Real Madrid's Problem Child - 2: UEFA Champions League Round of 16 Second Leg

Right from the kickoff, as Jesus got sent off and Tottenham Hotspur seized numerical superiority to score quickly, they burned with hope that they might just pull off a miracle at Santiago Bernabeu.

"Fuck yeah!!!!"

Roaring at Tottenham's comeback goal, coach Joe Wright stood near the touchline, barking fervent instructions.

"Push forward more aggressively!! Spread the wings wide! Create space!! They're down a man!!"

Real Madrid panicked at the game's flow, which defied their expectations. Sergio Pepe bellowed at his disorganized teammates to snap out of it.

"Puta! Think, all of you! If we lose this match, that smug Jesus will strut around like he owns the place!!"

"Yeah! That bastard doesn't even realize the game got tough because he got sent off—he'll blame us for sure!!"

Reinvigorated, Real Madrid kicked off. Roberto Fabian passed to Luis Garcia, but Tottenham's intense high press dragged out their possession from the back.

Luis Garcia's first touch was too heavy. Gasping for breath from relentless high pressing, Victor Valdes seized the chance and stole the ball.

His pass went straight to Justin Lennon infiltrating the flank. Lennon took the ball and, with a burst of acceleration, nudged it past the blocking Sergio Pepe and blew by him.

As Justin Lennon entered the penalty box, he clocked Real Madrid keeper Ter Stegen's position. Faster than expected, Stegen rushed out, narrowing the angle.

'Stay calm!'

Chanting it to himself, Justin Lennon unleashed a composed shot. As the ball grazed Stegen's leg and headed goalward, he threw both arms up, sensing the goal.

Splash-!

But no goal. Just as everyone thought it was in, Vladimir Rajovic hurled himself into the path, touching the ball out over the touchline.

Vladimir Rajovic, having cleared it, faced Ter Stegen and roared.

"Vamos!! You crazy bastard Bova!!!"

"Vamos!!!"

Seizing the gap before Real Madrid could reset, Tottenham prepared a throw-in, but a ball boy from Real Madrid's youth team delayed handing over the ball, wasting time before tossing it the opposite way from the approaching player.

In that interval, Real Madrid reformed their defensive line. Enraged by the ball boy's antics killing their chance, Ryan Smith warned him harshly.

"You little shit, pull that time-wasting stunt one more time and I'll kick your ass."

"What? I don't speak English!"

Thwack-!

Furious at the ball boy's mocking attitude, Ryan Smith shoved him hard. As the promising youth prospect tumbled, Real Madrid players charged at Ryan Smith, sparking a brawl with Tottenham players.

"What the fuck are you doing, you bastard!"

Beep beep beep beep beep beep!

"Calm down!"

The ref settled the players and carded Ryan Smith. "Shit," Ryan muttered under his breath with a sour look.

Vladimir's super save and the ball boy's quick thinking had blunted Tottenham's momentum, buying Real Madrid a breather.

"Ugh... Still, better to eat shit from a win than a loss, right?"

Facing Tottenham's relentless sharp attacks, coach Felipe nodded slowly. He vowed to emulate his mentor, Valverde.

With subs complete, Real Madrid bunkered down. Tottenham pushed to break through but got countered by Luka Savic and Jesus Gonzalez, hitting the canvas.

The match against Tottenham wrapped up. The next day at training, during recovery drills, tragic news hit: Coach Valverde, watching the Champions League round of 16 second leg against Tottenham from his hospital bed, had a seizure, delaying his discharge....

"Man, why watch a soccer match while hospitalized? Makes no sense."

Soccer's brutal on the heart—how's a coach not get that? As I grumbled, Luis Garcia, who'd overheard, replied.

"Say something that makes sense. He's the coach—even in hospital, he has to watch the games. And even a healthy guy would clutch their neck and collapse seeing the starting striker red-carded like that right at kickoff."

"Nah, that's 'cause boss gave bad instructions from the start."

I shot back confidently at Luis Garcia. This wasn't my fault. Shouldn't Valverde have specifically ordered a yellow near the end?

"Puta Madre, what soccer player cleans cards like that?"

What the hell? Is this the Luis Garcia I know? Why's he making sense?

No. Don't waver. Not my fault. Card washing got me a 3-match ban anyway—clean slate for semis second leg. What's he bitching about?

"Yup~ Not my bad."

Long silence. Unable to stand it, I scratched my head awkwardly and mumbled.

"Uh... maybe visit the hospital?"

Luis Garcia's face hardened.

"Boss said don't even think of visiting—with you or me."

"Fine for me, but why you?"

"Turned out the girl I spent a hot night with after meeting at the club... was boss's daughter."

I knew boss wouldn't rage over that much. Snorting, I teased Luis Garcia lightly. "That's it?"

Luis Garcia nodded slowly. Then his next words.

"She's pregnant. With my kid."

Luka Savic, who'd snuck up, muttered.

"... Jesus fucking Christ."