Wednesday, April 14th. 19:45 PM The Home Dressing Room, The Hawthorns.
UEFA Champions League – Quarter-Final – Second Leg.
The match is between West Bromwich Albion and Paris Saint-Germain.
(Aggregate: 1-1)
A strong psychological shock happens when a team which is used to the neat and well-tended lawns of top European stadiums has to play a match at night in the Black Country.
At The Hawthorns the English spring had brought about a freezing and heavy downpour. The wind blew off the canals and drove the rain across the thick, water-saturated pitch from the side. It was an evening completely lacking in any glamour and was a night suited to the trenches.
Ethan Matthews was sitting in the corner of the dressing room when the regular tapping of the rain on the concrete walls acted as his metronome before the match and then reached for his phone.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Mason: The first leg of the League One Playoff Semi-Final is now over! We managed to secure a 0-0 draw away from home; it was as ugly as sin, but we'll take them back to The Foundry next week. Your move, General. It's pouring with rain over there and those Parisian superstars are going to absolutely detest it. Just sprint in and make a tackle in the first thirty seconds and watch them collapse.
Callum: Eth, Mason's psychological evaluation is rather accurate. The PSG team's away performance in adverse weather conditions demonstrates a huge decline in their high-intensity sprint figures, since they don't want to risk injuring themselves in the mud. Keep the ball in play quickly, encourage their pressing and then get past it with straight, vertical passes. Make sure they don't manage to slow the game down.
Mia: The pub is actually steaming since all of our coats are wet! We're all packed in there. Go on and finish off the job, Eth! The semi-finals are just over there!
Ethan: Huge result, Mase. I'll see you at Wembley. Cal, I'll keep the pace going at a high level. They won't get a single second to breathe. We'll meet up on the other side.
Ethan locked the phone and this Champions League quarter-final really did bring out the contrast between Mason's bruising League One playoff campaign and the present situation. Although the stakes were different, the basic fact about the grass was unchanged.
Julian Vance entered the room, wearing a thick trench coat that was damp because he had just come back from looking over the pitch.
The grass is heavy and the ball will stay in the puddles, Vance told his team as he wiped the rain from his face. This isn't a night for artists; Paris have come here hoping for a football match and we're going to give them a drowning.
Vance made eye contact with Lukas Keller and then indicated Liam Thorne and Ethan.
They now have the most expensive forwards that the sport has ever seen. But when you drop expensive things on concrete they break. Don't show them any respect and take control of the mud.
8:00 PM. Kickoff.
The noise within The Hawthorns was a wild and savage wall of sound, the twenty-six thousand fans who were thoroughly drenched ignoring the freezing rain and calling for a historic European victory.
When the PSG players took their positions, they were clearly shivering despite their short-sleeved shirts, and thus the psychological battle had already started.
From the very first time the referee blew his whistle, West Brom carried out Vance's game plan with terrifying physical intensity.
3rd Minute.
The Brazilian star of PSG took the ball on the left touchline and attempted a flick over the head of West Brom's right-back.
Lukas Keller didn't take the time to look at the ball; instead, the German enforcer charged forward with a violent sliding challenge on the wet grass, wading through a puddle and cleanly getting both player and ball out of play.
The forward for PSG rolled on the ground, crying out for a foul and looked completely miserable as the freezing rain poured down on him.
The referee allowed play to continue. The crowd at Hawthorns cheered loudly. It was clear what the tone would be.
22nd Minute.
Even though it had taken a great deal of physical punishment, the outstanding and unmistakable quality of Paris Saint-Germain eventually came to the surface.
A ball that was loose dropped into the hands of their famous Argentine playmaker, who was thirty yards from goal. The poor condition of the ground made no difference to a genius. Instead of playing the ball, he simply hit a magnificent, lobbed pass which went over the head of Liam Thorne.
The striker from PSG carried out a remarkably quick darting run, took the ball against his chest and then powerfully volleyed it past the goalkeeper without it first touching the mud.
GOAL.
Paris Saint-Germain 1, West Bromwich Albion 0.
(Aggregate: 2-1 PSG)
In the away section, which was a small group of Parisian supporters gathering in the Smethwick End, there was a wild celebration.
Ethan was in the centre circle with rain dripping from his chin. Although they were falling behind, he noticed how the PSG players jogged back to their half – they were shivering and had become exhausted due to the heavy pitch. The artists too were suffering.
41st Minute.
Ethan took complete control of the pace. In precisely the way that Callum had told him to, he never allowed PSG to slow the game down. He kept demanding the ball and created a continuous, tiring rhythm which forced the French champions to chase ghosts through the mud.
Keller passed the ball to him as he spun neatly away from the Parisian midfielder who was coming towards him.
Ethan raised his head and saw that Tyler Hayes was pressed against the left touchline, while Jaden Kalu was carrying out a vigorous diagonal run towards the centre of the PSG penalty area.
Ethan took his right foot and curled it around the heavy, wet ball, then launched a powerful and determined pass which slid exactly off a spot of wet grass and completely avoided the Parisian centre-backs.
Kalu did not slow down; he hit the ball with a powerful first strike which almost pulled the net off its hinges.
GOAL.
West Bromwich Albion 1, Paris Saint-Germain 1.
