The date of the Champions League final drew closer with every passing second. With the major European leagues officially concluded, this ultimate curtain-closer had captured the absolute attention of the global football community. Pundits and fans argued endlessly across social media. However, both participating clubs remained completely silent, burying themselves in the final stages of their tactical preparations.
On the morning of the final, sunlight pierced through the thick London fog. The shadow of Big Ben stretched across the dark waters of the River Thames, waking the historic city. The streets surrounding Wembley Stadium had been completely transformed. The electrifying atmosphere of the Champions League final was palpable in the air.
Opening the window of his hotel room, English commentator Martin stared out at the iconic Wembley arch in the distance. He took a deep, steadying breath. His anticipation for tonight's clash had reached its absolute peak. At the same time, he couldn't help but shake his head at the sheer incompetence of the US Soccer Federation. Their bureaucratic blunders had completely alienated the greatest talent their nation had ever produced, depriving the world of seeing Shane wear his national colors on the grandest stage.
…
The Atlético Madrid players were already awake. There would be no heavy training sessions today. The squad gathered in the hotel restaurant for a quiet breakfast.
Shane Carter was silently enjoying his meal when he noticed Antoine Griezmann yawning heavily across the table. He looked at the Frenchman with a slightly puzzled expression.
"Antoine, did you not sleep well?"
Shane shared a room with Griezmann, but he had fallen asleep very early. He had absolutely no idea that many of his teammates had spent the night tossing and turning in their beds. The squad's fitness coaches were already nursing massive headaches just looking at the tired faces in the dining room.
"Sorry... I really didn't sleep much last night," Griezmann sighed, rubbing his face. He knew his mental state wasn't right, and his expression grew increasingly solemn.
"Why couldn't you sleep? It was completely quiet last night, and the mattresses here are incredibly comfortable. I slept like a rock until morning."
"My mind just wouldn't stop racing. I kept thinking about the match tonight, about everything that could happen..." Griezmann scratched his head, his anxiety completely exposed. "Don't you have any thoughts about it, Shane?"
"Thoughts?" Shane shook his head casually. "What is there to think about? We go out there and play our game. Overthinking it right now is completely useless."
Griezmann stared at Shane with a mixture of shock and pure admiration. This was their very first Champions League final. Even their veteran captain, Gabi, wasn't this remarkably calm.
"I think you should go back to the room and get some rest this afternoon," Shane advised, waving his fork. "Don't overcomplicate things, Antoine. Life is made up of first times. For a lot of guys on this squad, this is their first European final."
"But it isn't for Bayern. They were the runners-up last year, and the year before that," Griezmann pointed out nervously.
"Alright, so they are very good at finishing second," Shane shrugged effortlessly. "Let's just give them another runner-up medal to add to their collection."
With that, Shane stood up and walked toward the kitchen counter. He had been eyeing a freshly cooked cod fillet for the last five minutes.
Griezmann watched his teammate walk away, a slow smile finally breaking through his anxiety. If the monster wasn't worried, why should he be? Shane always led them to victory, didn't he?
…
By four o'clock in the afternoon, the area surrounding Wembley Stadium was buzzing with life. Fans from all corners of the globe converged on the stadium, waiting for the gates to open. Journalists and camera crews wove through the massive crowds, interviewing the passionate supporters.
"We are definitely winning it this time!" a Bayern Munich fan yelled, flashing a victory sign while wearing a retro championship jersey.
"I won't call this a revenge mission, because I wasn't even alive for that final in 1974," a young Atlético supporter screamed into an ESPN microphone. "But if the idea of revenge gives our boys more fire, then let this be our ultimate vengeance!"
Meanwhile, massive crowds of reporters and fans had gathered outside the hotels of both clubs. When the Atlético Madrid team bus finally pulled out of the parking garage, the waiting fans erupted into a deafening roar. Cameras instantly locked onto the vehicle.
"The Atlético Madrid bus has officially departed!" an American sports network reporter yelled excitedly into the camera, gesturing to the bus rolling away behind him.
For this monumental clash, global sports networks had deployed massive broadcasting teams. Reporters were stationed at the Atlético hotel, the Bayern hotel, and pitchside at Wembley. The reporter outside Atlético's hotel had been incredibly busy all morning, conducting live hits and interviewing fans.
Now that the bus had left, his primary pre-match duties were over. However, he couldn't leave to watch the game inside the stadium. He had to remain at the hotel to capture the team's return. Win or lose, that footage would serve as the emotional climax for the network's Champions League documentary.
As an American, he naturally hoped to see his fellow countryman succeed on the grandest stage of all. It was basic human nature.
"We can only hope that when the Atlético players return to this hotel tonight, they are all wearing smiles," he concluded his broadcast.
…
One hour to kickoff.
Wembley Stadium was already packed to the rafters. The Champions League final was always the most-watched sporting event of the year, but this particular edition felt entirely different. This was especially true across the Atlantic.
For football fans in the United States, this match carried an unprecedented weight. For the very first time in history, an American face was the absolute focal point of a European Cup final.
Because the match kicked off on a Saturday afternoon local time, massive crowds had already gathered. People packed into sports bars, hosted living room watch parties, and fired up their backyard grills. Local pubs across the country heavily advertised Champions League watch parties to draw in the massive crowds.
The hype for this match in the US was genuinely rivaling that of a World Cup final. It made perfect sense, considering Shane Carter was a generational, homegrown talent.
But every time the fans remembered the current state of the national team, a wave of bitter anger washed over the excitement. The sheer incompetence of the federation had alienated their brightest star, leaving a sour taste in the mouths of millions.
As the pre-match coverage rolled, a familiar, frustrated sentiment flooded American social media.
"Fuck the US Soccer Federation!"
Now Get The FULL AVAILABLE NOVEL at Once!
Get 40% OFF for limited time only.
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop