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Some days, Sergio suspected that he had seen it all by now. He had lived through the good, the bad and the bat-shit crazy. He had witnessed football at its finest and at its worst, and yet, he was unable to tell whether the plan he was about to disclose to his colleagues would lend itself to the former or the latter. Still, fortune had generally turned up clad in white.
„I get it, guys“ he said, cutting off various protesting voices bouncing off the walls of their locker room. His team was gathered around him in a loose circle, eyeing him with various degrees of disbelief. „It´s a lot to take in at first. So, get it out of your system, but remember I talked it over with the coach already and he signed it off.“
„How?“ Dani had been one of the first to rise to his feet, recognising Sergio´s explanation for what it essentially was. „Won´t this hurt the club as a whole?“
„It´s a form of protest“ Sergio told him, „they have to allow it.“
„And who came up with this sh-... with this idea, exactly?“
Sergio puffed out his chest, staring Dani down until the man ducked away. „I did, actually.“
Heads swivelled when the door to the locker room was flung open. Casemiro and Vinicius stepped through, their grins fading when they took in the tense assembly. „Uh... What´s going on?“
„Where were you?“ Sergio said accusingly, only to hold up his hands when Casemiro opened his mouth. „Never mind. I don´t wanna have to repeat this again, so just-... listen.“
„... Alright-...“
„It is time for us players to step up. We´re all that stands between an empty patch of grass and a spectacle, but we don´t get a say in anything that matters. If we speak out about something important, chances are we´ll get sanctioned because we´re not allowed to get 'political'. And what about all those new tournaments popping out of the ground at every turn? Who´s supposed to play those?“
„I mean-...“ Nacho said thoughtfully, „we do get paid pretty handsomely-...“
Sergio glared him into submission. „Money can buy servitude, but it can´t make up for being treated like slaves. We need to make a statement. Show them that we refuse to be treated like pawns, like-... like chess pieces. We´re not disposable, and we´re not robots. We are more than a signature on a contract, and we need to make them realise that.“
„... How?“
„We“ Sergio enunciated carefully, locking eyes with the Brazilian midfielder until Casemiro started to fidget with unease, „will throw the next game.“
Days later, the complaints about their club´s newest scheme had not yet run dry. „I still don´t get it“ Lucas could be heard venting to Toni during one of their water breaks. „What´s losing a game supposed to achieve?“
The German, drawing upon an infinite well of patience, quietly supplied one of their captain´s arguments, but Lucas refused to accept it at face value. „Protest against what? If Sese wants to strike so badly, why don´t we just sit this one out? If we don´t turn up-...“
„We´ll get sued if we don´t show“ Toni reminded him, causing his friend to groan.
„I don´t want to drop points, on purpose or not.“
„None of us do. But hey, it´s just one game, right? And it´s got to be done a certain way, you know. Just losing wouldn´t work, we do that all the time. We´ll have to give them a show until the guys up top realise that they depend on us just as much as we depend on them. And then Sergio´s going to be happy and we can get back to normal.“
„Alright, alright.“ Lucas squinted towards Sergio´s imperious figure in the distance, waving them forward.
They had quickly realised that some preparation would be needed for their plan to go off without a hitch, but nobody wanted to risk premature media exposure. „It´ll be more effective if they don´t see it coming“ Sergio had effectively summarised earlier. „Not to mention that we can´t risk them nipping this thing in the bud. We´ll train behind closed doors for the next couple of days.“
„Now remember“ their captain called out into the group when they were all gathered around him, „we´re walking a fine line here. It´s got to be obvious, but not too obvious. No taking shots at our own net, that style of thing. We want people to take note, but not feel ridiculed. We´ll all reveal our masterplan once it´s over. Okay? Good. Let´s get to it.“
Their first few 'exercises' were met with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, but gradually, the team found themselves warming up to the unusual challenge.
„Whoo“ Nacho cheered once he had successfully hit his opponents´ post twice in succession during a quick match played in close quarters. „I suck!“
„Yeah, yeah“ Dani bumped purposefully into him. „Stop celebrating, dumbass.“ He swivelled around just as the ensuing corner kick was delivered, stumbling back when the ball bounced off his head. It headed towards his own side´s goal in an elegant arch, and his colleagues cheered as it curled around Thibaut´s astonished expression and into the net.