(Aggregate: 2-2)
The stadium blew up. Ethan ran towards the corner flag, sliding twenty feet on his chest across the wet grass while Kalu and Armando got on top of him. The total score was level and the guillotine was raised.
Halftime.
West Bromwich Albion 1, Paris Saint-Germain 1.
(Aggregate: 2-2)
The smell in the dressing room was that of hot, wet mud. The players were gasping for air because of the physical strain of the half-match.
"Examine their faces in the tunnel," Vance ordered, his voice piercing the heavy breathing. "They want to get home; their forwards are not tracking backwards since their legs are too heavy. In the last twenty minutes they will collapse. Ethan, keep turning the knife and locate the gaps that they leave behind."
The Second Half.
65th Minute.
The situation got worse; the playing surface was deteriorating and was turning the midfield into a complete mess.
The Black Country had control of the match. Lukas Keller played as if he were a giant, winning each and every aerial duel and completely dominating the stylish Parisian midfield. Liam Thorne formed a solid barrier at the back, clearing every risky cross.
At the heart of the storm was Ethan Matthews.
He wasn't carrying out those pretty, broad Hollywood-style passes. Instead, he was playing dull, effective, working-class football, winning the second balls, using his body to shield possession, and in a systematic way breaking the spirit of the French champions.
82nd Minute.
PSG were entirely broken up; their three top players were up on the pitch, hands on their hips, refusing to defend.
The fatal mistake eventually showed up.
The Parisian midfielder, who was entirely worn out and annoyed by Ethan's constant pressing, made a lazy, blind backward pass to his centre-half.
It became lodged in the mud.
Ethan immediately saw what was coming and surged past the midfielder as he caught the dead ball.
He was thirty-five yards away from them and the two centre-backs from PSG were completely on their own.
Ethan drove directly towards them. He didn't attempt to find a passing angle. He lowered his shoulder and feinted a pass to Armando on the right, which completely froze the experienced French defender.
Ethan made a sharp cut inside towards the left side of his foot and managed to get a yard of space by the edge of the D.
Instead of trying to curl it, he lowered his head, fixed his ankle, and then delivered a fierce, low drive.
The ball bounced violently off the damp grass right in front of the PSG goalkeeper, bouncing oddly over his diving gloves and hitting the bottom right corner of the net.
GOAL.
West Bromwich Albion 2, Paris Saint-Germain 1.
(Aggregate: 3-2)
The Hawthorns is no longer a football stadium; it has become a complete and chaotic riot of joy.
Ethan ran towards the dugout and jumped straight into Julian Vance's arms, almost sending the quiet manager sprawling into the mud. In a matter of seconds all the players on the West Brom bench had left, surrounding their Dictator with a chaotic heap of damp coats and shouting players.
88th Minute.
Paris Saint-Germain completely lost control.
Their Brazilian superstar, having been terribly humiliated and frozen to the bone, charged forward with a dangerous two-footed tackle on Tyler Hayes close to the touchline.
The referee had no hesitation and at once took out a straight red card from his pocket.
The aristocracy of Parc des Princes had entirely fallen apart in the rain over the Black Country. Ethan stepped back and watched the Parisian forwards arguing with the referee, a cold and ruthless satisfaction spreading through his chest.
90+4 Minutes.
Whistle. Whistle. Whistle.
Full Time.
West Bromwich Albion 2, Paris Saint-Germain 1.
West Bromwich Albion reach the UEFA Champions League Semi-Finals.
The fans' rush onto the pitch was certain; thousands of them, wet and delirious, poured out onto the grass and totally overwhelmed the stewards.
Ethan was immediately overwhelmed. He could feel hands grabbing him, clapping on his shoulders and chanting his name. In the confusion he spotted Liam Thorne and pulled the big captain into a hug soaked in mud.
They had managed to do it—the billionaires of Paris had been shattered by the concrete of The Hawthorns.
01:00 AM. Penthouse Apartment, Birmingham.
Ethan stayed on the floor of his shower for twenty minutes with the hot water running to wash off the cold mud and the fatigue from the night.
He finally came out, tied a towel around his waist and picked up his phone from the counter in the bathroom.
Group Chat: The Eastfield Boys
Mason: You magnificent, mud-spattered legend! I told you they wouldn't like having it during the rain! The pub has used up all its beer, the floor is sticky, and I've lost my voice. Semi-finals, General! SEMI-FINALS!
Callum: Your stop in the 82nd minute was the decisive moment from a statistical point of view, Eth. By maintaining constant pressure on their central player, you caused a disastrous mechanical mistake. The way you played with your weaker foot was perfectly flawless and made excellent use of the surface tension of the wet ground to overcome the goalkeeper's dive.
Mia: We're all crying once more! It's one o'clock in the morning and no one is going to go home! The entire town is awake! You're our hero, Eth!
Ethan: They were annoyed by the mud, Mase. You brought it about right from the start. As for Cal, I never gave any thought to surface tension; I simply hit it as hard as I could. Look after the League One playoff next week, lads. The factory is open for business.
Ethan locked the phone and then went out into the quiet of his apartment. The storm beyond had at last ceased, leaving a clear and cold night over Birmingham.
The Princes of Paris had been put to death and the Dictator of The Hawthorns was officially two games away from reaching the biggest final in the world.