Chapter 27.
Lukasz POV
The moment is finally here.
Back in December, when we discussed the possibility of delaying my surgery until the end of our Champions League campaign, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that we would be here today — that I would be here today — in the Champions League final.
I'm here nonetheless, albeit barely. The whole week was tough. After spending the weekend with Cecilia, I only managed to get back in training on Thursday, and it was bad enough that I needed a shot afterwards.
As bad as it's been for me, it's been even worse for her. She's consistently tried to be supportive of this decision — like I asked her to, like I need her to — but it's been incredibly challenging. I know how much she worries, how much it hurts her, and sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have put her through this in the first place.
None of it matters though.
She's here for me, and if it wasn't for her, I don't know how I would have gotten through the last couple of weeks.
My head snaps up with a jolt with the cheering of the crowd. My whole body is buzzing with energy to the point that it's uncomfortable to stay still, so I'm relieved as we start moving to get out.
The little kid next to me squeezes my hand, and I turn my eyes to see him. I reassure him with a small smile before looking back up, and with a deep breath, start my walk out to the pitch.
The crowd is deafening, pretty evenly split in half in support of both teams. The chants merge into one big roar of fan's support and love. It sets every nerve on my body on edge, and I am ready to get this started.
The anthem and initial ceremony go over in a blur. Before the game starts, we link our arms in a circle. Mats is the first to talk.
"None of the shit that happened matters. We only have today. This day. This game. This is all that matters." He claps a hand on my shoulder and shakes me a bit. "We leave everything here. On this pitch. Every single bit. Until the last drop."
He releases my shoulder to pat Marco on his back. Marco has been the most affected by all the controversial bullshit surrounding Götze. The kid didn't even fly with us this time. The board canceled the lunch we were supposed to have together at the last minute. I don't know what's going on, nor do I care. One quick look at Marco tells me he's not thinking about that either, there's nothing but focus in his eyes, and that is all I care about.
As we take our positions, I still for one second, relax my body and look down. I take a deep breath, and whisper a little prayer, willing my body and soul to get through this today. It's what I've been pushing for all season. The greatest task of my career yet. The Champions league final.
The game starts fast paced. Surprisingly, we are in control. I'm not sure if Bayern are letting us, but we are definitely playing our game on its finest form. If it wasn't for Neuer, their keeper, we would have scored in the first twenty minutes. I focus on my job and stick to my tasks, keep the attack going on the right flank, and manage to make Ribery see as little of the ball as physically possible.
My complete attention and focus is on the game. There is absolutely nothing else in my mind, until around the 30th minute when I take a fall while defending a corner. Unluckily, I land exactly on my right side, and my right hip collides painfully with the ground. It would have probably hurt even if I was fit, but I'm not fit, and my hip reminds me of that as I struggle to get up quickly. I devote some of my energy and focus then to ignore the throbbing on my side, and continue to play.
Bayern slowly start getting into the game and they have a few chances before the game ends 0-0 at halftime.
I try not to draw attention to myself as we walk in the locker rooms, but my situation is far from ideal. I am quite frankly not sure how much longer I can ignore the pain emanating from my hip. The medic staff has tried everything they can. I'm under every combination of drugs that's allowed.
This is it. This is the best I can hope for — and it's not much.
As hard as it is not to think about the fact that I am in so much pain already, one look at my teammates getting sprayed, taped, and encouraged, gives me the extra push I need to keep fighting, to keep going. Everyone's given so much this first half, I won't — I can't — give up now.
Only 45 more minutes to go. I'm halfway there already. I can do this.
The second half starts and Bayern find their rhythm immediately. They are playing so strongly, it feels as if they were saving themselves on the first half. They're attacking left and right, and we are frankly overwhelmed — at least I am. It takes everything in me to keep up with Ribery, but he doesn't even look tired.
I don't stop running though. I don't stop defending. I don't stop attacking. I don't stop.