Nacho held his hand up for a celebratory high-five. „Hey, you´re a natural.“
„Oh, great“ Dani scowled, ignoring the proffered palm in favour of rubbing his cheek. „Thanks.“
„Yeah, that´ll do it“ Sergio shouted across the pitch, raising an imperious thumb at him. „Keep it up! Remember – one game is all we need. That should make them take notice.“
Levante
Matchday approached, hovered, and went by in a smooth sequence of events.
The final whistle greeted los blancos with deafening cheers and the realisation that their plan might not be as cut-and-dry as their captain had made it out to be.
„Well“ Thibaut mumbled, tearing at the velcro stripes of his creaking gloves as they sat in a ring around the locker room, unusually subdued, „it was a statement. Of sorts.“
„A statement“ Sergio spoke up bitterly, drawing their attention towards him. „This wasn´t the plan, guys. What the hell happened out there?“
„We crushed Levante“ Luka recapitulated with defeat. „Badly.“
„Exactly.“ Sergio rubbed the bridge of his nose with a grimace. „Care to tell me how?“
„We scored, uh, goals.“
„We scored goals. Now, pray tell, how many goals did we score.“
Luka hesitated, but when Sergio´s head snapped towards him in an unspoken demand, he obliged him. „Five.“
Sergio threw his hands into the air. „How. How did that happen.“
„I think“ Lucas piped up from the back, „we confused them? I mean, the first three were clearly accidents-...“
„Damn them for that. They couldn´t have waited with all those own goals until our next game?“
„-... and four and five were just bad luck. Their defence clearly isn´t up to snuff-...“
„That´s no excuse“ his captain bit back. „We need to be better than them. At being bad. You know what I mean.“
„It´ll work next time.“
At last, Sergio relented. „Fine. Valencia had better appreciate the points, is all I´m saying.“
Valencia
The first half against Valencia went by without complications. Neither team was willing to go for an early goal, Real for reasons of avoiding the opposite goal on principle and Valencia presumably employing a stratagem of their own.
Still, Sergio had to fight off a spark of malcontent when his ears caught somebody crunching the numbers somewhere off to the side, painting a vivid picture of two sides all but equal in terms of possession and chances. In fact, Real had not once been in danger of conceding, owing to Valencia´s inability to penetrate their half-hearted defence.
This would clearly not do.
Vowing to rectify the situation in the upcoming half, Sergio led his team onto the pitch for a second time, but the changes he had hoped for failed to manifest. Pondering how best to implement a course of self-destruction, he turned to spot Luka with the ball at his feet, preparing to evade a confrontation with an opponent. Fearing that his colleague had forgotten their plan in the heat of the moment, Sergio waved at him. „Luka, no! Let him have it!“
„I was going to“ the Croatian snapped, stopping to glare at Sergio for the rebuke. Unable to keep up with his sudden change of pace, the sliding tackle skidded neatly past him.
When he realised what had happened, Luka threw his hands up, gesturing towards Sergio as an afterthought. „That one´s on you.“ In a last effort to complete the manoeuvre, he returned his attention towards the attacker who had begun to haul himself off the grass. „Please. Take the ball“ he implored the groaning man. „Take it, it´s yours.“
When the other´s eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, Luka gently nudged the ball towards him. A grass-flecked knee shot up in response, caught off guard by the turn of events, and deflected the unexpected gift of possession towards Toni. The German midfielder looked down towards the ball rolling towards him until it bumped against his foot, his face a stony mask. Then he glanced at his captain, silently asking for further instructions.
Sergio dragged a hand across his face. „Guys. Just-... Keep it together.“
Afterwards, they gathered in the locker room, sullen and defeated in every sense but the most literal one. Sergio was the last to arrive, slapping the brightly-coloured Valencia jersey in his hands against a locker.
„What the fuck“ he enunciated carefully, „was that.“ He held up a hand when Nacho opened his mouth. „Wasn´t a question. We all know what happened.“ Their captain took a deep breath, holding it for so long that some of his teammates started to shuffle nervously, bracing themselves for an explosion. But the expected outburst never came. Instead, Sergio huffed out a weary sigh, falling down onto the closest bench. „We weren´t good enough. Again.“
„Technically“ Lucas ventured, „we were too good-...“
„You´re not helping.“ Sergio drew himself up, eyeing the group with accusation. „We´re trying to get a point across here!“
„Maybe if we, uh, change the point we wanna make-...“ Nacho butted in hopefully, but he too was silenced by Sergio´s withering gaze.
