"Shane has the ball. Sven Bender is all over him. Gündoğan and Subotić closing in. Shane. Backheel. TORRES. FERNANDO TORRES, one-on-one. He shoots. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!"
The Spanish commentator exploded out of his seat, gripping the microphone as he roared at the top of his lungs. The entire commentary box erupted. The entire Calderón erupted. Sound collided, surged, and shattered into pure chaos.
The stadium descended into madness.
"Fernando... Torres!!!"
"A brilliant assist from Shane. Torres rounds the keeper and finishes into an empty net."
"It's in. It's in. 3–2. 3–2. Atlético Madrid lead 4–3 on aggregate."
"Incredible. Absolutely incredible. This is a classic semifinal. The score keeps swinging back and forth. Eighty-third minute, Torres scores. Atlético take the lead, and now the problem is Dortmund's."
After flicking the backheel pass, Shane kept pushing forward. He was already anticipating a rebound. Even after creating the chance, he hadn't been certain Torres would score.
There was a truth in football that fans often forgot. One-on-ones weren't as reliable as people thought. Across the top five leagues, the conversion rate hovered around thirty to forty percent. Lower than penalties.
Fortunately, Torres didn't waste it.
Yes, he had his infamous misses during his Chelsea days. But he was still a player who had won it all. League titles, domestic cups, the Champions League, the World Cup, the European Championship. A complete champion.
On the biggest stage, he could be trusted.
Just like now.
By the time Shane burst into the box, the ball had already crossed the line. He threw both arms into the air and sprinted toward Torres.
"Brilliant!!"
Torres turned as well, pointing both hands at Shane, a wide grin breaking across his face.
"Perfect pass!"
They embraced. Then more Atlético players rushed in. Inside Dortmund's penalty area, they huddled together, shouting, celebrating.
"Get in!!"
"Come on!!!"
"Yes!!!"
They lost themselves in the moment.
This goal was everything. A lifeline.
Now, all the pressure had shifted. What had been Atlético's problem a minute ago was now Dortmund's.
Even as they celebrated, Shane was already organizing the next phase.
"Listen. Listen," he shouted. "Including stoppage time, there's about ten minutes left. You all know what can happen in ten minutes."
"We've got a lot of attacking players on the pitch. If we drop back now, we might not hold them."
"And they'll expect us to defend."
"So when play restarts, we do this."
Klopp clenched his jaw.
The camera zoomed in, locking onto his eyes. Anyone could see it, the frustration burning inside the German manager. When Dortmund led 2–1, almost every Dortmund fan believed the match was theirs. And now they were behind.
The despair Atlético had felt was now Dortmund's to endure. Atlético had risen from the brink. Could Dortmund do the same?
Klopp glanced at his bench. They hadn't made a substitution yet. He still had cards to play. Großkreutz and Perišić stood ready on the touchline.
"Dortmund are making changes. Großkreutz replaces Sven Bender, and Perišić comes on for Kuba. Dortmund are going for it now."
Schmitz took a deep breath.
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