When Ribery gets away from me and finds Robben unmarked, his pass to Mandzukic comes as a surprise to no one, and despite Schmelle's efforts, Mandzukic connects a free header right into the net.
Way too easy.
I don't have the energy in me to even get upset.
I peek desperately at the clock to realize we're on the 60th minute. There're still 30 minutes of play left. I use the time it takes to restart the game to catch my breath and just try to focus on getting back into the game.
We all go into attack. I'm running up that flank, trying to do anything I can to win the ball and move forward.
We finally get our break as Marco dribbles past a defender and into the box, where he is blatantly fouled, winning us a penalty kick. He goes down painfully and looks in no way able to take the kick himself, as it was originally instructed by Klopp. Lewandowski is another of our good penalty takers, but he recently failed one against Neuer himself, and Klopp didn't want to put that kind of pressure on him.
It seems for a moment we're all confused as to who is going to take the kick, when Ilkay steps up, takes the ball in his hands, and walks to the penalty spot. When I see how confident, how strong he looks, a sense of relief washes through me.
Fuck, the kid has never taken a PK as far as I can remember, and he stands up tall in front of Neuer.
I take a moment to breathe, lift the weight from my right leg, and make some pressure on my hip on that same side. Marco walks to the bench, and Braun quickly checks on him as Illy gets ready to take the kick.
My eyes check the clock again without my permission, only 66 minutes gone, there's still a lot of time left in this game. My eyes then travel to Braun, and the bag at his feet. Deciding I should get all the help I can to get through this, my feet start moving towards the bench as well.
Braun's brow furrows as he sees me jogging to them. I signal him to get the numbing spray out. He's ready as I get to the line, I lift my shirt and he starts spraying at once over the medicinal tape that already covers my side. My attention is on Illy, as he takes the kick and converts beautifully, completely fooling Neuer.
"Piszczu," Klopp says behind me, a hand on my shoulder.
"Just a twinge, boss." I nod at him. Klopp and Braun exchange a look, but I have no time to waste. I sprint right back into position.
The soothing feeling from the spray is gone as soon as I start running again. Both teams are attacking, wanting to finish the game in 90 minutes.
The next twenty minutes are excruciating. I can't breathe, I can't think, but giving up is not an option.
I can't. I won't. I don't.
I am caught out of position, not fast enough to come back from an attack, and Robben has got a good advantage on me. I don't stop though. I run behind him even though there's absolutely no way I can catch him.
It's almost as if my body knows, if I stop, I will drop, so I don't stop.
Robben's got a clear shot on goal, and I don't know how, or out of where, but Subotic comes flying in to stop it with an amazing sliding tackle. I can't even manage words as I pat him in encouragement. He just saved our asses.
Every second the whistle blows and the ball stops, I try to release some tension on my hip, hitching my leg, stretching, making some pressure with my fingers. I don't dare look at the clock again, it feels like at least three hours have already passed since halftime.
During an attack from Bayern, I jump to clear the ball with a header and collide with Ribery, who was right behind me, waiting to get the ball himself. The ball goes out on our end, which grants them a corner kick. After the collision, I find myself on the ground, and I can't get up. My leg is spasming, my hip is locked into place, and now my right groin muscle has joined the party of pain.
A pair of hands is pulling on my arm, and I look up at Mats who is trying to help me up. I can't hear what he is saying through the roaring in my ears. Until I realize the roar is actually coming from my chest.
I grab on to Mats for support as I get up. I can't seem to straighten my back yet, so I keep my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath.
"Piszczu, come on. Eight minutes left, bro." He pats my back softly but even that makes me wince. "We make it to 90 and get a breather. Klopp can rearrange if you need to step out."
Eight minutes.
Eight minutes…
How can there still be eight minutes?!
I look up from my bent position, Manni is drying his sweat with his sleeve, panting. The Manni Bender is panting. Kevin is hunched over, much like myself, trying to breathe as well.