„He´s right“ said Dani, scratching his chin. „We´ve got to be the worst activists in football history.“
His captain´s arm extended dramatically to point at him. „Exactly. This is unacceptable! We are Real Madrid! We feast on success for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! We achieve our goals no matter what, and if our goals include losing, then for fuck´s sake, let´s stop scoring them! What are we gonna do with-... how many was that today? Five again?“
„Six“ a tiny voice in the back corrected him, and Sergio shot around. He spotted Vinicius ducking his head in the far corner, shame written across his face, a perfect target for the captain´s ire. „Six goals, that´s right. We scored six against them tonight within half an hour. You played quite a part in it, actually. A hattrick, kid, really?“
Vinicius bit his lip. „I had to do something-... I wasn´t trying to hit the target, I swear.“
Sergio stared at him, his mouth opening and closing, but at last his words had failed him. Finally, he redirected his efforts towards the tall figure next to the young Brazilian. „And you! Couldn´t you have let at least one of their shots hit the back of the net?“
Thibaut shrugged. „I would have, but you guys blocked every single one of them.“
„He´s right“ Casemiro mumbled into the crook of his elbow. He had flopped onto the ground, face down, a picture of abject misery. „He didn´t have a single touch of the ball tonight, saves or otherwise. I heard their coach cursing about it just before the whistle went off.“
„Half a dozen goals, and a clean sheet to top it off.“ Sergio pronounced the words like a death sentence. „Disgrace!“
„Enough“ Luka cut him off, slapping the back of his hand against the man´s shoulder, „you´ve made your point.“
„I will have made my point once we start doing what we´re supposed to do! I expected better from you guys. Worse. You know what I mean“ The Spaniard´s voice dropped dangerously, snatching up even the very last morsel of straying attention. „Well, they say third time´s the charm.“
„But-...“ Nacho said, wide-eyed, „now we´re up against-...“
„Exactly.“ Sergio´s ominous affirmation resonated in their ears. „It´s going to be one hell of a clásico.“
Barcelona
To crown their dubious achievement, Spanish media lauded their newest prowess with such accolades that by the time the team lined up in the tunnels, they received more than a couple of nervous glances from the culés before their captain elbowed them back into composure, although their astonishment might just as well have referred to the unusual starting eleven shuffling next to them. „No more screw-ups“ Sergio had announced. „I made arrangements with the coach. We´re going all in.“ It was testament to the chaos of the past week that his colleagues barely exchanged more than a few despairing looks, and when Sergio presented his plan, nobody dared to speak up. „No strikers today! We´ll hit them with a 5-5-0. Let them try to score own goals if we never even breach the box.“
Jordi Alba was the first to throw the proverbial gauntlet down. „What the fuck are you doing?“ His hiss towards Dani could be heard throughout the tunnel. „You can´t be serious.“
But Dani merely threw him a shrug. „Save it for later“ he advised his fellow defender. „You´re in for a treat.“
It took Barcelona ten minutes to get their first shot on target, and when Thibaut let it bounce off his glove and into the net, the blaugrana curve oscillated with jubilation. Braithwaite received his triumphant teammates with wide arms, and when the huddle of Barcelona players had dissolved, he turned towards his opponents, but his grin faltered when he caught sight of Ramos exchanging a surreptitious high-five with Casemiro.
„Finally“ he heard Modrić exhale towards his left. When the Slav noticed his suspicious squint, he backtracked somewhat belatedly. „I mean, argh.“
Sufficiently unsettled, Braithwaite jogged back into position. „Don´t let them trick you“ one of his colleagues instructed the rest at his back. „They´re up to something.“
For a while, the game continued to unfold at a serene pace. Barcelona kept the ball rolling between their ranks, evading Real Madrid´s half-hearted attempts to intercept their passes, until Toni was caught at the edge of the box, jogging towards Alba in yet another sluggish bid for the ball. He was intercepted by Piqué who shouldered him aside, sending the German flying sideways, and he could not prevent what happened next.
Alba, having been closed down by Casemiro, tried to send the back towards his keeper, but what was intended as a smooth pass was transformed by a slick patch of grass below his feet. The leftback slipped, and the ball sailed across the pitch, heading straight towards Toni flailing in mid-air. The German´s trailing leg shot side-ways, hitting the ball with such perfection that ter Stegen was frozen on the spot, his eyes glued to its arch as Toni´s unintended volley catapulted the ball past him.
