yet at the Parc des Princes the arrogance was entirely based on the individual, astonishing superstardom of the players. Paris Saint-Germain did not function as a unified team but rather acted as a luxury display for the three most expensive forwards in the world.
Ethan Matthews was sitting in the deluxe dressing room away from the action, tuning the strap on his right ankle. It was the quarter-finals of the Champions League and the air was becoming extremely thin.
He took out his phone.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Callum: When I look at their historical performance in the knockout stages, Eth's attacking trio are statistically deadly since they consistently exceed their expected goals (xG) figures by a very large amount. Yet their defensive transition is almost non-existent; whenever they lose the ball their forwards just walk back. If you break through their midfield swiftly, then you'll be facing seven opponents.
Mason: Forget the figures, General. Crestwood has now definitely earned our place in the League One playoffs! The entire town is excited about it. Carry that enthusiasm with you when you go to Paris tonight. The team you're playing against care far more about their fashion labels than they do about tracking back. Throw them into the mud.
Mia: Callum is once more attempting to draw up tactical diagrams on his napkin. Tell him to stop! We're keeping an eye on the situation from the pub, Eth. Get an away goal brought back to the Midlands!
Ethan: Well done on getting into the playoffs, Mase! The League One isn't up to standard yet. Ask Cal to take the pen away from you. I know precisely where the space is. We'll see you guys at full time.
Ethan locked the phone, a small smile appearing on his face. The difference between the glamour of Paris and the tough reality of fighting for a spot in the League One playoffs had an immediate effect on him. He had no reason to fear the Parisian superstars; all he needed to do was take advantage of their egos.
Julian Vance entered the dressing room in his tailored suit, the suit matching the elegance of the city, just as his eyes displayed the cold steel of the Black Country.
"They perform for the cameras," Vance said to the silent room as he paced slowly. "They perform so that they can fill the highlight reels and the headlines. They think that they are artists and that defence is beneath them."
Vance halted and indicated Lukas Keller, then Ethan.
Let them enjoy their moments of magic; don't be annoyed if they finish a trick or a flick, since when they are looking at their own reflection you will be breaking their spine. Make use of their laziness and control the transition.
8:00 PM. Kickoff.
The Parc des Princes was full of flashes, loud chants, and blinding camera flashes.
From the very first whistle the front three of PSG showed precisely the reason for their half billion pound price tag: they played with a frightening fluidity, constantly changing positions and moving into the gaps in the space which made it almost impossible to mark them.
12th Minute.
The extraordinary individual brilliance displayed by Paris ended the deadlock.
The Brazilian star had the ball on the left touchline and was entirely on his own against West Brom's right-back. Instead of passing, he carried out a rapidly quick series of stepovers, dropped his shoulder and disappeared past the defender.
He went to the edge of the penalty area and hit the ball with almost no backlift into the very top right corner of the net with a curling and violent strike.
GOAL.
Paris Saint-Germain 1, West Bromwich Albion 0.
The stadium reacted with a surge of blue and red. The Brazilian moved by the corner flag while his teammates surrounded him. It was a goal of absolutely stunning and unstopplable quality.
Ethan retrieved the ball from the net and threw it back to the centre circle. Instead of barking orders at his defenders, he simply had to endure the storm since there was no tactical change that could prevent a perfect strike.
28th Minute.
PSG were doing well, motivated by their early lead and confidence. In the first half they advanced, aiming to secure the draw.
But the scouting report that Callum had prepared was about to pay off.
A Parisian midfielder attempted to play a difficult pass through the centre. Lukas Keller anticipated it exactly, moved in and stopped the ball with a heavy, crunching block.
As soon as Keller obtained the ball, the structural weakness of the French champions was clearly shown.
Ethan asked for the ball right away and Keller passed it to him.
Ethan raised his head and, just as Callum had forecast, the three PSG stars began to jog slowly back towards the halfway line, showing no interest in defending and thus leaving the Parisian midfield suddenly short of players.