I turn my head to catch a glimpse of our very limited bench. Leitner's look is one of complete fear, while Sahin bites his nails, nervously next to him.
Rearrange…
Rearrange with whom?!
None of them can play my position. Kevin could drop back if we bring a midfielder on, but he's already shattered. Anyway I see it, me being subbed off, ends in disaster.
What do you give when they're all counting on you and you have nothing left?
I straighten up with a breath and nod at Mats, getting ready for the corner.
"I've got your back," Mats says, patting my shoulder.
I can't really say what goes on in the next few minutes. I do everything I can to keep up. Keep up with defense, counterattack, Ribery… I give everything else I didn't know I had — everything.
But it's not enough. I'm the only one marking Ribery as he receives a long pass and somehow finds Robben through both mine and Mats' legs. I drop to my knees as I watch the ball go in, and then everything numbs.
The clock I cursed just moments ago for going too slow now signals we're out of time. We're out of time, and we're losing.
We're losing the Champions League final.
I pray and wish for those extra thirty minutes now — hip be dammed. If we could just tie the game, we could have more time, we could pull something…
Klopp brings in Schieber and Sahin. We try everything. We all go forward. But there's no time.
Then it happens — the final whistle.
It's all over.
It's almost as if time stops, and everything goes quiet in my head. There's nothing but devastation, confusion, absence in my teammates' — my brothers' — eyes.
My eyes find Mats, it's like he doesn't believe it still.
How could we let it slip through our fingers? We were so damn close!
A world of guilt sets on my shoulders, and I can't bear the sight of him. I lower my head as he comes closer, and when he wraps an arm around me, I nearly lose it.
"We did our best, Piszczu." He pats my back before moving on to someone else.
I am thankful to whoever hands me a bottle of water, and I chug on it to try to swallow the lump in my throat. My teammates collapse around me, and although the comfort of the turf seems tempting, I'm afraid if I let myself go, I won't be able to get back up. So I wander around aimlessly, clinging to the bottle for life and fighting back the tears.
I am of use to no one. I have no comforting words. What is there to say?
Sometimes you try your hardest, you do your best, you give your absolute everything, and you still lose. They've had the advantage, the whole season. They have the bigger and better squad. We still fought them, until the end. And we fought them hard. We could have won this game.
Maybe if I wasn't dead on my feet to begin with. Maybe if we still had Götze on the team.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
We could have definitely had them. We almost did.
I stand in awe as Mats, together with our captain and keeper, help Klopp cheer the younger ones, who are pretty much destroyed.
I don't have anything else though. I'm barely able to move as it is, and I'm not sure how I manage to keep the tears that continue to threaten to fall from my eyes. Even looking at the fans seems to be way too much. I only manage a few glances until I'm forced to stare at my feet again.
After greeting the fans we need to regroup for the medal ceremony. I feel her eyes on me before I find her. I've made it a point to not look or even think about her throughout the game. I needed my whole attention and focus in those disheartening 90 minutes.
Cecilia is on her feet, her hands in front of her, clapping. As soon as our eyes connect, her clapping intensifies. It's not very obvious, but seems genuine and purposeful. Her eyes scream a million emotions at me, and my lips stretch minimally when she brings a hand to her lips and kisses it, sending it then in my direction.
In a second, my eyes fill with tears and I can't hold her gaze anymore.
God, since when am I such a cry baby?!
I try to breathe the knot in my throat away as we start getting called for the loser's medal ceremony. One look at the hundreds of steps that lead to the cup that will never be ours, has me wishing I could skip the whole thing, find Cecilia, and get the hell out of here.
I think of nothing but her pretty green eyes to help me through the whole thing, hoping that when I finally do get to see her, I've managed to stop weeping like a child.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
A/N: I'm sorry. They lost. (That is actually what happened in RL) Thanks to everyone who took a chance with the story and read and reviewed. I will try to answer some of your questions soon. There are only two chapters left. :)