Ten minutes in, seventy per cent of the possession was theirs and not even a shot. Our end got restless, a chant building, feet stamping on concrete, boom boom boom, wanting us to go and take it.
"Dima! Dima! Maghrib!" "Allez les Lions! Allez!"
Then it broke. Busquets got heavy on a touch and Sofyan ate him alive, nicked it clean, and it ran to Ziyech in a pocket, and the whole ground stood up at once.
"Go! Hakimi, GO!" "Yalla! Yalla Hakimi!"
[Hakimi. Acceleration 18, Pace 19]
Ziyech didn't even look up.
He'd seen the run before Hakimi made it, and he threaded it into the channel first time, no backlift, like he was bored of how easy it was. Hakimi went past Alba like the man was set in cement, tk tk tk, ate up the touchline, chopped, and stood a cross to the back post.
En-Nesyri came off Ramos. Cold all night, not a word, and now this. SMACK. He met it flush, down and across De Gea, and the net went whump, and the sound the red end made I felt in my ribs before I heard it.