"Go!" Ethan shouted, indicating Tyler Hayes on the left flank.
Ethan didn't have the ball; instead, he used the biomechanics of a powerful, determined strike, fixed his ankle and delivered a devastating low pass which slid across the wet Parisian ground and completely missed the stranded PSG midfield players.
Hayes calmly accepted the ball. He was engaged in a straight race with the right-back of PSG, and the Championship winger was incredibly fast.
Hayes entered the penalty area, displaced the central defender, and played a wonderful and selfish square pass across the six-yard box.
Armando was present, rushing past his position to tap the ball into the empty net.
GOAL.
Paris Saint-Germain 1, West Bromwich Albion 1.
The end at which they were away became completely wild. Ethan ran over to the centre circle, with a cold and satisfied smile. The artists had not remembered to lock the back door.
Halftime.
Paris Saint-Germain 1, West Bromwich Albion 1.
The dressing room was calm. The first sense of wonder at the Parisian players had disappeared, being replaced by a clear awareness that the French champions were extremely vulnerable.
"Though they are brilliant they are also broken," Vance said to the squad. "They are fielding eight defenders and three attackers. In the second half they are likely to become frustrated because you are holding them. Ethan, continue to pull the strings in the gap that they leave behind."
The Second Half.
65th Minute.
The game settled into a taut and painful pace, with PSG's attacking trio still creating instances of terrifying magic, though Liam Thorne and Lukas Keller were making extremely strenuous efforts by getting in front of shots and clearing the crosses.
Every time West Brom won the ball they had Ethan in total control of the pace. He made use of the huge gap left by the Parisian forwards, took the ball in with a great deal of space and controlled the game as a mastermind.
He reduced the pace of the game to that of a crawl by passing to the side, keeping possession, and thus completely drained the kinetic energy from the Parc des Princes.
81st Minute.
The Parisian superstars at last reached their limit.
The famous Argentine forward, fed up with seeing Ethan control the midfield, went down low and made a bad late tackle directly on Ethan's ankle in a sulky manner.
Ethan received the blow and fell heavily. The referee then called a foul and showed a yellow card.
The boos came down on the stadium, but Ethan only smiled as Thorne pulled him up. He had managed to drag the artists down into the mud and they had lost their composure.
90+3 Minutes.
Whistle. Whistle. Whistle.
Full Time.
Paris Saint-Germain 1, West Bromwich Albion 1.
A huge and extremely well-disciplined away draw; they took in the individual brilliance of the Parisian players, took advantage of their tactical arrogance, and won an important goal to take back to the Black Country.
Ethan exchanged shirts with a PSG midfielder who was obviously frustrated and gave a nod to the travelling West Brom fans who were singing loudly and enthusiastically in the high sections of the Parisian stands.
11:15 PM. The Team Hotel, Paris.
Ethan was lying on his hotel bed, having strapped an ice pack to the ankle which had suffered the late tackle; the first leg had been a masterpiece of European survival.
He unlocked his phone.
Mason: You completely frustrated them, General! Did you see the look on their faces in the last ten minutes? They couldn't stand that you were dictating the game right in front of them.
Callum: The structural exploitation was perfect, Eth. By transitioning immediately upon Keller's interception, you maximized the mathematical advantage before their forwards could even attempt a recovery run. A textbook away performance in Europe.
Mia: The pub was cheering every time you made a pass in the second half! Rest that ankle, Eth. We need you fully fit for the second leg!
Ethan: They didn't want to track back, Cal. You had them completely figured out. Mase, good luck in the League One playoffs this weekend. Bring the town a promotion.
Mason: We'll take care of business down here, mate. You just make sure those Parisian boys get a proper Black Country welcome next week at The Hawthorns.
Ethan locked the phone, resting his head against the pillows. The aristocrats of Paris had thrown their best punches, but the Dictator of The Hawthorns hadn't blinked. The second leg was waiting, and the concrete was ready to break the princes.