Groans rose across the pitch, but none of them belonged to Barcelona.
„Antonio, how could you“ Nacho wailed somewhere in the distance. „We trusted you.“
Pushing himself off the damp grass, Toni miserably slunk back into his own half. The stadium screens were filled with replays of his goal, showing the midfielder´s scissor kick in its full accidental glory, and he grimaced when the applause turned thunderous.
„Sorry, guys“ he mumbled. „Won´t happen again.“
Behind him, Sergio released his pent-up frustration in a long, shuddering breath. „I don´t care how we do it“ he finally barked. „But we need to get our shit together now, once and for all. They scored one goal, they can score another. We can still get this done.“
Despite his proclamation of faith in their arch rivals, the Catalonians retreated deeply into their own half once the whistle went off, and neither team made much progress until the last minutes of regular playing time. Sensing his captain´s teeth-gnashing frustration, Thibaut decided to take matters into his own gloves. He signalled Dani to pass the ball along to him. Once he had attained possession, he drove the ball forward, weaving through the ranks of his shocked defence.
He reached the half-way line without incident, gesturing towards the flabbergasted culés. „Would you look at that empty goal“ he called out, „would be a damn shame to take advantage of it, now wouldn´t it.“ At last, Mingueza stumbled forward, trying to take the ball off him, but his awkward attempt went awry, and he found himself unable to catch up with the keeper´s long legs. „Good“ Thibaut threw encouragingly over his shoulder, caught up in the moment, „give it another go, you´ve got this.“
A few seconds later and owing to a minor miracle, he glanced up to discover that he had managed to breach the penalty box. „Huh.“ Movement at the corner of his eye snagged his attention. He turned expectantly, prepared to relinquish the ball after his novel excursion, only to catch sight of Piqué bolting towards him with thunderous steps, upon which he realised the flaw in his plan. „No, wait-...“ Thibaut hit the ground with a grunt, bowled over by the desperate Spaniard, and a shrill whistle signalled his reward. „You idiot“ he shot to his feet, pushing Piqué back with a shout, „what kind of professional tackles someone in the box like that-...“
He received a card for the provocation. The referee had just about managed to tug it back into his chest pocket when the Real Madrid captain jogged up to him, joining Barcelona´s complaints. „No way that was a penalty“ he cut into the fray, brushing off his opponents´ looks of astonishment, „come on, let´s just move on-...“
But the official´s arm extended firmly towards the spot, and Sergio was forced to abandon his protest. Pushing past his bashful keeper, he grabbed the ball and planted it squarely in the centre of the box. „Fine. Let´s just get this over with.“
Blocking out the whispers at his back, he stood over the ball, rolling it back and forth below his foot until the referee raised the whistle to his mouth. „Stay right there“ he instructed ter Stegen, eyeing the German nervously shifting along his line. Sergio´s shot floated harmlessly towards the Barca keeper, but – he sucked in a sharp breath – the man had evidently decided to risk a jump. Still, a miraculous reflex caused his leg to snap up, catching the ball at the last split-second and deflecting it back into the field.
Sergio´s arms were already on their way sky-wards in a pre-emptive celebration when Alba threw himself forward to reach the ball, nearly colliding with de Jong who had intended to do the same. The young Dutchman swerved back, knocking the ball forward with his thigh, and the collective of footballers watched with baited breath as it bounced past ter Stegen´s prone form into the net.
The Real Madrid captain threw himself back into the grass with an angry roar as the crowd raged around them, exhaustion finally catching up with him. His teammates assembled around him, hovering in various degrees of uncertainty around their furious leader.
Casemiro stepped forward to break their stalemate. „What are we gonna do now?“
„Nothing“ Sergio muttered into the crook of his elbow. „Forget it. Forget it all. This was a dumb plan, okay? Let´s just cut our losses-....“
„Wins“ Nacho interjected in a whisper.
„Whatever. Let´s wrap this up and go home.“
Sergio´s grand plan was abandoned, training sessions turned back to their usual routine. The team welcomed the return of normalcy with relief. A moment of discomfort arose when Toni´s bicycle strike was elected La Liga´s goal of the week, but nobody dared to dwell on the implications. Soon enough, they left the whole affair behind them. and when they lost the table lead to San Sebastian a couple of days later, their captain refused to comment on their defeat with so much as a single word.