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You must always have faith, Diego Simeone had insisted and so it was. A biblical storm blew through the Metropolitano, leaving Barcelona in pieces and Atlético Madrid closer to a first Copa del Rey final in 13 years. “I’m not a wizard but I did believe that the team could play like this,” Simeone said at the end of a wild night, yet even he could not have imagined anything quite like this, 45 extraordinary minutes giving his team a 4-0 lead to take to the Camp Nou in three weeks’ time.
“This will remain in the memory however the tie ends,” Simeone said, careful to note that this is not over yet. Hansi Flick, meanwhile, vowed that his Barcelona team will fight, claimed they had been handed a “great lesson” that might yet be helpful, and outlined a plan for the second leg: 2-0 in each half. But an an own goal from Eric García and three more before half-time here from Ademola Lookman, Antoine Griezmann and Julián Alvarez, did the kind of damage that will be mightily difficult to fix. Barcelona could not begin that task here, a Pau Cubarsí effort ruled out after a seven-minute VAR check the only “goal” of the second half. Indeed, another VAR check made their second leg task even harder when Eric García was sent off in the final minutes.
Enough had happened in the first half for an entire tie. “There was an incredible energy in the stadium and life is energy,” Simeone said, his side going at Barcelona from the start. The first foul, on 30 seconds, was a fuse lit. Giuliano Simeone flew into Alejandro Balde and his teammates followed, a perfect storm unleashed that Barcelona could not escape. For 45 frantic, breathless minutes in which Flick’s team didn’t know which way to turn, Atlético Madrid ripped into them, leaving no place to take shelter and scoring four goals that genuinely should have been more.
It may sound absurd to say that the opening goal was coming when it came on just six minutes, and via an own goal, but that was how it felt here and that feeling never went away. Jules Koundé had already had to move fast to stop Alvarez getting in and Joan García had saved from Giuliano Simeone inside two minutes, Griezmann’s gorgeous cushioned pass into him then just the first brushstroke of what was becoming a masterpiece. And although that opening goal was ridiculous, Eric García’s back pass slipping under Joan García’s foot and over the line, Atlético didn’t stop there.
The smell of blood was too strong for that. Atlético streamed into the wide space beyond Barcelona’s high line, screeched into every tackle, first to every ball. Barcelona were caught in the vortex, a nightmare, trapped on the page of a Where’s Wally: everywhere they looked, there was a red and white shirt.
On the left, Lookman flew past them. On the right Simeone, a neck-bulging, leg-whirring, heart-thumping Tasmanian devil of a footballer, flew past them. The right-back, Nahuel Molina bombing in from behind, flew past them too. Left-back Matteo Ruggeri resisted the urge to run, and instead successfully denied Lamine Yamal any place to play. Koke and Marcos Llorente, a man with the legs and lungs of 11 men, dominated the middle. Alvarez was … well, Barcelona didn’t know where he was. Griezmann made it all make sense, subtle in the storm, as if conducting it.
He also scored the second after just 13 minutes. As if to underline how complete Atlético were, the goal started with goalkeeper Juan Musso delivering a fabulous pass to Lookman on the left. Lookman found Alvarez, who speared ball rightwards. Molina slipped it in to Griezmann to score. Simeone turned to the supporters, demanding they play their part which they did, never falling silent, not even when Fermín López hit the bar soon after. They were the soundtrack, the rolling thunder in a storm which kept on coming.
Griezmann might have taken more time over a chance made by Lookman and Llorente, but only 30 seconds later he and Molina made another clear opportunity for Alvarez which Koundé cleared off the line. Twenty-two minutes in and it was Atlético’s sixth shot, all clear sights of goal. From their seventh, a couple of minutes later, Griezmann struck over. Again, Giuliano Simeone had raced free into space. The next time he flew up the right, Griezmann opening the cage and setting him free again, they scored their third. Lookman provided the finish this time.
Flick took off Marc Casadó, pulling him close to offer an explanation. Casadó had been booked for desperately taking down Giuliano who was escaping again and, besides, Barcelona had to do something, anything. But although López got in soon after, Musso saved that and Atlético immediately went back at them, extending a lead that was already barely believable. Ripping Barcelona’s left side open yet again, this time it was Molina who started it, Lookman laying off for Alvarez to hit a perfect finish that was a release too, the ball taking all his troubles with it.
Under pressure and out of form of late, Alvarez had needed this. They all had. On the touchline, Simeone Sr set off on a sprint, his head in his hands. Alvarez closed his eyes and pointed skywards, liberated. Koke screamed. All over the place, players ran, roaring. It wasn’t over, the tie not even a quarter done, but it felt that way, the unimaginable suddenly real, faith restored. “The people need a night like this,” Simeone said.
