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The thirty-third round of La Liga took Atlético to the Ipurua Municipal Stadium.
Their opponents: Eibar, currently thirteenth. With only six rounds remaining, they'd secured survival but had no realistic chance of European qualification. On paper, Eibar had nothing left to play for.
Yet against such opposition, Atlético encountered serious trouble.
For the first thirty minutes, Eibar played exactly as predicted—steady, unambitious, content to see out a comfortable afternoon.
Then came the turning point.
Saúl slid in for a tackle on the wing, catching an opposing player. It was a foul, certainly—but Saúl had clearly gone for the ball, pulling back his foot on contact. The Eibar player wasn't hurt. Saúl helped him up, the two exchanged a pat on the shoulder.
A verbal warning at most. Perhaps not even that.
The referee produced a straight red card.
Even the Eibar players looked stunned.
No amount of protest from the Atlético squad changed anything. The referee stood firm.
On the touchline, Simeone's face darkened. He understood immediately.
They were being targeted.
Eibar sensed opportunity. The previously passive home side—with their supporters behind them and a man advantage—suddenly had something to play for. A victory over the league leaders would be worth celebrating.
Their attacks intensified.
But the numerical disadvantage wasn't the only problem. The referee's whistle showed a consistent bias against Atlético. The home players grew bolder, their challenges more aggressive.
The situation deteriorated rapidly.
"We're being set up," Burgos muttered beside Simeone.
"Those bastards have started playing dirty."
"What do we do? We're a man down in midfield. The players are becoming hesitant."
Simeone's jaw tightened. "If they have the guts, let them send us all off. You take over the match. I'm going to get myself a red card."
"Let me do it instead. Your sending-off might affect morale."
"No. At this point, tactics don't matter. The remaining matches are about who can withstand the pressure. I believe in them." His eyes narrowed. "And if I don't push back against these officials, they'll think we're easy targets."
"Alright. If you've decided, I'll support you."
The opportunity came moments later.
The referee awarded Eibar yet another dubious free kick in the attacking half. Simeone marched straight to the fourth official and unleashed a tirade, his face inches away, saliva spraying with every word.
Then came the final line.
"How much did they pay you? How much to knock us out of the title race?"
The fourth official's expression hardened. He immediately summoned the referee, whispering urgently in his ear.
Simeone showed no sign of backing down. He made a money-counting gesture toward the referee.
"What's your price? Tell me. I can match it."
The referee's face flushed crimson. He produced a red card without hesitation.
"Watch what you say. I will report this to the Football Association. You will be held responsible."
"Go ahead. I'll file my own complaint. You've taken dirty money—I'll make sure everyone knows it. The Association. The media. Everyone."
Staff eventually dragged Simeone away. The journalists on the sidelines could barely contain their excitement. This was far more entertaining than the match itself.
Strangely, Simeone's dismissal galvanised Atlético.
Despite their numerical advantage, Eibar gained little ground. By the second half, they'd retreated into a defensive shell, content to hold on for a draw.
But parking the bus with an extra man created genuine resistance. Atlético probed and probed, finding no breakthrough.
Until the eighty-fourth minute.
André dropped deep to receive. A quick pass from a teammate, then he spotted Griezmann drifting wide on the left. A raking diagonal ball found the Frenchman in space.
André accelerated off the ball, arriving at the edge of the penalty area just as Griezmann's return pass reached him.
First-time volley.
Top corner.
1-0.
The goal proved decisive. Atlético escaped the Ipurua with all three points.
The moment the final whistle blew, every journalist sprinted toward the press conference hall.
There was a story bigger than the result waiting for them.
They weren't disappointed.
"I believe you all watched today's match from start to finish." Simeone's voice was calm but cold. "What happened cannot be explained away as unprofessionalism. I have reason to believe that someone doesn't want us in first place. Someone doesn't want us to win the league title—so they used these tactics to try and steal our glory."
He paused, letting the cameras capture his expression.
"We will not back down this time. In the past, our silence allowed these things to keep happening. I want to ask: does La Liga belong to one club? Does it exist for one specific team? No. It belongs to all of us. Most clubs in this league have been working hard, and that's why Spanish football has flourished. But now, someone wants to destroy that. Atlético Madrid will not accept it. And I believe most teams in La Liga feel the same way."
The room erupted with questions.
Simeone had declared war.